Bang-zoom

This month...

Paranoia. Sucks. It sucks. It drives me nuts. It rewires my brain. I focus on every minute detail. I want to wash the countertops of my mind clean. I look for dust. I sweep the floor of my mind and replay it over and over. Paranoia is like a disease. Paranoia. Paranoia.

This afternoon...

I found a diamond ring in a public bathroom today. I thought about taking it, I looked at it. I was all alone in the bathroom. I left it there hoping that the woman would run back and realize what she had left. I imagined it in my head. I felt bad for thinking about taking it, even though I didn't. I hope she has it.

This year...

It's dark in the world. We sit and we watch. 

This morning...

I stood on Ned's stoop for 20 minutes this morning waiting for him to answer the door. I watched as people walk by me, the eyed me. They wondered why I was waiting on a stoop looking anxious. I can't help it. I'm nervous. I don't like waiting, I never have, never will. It doesn't matter who it is, where it is, I know I look sketchy when I wait. I stood on his stoop and looked at my watch. I looked around. I looked back at my watch. I stared at the ground. We got pizza and I burned the roof of my mouth really badly. It's still sore.

This evening...

We were sitting on the swings. She said, "Yeah, I can tell you don't really like smoking... I know what you wanna do..." "What do I wanna do?" "You wanna... drop some acid..." "Sure..." We swing more. I think she's in a bit of denial because she knows. Or at one point she did. I remember once she actually asked me about It instead of just scolding me. It was a while ago, so maybe she forgot. Maybe she just pretends.

It's a long journey from A to B

My leg hurts. I haven't taken my medication in 3 days. The tightness in my joints is slowly building up. It's a cycle that I get into. I take a hit for pain, but I don't feel like walking across the house for my medication. Right now it's lasted for the last two days, but today I will take it. I have to.

I really want a shower. I feel dirty. The TV is spewing ideas in my face that mean nothing and I'm trying to write a paper, but I should be showering. I'm going to be staying at my friends house tomorrow, so I won't be home until wednesday night.

My brain is jumping around and won't focus. It wants to work on the paper, but also think about everything else. I've always been this way: a day-dreamer to the greatest degree. My mind won't focus and it wants to do summersaults and cartwheels instead of typing a work cited page. 

I'm wearing a long-sleeved flannel shirt that I bought a week ago at the Salvation Army. I like it a lot. It's warm enough to wear on the train and in class, but not as heavy as my regular canvas jacket. It's making me sweat right now. Sometimes I wear long sleeves shirts, not because I have anything to hid, but just so I won't have to see the scar from the surgery. I feel like it brings up too many memories for everyone around me and they get more suspicious of what I'm doing when they see it. They pick through things I've said, movements I've made, and they're all connected to that scar. If I hadn't gotten the abscess they wouldn't know now as much as they do (which is really only a slight hunch they have). I don't like seeing the surgical scar. It's not mine. It's weird but I miss how the skin right there used to look. Puckered into a little hill, or pushed into a valley. I knew it was mine. I had done it. This arm doesn't feel like mine. This arm is someone else's and with that, the mistakes I've made must be too. This can't be me.

Today was the future yesterday

TODAY:
I met Ned at the subway and we walked over to a diner on Bleeker. He was nice enough to buy me lunch: pancakes, sausage, and coffee. I asked about going over to Tompkins Square Park, he looked at me, a bit puzzled: "Why would you wanna go there? It's full on sketchy." I smiled and said: "Well, I've never been there and I want to see it." He accepted that and said that maybe we could go there tomorrow. It's a walk a bit farther than we want to travel.

We walked over to class and slowly I felt my back becoming drenched in sweat. It's the same as every other day. The farther we walk the more soaked my back becomes. We bump fists and go to separate classes. I sit in class and stare at the board, my professor has a particularly funny example of a baby genius: illustrated by a baby with an grey wig and a moustache. It's an entertaining classes. I ask him if he will give me a recommendation for college, he says that I will have to wait and see until after class is over, but he says that the paper I gave him was good. I smile. I walk out and I pull my fist down in moment of triumph.

I hit the street and Ned and I slouch back towards the subway. We fist bump again and I wander back home. It was a good day.

