22 days of legitimate sobriety...

So... I haven't blogged in forever because summer was insane lots of boy shit lots of drug shit lots and lots of shit.

But I'm now in Paris, and I'll get back to what went on over in a bit for those of you who don't know. SO I'M HERE.

I am fiending. I am fiending like I always do without drugs for a long period of time. Not that I would really know what a long period of time is, I did like 3 months sober two springs ago, but I started up again because I just can't seem to stay away. Umm... so yeah, I'm stuck sober. And I guess I'm staying sober because I know that I can't do drugs around Mike, and I like him enough that that matters to me. Not that we're together right now, I just know that if I started doing anything serious back in NYC he would either begin doing it with me, or he would cut me off from him completely. That's the upside and downside to have a cleaned up junky for a bf. He pisses me off occasionally because he talks to me like I'm some little puppy, as if I didn't know that if I (me, not the general I) started doing smack I would get hooked. I wanted to be like: oh, thanks, because obviously I don't know how my own fucking brain works, and hadn't figured that out for myself before.

I see the junkies on the metro here, one guy had a really fucked up arm, scabbed up with shadows running all over it. I just sat there feeling sick, my stomach has been fucked up this week. Everything in my digestive tract seems to get liquified, I've been getting the sweats too, and feeling dizzy... WHAT THE FUCK? I really don't know what I did to my body, and why it's sending me these signals, which I usually translate into: WHY THE FUCK DID YOU SHOVE THAT INTO YOUR BLOODSTREAM MORON? But at the moment, I'm clean... but it's bad.

I'm not clean for the right reasons, and I think this is gonna end in a crash and burn when I end up back in NYC... because right now all I wanna do is get high. I wanna get high so bad. I have a sleeping pill I swiped from this guy, he didn't want it, so I figured he wouldn't notice it was gone and def wouldn't blame me... I looked up what it was, sadly I gotta swallow it, but ehh, I figure I'll save it for a day that I'm in need.

I keep getting bad drugs dreams. They were bad in August, still bad now... I just miss drugs. I want them so bad. I don't want to have to deal with the inside of my mind. I just want to delete it all. I WANT TO HIT THE FUCKING BUTTON AND ERASE MY STUPIDITY AND MY ISSUES AND MY WANTS. I wanna pretend that I'm not me for the next few fucking hours and put my mind on hold.

I just told Mike I had a blog, not like he's ever gonna see this shit. And he was like: oook, straange. And I wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up, 'cause he can be faulted for a lot more shit than me blogging.

Sometimes, I just want to do smack just to spite him, just a little, just for him thinking he knows everything there is to know about me and drugs. We kind of admitted to each other that we wish we could just get high together and lay around in his apartment together... which could be followed by another story where I passed on nodding out with him there, which kind of sounds like the nicest thing ever. I'd love to wake up and see him there. I had my wisdom teeth out, and shit, anyway, I didn't do it, figured that A) I wouldn't be able to fuck and B) don't need to do that in front of him, when he's working hard to stay clean.

I'm thinking about December, going to TX, I know my family has some things to my liking in the medicine cabinet, I stole some last year... but I felt REALLY guilty. Like, probably the most guilt and embarrassment and shame I have ever felt in my life. I can't even explain it.

The other night I was laying in bed, and I was thinking about being sober, and how I could be possibly facing a life with no more opiates. ever. Never ever gonna feel it again. And I cried. I'm not even gonna lie and pretend like I can handle things like that normally, because apparently I can't. I can't do drugs like a normal person. I can't fucking handle anything. I fucking cried.

But I didn't tell Mike. I feel bad. I feel just ashamed that I'm so fucking weak.

Whatever.

I'm weak.

I'm 18 and I wanna 'experiment' (yeah, right, we can pretend it's experimentation, I'm still young enough to call it that)...

BTW, I STILL fucking hate uppers. I did x. WHY? Because well, Mike was doing it, and his sister and her husband were doing it, and it was fun... kinda. But my brain was like YOU ARE AN IDIOT, AND I'M DITCHING THIS SHIT. I swear to god my brain wanted to jump out of my fucking skull...

Well, anyway, I'm alone in Paris with my classmates... I'm a cleaned up junky... am I junky? WHAT THE FUCK AM I EVEN? I DON'T EVEN KNOW. I just want the wanting to stop. I want to be normal. I hate it.

Fucked up in the big city,

- Lucy...