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

Wicked Gravity

It's what I think I like to have, haha. No just kidding... okay, so it's 11:04 am... I've been awake for 14 minutes. Kind of. I wake up periodically during the morning, and once I've decided it's enough I wake up completely. Technically, I first woke up this morning at 6 am, since I left the black out curtains open and only the sheer one was left--if my room wasn't on the first floor (European) and so easy to see inside I would've left both curtains open.

It's now 11:24 and I have tea and chocolate rice crispies... yeah. The smell of weed is climbing from the concierge below me and through the cracks beneath my window. Smells pretty good. I wouldn't mind a hit. Perhaps. I'm very weird about weed, not much of a fan in general. I started snorting percocet at the same time my best friend (and in turn, me) started smoking weed, and I didn't get it. I just didn't understand why you would want to have such a shitty high. Didn't make any sense to me, still kind of doesn't. But, I still enjoy it occasionally, as long as I don't smoke too much because I have a tendency to get burnt out--which always feels to me like someone is just squeezing my skull until it's supposed to pop and that the world is way too much for me to even understand, and usually I just try and sleep it off. It reminds me of how it used to be when I would take vicodin all through out the week and then not do it on the weekends. I would just get super intense headaches, and at first I didn't connect the two.... because I was a retarded 16 year old.

Anyway, it's now 11:46 and I have to work on this paper showing Jim Carroll "my Paris." I've decided that I might as well take a little to get me in the right mindset. Haha, or something like that. Something incredibly false. I don't know, I'm doing the math... as per my usual neuroses. 3 codoliprane = 60 mg/30 = 2 pills of 5mg of hydro. Isn't that beautiful? I did place out of college math, guys, I'm obviously a true winner.

12:03... my friends just got back from Barcelona and Rome. And apparently, I'm going to go get sushi tonight. It's expensive, but I didn't buy any chicken at the grocery store because it was all expired already. I have 20 euros in cash... so... yeah. Fuck, I need to refill my navigo today, so that I don't have to wait online on Monday. A Navigo is like a metro pass, you buy a month or two weeks, and whatever zones in Paris/the banlieurs you travel through. I only have to buy two weeks because in two weeks I will be home! Home and free and probably asleep, since it will be around 6 am. Mike will hopefully be there, also hopefully asleep, he usually doesn't sleep very easily, besides when I'm around or when he's high. And we need to avoid that last part, haha...

Fuck, okay, I'm going to start this paper and not go back to sleep, which is what I did yesterday, but that was because I was upset. If I get upset, I can make myself go to sleep, and so that's what I do and pretend that it's not going on.

Check ya guys later!

- Lucy

ADDENDUM:

2:13 pm... my friend got back from Amsterdam yesterday and brought back weed. I love having friends who will trade drugs for hanging out.

Like a Rolling Stone

My boyfriend isn't talking to me at the moment. He is sleeping or resting... his excuse? "I was up late last night on acid." I'm sorry, but that's a shitty excuse. I don't get why he would think this is an acceptable reason to not be talking. I mean, I'm not saying that how you feel after doing acid is a totally social one, much more about sleeping and chilling, but I don't like being put on the back burner. I've been up since 7:40 am, biked around 10 km into the wind (you don't think that's important until you feel like you're being pushed backwards by the hand of Zephyr), and eaten an assortment of different foods. I'm sorry, but if I can be awake, then he should be. I know he doesn't mean anything by it, and it's not a personal thing, but it still pisses me off because I make myself available to him, even though he doesn't seem to give a shit. So... yeah, I guess I just have to remind myself this isn't directed at me, it's just how it is.

My face is sun-burned... I have a black eye. Well, a bit of a black eye. It's not a very badass story, it's not much of a story at all, really. I couldn't get my eye makeup off because I didn't have any makeup remover, and so I attacked my face with a towel. Now the area under my right eye is swollen and raw. La Rochelle and Ile de Ré was beautiful. The water was cold, as the Atlantic always seems to be (being from NJ, and having felt it also in Ireland). The towers and buildings had stood since the 1400s and 1600s, raising up above the blue water like sand castles. It was picturesque. Quaint. The people were a lot friendlier, although the drunk assholes on the street were just like Paris. I think it's a French thing to be loud and obnoxious for no reason. My friends and I were all having a good time on the metro until about 40 guys came on to our car. They were all French, but of African descent, and were obviously out enjoying their Saturday night. Suddenly, one guy started to grab this girl by the waist, putting his hands all over her; she--luckily--was not gonna take it. She pushed him off and grabbed her friend and got off the train. Another guy then begins to yell at the gropey one, and we watch as a fight begins to ensue in between the area where my friends are all sitting. I'm watching this, trying to keep my face completely immune to the scene, while secretly horrified and terrified. At the next stop, half of them ran out (along with the gropey guy), and I imagined this was when the gropey guy was gonna be beat up, so hopefully he got what he deserved. I just hate the shear lack of respect for women here, it seems to be all Frenchmen. It seems like they feel entitled to some kind of sexual response from all women. I don't get it. Probably never will. It pisses me off though. It makes me wanna show them the error of their ways. It's one of the major reasons I dislike France.

