The Council are supposed to be coming round. Right while I'm supposed to be at this antidrugs group. So I'm avoiding both by blogging at a secret location and trying not to feel too nauseated by my compulsorily glugged-all-at-once methadone. I don't know what's wrong with it, but the new brand, although it tastes far nicer, makes me wanna puke for an hour after taking it. Puking and methadone do not mix for obvious reasons. So the whole thing's nasty business.
This afternoon I've an appointment with the methadone doctor as I'm on "such a high dose". All I wanna do is come off it. I don't care it it makes me ill in the process. Addicts are supposed to feel ill aren't they? And it'll give me more to complain about, won't it? I mean, where ja think the phrase "whining junkie" comes from anyway..?
Aside from this I am in a very bad mood. I wish I hadn't said what I said yesterday. I wish I had lied and said all was sunny. It is sunny. Everywhere but inside my head. I took off my dark glasses thinking maybe they're making me depressed, cutting out the light and all. But I doubt they're the cause, bearing in mind I was feeling fantastic in February ~ not exactly a month known for its long hours of daylight.
The best thing about today is, I get to walk past that petshop that sells wild birds (how do you crossbreed a goldfinch and a canary without illegal trapping playing a part?)
It's a ridiculously hot day. I'm sweating like a swine on Ecstasy pills. I'm glad this methadone is inside me. Means I'm on the coutdown to feeling better, not worse. I cannot believe that a mere 10mg reduction is so noticable. It's not that I wake up feeling horrible (those days are surely to come) but as soon as I get moving around I'm sweating amphibiously and feeling too hot, too cold or both can barely tolerate walking up the road and certainly cannot tolerate buying yogurt from Morrisons except that I force myself to, then I hang out in their carpark feeling pale and wan and soggy, then I skulk into the library where I scan books on irrelevant topics idly for about an hour. My particular favourite is a misery memoir by a doctor who got such bad depression she had to have psychosurgery on the bit of her brain that makes her happy. Cah't recall the title but there's a daisy on the cover. Sometimes I read about pets but those books just make me feel my life is empty without an American Akita so I'm avoiding all reference to feathered and furry friends. No clockwatching is required during this reading, because the methadone takes almost exactly one hour and ten minutes to kick in. On a bad day an hour and a half. If you have a serious habit and have been screwing around with heroin and/or your dose the methadone could take two hours to sort you out. Yet another reason why addicts hate it. Compared to heroin which is instant, methadone feels like a cruel joke.
Anyone who can feel better half an hour after drinking methadone either has a seriously screwy metabolism or is the type of person who can get high on orange Smarties. (Or by incinerating heroin on the end of a crackpipe, I might add.)
Well I've got to go now. My new hobby by the way is bathing. I only shower twice a day but I've got through about half a tube of that dermabrasion scrub. Boy, does it work! I even use it on the soles of my feet. Oh and my roots are showing ALREADY. Being as hair grows at approximately 3mm per week it's not surprising 2mm are already visible. But it is highly annoying.
Well I've got to go. Does anyone know a cure for depression when you've done everything logical not to be depressed and yet you feel like you're drowning?
This afternoon I've got to face Duta who thought I was so happy the other day. I can't tell any of these people how I really feel. They like to flatter themselves that depressives might want to use methadone as a tool for finishing themselves off.
To any junkie with half a habit, the glass bottle is far more dangerous than the pathetically weak gloop it contains. Do you know I calculated your bladder would probably EXPLODE before you managed to overdose on British strength 1mg/1ml methadone? I seriously doubt 3000mg would kill anyone who could do 1000mg diamorphine in a day, which is what a £100 a day habit translates to. I never used £100 a day for very long but I was able to take that much without batting an eyelid. And they go on and on and on at me that my 110mg methadone dose is "very very high", oh fuck off.
Well I'm going. I hope y'all are doing something nice like gardening. If I had a garden I would grow herbs in pots. I'm not into non-dual-purpose things, me. So herbs fit the bill perfectly gardening wise: they look impressively bushy plus you can chuck them into bubbling hotpots. I would also like to keep bees. It's not just the pun of "B" meaning Afghanistan's best Brown that appeals; I've had a thing about bees going back to childhood and would love to have a box of the buzzy entertainers on my roof terrace. When you go on holiday you could put the hive in your kitchen (with the window open a crack to let the little darlings fly in and out) ~ I mean wouldn't THAT give burglars a shock!!
I've really got to go now and by the way my feet really stink. I do have new trainers (new as in fished out of a bin new but they don't have holes in the soles like my present pair)... but don't want to sully these up with my rotting extremities ~ know what I mean? Not until at least four tubes of Tinaderm have been between my toes.
Well I'm off. Happy gardening.
KEVIN AND PERRY GO LARGE
I watched this when I woke up at midnight a few days ago...
A piss-take on the British party isle of Ibiza, this film has a better soundtrack than any other....
THIS IS FROM BUGGERLUGZ; THANXX BUGGERLUGZ