Bored... ... ...

.
I mean: I'm bored. Like picking at the wall bored; or laying on my bed just staring up at the ceiling bored; constantly thinking of calling my dealer bored, while in my head going: No, no, I can't! But knowing that yes, yes, I will. I look at the TV – nothing interesting there. Think about writing – that makes me  fed up ever more. I stare with contempt  at my bookshelf – now I'm  depressed as well. I let all my muscles relax and slump back down,  making huffing sounds and calculating how I can make not enough money go even further. It's impossible. “No, no, I can't!” I tell myself again... Unless I walk to work every other day, smoke only a third of what I usually do, and live of pasta and butter. Then I could. For a moment my boredom had left. My unrealisable planning and conniving had kept it at bay. But now it's back, and so is the ceiling and it's EXACTLY the same as before. I light a cigarette and smoke it laying on my back letting the ash drop from its tip and crumble all over me. I hope I burn myself. I hope I set myself on fire. How I feel right now I'd just lay here, stare at the 60 watt lightbulb as I burst into flames. Ha! That'd be perfect. I could blame someone for that. The one thing I musn't do is move, get up and dial that number. That number that this is all about, that the thought of calling is drilling down into my head, trying desperately to find some brain matter to connect with and overpower my helpless and unwilling body. I hope it does. God, please let it do so! But NO! That number I will end up dialling I must not! And I must get this stupid idea of a pasta diet out my head because it's returned, and each time it seems a little less impossible and a little more manageable.

In the space of the last paragraph and these words I have been dressed and stripped twice. Both times it was the same. I jumped up and said “That's it, I'm going to phone, fuck it!” As soon as I was dressed I kicked off my shoes again, wandered around the room, rested my held on the cold glass of the window pane, then went and slumped back down on the bed. I closed my eyes and thought of the brittle winter sun.

The killer is this fucking boredom. A kind of cancerous restlessness that has invaded every cell of my body. I am not thinking of anything. I'm certainly not thinking about unbuttoning my jeans and taking my cock out. That would be madness. Yet here I am, trousers off, flapping my dick about, doing strange things to it, trying to sustain a hard on while looking at the ceiling which isn't a turn on at all. My cock gets a little hard, but hope doesn't stay too long around here and just as quickly it's limp again. That's due to my wandering mind. I leave it be, out for an airing, as bored as me. Instead I pick more paint off the wall and lay suffering in the dull afternoon, sounds a humdrum in the distance.

I'm staring at my phone. I shouldn't but I am. In my mind I am going through all the angles again, trying to dredge up some deciding factor either way. Only that must be a joke, as this moment was decided eleven years ago, as the Millennium night exploded to my imploding heart and I lay in the dark sobbing to the fireworks and the bright colours in the sky. It was all decided then – even before... way before. I cry sad tears. It doesn't seem right. I let them roll. I should definitely call now. I need to call. But I musn't call. I won't call. The tears have dried, idiot! Don't be such a wuss! We can all think of sad things, especially on afternoons like this; especially when we're bored. Get up and fix the apartment, find a film – like last weekend. Enjoy  it. Think of writing – live and exist of this day – let the boredom make boring literature. Oh I WILL!!! Thank God I'm alive! I jump up, back into my trousers, but it's hopeless. Even pulling the leg on I almost can't be arsed. I don't bother to button them up. What's the use? I'm not going anywhere. Only I am. I know it. You know it. The whole goddamn world knows it. That phone which is laying near my head, which I intermittently pick up and bite and suck and play with in my mouth, which I dial my dealer with then kill the call before it rings, we all know will very soon be used to order smack. That's how this piece of writing will end. Every junkie knows it, every reader knows it... even the fucking keyboard knows it. This is a fated piece of text, and not even the unpredictability of human behaviour can stop it. So why try?

Bored! God I'm bored. The bed feels uncomfortable, like all my muscles ache. How long have I been laying here anyway? Have I been crying? I feel like I've been crying. Or concentrating. It's hard to tell. I think I have a cold. There's only one way to fix that. My stomach hurts. I want to sleep. I Can't sleep. I'm so sure  I can't I haven't even tried. I'm bored with trying to sleep. I need for it to just happen. I can make it 'just' happen. But no, no I can't. I musn't. But fuck, oh fuck, I know I will... we all know that. Oh my God, what is this energy that is suddenly in my body? What the hell am I writing? What the hell am I doing?

