Hey guys, some of you may know that I was quite ill for a few days. I think there was a bit of talk about all kinds of sordid things and that's ok, speculative thinking is as old as Mankind. It's only natural, and I have no hard feelings one way or the other.
Ok, here's what actually happened: For the past two weeks I've been on a smack binge. I binged and binged. I slept - shot up, slept - shot up. Fortunately, I guess, I slept a lot.
Sadly, all the things we like are no damn good for us, so the love affair (and Oh, God, what a triumph of passion over intellect it was) had to draw to some kind of conclusion sooner rather than later - if I wasn't to spend the rest of my life an even bigger retard.
But it's not so easy to dump the one you love, we all know that. Armed with an assortment of drugs, blankets, buckets, water, ipod, rosary beads (we all have our quirks) I attempted the "DIY Bathroom Rehab". I've done it once before, it was nasty, but I did it, ...sigh, not this time though...the love of my life refused to piss off in spite of all my persuasions.
Anyway, the upshot was, it was hell. I've never experienced pain like it, it was a triumph of pain over every faculty I possess. To give you some idea, because I do want you to realize in order to understand the thing I later did, I'm going to reprint some DMs I sent to someone when the withdrawal process was underway:
"I'm crouched over beside the toilet, freezing my arse off, I can't stop shaking. I'm exhausted. Puking and puking, there's nothing left to bring up, but my body just keeps heaving and retching.
Muscles, bones and joints feel as though they're repeatedly being smashed and re smashed with a sledgehammer, my muscles keep cramping and jumping about, every time more painful than the last...every nerve ending in my body feels as though it's been scraped raw and bloody through a grater...and I'm so cold, I can't stop shaking or retching, every heave feels like it's the one that's going to stop me from breathing..."
So that's what it was like. Oh, and all the while, my head hurt so badly, like a giant pulpy bruise. Well, the things we do to ourselves huh? I know, I know, I was stupid, I overused, I knew I was doing it while I was doing it, and inevitably, I got what I deserved.
Many people use smack all their lives and can function normally with few side effects. The moral to the story is - if one absolutely insists on one- don't play with a loaded guns. I fooled around and got what was coming to me. I'm not looking for sympathy, I did it to myself. I know that.
The pain became unbearable, and I began to panic, so ( yes, this is humiliating) I arranged for someone to bring me more smack. True to form, though perhaps understandably under the circumstances, I fucked it all up, badly.
The upshot was (hah! no pun intended) I bungled it and OD'd... Sigh...the old story...just a cliche...I know I know...
Fortunately, I was found by the friend with whom I'd made arrangements to come over twice a day and take care of things.
Well, there's no more to tell really, the rest is the usual litany of hospital paraphernalia, drips, tubes, dull prescription medication, questions, questions, questions...you know... "Are you suicidal? Did you intend to OD?"
"No, Nurse, no intention. I'm just a retard"
"Have you ever OD'd before?"
"No Ma'am, I'm not that much of a retard" (Nurse rolls eyes, snaps clipboard shut and stalks off muttering something like "fucking junkies.... I spend 4 years in nursing college for this scum"
And so on ad infinitum onward towards abject humiliation and cringing embarrassment...
So, that's what happened.
There's something I want to make clear, prior to the two weeks mentioned, I barely ever used, just once for less than a week, and in that case the Do It Yourself Bathroom Rehab worked a treat. I am a recreational user I guess.
I know that labels give a certain type of person the feeling they understand things, so here's one for you, "Sir Fudge Esq is a recreational user who moronically, fucked it up". I don't think there's a question of physical or psychological addiction. It will be quite a number of years before I'm able to face the love of my life again. Get me?
To all those who offered to be my new Cunta Kinta, the short answer is thanks, but no thanks. I have 3 Cuntas I'm very happy with. Mother types are an instant turn off.
To all those condescending cunts who gave me lots of shit and got off on presuming the most sordid stuff while feigning concern: Fuck off.
To anyone who held a bitch fest at my expense: I really don't fucking care, not now, not ever. People like you are just nasty scum.
To all those who sent calm, supportive messages, emails, and DMs expressing sincere, non intrusive friendliness: thank you. I can't really express how much they meant to me, although being intelligent and sensitive, you would know anyway.
And finally, yes, I know I am a Fucking Idiot. That's a given I freely admit to. So if there are to be any comments for this post, maybe demonstrate your intelligence by not stating the fucking obvious?
Hey All, Best Read This First:
Greetings and a warm welcome to my blog.
First things first
This blog contains words and references offensive to those who never made it through the maturation process.
The intellectually and psychologically impaired will find nothing here to enjoy.
If this applies to you, dear reader, you're welcome, and strongly encouraged to leave now. No hard feelings on my part.
I'm trying to make this clear to the 'boo hoo brigade". If you CANNOT grasp this simple concept. This page is NOT FOR YOU
REPEAT: WARNING: BLACK IRONY. NASTY SELF PISS TAKING HUMOUR. FUCK OFF NOW IF YOU CANNOT UNDERSTAND THIS. I WON'T MIND. EVER.
*PS: I'm pro Palestinian, pro animal rights in a way that pisses many people off. You should consider fucking off now if you object to this kind of thing.
PS This blog is not really fit for human consumption, it's best read as it was written, drunk on vodka or otherwise high as a kite...Enjoy...