IT'S 5:44 I SCORED ABOUT 45 MINS ago and I'm still feeling pretty good. I spent all of £1.59 on my substance of choice. It was corned beef from the local shop.
Why did I write all that crap I posted earlier. It's true it was what was circling round my brains at the time but I just read it back and it's SO depressing. I'm trying to keep my thoughts on positive things. The only positive things I have are Boomer and Valerie. Boomer from Yuma gives Anna Grace Venom heroin in exchange for sex when she goes down to Arizona. Valerie is the Housewife Superstar Heroin Queen of Australia. She has a bouffanted Margaret Thatcher hairdo, a French manicure, wears treble strings of pearls... and imports ten tonnes of China White heroin into Australia and New Zealand annually. Her beer-drinking crack-smoking husband Bruce invests the money in what Valerie terms "respectable enterprises: gambling parlours, whorehouses and strip-joints". I can't really think of anything else to write about. Valerie will be furious for me mentioning her and I'll probably get another death-threat for writing this, but hey.
Actually writing is the only thing I can still do when I'm down. Nothing much else gets done at all! I'm stewing already about having to lumber down that chemist's shop to pick up a weekend supply of methadone at nine o'clock. I hate going in there being judged as an antipsychotic-blitzed junkie. When the doc-doc does prescribe a mood stabilizer which he probably will, they'll have even more to laugh about. My drugs worker is making an appointment with the dr which I don't really want. I told him I wasn't really severely depressed or ill or anything, just lazy. Wish I'd kept my big mouth shut now. I was just stewing about being labelled schizo then having looked up the symptoms and seeing I had the "negative" ones. Negative symptoms is a medicalized term for damn laziness. So I'm afflicted with laziness but I can't break out of it. I've tried and tried but I just can't. And I never used to be a layabout, by the way. I somehow turned into one and can't stop it. That's one big reason I never truly got on with the potheads at university. They seemed to revel in lazing around doing nothing. My attitude to life was you had to set goals and achieve them. And I wanted to be extraordinary, not ordinary. An extraordinary person is one who produces extraordinary things. What have I done at all? Got myself addicted to heroin. Felt OK for the first time in my life (early childhood excepting). Now I can't get used to feeling totally un-OK. It's for THIS reason I say I don't really care about losing my mind to a manic episode. Least mania burns brightly and is creative and loud and jazzy and FUN. Heroin is frankly boring. A drug for people in pain (which is why I took it for so long). Depression is beyond the pale. The only psychological state I hate more than depression is anxiety, which thankfully I barely ever get. I want to be ALIVE again. Only time I ever felt truly alive was when I went "manic". So that, if you were wondering, is why my constant references to mania. Mania is a state where you're so full of life you literally fizz over with it. It was the severe mania I had problems with. The moderate grade was fantastic. I can't bear to listen to any of the tunes I did back then, they all sound so flat and miserable now. I want to be ALIVE AGAIN.
My back is still bad which is annoying. Well, obviously. Soon as it's better I really have to tackle the state of my house. Empty corned beef tins, cyder cans, cigarette ends strewn all over the place.
I'm annoyed that Tonkie Ears the mouse seems to have deserted me. Perhaps if I bought some Wild Bird seed he'd be tempted back.
I really wish I hadn't posted up the crap I did earlier. It makes me look like a really mixed up confused soul. Sometimes I do think what I put; other times I don't. I don't know what I think or feel any more. I mean I feel a bit depressed and yet when Anna Grace posted up a lurid sexual fantasy I laughed hysterically. She did exactly the same thing the first time Boomer got in touch. She was down in Yuma desperate for some gear and then a cab driver sorted her out with a connexion who got her a gram of tar heroin for $90, which is supposed to be good value.
You know top notch heroin used to cost only £30 a weighed gram, that's $50. I know they were full grams; I had scales. Proper great lumps of brown (not suspiciously fine powder) that reeked of Afghanistan. I used to love it. Still I binged on it whenever I had the chance. When I begged for a living my usage averaged just under a gram a day, although I could survive on 0.6g (my dealer sold 0.3g for £10). With purity fluctuating between 40-50% in this period that's quite a lot of intravenous diamorphine. No wonder I had problems with methadone. When a doctor tried to convince me 120mg methadone was a stonkingly high dose I pointed out that I'd researched equivalences online and with opinions varying between 1mg-1mg and 1mg methadone to 4mg (neat) heroin, 120mg methadone wasn't very much compared to 360mg diamorphine. In British hospitals, 5mg diamorphine is the usual dose of painkiller for a heart attack victim. In exceptional circumstances the dose might be titrated up to 10mg. So 360mg was quite a lot. Yes, pharmaceutical heroin is used in British hospitals, no need for Dilaudid unless the side-effects profile specifically calls for hydromorphone. Diamorphine is considered a better drug than morphine because it reaches peak plasma concentration far more quickly than morphine (which takes 35 minutes intramuscular!), it can be dissolved in tiny amounts of water (several hundred milligrams in 1ml) and because it DOES provoke euphoria it's considered especially useful in palliative care where the terminally ill could do with every lift available to them. The only reason medical heroin isn't used in America is to justify their "war on drugs" stance, that heroin has "no medical value". It's actually the number one painkiller for terminal care in the UK because it's better-tolerated than virtually anything else.
I took my methadone early last night. Around 2am instead of 7am. I can grudgingly accept it might have a tiny effect on mood as it did make me feel a little bit better.
I'm off the alcohol today. Blew my beer money on corned beef. The corned beef craving actually exceeded the one for alcohol, which is saying something...
Now I'd better go. I still feel crap. I'm so pissed off, it's unreal. I'm going to try watching Michael Jackson to cheer me up.
SAY SAY SAY
This features Paul and Linda McCartney and La Toya Jackson as Michael's "luuurve" interest...
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