My jeans are being tugged up, I'm jumping into a nice fit. Jumping so I can't think. Shirt on, tucked in, scrunched up. This is it... I know from experience this is it! Fuck you bare naked walls! Fuck you unread boring books by shit authors! Fuck you 7 million films none of which interest me! Money, money money... Where's the money? Don't think about it! You've thought about it and decided this. It's OK... it works out. Shoes. Where are my shoes? There's one, where's the other? Phone Sonia first! If she says an hour find the shoe while time's passing. Cigarette. I need a cigarette, just in case she doesn't answer straight away and this doesn't end here. Fuck, it's ringing! Was it even me who dialled? Yes!!!! That's her voice and there's mine. I can hear it like I'm not in my body, putting an order through for a very bad end to the month. Fifteen? Fuck, I'll be there in ten. I'm coming. Shoe, where's my other shoe? Jacket??? Fuck, where's my hat? Money? Phone? Ah, my shoe! Brilliant. Heel trodden down, no time to fit in properly now. Gotta run. Worry about shoe and comfort later. I'm rattling my keys... I'm turning off the light.. the door is open and the dull afternoon opens up to a blast which is me hitting life. I'm not bored now, oh I'm not! I kiss the wall, turn off the light, close the door, don't bother locking it. I'm on my way, I'm going... Fuck, I'm already gone, running, unbored as hell, chasing life, chasing smoke, chasing dreams, chasing ghosts, alone, totally alone, and I'll see you all sometime soon or maybe in no time at all....


X

46 comments :

Sailor said...

And you'll shoot the boredom away, feel good for an hour.. let your mind wander, count the days until you can next score..

There's just so much fucking time but not enough, and so much that needs to be started, or finished. It's easier to compress the boredom into a need that can be satiated with a chemical reaction.

I feel ya Shane. xx

A Moms Serious Blunder said...

This may sound odd but I would invest in a playstation or even find a game online to become obsessed with. I personally love "Words with Friends" Jewel Quest" and all these hidden picture ones. It worked for my son, he said at times it stopped him from using. I have totally get the whole bored thing...

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

A MOMS SERIOUS BLUNDER... well that's another one you've just made...I'm not sure I've ever been given such terrible advice as that (and I'm being polite there.) I know you mean well, but I don't think getting addicted to online games is anyway to stop using heroin (if you want to stop, which I don't.)What advice then would you give to someone addicted to Tetris? Start using heroin? All My Best Blunder Mom, Shane.X

JoeM said...

Tristram Spencer linked to this on Facebook.

I KNEW that guy was faking it...

Chef Green said...

All too familiar, sir, all too familiar. The "do it, don't do it," dance. Glad you got your jollies old man!

The pasta diet won't be all that bed-hell, you live in France! Throw some local herbs and oil on it and call it a treat.

karl said...

Boredom is an enenmy for sure, it's one I've lost to, too many times I care to remember. But boredom is also a state of mind as I'm sure you're aware!
But then again using has become more of a treat, something I deserve after a days graft, my entitlement, my right, some people go to the pub, watch tv, or make matchstick models, we all reward ourselves in our own ways. Only problem is gear tends to destroy our humanity(or part of it anyway) The price of becoming an addict has become too much for me, that's obvious. I don't want to give it up but the cost (not just finance) has become too great.

I've enjoyed your posting as I always do!

Respect xKarl

Anonymous said...

why don't you do something outside of your house to keep your mind of things for a while (...at least until ur next score)?