My mother just walked in and warned me about drinking coffee everyday: "... because if you don't drink it one day, you'll get bad headaches. I mean really bad headaches." Good advice.

YESTERDAY:

I baked her that cake for her birthday, it actually tasted pretty good... I know it's not the most impressive cake decoration, but I tried hard. I think she really liked it. I gave her a Kitchenaide stand mixer, so I used it to bake the cake. It's a white supreme cake with dark chocolate fudge frosting. We only had 6 candles in the house, so I put them all on.

SATURDAY:

Anthony and I did go see the Dark Knight, which was pretty good. I don't know if I am as enamored with it as everyone else is, but I did enjoy it. We were bored afterwards and so he came over and we watched the first half of Trainspotting. I was driving him back to his house afterwards and he turns to me and says, "Do you think heroin smells bad?" I just said, "I'm sure it doesn't, or, at least, not any worse than most things."

Nothing much

This website confuses me to no end. It's not the actual use of it, I just don't know how to go about finding blogs that have topics I want to read about. I don't think this should be this hard. In fact, I'm sure it's simple but yet I can't find the answer.

I think I'm going to back a cake for my mother today. Then I will go out with Anthony. I'm kind of afraid for some reason. It's weird but today just keeps reminding me of last fall. There's a feeling that I don't really understand.

I guess, I'll write more about today later when something has actually happened. = )

Pisces

We got home late. Ned had gone home half an hour earlier and now it was the four of us. Tanzen, Rosie, Kendra, and I. We sat around Tanzen and Rosie's kitchen table. Kendra was trying to make an anagram out of my full name. Every few minutes she would tell me another word and we would attempt to put together a fragment. Tanzen drank a Corona and had some more vodka. I didn't realize that most vodka is only 80 proof. I thought that it was more. Tanzen and I had split her flask of it, each getting about 2.5 shots in a bottle of cranberry juice. I chugged mine to minimize the taste as we sat in the park watching the play. Now back at her house she sits and drinks the Corona, though I think it's unnecessary and dumb. 

We discussed our zodiac signs. My sun and moon are both in Pisces, also this is the age of Pisces. My ascendant is Gemini, Venus is in Aires, Mercury is in Aires, and I think that Gemini is in Mars (but I could be wrong). Pisces are prone to drug and alcohol problems, I joked that that's all Tanzen and I needed. It was meant as a joke. It was supposed to be ignored.

Tanzen (my friend, who I talked about in "ping-pong") turned and said, "Well, you've already had one. So maybe you'll learn and it won't happen again." She was serious. Dead serious. I shuttered internally. I've only told Tanzen about It. Kendra stops writing, "Wait. What?" 

I ignored it. I pretended that there had been nothing said. 

Tanzen does not understand. She has no clue. There is a difference between her reality and mine. She doesn't understand that you can't tell people about these kind of things. She tells people that she wants to try heroin, I told her that people won't understand and that she shouldn't. I've told her it's different for people like her and I, we have a different view. My life is secrets, I know that, but she doesn't. I want to tell her, but I don't. I want her to understand that you can't say those kind of things. I feel embarrassed. Drugs are embarrassing. The A-word is embarrassing.

I swallowed that hit that I had been saving and got two more for later. I feel pretty good. I feel it in a good way. In a great way. I think I'm going to watch some Trainspotting and forget. I want to forget myself. I want to forget you.

Cogito ergo sum.

Craig Ferguson is on right now. He's good. He's so good. Haha, I enjoy it more than most shows. Tomorrow I'm going to my friends house. It'll be good. I'll spend the night. And I'll be happy.

I'm not looking forward to class tomorrow. This writing workshop is kick my ass. We're workshopping my essay tomorrow, so I'm a bit afraid of what they will say and I really just don't care. Philosophy will be fun as always. I'll probably say something dumb like, "It sounds like there's a party in my soul." Haha, I really think I'm going to major in philosophy. That's not surprising at all.

I bought a used Velvet Underground album today. It's blue. It's pretty. Haha, I haven't listened to it yet, but I'm pretty psyched. Vinyl is nice. Vinyl is so solid, you know that it's real. You can't deny that it exists because you can hold it in your hands.

Ping-pong

I feel like I bounce between wanting to recover and not caring. On one side, I know that recovery will make me less paranoid, more of my own person mentally. But on the other side I don't want to leave everything, there is a reason why I keep coming back.

