Speed Virgin

I JUST "BANGED UP SPEED" FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME TODAY...

It always happens when I've "higher thoughts" on my brain...

(You know what I mean: thoughts of going clean.)

I was just waiting for the bus when a tobacco tin caught my eye. It was one of those childish ones with prominent psychedelic cannabis leaf for decoration amid swirling fractal graphics.

Expecting to find nothing within, or possibly a fagsworth of baccy I duly opened up...

Imagine my surprise... let me say there was more than a spliff'sworth of skunk inside, not to mention a package of sparkly smelly white stuff.

I was awfully cautious with this latter. It could, after all, have been anything.

I tasted it. It was really sparkly. Like coke ought to be. But wasn't coke.

I chopped it out in lines... but balked at sniffing them.

In the end, I shoved a knife-end in a spoon, mixed up, topped up with heroin, banged up... at first nothing (ho-humm)... then this ever-increasing, ever-pleasing dizzy took the top off my head and rose rose rose ever so gently... this was speed. Not too much of it (thankfully) and ever so mild.

First time in my life I've ever "banged it up" (years ago I always dabbed it just like sherbert... or snorted it at a push though I thought that was a waste of good nose tissue...)

So that's a first... and no doubt a last.

I'm not nineteen any more. I don't feel that one more novel drugs experience is extra furnishing for my life... I don't think like that anymore.

I'm speaking as one whose gone so far into addiction that the "buzz" of the drugs high - whatever drugs you're talking about it really doesn't matter. Addiction is one condition. The drugs are all different. But the bitter end is one place and the same no matter which chemical key unlocked the door.

In the absolute depths of addiction, I, who had lived from daydream to daydream (or plan to plan; I would have personally called them) stopped daydreaming at all, except for looking forward to my next pipe or fix or drink. At my very depths I woke up each morning feeling like I was lying face down on a pavement and banging my head downdown... pointless hopeless. Even though I knew I'd get the drugs I knew the next day and the next would be just the same and just as miserable.

So when I briefly and willingly went on Subutex (buprenorphine) for a month or so... and rebounded back to life with a shocking velocity... I realized, watching the TV news etc. that for the previous two, three years of my life no TV programme had ever spoken to me, no newspaper written for me, no ordinary person spoken to me. For I'd pushed myself so far to the edge of life and society I was barely any longer part of the "human race"... let alone the "rat race"...

Thankfully over the intervening time I've slowly drifted back. Partly it was that moment of clarity that shocked me back.

It's been more than telling that in my moments of fantasy before/after buying lottery tickets drugs don't feature in such multimillionaire's fantasy. Not even glamorous sparkling lines of cocaine. I know from my crack experiences that coke - in whatever form, it really doesn't matter; the mode of ingestion only alters the rapidity and economy of the drug's absorbtion into the system - only ends in darkness and madness. The lab monkeys hooked up to IV heroin and coke took heroin and lived ordinary monkey lives. The coke monkeys did nothing. Nothing at all. Didn't eat or drink or breed or sleep or do anything else except take more coke from the push-leaver that delivered it direct to their veins (equivalent to crack infusing lungs to brain in a human; it hits you within 20 seconds and it's overwhelmingly strong. And succeeds purely in making you crave more-more-more...)

So that's my little diatribe of the day...

Drugs! Who'd have 'em, eh?!?

***

Video of the day:

Whitney Houston - Queen of the Night...

It's the words that get me:

I've got the stuff that you want,
I've got the thing that you need -
I've got more than enough
To bring you down to your knees...

Go speak for yourself, Whitney!