One of the perks of going away was time away from work, so I read one of my new favorite books: Forced Entries by Jim Carroll. Technically, I was reading it for school, but it was amazing. I love it. I love Jim Carroll. To me, he is the mind of New York. As I read, I listened to the Velvet Underground, the band that truly is magic if you listen to it as you walk down the streets. You feel their high, and slowly your feet are lifted off the ground and wherever you're walking, is perfect, you're perfect, and you can feel the pulse of chance down every street and avenue. I want to get back to the City. I've realized why I don't like Paris. For me, New York is a place of possibilities. Every time I end up walking around, something occurs, and my friends and I are off on an adventure. As we trek from borough to borough, drunk, or high, or simply confused we meet the characters that now make up our late stories. The strange nomads and pansexual EMTs, the smack heads and squatters (usually, one in the same), and at the same time we meet our own opportunities for a breath of a new life. Suddenly, we're climbing over subway turnstiles and stumbling home, walking the dark streets of Brooklyn or Staten Island or occasionally Manhattan, home. When we arrive, we recount, and lay down, and fall into the lap of the City that will create us anew in the morning, ready for that day. I'm ready to be back home and feel the beat of life beneath my sneakers.

I'll check you later,

- Lucy

I'm Not Down! (the song/lyrics... because it's awesome!)

If it's true a rich man leads a sad life
That's what they say, from day to day
Then what do the poor do with their lives?
On judgment day, with nothin' to say?

I've been beat up, I've been thrown Out
But I'm not down, Oh I'm not down
I've been shown up, but I've grown up
And I'm not down, Oh I'm not down

On my own I faced a gang of jeering
In strange streets
When my nerves were pumping out
I Fought my fear in, I didn't run
I was not done

I've been beat up, I've been thrown Out
But I'm not down, No I'm not down
I've been shown up, but I've grown up
And I'm not down, No I'm not down

So I have lived, that kind of day
When none of your sorrows will go away
Go down and down and hit the floor
Down and down and down some more
Depression
But I know, there'll be some way
When I can swing everything back my way
Like skyscrapers, rising up
Floor by floor, I'm not giving up

So you rock around and think that
You're the toughest
In the world, the whole wide world
But you're streets away from where
It gets the roughest
You ain't been there

Haha, it's like my song of the moment, I just keep listening to it. = )

I'm not down!

Apparently people are reading this right now, and I'm posting because my afternoon class was cancelled and I need to make up for my lack of writing lately.

Life is crazy as the semester is winding down. It's the sam

e old same old, lots of papers and tests, and shit I don't wanna do. I should be making straight A-/As this semester, so hopefully that'll get me into the Dean's Circle (it's an organization for people who have a certain GPA, we get to go on a trip and stuff, but only a few people are selected for it)... At the moment, I'm working on a paper about Jim Carroll, one of my favorite poets/singers/authors. We have to pick a famous (and

dead) person to show "our" Paris, too. They're always making us right bullshit about Paris and our experience here and blah blah blah. It's as if they imagine that if we all write about Paris, maybe we too could be a modern Ernest Hemingway or something. This only inflates the heads of all of the boys here who already think they are him.

Mike's alright. He was going to meetings, but some girl said she would give him two bags of H if he could get her a needle. So... yeah, what'd you think he did?

Devinez! Devinez!

If you guessed shot two bags of smack on Sunday, well, you'd be correct! Good job!

What I think is funny is that when he does things like sign off immediately, or a few other tell tale actions, that I don't realize what's going on. When he did that, or talks about watching his friends do drugs, well, no shit he's doing them too. Boys are dumb...

At the moment, I'm not doing drugs. Although, he's now offered to get us H for when I get back, which is kind of putting me in a weird place.

On one hand I think: Wow, this would be awesome... I really wanna do it.

On the other I think: Fuck, terrible idea. This will only screw me up.

I don't know, I can't tell if the two bags he was talking about were the ones he has, or ones he plans on buying. I'm not gonna say anything about it to him, even if he brings it up. I refuse to let him know what I'm thinking about shit like that, mostly because: A) if you're doing drugs with a boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse/life-partner, you definitely don't want to be the one who does not have the connections because that makes you vulnerable... and B) he supposedly wants to be clean, so I don't want me giving him the OK to go ahead and get more drugs. I'm not saying that I control his actions, but it could be the push he needs to go buy more shit, and I'd like to keep myself out of that position. Haha, I know that the A reason is pretty far down the line, but I like to be

logical, and that definitely could be a reality. The other problem with Mike and I doing drugs is that he completely discounts my experience. This is coming from the same guy who couldn't fix himself the first time at fucking 19, I was doing that at 16 by myself. He can barely handle seeing blood. I may not have sunk as low as him, but just because I have been better able to keep myself out of the places he's ended up doesn't mean that my experience is completely void. I just hate being treated like I'm some kind of unexperienced child, and he's some kind of sage-like figure. Fuck that shit.

I haven't slept for the past two nights, and I have almost no homework, so I'm thinking that today I could just fucking kick back, take some shit, and not do shit for the rest of the day. Besides doing laundry, which needs to be taken care of today... or I'm gonna, well, begin to smell... not really. I just will have to wear my less desireable clothes, haha. Not that I'm some kind of pinnacle of fashion, fuck, everyone here thinks they're soo fancy. It's kind of nauseating. I really wanna vomit on a lot of them. Especially some of the Europeans, who think that they are just so above all the Americans, it's really ridiculous--as if France was some kind of pinnacle of good living, let's look at one of the most racist, anti-semetic, and judgmental countries I've ever been to. It's honestly offensive. It also has some of the scariest men ever, I have never feared men, not pulling my drunk friend off of Avenue B at 12 at night, not walking down Jersey St. on Staten Island at 3 am, it was never like this, where every man I see I am afraid is either gonna yell at me, or throw water on me (as one did), or simply give me creepy stares.

I want to get back to NYC! Summer in the city, that's all I want. = )

Well, I'm gonna go do more nothing,

I'll check ya later,

- Lucy

P.S. the first photo is of Mike and I... he will try and say that he's not extremely mushy... but he is (I consider that photo, exhibit A). And the second one is actually of me back home at Dunkin Donuts!!! I miss it so much...