It's funny, today was a bad day and a good day. Bad on the level- all I could think about was getting high. Good on the level - I hung out with people, bought a new shirt, went to class, and generally didn't feel too bad besides... well, you already know. I felt very content, but everyday that I move from my last hit makes me nervous. I don't know why I'm scared, but I'm terrified. I lay in bed and I wonder what I'm going to do. It makes me think of the song "Success" by Iggy Pop: "Here comes success/ over my hill." That whole feeling of, "Yeah, it's coming." But I don't know. It all makes me feel young. I don't know how to say it other than that. I'm too young to be dealing with this stuff, but I am. I think about years in weird ways now, years seem short and don't really illustrate time. Time is long and idle, time is like those minutes that don't end but seem to sit and wait.

My scar is really itching. I had an infection in it last fall, it's purple and pink and the skin itches a lot. Honestly, there's nothing like getting an abscess to make you feel like a dumbass. It's like, "Oh... that was dumb..." I knew there was something wrong, but nope had to get a fix, so I just stuck the needle through it. Fuck it hurt, but I mean, you take the hit and then you don't really care. It's weird. It's so weird to think about it. It was my own damn fault, so I mean, I paid for everything that happened afterwards and I guess before it.

There's this kid I know who is always telling me how she, "would try heroin." Now, that scares the shit out of me. Here is my friend, someone who I would risk my neck for, but she is saying this shit. It's weird to have to talk someone out of it. I think she just says, "well you've done it, what's the big deal?" I don't know how to get through to her how bad it is. Ya know, it's like, I can't make her see it. I just wish she wouldn't say those kinda things, it scares me to think that it could be my fault. That's how I would feel. It's one thing to fuck yourself up, but it's another to hurt a good friend. I simply do no have the right to destroy someone in that manner. I wouldn't turn her on or anything, but I just would feel like I was responsible. She is the only one who I have ever been completely honest to from the start about my own use. (It's funny but I can't seem to say the a-word, it's like if I think it it's one thing, but I can't get myself to write it). A-D-D-I-C-T-I-O-N. Holy crap... I don't even want to think it. I want to erase, but I won't. It's the truth. I can tell truth from lies better than ever before, that's the other change that I've noticed. Once you plead the same case over and over you know how you lie, to hear other people do it is funny. I guess it's not a good thing, but I can see it.

Would it be ironic to say that I'm in a much better mood after writing all of this? But, I do, I feel better.

It's a mental twist

It's been bad for the past week or so. Extra bad. The kind of things that you read about in books but you don't get to experience first hand. Unless you're a junky. It's funny but a lot of the time I smell things that remind me of shooting up. That's the weird part, you can't predict it. I can't tell you what's going to make me want to get high, but when it happens it hits home. I haven't taken a shot since January. Not that I didn't try. My works are all busted up and kinda gross, and the scar tissue on my arm with the good vein is really painful and makes it even harder. I think that the farther you get away from doing it, the more you romance it. You don't think about stabbing and stabbing and stabbing your arm, you just think about the high afterwards. The biggest problem with people who haven't tried opiates is that they romance it. They think of Trainspotting or something other movie and they think, "wow, those guys seem so cool. I could be like them..." But there's no reality in that, not that there is much reality in anything.

I have gear but I keep not using it, which is weird in itself. You'd assume that if my mind was focusing on getting high all day for a week I would just use it, but I can't seem to. It's this whole thing where if I use I won't have any more and I'm afraid of that. I keep saying that I won't use, but I say, "On thursday I will." Then thursday rolls around, "On saturday I will." I keep pushing it back, but I guess that's a good thing. Or something. I really want to, I'm just afraid of not having any gear.

Another weird thing is that I haven't really been thinking about shooting up until last week. You see, I usually just snort it, or swallow a pill, mostly because of my problems with my arm. But this week I just kept thinking about it. I just kept picturing the spoon and watching everything kinda swirl and the cotton and watching it become empty. I see needles and I want to puke. I want it. That's all I want. I want it so bad.

If you wanna hear a good song, which makes me chuckle: "Not If You Were the Last Junkie On Earth" by the Dandy Warhols. I just kept listening to it on the train today over and over.