#1 ·
MY LITTLE HEART IS SO LONELY!
Been MIA. Stuck in the heroin sludge. Every day’s a loop. Wake up around 11 AM, hit with a withdrawal, trying to figure out how to survive the next few hours. It hasn't made sense for a long time, but living aimlessly has been my whole vibe forever... maybe longer than that's even a fair way to put it. Had to stop thinking about myself or my life just to keep from losing it, which is why I haven't posted. Otherwise, I would've gone crazy. This summer is brutal.
Spent today digging through old diary entries from back in 2000. Man, things were different then. I was using dope, sure, but nothing like now—doing it multiple times a day if the cash is there. Where does the money come from? Honestly, who knows. Literally every cent I scrape together goes straight to the fix. I hustle seniors (selling them these totally fake, super elaborate "get rich quick" schemes), borrow from buddies. Some people get paid back, some don't—not because I'm trying to be a jerk, but because I just can't. When it's a choice between getting clean and paying a debt, the fix wins every single time. Sold off a few valuables... haven't started touching stuff that isn't mine yet, like the TV or the gaming console, and I'm still not stealing or robbing anyone. I don't play like that. No prostitution either, though it'd be almost impossible in this city. Or maybe I just don't know where those channels are, even though I know basically everything going down in the local underworld. So, I'm still a decent guy.
Some girl emailed me asking why I always make up pathetic excuses for why I keep using. Told her straight: I'm not making excuses because I don't need one. Using is the reason. That's the excuse and the answer all in one. I love it, I want it, and I need it. I'm an addict, a junkie, a user. Was I clear enough? Pretty sure I was. Anyway, back to the point. Change... it's wild how much has shifted over the last few years. Sounds cliché, I know, but looking at the gap between Max in 2000 and Max in 2004... man, it makes me want to toss the gun, the spoon, the citric acid, the tourniquet, and the cotton right out the window. You wondering why I didn't mention the dope? Same reason I wouldn't mention the gear—it might end up on the pavement under my window. I don't have any right now, and even if I did, I doubt it'd hang around long. I'd probably cook it up, shoot it, or in a moment of pure madness, sell it tomorrow just to have a little luck during a bad crash... just to have enough cash to buy more pizza when the withdrawals get too heavy. There I go again, circling back to the start. No matter how you look at it, I end up with a gun in my hand and a needle aimed at pale skin. Soon enough, the needle breaks the skin, hits the vein, and with that practiced, easy flick of the finger, I pull back the syringe to make sure I'm in. But I already feel it hit the vein; I know a drop of blood is gonna bloom in the syringe like a red orchid in that brown liquid... that's the sign everything is ready to inject that warm, brownish solution to solve all my problems, whether they're mental or physical. Provided the stuff is good, obviously. Of course, the high doesn't last forever. But nobody can pay you for that first minute. In that minute, the entire universe, life, and death are condensed. No explanations needed. You just know. You just know. Slowly opening your eyes, still alive even though you were just on the other side. That’s gotta be what it feels like when someone actually dies, those first few seconds on the other side. To everyone still snorting dope or chasing dragons, I'm telling you... it's worth it. Believe me, it's worth it. Not that I'm going back, you can count on that. I'd rather get clean than give up the needle to go back to snorting or smoking. People say it's all the same shit, but it isn't. I thought it was too, but the difference is a bitch. I've always wanted to try injecting; usually, I'd stall because I wasn't in a rush, years went by, and now here I am... time finally came for me to feel that massive flash everyone talks about. And the hype is real.
