Drink Drank Punk

So... I couldn't sleep. Wow. Not really a surprise. Thought about taking some benzos to get me off to sleep, but I think it's all bad. I'm going to stay away from all of that shit for as long as I can, or unless this insomnia thing gets way out of hand. It's annoying as fuck.

Last night, I was puking my guts out on the pavement of Tompkins Square Park. I've been sick there once before, but that was 2 years ago. I was lying down, my other wasted friend Steven was flicking water on my face, keeping me awake, making sure I didn't pass out. Excessive alcohol consumption + caffeine + 110 degree weather = lots of puking. The first time I puked I was half laying down on the ground, the second time I was sitting up on a bench, and ended up puking on my boots. Nasty nasty stuff. My friend Milo was kind enough to get me to the subway and buy me a ride. I don't like drinking. Milo and I both have done a lot of drugs, I was (I'm pretty sure) yelling at him about how I hate alcohol and how I'd rather just get fucked up if I'm gonna be puking like this, etc. etc.. I think I was also harassing hipsters as we walked ot the subway. A water covered, vomit smelling, drunk punk kid being held up by her much larger, biker/GG Allin looking friend--we must have been some sight. Haha, but it was all in good fun. I've felt like shit all day, but i don't know I'm feeling a bit happier right now. I was down like an hour ago, but I think my mood has leveled off.

I got into Trash Bar this week to perform as well. It's this obscenely difficult to get into bar that hosts a lot of punk show, and being my 19 year old self, I was a tad concerned if I would REALLY get in. But my bf's band gave me stuff to carry, so that got me in the door. Once I was in the backroom where the stage was, it was super dark and I figured I was finally in the clear. Then some guy came up, one of the workers who checks ID. He asked us all to show him our IDs, and I was like: FUCK. I pretended to look for my wallet in my bag and calmly stated to my bf P that I must have left it at his house. The man then started shining hte light in my face, and asked me how old I am. It went down something like this:

Him (standing over me with a flashlight): How old are you?

(shines light on my face)

Me (bending over my bag, stand up): I'm 23.

(He continues to shine the light in my face)

Me (sticking out my tongue and opening my mouth wide): I feel like I'm at a Dr. appointment. How does my throat look?

He then laughed and stamped my hand. And history was made. In my mind.

Anyway, I'm going to try out this whole sleeping thing. Here's a poem I wrote tonight. It's terrible. Enjoy!

Another junky-child asleep on the asphalt

I could hear her shrill silent scream

It left the air empty

Like the dry heat of summer

I curled up in a ball beside her

The shallow moonlight lit the gray tracks of tears on the sheets

My loneliness played across the room

I tried to remember why Paris always seemed better at night

But then I let out another silent scream

For relief of this yearning

The deep-seated, empty belly syndrome

That left us on our knees every night

Praying at that empty altar

Waiting for a moment

Of pure silence

After the sermon had stopped

I found myself surrounded

By these thoughts

Too numerous to stop

The rambling of an amphetamine brain

But without the amphetamine

Tears seemed to fall slowly

Rolling down as if to savor the moment

That feeling of pure desire

The roll and ebb

Flowing up and down my spinal chord

Playing my body like a harp

And leaving my brain to reel

Now there is no scream

Just silence

An empty mind

Which now only simmers.

Trading Sleep for Writing

It feels so good and so bad at the same time. I feel like I’m trying to pull apart my brain, figuring out how to compartmentalize my life. Shoving out the bad thoughts, and trying to let him in so that I can wash away the dirty feeling on the back of my neck. I thought I was doing so well, but I’m back at stage one. All I want is to get high. Not when I’m around him, when I’m around him I could just be sober forever. I feel like I just use people as bandages, as something in between drugged out delusions. Every day I seem to wake up and hate myself a bit more, hate myself for pretending to be clean. Yeah, I’m not Chloe, I didn’t OD last week, but damn, I’m not sober. I’m just bouncing from day to day hoping that I’m too tired or like myself enough to just go to sleep, so that I don’t have to actually work to stay away from shit. And when it’s sitting in your bedside table, you can’t help but think “just a little, just a little bit more.” But one day it’s all used up, and you’re more gone you realized. I know I’m not special. I’m just a product of the suburbs, the place that probably provides the best childhood and then the worst youth in the world. Right now, I’m so tired, I’m just going to go to sleep. Sober. And when I wake up, I’ll feel better. Maybe. Hopefully, that’s the one thing I want some more of. Just a bit more hope.

To be Young (Is to be sad, Is to be high)

I turned off all the lights. The only light was from the computer and the TV--of course on mute.

"To Be Young" is the only sound. Running my fingers through my hair, I turned on the light.

I usually get high at night. In fact, I really only get high in the evening/night. I like the alone time, in the darkness, no one there to bother me. That is the one bad thing about me and like speed because damn, it is stupid to do speed in the evening. It wasn't the clean all night feeling I got from E, it felt dirty. I felt the sweat pouring off my body noticeably. Now obviously, my speed is a lot less combinations of drugs than E. But still, that's uncomfortable.