I don't know...a part-time job..? (speaking of that and I'm sorry for the indiscretion - and if you don't what to answer it, I don't take it wrong - but do you work at all? That's one of many things that I've always been curious about you...on how do you manage to finance your habit.)
Or creat a routine: go out for a walk or idk, do something besides taking paint of the walls and laying on your bed :/ I really have no idea what to suggest to u.

besides boredoom, are u okay? how have u been shane? :)

kiss kiss,
V

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Hey Sailor, I don't think we shoot the boredom away because it's not a boredom of that kind.. it's not a general boredom with life. In fac it's not really a boedom at all, it's almost theopposite. Rather than not wanting to do anything or not knowing what we want to do, thte problem we face is knowing exactly what we want to do and yet being in a situation where we can't or shouldn't do it. Also, for me, that feeling only ever exists at very certain times: when heroin is possible but gonna be a huge struggle. When it's a definite no-go, when there's not even cash to contemplate buying, I swallow my methadone and get on with it without a second thought. And it's not only in relation to heroin where this behaviour occurs. There is one other time where we, certainly men, have that exact same feeling: when we want sex and our partner is acting as if they're oblivious to our wants. Laying in the bed forhours with an obvious hard-on while listening to the pages of a magazine being turned and rustled, cigarettes being lit, movements being made but never touching you, a gentle voice asking "Are you Ok? What's the matter?" Then after hours of that humiliating yourself by asking with an embarrassed smile: "My Love, could you give me a wank?"

It's the same.

So anyone who can relate to that feeling can then relate to what it's like laying there wanting to get heroin but your mind not making a definite move either way. X

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

hey Joe, yeah I know... and it was quite a Spencerish piece... in fcat, It if we removed the heroin angle it kinda mirrored about 75% of his life! X

p.s: I'm going to start using Tristram's facebook as my own... so my FB account will be under that pseudonym.

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

hey Chef Green, yeah you're right about he pasta thing, and actually I really enjoy just pasta and butter. I more mentioned that to give people an idea of what the toss-up was between. It wasn't scoring or using that was the problem but more wanting to but not being in the position to. Some non-users interpreted that post as trying to restrain from using heroin when your brain wanted to. They took it as a battle between the addict and the drug... bu it wasn't about that at all. I was purely about not being in a position to get what you need without sacrificing the next week to extremely low living.

Love as always... and that 'murder' post is in the works but I kept getting waylaid by other ideas which came faster and easier. X

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

hey karl, for the first part of what you say:

I refer the right honourable gentleman to the answer I gave a moment ago(see sailor).

Concerning the cost of becoming an addict I don't think addiction comes at too great a cost. I think that the things we must/sometimes do to maintain that addiction are what costs us deeply: sharing works, not using sterile equipment (water, fresh needles, etc), having to shoot street smack, having to use harsh burning agents to cook down the smack, the financial cost, the way we administer the drug (often only because it's more economical).... these are the things which endup costing most addicts dear,not the addiction itself. If you look at the life and the health effects of street addicts, say compared to long term prescribed morphine addicts (prescribed for severe pain), then the difference is much clearer. Both are opiate addicts, both administer the drug in the same way, but the latter group have a normal life expectancy, hold jobs, have families etc, while the former group are mostly dead or wasted by 50, the majority can't work because of their habits or probs associated with it and often homelife/family is torn apart because of the consequences brought about from maintaining the addiction. maybe an even better example is the nation of addicts America spawned in the early 1900's when heroin was legal and sold as a magic 'cure all'. The problem was so great, yet so unnoticeable that the government couldn't even begin to give statistics of how many addicts there were. because heroin was so cheap and easily available the addiction itself caused very few of the problems it causes addicts today. People heroin habits were no more bothersome than a tobacco habit. So I think it's not really the addiction which costs us... though I know what you mean.

All My Thoughts, Shane. X

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Hiya vanessa, oh you don't have to suggest anything and really there is nothing anyone can suggest that will be of any help as the problem is very specific to that moment (see my reply to Sailor).

Yes I work - full time, and have always worked since I was 15. Apart from a six month period between 18 - 19, and a year off in 2004(arriving in france) and another year off (2009) I have worked continuously (though not continuously for the same firm!) I don't speak much of work because (a) the writings here are not about my working life (unless it crosses over to heroin) (b) when I write of something I do not like to have to hide names and details and there is no way I could write of work without hiding all those things. Because I write online under my real name I have tremendous problems getting employed - EVERYONE googles prospective employees now. It's almost impossible for me to find work because of that. So the last thing I want to do is have my current employer coming up in searches to my site and then reading that i'm shooting heroin in their toilets. If you read carefully, more the comments, i do occasionally speak of work and what I do.

