I’ve not been keeping up with this as well as I had hoped to. Things stopped going as planned.
I tried heroin. I liked it, though I was hoping I wouldn’t. I haven’t done it again since, though that doesn’t mean I don’t plan to. Bobbie wouldn’t let me shoot it the first time, though I was really wanting to. He said he doesn’t want to accidentally cause my death, so he would rather me build a tolerance first. He said first I’d need to spend this week building up my tolerance to opiates – so that’s what I’ve been doing.
On Sunday, I tried heroin. I snorted two lines of it over the course of the day. I then spent the night with Bobbie, in his car, because he’s homeless. Monday, we did some running around. I finally got to do some of my old dope, my preferred dope, my drug of choice: meth. I snorted a line of meth around noon, and around 10pm that night, Bobbie cut me a line of opana.
It’s been a rough week. I went to therapy on Wednesday, which hopefully will help. I don’t go again til near the end of next month, though… And today I’ve just been dragging by. I’m high, and I don’t even know on what. Bobbie pulled out a pill while we were hanging out and crushed it up.
“What is that?” I asked him.
“It doesn’t matter,” he laughed.
And he was right, it doesn’t matter. Eventually, as an addict, you stop caring. All that matters is someone told you this will get you high. So you snort it, shoot it, smoke it, take your pick – that doesn’t matter either. All that matters is that I’m running from my sober mind.
Sydney might be going to jail tomorrow. Jeremy is already in jail. Bobbie might be going to jail on the first of next month, just four days from now.
And there I’ll be, alone again, just like before, just like I’m always afraid of.
I can’t cope.