YUMMY B: THAT IS THE NAME that I was going to call myself if I ever became a rapper (as if!)... really (as you may by now know) the phrase signifies "delicious heroin"... my life; my love; my undying obsession.
So many times I've thought I had some sort of a handle on things. So often (ie always) I have been wrong.
Before I found heroin I did some of the things "normal" people do to stave off unhappiness. Sometimes I drank, but I never really liked that. Other times I gobbled whole packets of Maryland cookies with lots of mugs of hot chocolate. I distracted myself with television. Music. Books I loved. Things.
These temporary escape routes all work. But I found the switch or trigger behind them; the satifaction switch. And this is what heroin presses directly.
So all those years of unhappiness, veering into sheer misery, months of relentless depression with insomnia so bad I was not sleeping at all. All the miseries I suffered, all my tribulations. These were all "cured" ~ miraculously ~ the moment I got on to heroin.
Last night (like a fool) I was "researching" my drug-of-choice online. The resulting read got me so fired up I wanted nothing but hit after generous hit. But I had no hits. And so I had to wait until today...
... then in the night I realized how I've messed things up - yet again - with my accommodation. I owe the council money. They could chuck me out on the street. If they do I will most certainly and definitely END this tawdry story, I told myself...
... and reeled through in my head what methods of selfdestruction I could use. When I tried to poison myself (yet my idiot body puked nearly the entire dose of 70 pills back up) I lost three days. And woke into the most nauseated haze you could ever imagine. Nasty stuff. When I was suicidal before I wanted to go before the express train. And yet (as I said here) the driver once saw my eyes and panicked, waving at me. The more depressed I've been, the more convinced I get that suicide will be a failure. The train will kick me out of its way like a football. Sending me softly onto a great green mossy cushion. Or something.
Then I looked at my tubby furries. All lined up in a row having groomed one another. Their fur wet and tawny. I would have to leave a note saying bring them to Mother Hubbard's and do not try to handle them - they don't like it! They wouldn't miss me. Of course they know me, but they don't crave human company the way cats or dogs do. For animals so tiny, however, they do quite unusually look me directly in the eye... if you've ever kept rodents or other tiny pets you'll know how unusual this is.
When I first got on to heroin, despite the money probs and withdrawals, my using was like Christmas every day. How I loved it!! I have never loved anyone or anything the way I have loved heroin. I know how sad this sounds: but that's the addict life. That's what addiction IS. If you don't feel that way and you ARE on the drugs, you should find it quite easy to stop.
I have never found quitting easy. The years of misery, self-hatred. Those are what heroin "cured". Other addicts have other problems - most of the girls I know have been sexually abused. Neary ALL have been raped (after they got into the drugs). We all have our crosses to bear.
Today I was trying to sort something out from midday till past five pm. First the money fell through. Then I thought I would get it but had to go right out of my way. I checked my best dealer was on: yes. Even after I got back home, cash in hand, I had to wait over an hour for his arrival.
So this is the life I "love" so much..? I unwrapped the white polythene package. Chucked about a third on my spoon. Cooked up a pale solution. It didn't look so promising. Poked it in the best vein I've still got left and... whoosh! The rush, the taste in my mouth... like the best gear from a few years ago. And somehow, briefly, once again, it all seemed worthwhile.
For all you yesterday who wanted some love but didn't get it here:
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
it's a tag I got... pass it on to as many as you can ...
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