10th day or so I think, more or less. Methadone withdrawal is mild but lasts too fucking long. Didn’t go on the trip for obvious reasons. The supply is dry. I’m fucked. This fucking sucks. Pain all over. Achy bone pain. Eyes tearing up, flooding like Katrina. Diarrhea, well that’s better than constipation but loperamide fixes that a little too good. I have maybe half a pipe full of kratom, a quarter bottle of liquid codeine that is probably 5-10 years old and diluted with water, 2 2mg loperamide tablets, a 2mg lorazepam, half a bottle of benadryl, and a few pounds of poppyseeds. I could probably score some tramadol or bags or something but I am broke, which is my own fault for blowing it all on drugs. This sucks. I get to smoke several bowls of weed everyday and during those times withdrawal doesn’t bother me a bit.
I’ve picked up a habit of sleeping for days at a time. I don’t mean this figuratively I mean 24-36 hours of sleep. There may be a 10-minute awakening in between and then I realize “I’m still fucking sick, I’m still fucking broke, and there is no methadone, I’m fucked, back to sleep.” And it’s been working alright except I might as well hang myself if I’m to seriously pursue this routine. I don’t even feel like wasting my time with poppyseeds or anything. It’s an incredible challenge to even do anything that doesn’t involve going back to normal and poppyseed tea isn’t going to do that even if it just makes me feel “not sick” or “just a little bit sick” that is no substitute for feeling “good.”
I listen to the radio a lot and a lot of the nuts late at night the few times I am awake. When I do choose to be awake it’s usually during the night and then back to sleep during the morning. This must be the life of a nosferatu. Withdrawal is hell. It is the antithesis of what opiate agonists do and when you acquire the almost daily need for them for years and then cease to take them you experience the exact opposite. Is this what Epicurus was against? The pleasures that are hard to acquire, while good, are in the end not good because it is hard to maintain or acquire and thus results in more pain, the polar opposite of all that is good in life. But that would only be true if opiates and opioids were in fact difficult to obtain and they only are because of the artificial control the government places on the free market and on our individual freedom, our right to take the plants and medicines that we choose to use. If the government minded it’s own fucking business I would not be here sick. So no, opioids and opiates are not evil. They do indeed induce real pleasure. If I was allowed to do what I wanted to do on private property I could grow opium or synthesize opioids. Synthesizing drugs or growing plants do not violate other peoples right to their life, liberty, or property. So why must the government interfere and violate my right to life, liberty, property, and my pursuit of happiness?
In the end it doesn’t matter; we are in a controlling, “mind everyone else’s business,” snitching, rat society and the only way out is death or revolution. There will be no revolution only death.
I was still sick when Jim stopped by and had me find coke for him. He smoked weed with me and crack and that made things a little better. We took a drive to get some more weed and met one of his friends from a few cities away. He would only do things for Jim if he bought him beer. So we went to a bar and we all drank and then took a drive and smoked some crack laced weed. Afterwards we stopped at this girls house who Jim’s friend had no clue was a junky. But within two minutes of being there I ended up finding out they sold bags regularly and that they had bupes. I couldn’t get them down to a price that Jim and I could go in on but I gave them my number and told them to call me the next day. They never did.
By that time the methadone supply was back and I was doing alright again. Heather came over looking for bags and we smoked and drank. I went to the liquor store and got some cheap rum. Before Jim got off work to give us a ride to go look for bags she was already occupying my toilet throwing up everywhere. When Jim got here we ended up taking her with even though that meant driving around with an unconscious girl in the back seat. He was only able to pick up vicodin so I took 4 on top of my methadone and we smoked more. The one night Jim drove Tate out with Heather and I so he could pick up some 100mg morphine pills. Heather got a bunch of them and gave me one and on top of my methadone it was pretty good.
During this time Krist was trying to persuade me to take a bus out to Seattle or Portland and meet him and his friend. He was broke so by the time I’d be able to come up with enough money and drugs he was in some homeless shelter in Salem. I guess one night they took acid with some guy they had met at the shelter. They ended up speaking gibberish and the preacher who ran the place got them to sign a paper taking them to a mental hospital. They thought it would be fun. They went there and met someone who ended up bleeding from his asshole, this was because he was feeding his asshole with a fork and had gotten the fork stuck up there and it had ruptured his asshole. When the acid wore off and the insanity of the place took over they decided to leave and snuck out the fire exit. Now they are in California.
I’m really sick from something. Probably a result of using too much opioids. I don’t have any insurance but if I did I hate doctors and hospitals and surgeries done under anything less than total anesthesia. If things don’t get better soon I may have to hang myself. But there was a good chance I would have done that anyways. If I get better I want to try and get on the methadone clinic for real this time.