Other than that I fine... spring is on it's way after what must have been one of the mildest winters on record.

All MyLove and Thoughts, Shane. X

Anonymous said...

These last 2 posts have my crying with laughter. I'm sure adicts have another brain in their fingers..i think we are more octopus than human

xxx

JoeM said...

I think that period in the early 1900s when Heroin was over the counter must have been very interesting. I wonder if there are any books about that, fiction or non-fiction.

I don't know if I've mentioned it before but Long Day's Journey Into Night is a great film. Set in 1912, it's about the Opium addicted mother (Katherine Hepburn)and how it affects her husband and two sons (The eldest is alcoholic, jealous of the younger, creative, consumptive brother - his difficult birth being when the mother first got hooked on Opium).

It takes place over one day, is three hours long and will seem very slow to today's Transformers generation. But I loved the way the family slowly realises the mother has started using again, the way her past usage is remembered - either howling at the moon if she ran out or floating about like a ghost, the way she goes from denial to slowly not caring.

It was originally a play,based on author Eugene O'Neill's own life.

Worth tracking down.

Discount pharmacy said...

I twitted this article.. Great

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

I wrote this article.. Even Greater

Sailor said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Sailor said...

P.S 'A moms serious blunder'.. Never on Memoires has a name so accurately summarized a comment.

My little brother is addicted to online games and all it's 'cured' him of is any social interaction skills and an actual life. Not sure how gaming addiction is any better than substance addiction..

Chef Green said...

OH Shane, I know exactly what this post was about. I was just injecting a little humor, of course. Things have been a wild go, lately-on the wagon off the wagon, and then burning the wagon. Fuck the wagon. Hahaa...Wishing you well good man.
CG

Chef Green said...

Also, I very much look forward to your "murder" piece. You threw out such an interesting hook there. Regardless, I'm happy with all of your words-that which comes easiest is often the best.

Anonymous said...

Two years later and you're the same junkie loser who has nothing and has accomplished nothing. Pathetic.

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Hey Anon,

If success is being retarded, spending two years reading every word and space a junkie loser typess, spending more time writing to him, filling in captchas, returning to see if the comment is published, hanging on for a reply... then you're a star. Well done. However, here's a joke for you:

Q) What d'you call someone who has nothing and has accomplished nothing?

A) Anonymous

Hahhaha.... Take care and good luck with the Mensa tests. XXX

Anonymous said...

Wassup S! Love the way you swat these anonymous 'shit flies' away and makes me laugh how they read your stuff just as loyally as any of us and can't stay away from your words. Now thats success: when your enemies come back for more. Waiting on this 'murder' post you've mentioned, hope it's not another abandoned piece? keep well Daaawwg...B.

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Anonymous (crying with laughter)

When I started writing they were intended to be deadly serious pieces, but writing sometimes means you have to actually look at your own behaviours and after looking at mine the texts could only then end up as tragi-comedies... XXX

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Hey Joe, I'm desperately trying to track that film down but with all the problems with Megaupshare, Fileserve, etc (not sure if you're aware they've all been closed down or restricted) getting films online has gone from too fucking easy to too fucking impossible! Something's going badly wrong when you have to try this hard to break the law! But I'll persevere... i've found a 17 file download and am slowly nicking it. X

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Hey Sailor,

I can't write when I'm bored or craving. I have to deal with those issues before I can be creative. AArrgh I'm doomed!

We're all the same.. we can only write when we're writing. Though if you do ever manage to write while you're bored or while you're happy that's called multi-tasking and can help you into a nice cushy office job. Seriously though, I always think that if we can maintain our self-awareness through our mental states then we neverreally waste or bore away any time. Boredom and disinterest are interesting moods, and like any mood where not gonna capture it while it's playing out but after. So I just make sure that when I'm bored I watch the boredome, and when i'm junk sick I watch the sickness, and when I'm in love I watch how pathetic I become and when I get hit by a bus I .............. ...........

