Ever

I've been thinking about “just one score”. My reasoning is to make sure the opiate blocker works. I'll chase a bag and I'll feel nought and that's that. It's not a constant thought, just crosses my mind on occasion. I accept my reasoning has no logic. If I never take heroin again then it won't matter if the blocker works.

I set my mind this morning as I stepped out of the shower. I'll never score again. Never. Ever. Ever. And I'll make the same decision every time I have to. I'm approaching four weeks clean time, why the fuck would I score? This is my future and I've decided. No more. Never. Ever. Ever. 

Who me?

Been thinking about the me before gear. Have I forgotten who I am? What has a decade of emotional suppression and retreat done to me?

I remember being so fucked up that I forgot my name for half an hour, mad magic mushrooms. Escaped from the squat because the hippies were turning into animals and when I hit the street I remembered where I was and my name. Big fucking relief. Had to go back the next night to apologise to the hippies for being so fucked up. Anyway.....

Spent the last ten years removing myself from society, cutting social ties and retreating into my heroin soaked non existence. Everyday the same, every night the same, me, melted into the armchair, zoned out on TV I never remember. Hit after hit after hit, day after day after day. The wasted years, years and fucking years of it. Years I won't get back. Tears in a bucket, motherfuck it.

So now I'm forty and I'm clean and I'm not comfortable in the company of strangers, not comfortable with people full stop. I've spent so long fucked up on junk I need to learn whole sets of social skills. Your correspondent is a social cripple. I need to push myself into places I don't want to go, learn to engage, need to engage , must engage. Hold the tree of life and shake the fucker until my future falls out. I want a rich life full of the joy of living and the tears of loss. If reality is between my ears then life is other people. Push myself to engage and each time it will get easier, become like muscle memory.

What I need I can't have. Ain't that the fucking truth.

Got a bit cocky and didn't take my anti-psychotic last night. I felt good and thought I could do without. Woke up this morning with a minor case of the dry heaves. Used to plague me when I was drinking. I'd open my eyes and know that in getting vertical I would lose my stomach lining. Every morning in life. Through up in my hankie this morning. Got a bit worried, I believe that my guts are directly connected to my state of mind so I took the anti-psychotic this morning. Had a shower and some porridge and felt well. Was evening cracking jokes with my parents at the breakfast table. Visited a friend from my past. He has been clean for years and has his shit together in a big way. His partner is a drug and alcohol councillor and they have both been giving me a lot of support.

He lives on one of the islands so I got the ferry over and he met me. We had a look at a property he is developing and went to get something to eat. As we talked about scoring smack “just the once” the snakes started eating me alive. He said I couldn't think that “just once” would be all right. I'd be back to square one within a week if I did. The snake fuckers coiled tighter and tighter, the worst I have felt since detox. Ate as much as I could while just holding on waiting for the moment to pass. Tried to walk the snakes away on the beach and it did help. Went back to his place and lay flat out on his sofa. The snakes retreated but my back started to nip, a dull ache I've had since school boy rugby. Headed for the ferry and my back got worse and I started to feel uncomfortable in my skin. Minor withdrawal type uncomfortable in my skin. What the fuck? All because I took my anti-psychotic 8 hours late? No shit. Was it all in my head? Have I replaced smack with the doctors prescribed meds? Are they holding me together, holding a world of pain at bay? Is this real or psychosomatic?

Folks picked me up at the ferry and noticed that I wasn't walking right due to my back. Sat in the car and bounced between snakes in my belly and pain in my back. Mother suggested a pain killer and I was desperate so said ibuprofen might help. She gave me coproxamol. A fucking opiate! Truly the worst day since detox. Tried to lie down for half an hour as I was due to meet my brother for pool and a DVD but felt queasy within 10 minutes and had to get up. Mum offered the use of her bed and electric blanket as I was running a temperature and cold to the bone. Texted my brother to cancel and climbed into a warm bed. Out for a couple of hours and woke up with most of the symptoms gone, just a sort of queasy gut, like when you drink early in the day and it hangs on you. Like my gut was disconnected from me and at odds. Truly the worst day since detox. I held on and I'm coming round. Your correspondent is coming round. Fact that I'm writing this speaks volumes. Don't give a fuck how it works or what really caused today to be such a shitter, I'm taking that anti-psychotic tonight. Just hold on motherfucker. 