Honestly, I know why I'm getting high tonight. It's because I just have been seriously hating myself for the past few days. I feel like my self-loathing creeping up my back, over my shoulder, and around my neck. Today's started with the fact that, honestly, P does not fuck me as much as I would like. Perhaps it the age difference? Perhaps he doesn't think I want to? But, it makes you feel like a royal asshole trying to lead someone on, and they are unresponsive. We only fucked like TWICE. GODDAMNIT, I AM 19, THAT IS NOT ENOUGH. Haha, seriously though, now I have to like talk to him about it, which is fine, it's not that big a deal, but still kind of sucks. And then he kind of nicely hinted that he wanted me to leave. Granted, I did spend the night and stayed at his place until like 6 or so the next day. He is my boyfriend, and he does have to go to bed early since he does go to work at 3 am, and I'm sure he just wanted some time alone before he went to sleep... yeah, alright. So, that actually makes sense. I just don't want to feel like I'm somehow hassling him with my presence. I don't know. We're hanging out on Friday. Whatever. I still feel shitty. I will feel the same when whatever I decide to pop wears off. And now maybe I won't. Maybe I'll go to sleep. It's more of a thing taking them the actual effects of the drug.

Well, I'm going to go decide and either way just lie down.

Goodnight...

- Lucy

Hightime

I'm high. My mosquito bites are itching like no other. That's what you get for smoking weed in the woods at dusk. It's alright though. I kinda forced my friend to go to the woods to smoke, I like it there. It's quiet and calm, lots of bunnies and raspberry bushes. When I was a kid, my best friend's family always went hiking in the woods every weekend and I'd go with them. Walking across fallen trees, and picking berries, and running after the dogs. I know being from New Jersey, people don't think of that kind of shit, but that's how my child hood was. That's how my town is. It's all surrounded by woods. Behind my friend's house, there's a reservoir in the middle of the woods. We went swimming there a week ago. We smoked right before, and I only went in to my waist. I don't like how weed makes me feel anymore, almost ever. It makes me want to curl up in a ball and sleep, I sweat, feel like I'm gonna puke. I don't know why.

Mike and I aren't dating anymore. He relapsed. He didn't tell me. A mutual friend did after we broke up. The last time we were dating and hanging out, I knew he was high. His eyes were pinned from first seeing him. When we were on the bus, he said he had some oxy. He then proceeded to show me the pills as we sat side by side. I didn't really want to do them. And I said that. But I also didn't want HIM to do them, however, I knew not to say that. If you've had your mind set on it, you're bound to do it. He popped them both in front of me. Now, first off, he called them "roxy" which they're not. They're not roxycodone, which I did a few years ago, they're little blue coated pills--with an ambien like shell. They're oxy. The same kind I did tonight. Fuck man, I don't even know if I want to continue this story. He scratched his stomach until it bled later on. He dumped over the entire ash tray as he nodded off. He treated me like shit. I would rather been booted in the face, than go through that again. Fuck. Whatever. I saw him two weeks later at this big show they have every year in NYC, called "Punk Island." It's fun. Hot. Poorly planned. But free. It's fucking punk island, you can't expect much more. He was surprised when I wasn't "friendly" towards him. His eyes were pinned. He looked at me dull and glazed, and I threw fire at him. I didn't want to see him.

I haven't been high in a long time. On oxy. I did try speed for the firs time like a week ago. And when I said speed. I mean SPEED. Dextroamphetamine. Actually, I got a hold of some shit from the 70s, these dexamyl capsules. What they are is a combo of dextroamphetamine and amobarbitol. Basically, the speed keeps you wired/happy/talkative, while the barbiturate keeps the edge off and is supposed to help you get to sleep. Well, I was up for like over 24 hours, by the end I wanted to kill everyone in sight. C'est pas bon. I don't know, I have two more, I told my friend that we'd do them for this concert that's coming up in August. Should be interesting if nothing else.

Also, the most interesting news of recent, is that I am dating someone new. I'll call him P. He's cute, funny, driven (he's in 3 fucking bands, and has a full time job, and does stand up comedy), 28, and super fucking nice to me. I mean, he's just an all around great guy. Which is what I need after all of Mike's drama. But he only like smokes weed and drinks beer. So, I don't want to do drugs while with him... this is the first time. I got it in my head. I had a pill. Whatever. Just once, without talking to him or anyone else (besides all of you... or just myself... or whoever ends up reading it), isn't so bad.

I feel shitty about myself. I guess. I don't know how I landed him. Everyone is so fucked up and yet not. I've made some more friends in the punk scene, which is cool, and I guess normal. There's this one girl though, she reminds me of my friends from high school who were all super druggies. Like, I have to say, I have a sense about teenage girls who do drugs. There is just a vibe. I don't know. This morning I woke up. P laid there curled up facing away from me. It was one of his two days off per week, I wanted to let him sleep. I looked at him though, and I just felt like he didn't want me (now remember he's sleeping) to touch him. Like he just wanted to get away from me. And I laid there, and thought to myself Yeah, you're just a junky piece of shit. He doesn't want to be anywhere near you, you junky piece of shit. ETC. ETC. ad infinitum. That's the one mantra that I have. It fucking goes off whenever I feel unwanted. I do believe it and I don't. It's strange. I feel good though. For now. Fuck I feel good. It doesn't bother me right now. Nothing does. I feel a bit guilty, or I will, or I did, but right now I don't.

I watched the skyline pass by my train window tonight. The sky was a green gray and I felt like it all made sense. Because it does. I am home. Here. America. New Jersey. My hometown. New York City. And as I sit besides my friend on the curb side, her head sagging against her knees and she drunkenly sleeps, I know that there is no other place for me to go. I am simply here.

I hope you all have a lovely 4th of July!

This probably is super disjointed. I will add more sense to it sometime this week. I promise. I'm going to try and blog once a week from now on. I think it's good for me.

Check ya later,

- Lucy