XXX

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Chef Green,

I owe you an email... we'll catch up there. I owe everyone emails... I'm even in the red there! XXX

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Hey Anonymous(wassup)

'Shit flies'??? You must've been reading WFJ!

Well these anonymous cowards come around and just by anonymously commenting or even commenting as 'X' tells you immediately they are idiots and haven't even thought through what commenting even means or that they've been more moved by my words than the majority of people who read them and move on silently. So when you have someone who's already an idiot it's not too hard to make them look like an idiot... the jobs already half done. If on the other hand people just come here to type nonsense then they are marked as spam and I don't even have to deal with them - their nonsence is deleted with the handbag adverts and russian porn links. X

Sailor said...

Sorry. deleted my comment. Was a late night, frustrated, caffeine fueled rant. One of those 'lofty
incantations which in the yellow morning were
stanzas of gibberish.'

Obsessive self observation is a curse sometimes. I read through my old pre-junk journals last night and realised that opiates have stopped me being so introspective, sort of semi-laminated my brain. I don't think I even know what I think of my thinking anymore. Heroin lets me drift through in a haze without observing and analyzing myself constantly; I keep my mind occupied making money and chasing dealers instead.

I'm scared that hacking through my gauching somnambulism will reanimate the lonely solipsist in me, but I need her in order to write.

Blah blah blah.. Maybe I should restrict my stanzas of gibberish to your Aunt Agony section. ;)
Xx

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

hey Sailor, it's not about being obsessively self-observant, but just tokeep enough self-awareness to know what you are doing and to be awareof all the forces that are converging on you and pushing you in here, and over there and weigning down, etc. I don't know, apart from a hurting heart I've never really tried to escape anything with heroin... itjust kinda balanced me out and I suppose made me think a littleless about death and time. But one of the saddestthings I ever see is someone coming out of a 30 year addiction, starting to write about it/speak about it, and you realize that after all those years they've nothing to say and only have clichés and myths to tell of. It's like they were there dancing but missed the party. It's sad. It's sad because that's 30 years of life and if you didn't come out of that even able to give some real, original insight into the more subtle aspects of addiction then you really did lose, and you really did lose yourself and it was a totally selfish endeavour from the start. When we're outside in the city, screaming and crying and asking for money.... if we don't even realize we're doing it, then we've lost our soul... but not to heroin; to life.

I think if we have any artistic pretensions at all we must be on the offensive against this loss of Self.. and even if we don't know the place where we wake up, it's important to at least know how we got there.

X

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

PS: maybe it wasn't heroin that made you less inrospective.. maybe it was growing up??? That has that effect also. When we're young we are discovering ourselves and our place in the world, and as the years pass and we become more comfortable and accepting of who we are it's normal we stop looking in so much. My journals are exactly the same (only, er... i never wrote any journals) but if I did they would have been the same! (i think)

X

Calamity K said...

Hey gorgeous!

I read that and it was like reading something I wrote myself (yes, unzipping the jeans included. Girls do exactly the same we're just more coy and 'elegant' and extremly secretive about it.

hmmm, the only thing I'd say is that being on subutex, you have to be more preplanned about such ventures (and I know from disappointing experience, buprenorphine is a a selfish drug and likes to occupy all your enorphine receptors leaving no room for other opiates/opiods for at least 12 hours and even then (especially if you're a chaser) it would have to be good stuff before you get anything.

I think most of us do stuff cos we can. Once the warmth and numbness and wholeness of heroin is an option why wouldn't you do it? Stimulating our endorphin receptors are our motivations for eating, reproducing etc. So when you find a way to REALLY stimulate them, why would you not? That's my challenge to people who don't understand why and opiate addiction is so complete.
Of course what us addicts are aware of is it's not real (although I could level the same accusation at some relationships I've had).

Anyway, I totally got what you said and yes it was inevitable. As inevitable as when I only took half as sub (4mgs) at 11pm the night before. So, I'd not be sick in the morning BUT would be able to consider using by lunch time if I wanted to.

That said, I've had many days when it's easy not to bother. Especially if the gear is crap. But even not dependent on that, some days are just piss easier than others.

xKx

Calamity K said...