Snakes

Starting to realise this isn't going to be as easy as I thought. The euphoria of being clean is fading and the snakes have returned. The snakes in my gut are slithering, coiled tight and turning, eating me from the inside. The snakes in my gut are a manifestation of nerves and anxiety and worry. Killing the snakes drove me through alcoholic blackout and drug induced oblivion to bitter sweet heroin. And heroin killed the snake like nothing else. Drowned the fuckers dead. The snakes are the cost of doing business, the snakes are the cost of spending twenty years in an emotional black box. Fuck the snakes, the worm slithered cunts. Live inside of me and die, motherfuckers. I am stronger than you base animal, I am strong. Chill out, embrace the pain and grow.
I haven't been warm since detox and I'm still waiting for a solid shit. I'm sleeping five or six hours a night, with no dreams at all. Why no dreams? Am I not sleeping enough? Are the meds suppressing my subconscious? I'm on an anti depressant sleeper and an anti psychotic. But I liked being a little bit psychotic. You can't beat the soaring up of madness. Reality is between your ears my friends. I believe in balance in life, in all things, a universal balance. If you want to soar high you need to accept the deep down.
It's a dangerous game but I was hoping for a little bipolar up cycle psychotic confidence to see me through the first few months clean time. It's dangerous because you pay for the up with a down and the down could easy come first. I never had any control over the cycle, why would I now?

Is my state of mind within my control or do I take these meds and flatline emotionally? Is that not what I took smack for, to flatline my life?

When I look back on my life before heroin the falling in love always happened on an up cycle when I was exuding super confidence. By the time the depression came the poor lass was in love and had to deal. 

The sort of woman that interest me don't like flatlines. I'm a vain shallow cunt when it comes to woman, she has to be beautiful and beauty costs.

I will live drug free and that includes prescribed medication that dicks with my psyche. If I can I will. Take each moment as it comes, the moments will become hours, and the hours days.
Chill out, embrace the pain and grow. If I can't do that, then just fucking hold on till I can.

The Truth of My Life

Told my brother the truth of my life. Told him I had been using heroin for the last 10 years. The last 20 years give or take a few clean months. My entire adult life.

Told him I had taken the cure and gotten through.

For me. For a life. For an ordinary life. For a future. For an ordinary beautiful future. I told him because he is my blood. I told him because I need him to know I will stand, a human being not an addict.

We held tight, tear stained emotion.

Blood is blood and blood is true and blood runs deep.

He talked with wisdom of his own problems. Problems I was unaware of. He said that help will only get you so far, that you have to take responsibility for the decisions you make. Your decisions set your path and become your life.

Only I can change my mind.

Wide Awake Club

Always was fond of my bed and with the habitual use of an analgesic, I could get up at lunchtime on a weekend, take a hit and return to bed, till evening.

Not so anymore, considering the sleepless weeks I've experienced with past home withdrawals, I feel fortunate that I am getting a "normal" nights sleep. Just not used to being up and about at 6am on a holiday.

Find I can't even lie in bed and read. Guess this gives me more time to use constructively. Time I would have spent in my scratcher. So use it constructively, donut. Could easily spend this new time thinking about scoring or dwelling on the past. Need a bit of get up and go.

I'm going to class this blog as constructive and cathartic. 

Nobody ever died of lack of sleep and with 5-6 hours undistrubed sleep most nights, I should be very thankful.

13 Days

Sitting in my parents house, watching Xmas telly getting proper spoilt.

Appetite has returned and my internal thermostat might finally be settling down. Have never felt so cold as I have since leaving detox.

13 days clean. 

Think about scoring heroin. I do think about it. On occasion, when I'm alone, awake in the early hours. A junky on his own is bad company. 

13 days is 13 days and thoughts are only thoughts.