I'm sick of this Hopping the Wagon shit, really. I can't even bear typing that out anymore and I really hate this nonsense of diaries of withdrawal. Actually when I started this blog I promised myself I would never do daily posts like that, for no other reason that it's just boring junkie addict crap. It makes me cringe! I really don't care about getting clean, not to that extent anyway.
So I'm stopping these posts and stopping thinking about how many days, hours and minutes since i last used. It only brings it closer to mind and only makes using even more attractive.
I've more interesting things to talk about than that... I'd rather tell you about the woman on the 5th floor of the apartment building across the road and how at 3am each morning we raise cigarettes to one another and blow smoke rings to the heavens. You'll learn more about life through little stories like that than crappy journals about quitting which really just repeat themselves every day. I just can't continue writing that kind of garbage.
All My Love & Thoughts Shane. X
ps: If anyone is wondering where today's earlier post went, I deleted it. It wasn't even worth the virtual space it was written on.
Another change of plan...
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12 comments :
Shane dont be so hard on yourself.. write what you feel like writing.. You have a way of making even the mundane interesting so just go with the flow.. Hope you are feeling better xx
I caught today's aborted early post, it was good! Did wonder why it stopped mid-sentence though. So that's all the loose ends tied up then x
junkie diaries are totally boring, you're right, especially if they're countdowns to feelings and personally i don't think i've ever read a journal aout how absole kak and desperte the feeling of drying sweat, or the mad spaciness that occurs when you're facing the cold white light of the sun, the listlessness and bad moods. i'm guilty of the same thing. we jus seem to gloss over them when writing about the big shitty comedown. i read russel brand's bookie wook and he made rehab and withdrawel sound like a god damn picnic. come to think of it, i went to a doctor once, who was supposed to be a leading expert in the field of addiction who wouldn't prescribe for me buprnorphine or methadone as he believed withdrawel from heroin was no worse than a bad case of the flu, hahaha. whatever. anway back to my point. the best way to get around the frustration and mundaness of a diary centred around addiction, all aspects of it, is to be poetic in your writing, like de quincey or cooleridge. its when you (not using it in the personal sense but generally) write about gadonk gadonk general kitchen sink stuff, be it anyaspect of your life, that it becomes boring. metaphor, original thought and a view from the other side, the side where a dog is not a dog is a dog stretches the reader and the writer to the ends of the edge and across the great beyond.good art, photography, film and music all do this without having to paint by numbers so to speak. romance, idealism, surrealism anything that shifts the cerebellum, the lobes, the lost cause...
ps i have to comment here as my email is down and dusted
sterkte my french connection sterkte (Afrikaans for good luck but i also like the way it can be translated wrongly to strenght)
i know how this goes. no need to explain.
another day.
I hate everyone, especially me. Love is a lie. Promises are verbal vomit. Diaries are destiny’s joke. Humanity is a dark disease. Hell is other people. Conclusion: Shane, you must be an alien. Drugs are jewels, life’s treasure, the only true pleasure.
Shane,
I love the cigarettes at 3 a.m. story. It's very endearing somehow.
I just want you to be happy. However you are most happy (with junk or without), it's your life. Live it however you choose.
Love you much,
SB
I was a junkie for close to ten years. I thought I loved heroin--thought it made me happy. It was nothing but an illusion. Heroin is a golden prison--but you are still incarcerated by it. In the end, it's a cruel and demanding--and very selfish lover.
I read the deleted post (which I really liked - very honest, especially the bit about abandoning the post mid sentence the second the H contact phoned back). Then I clicked on the two comments and couldn't get on to them, which must have been because you had deleted just then. So now it haunts me that I'll never know who/what those comments were.
For a time the deleted post with the unobtainable comments and the post saying it had been deleted were there at the same time. I knew if I 'refreshed' they would disappear. So the two comments were sort of there but not there, like M.R James's Room 13...
Joe, here you go, magic:
Mtyler said:
Shane, I hope you can find the strength to stop using--both heroin and methadone. I just hate to see you suffer. These posts of yours inspired me to write an entry, which I am currently working on.
These posts make me incredibly sad for you . . . you are in my thoughts and prayers.
Melinda(ville)
Kympton said:
hey dude
I guess that the package was small but strong, the universal language of all junkies that make there junk by leeching on others..its as though your habit has a parasite clinging to it, and its sucks some for itself everyday...
So The Internet really IS like Room 13.
Nothing in it ever disappears...
I think that it's all been said already. I wish you the best.
I know what you mean though. it's too hard to be reminded of yourself. of your feelings. of what needs to be done. just feels like there's no point in writing anything at all because i still don't listen, and it still never resonates enough to try.
and that's soul destroying.
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