PS. Pasta and butter? Puleeese!

That's when I most resent heroin! Good food! I love my food!

Although my dad was a schizophrenic, controlling, maniac that didn't have a clue about bringing up a girl on his own, the one thing he did know about was good food and it was the only time I genuinely saw him happy so it rubbed off on me. I refuse to live on shite. I can make a banquet out of very little (tho pasta and butter is laying it a bit thin! No garlic even? C'mon, you're in France man, can't you steal some off someone's neck???

Sorry, good food has to stand next to heroin. I'll walk to work, I'll pick fag butts off the street and recycle them with baccy paper but proper food? That's where I have to draw the line. The pleasure from a tenner bag compared to £10 worth of fresh groceries? I could make the most indulgent banquet with that! Cooking is much like art, you know when you got it right. It's a very sensory, instinctive process.

xxKxx

Calamity K said...

Hey Anon:
'Anonymous said...

Two years later and you're the same junkie loser who has nothing and has accomplished nothing. Pathetic.

3 March 2012 04:09'

I think our heroinhead is lovely, I can't say the same about you though! Who are you?

Tiffani said...

I score, I check up on Shane.

I get high, I'm bored so I check on Shane.

End of the day. Check up on Shane.

Look out onto the Thames, I think of Shane so I check...

I'm sober, bored and reeling. So I check on Shane.

Catch up with politics, the latest fashion and culture. I wonder how Shane is doing, so I check on him.

Tuck in the drunken man on my sofa. Give him a kiss, then I check on Shane.

But after days of waiting and waiting. I check again and it's the same. You don't need checking on, you're a big boy. But you touch and inspire (you know this) on top of those death threats and kisses from abroad.
Thank you. For every post. It's taken me balls to (poorly) write this.

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Hey Tiffani and welcome! X

Oh, it sounds like our days are quite similar:

I score; check up on Shane. I get high; check up on Shane. End of the day; check up on Shane. I'm sober, bored and reeling, so I check on Shane. I'm tired; check up on Shane. Tuck myself into bed and cross my fingers that the morning comes...

I suppose this has become the place to wait and just when you think it's stagnating a post will appear. I used to try and feed the starving but it only led to rushed posts and words not saying very much. Now I only post when I feel I've written something worthy, and though it can maybe get frustrating for those who want to read new stuff, it's ultimately better as I think people only want to read new stuff if it's worth reading. I much prefer writing like that also... not having the pressure of having to hope poetry comes when I sit down to type - it's an unwanted distraction.

You never need balls to write to me and you certainly don't need good grammar or spelling... just a heart and something to say. Without Spellchecker I'd be doomed myself.

Thoughts and Wishes, Shane. X

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Hey K! X

Gorgeous? Me??? God,you must be hitting it hard!

Men are coy and elegant as well... at least we don't wank at the window that is (well, not all of us!) Some of us even deny doing it at all, but men have ALWAYS been wankers and the latest generation is a vintage harvest in that respect.

Yeah I hear what you're saying about the subutex... methadone has some blocking qualities but isn't quite as greedy by all accounts. I've only ever used meth as a substitute so i can't compare them myself.

Concerning chasing, when Winehouse died I thoughtof you and that idea you once had to chase her portrait across foil. It's a pity you never did it. I mean you still could, but it'd look more like trying to cash in rather than having captured the direction of a certain wind. I don't know if they can carbon date smoked heroin, but if not maybe carry out your portrait and back date it! All great artists cheat.

Inevitability... yeah,it's like saying "Oh, i'm not gonna get smack just want to check my balance." Then before you've even retrieved your notes, your phones to your ear and you're asking "Are you around?" It's fun. I said once before: the junkie may lie to others, but it's nothing compared to the bullshit he tells himself!

e.g:

Pasta and butter's great... Indeed, it's one of my all time favourite meals!

Take care K... Love and thoughts, Shane. XXX

JoeM said...

Hope you got that Long Day's Journey Into Night download. I see there's a multi-part one on You Tube, but the bits aren't clearly numbered.

It was on TV recently here. I imagine it's the sort of thing they put on prime time in France!

Calamity K said...

Hey Handsome (keeping the theme going but might need a thesaurus soon). And actually, stuff whether it's drugs or booze I think makes people say to much or too much of the truth but I was doing neither.

Amy Winehouse portrait. Yeah, I should've done 'Chasing Amy' ages ago but it just takes a bit too much discipline and is kind of hard to do when you've had to resort to a s'Mac Donald's toilet so you don't keep wretching. Also, I tend to destroy all evidence of my escapades (the black stuff underneath gets everywhere. I've come out looking like I work in a coal mine before! Liked your jibe about carbon dating though).

Yes, the lies are amusing. What I hate is when people think we don't know that we do it. It's something we can laugh about, almost feel sentimental about and tell stories of varying self-deceptions but some people like to think we're in some sort of denial when in fact we're being totally frank and conscious of the fact.

I came to appreciate the term 'monkey on your back' cos that is what it feels like. I find it's been in my head before I've been aware. But equally, I've found it easy to resist sometimes (esp if the stuff about is crap, really, am I that stupid to want to burn money for no reason? Only very occassionally). I've even said no when it's been under my nose. It depends how I feel at the time, what my priorities are. Boredom is a huge factor as is a sense of futility, pointlessness etc. Also, I've sometimes realised I've only seen a dealer cos I was lonely! And you know they're not exactly great company, most you will get is monosylabic but that's how lonely and bored I've been. I've gone to get out my home and see another human being however briefly and make contact, however briefly.

Sometimes, though, I've just done it cos I wanted to or could. In the same way as one would wank, cos it makes me feel good.

I'm going thru a lot of shite right now with housing, job, security, where the hell am I heading etc... so might be bit quiet.

Take care sweetie
xxKxx

yas said...

loved the post, keep it up!

sent you an e-mail to see how you are, hope alls well

yas xx

JoeM said...

Here's a clip from Long Day's Journey that sums up the four characters brilliantly. Great lines:

There is no cure! They never come back!

Who are you to sneer - there's a map of it all over your face!

God, that was my life story - with me of course as the young frail creative handsome Dean Stockwell character!

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Hey Joe, No, I've still hadno luck getting the film. I was 9 parts and 2 days through my download and the fucking 10th part turned out to be a corrupt file which means I'd wasted my time as you need all the parts or you can't extract the film. Not sure if any of that makes any sense... I'm not sure I even understand it!

The Young Frail Creative Handsome type. We should have met years ago Joe... we could have had two kids and ruined each others life by now. God, I'm pessimistic at times! Oh, we would have been happy! X

Memoirs of a Heroinhead said...

Hey Yas, I replied and also replied to your comment on the latest here.. X

JoeM said...

Well, Long Day's Journey will always be there, somewhere (long after we've gone). Maybe one day it will turn up on Late Night TV or something.

The Young Frail Creative Handsome type - ha! If only. I was thinking of the young Dean Stockwell in the film. Very James Dean (who I was mad for in my teens).

Yes, being happy in the ruins seems to have been a common theme for us.

And of course we'd probably have divorced over what religion to bring the kids up in...

eyelick said...

Boredom for you is kind of similar maybe for me - call it "feeling idle." Pacing the house, sometimes looking at random websites over the phone, sometimes not. Feeling like there's something to be DONE, but not having the motivation or focus to do anything, but too antsy to just sit and watch a movie. And during this time there's the big struggle of drugs vs no drugs.
-More drugs aren't affordable (being a rationing type of person)
-But that would give you something to DO!!! And calm you down!
-Oh, but not for long, and what about what to do later? And having enough down the road
-Oh, this will make it so you can just sit down, or motivate you to focus on doing something. And you'll raise money by the time it's needed, and can cut back on other spending. Or just do less a different day.

All the back and forth, all the while trying to think of Something Else. Do something else. Sometimes "rationality" prevails, sometimes the inevitable is just delayed.

Anonymous said...

I feel you too. The agonizing ecstasy of boredom and desire, the ecstatic agony of giving in and getting what you wanted. Groundhog day. Ground Zero Point. Ground down. Ground control to Major Tom: over and out. This has been a Heftman hock.