Ever notice this one thing about our high-tech lives today? It’s how we talk on the phone. Like, when someone you actually know—friends, family, people you actually give a damn about—calls your house from their cell, and you can tell the convo is gonna drag on, you immediately offer to hang up and call them back from the landline. Just so they don't burn through their data or whatever. And what, we get the home line for free? Around here, a landline is still treated like some vintage toy that costs nothing to run. But then a bill shows up from AT&T covered in tiny print and math, and the total at the bottom hits you like a punch to the gut. Not me, maybe, but definitely my parents. I contribute to that total myself by surfing the web on networks that nobody in this world could ever truly control. But man, I love it. If it weren't there, my life would look totally different, even if that sounds dramatic. Think about it. You'll see. Back when the internet first started hitting homes, people were terrified of modems. They hated the machine because it was a mystery, and everything they heard about it sounded sketchy or negative. Like the internet was the devil's playground. People think tech progress always comes from the gutter. But funny how it works—they'll complain about it until they get a flat tire in the middle of nowhere, then they're all over their cell phones calling AAA to get a tow truck out in thirty minutes. That's fine, right? I try not to waste breath on people like that, though it's tough. Those are the types who recruit all the bigots and the narrow-minded crowds, the ones ready to judge anything that doesn't fit their old-school mold. Don't get me wrong, I'm not out here leading the charge for every social cause or protesting for some exchange student. No, I'm too far gone for that. The heroin slowed me down and pushed me off course; the tide just pulled me too far out to find the strength to wave a rainbow flag or shout about tolerance. But hate seeing intolerance. It hurts to see basic freedoms stepped on, or people being judged for who they are just so they can be "put in their place." Yeah, I'm an addict, but I won't let anyone walk over me. Sometimes I just want to show everyone the tracks on my arms and yell: "I'm a junkie, it's my choice, it's my sickness, but I'm not any less smart or worthy than you!" Everyone has their own big "mess" in life. Mine is heroin. What's yours?
The drug scene in my city has been trashed for weeks now, and it's driving me crazy. You can never be sure if a dealer will even pick up the phone or move fast. But don't think the cops are doing anything better about it. The whole system is just broken from the jump. And the smaller the town, the worse it gets. In a place like Chicago or LA, you can always find a way. Of course, that's only if you know enough people. But where I am, you could know every user in town and it wouldn't matter, because everyone's chasing the same two or three guys. There's no point calling friends when we're all stuck in the same trap. Sometimes the city just runs dry. Total chaos. Everyone calls everyone, but nobody can help anyone. We're all just waiting, burning cash, hearing rumors, but nothing happens. It's always the same: "Don't know," or "Maybe tonight." Then, when the stuff finally hits the streets in the middle of the night, it's like a dam breaks. Suddenly, those empty corners are crawling with people. An hour later, once things settle, you can actually feel the city breathe again.
That’s where things get messy. Some of us just forget to grab a fresh kit during the day. Then, right when you need it most, the needle clogs up or something else goes sideways and leaves you stuck. So what’s the move? One night, I was sitting there with a few old syringes left—but they were blunt as hell—so I decided to roll the dice and hit up a 24-hour CVS to see if I could snag some new insulin supplies. Just wanted to avoid the struggle of using a dull needle. Honestly, I was curious if anyone would even be awake to help me in the middle of the night. Man, let me tell you, the guy at the window totally blew me off. He just buzzed me through the intercom and muttered, "See you tomorrow morning, kid." Like, excuse me? Tomorrow morning?! Does he have any idea what kind of situation I'm dealing with right now?!
Been MIA. Stuck in the heroin sludge. Every day’s a loop. Wake up around 11 AM, hit with a withdrawal, trying to figure out how to survive the next few hours. It hasn't made sense for a long time, but living aimlessly has been my whole vibe forever... maybe longer than that's even a fair way to put it. Had to stop thinking about myself or my life just to keep from losing it, which is why I haven't posted. Otherwise, I would've gone crazy. This summer is brutal.
Spent today digging through old diary entries from back in 2000. Man, things were different then. I was using dope, sure, but nothing like now—doing it multiple times a day if the cash is there. Where does the money come from? Honestly, who knows. Literally every cent I scrape together goes straight to the fix. I hustle seniors (selling them these totally fake, super elaborate "get rich quick" schemes), borrow from buddies. Some people get paid back, some don't—not because I'm trying to be a jerk, but because I just can't. When it's a choice between getting clean and paying a debt, the fix wins every single time. Sold off a few valuables... haven't started touching stuff that isn't mine yet, like the TV or the gaming console, and I'm still not stealing or robbing anyone. I don't play like that. No prostitution either, though it'd be almost impossible in this city. Or maybe I just don't know where those channels are, even though I know basically everything going down in the local underworld. So, I'm still a decent guy.
Some girl emailed me asking why I always make up pathetic excuses for why I keep using. Told her straight: I'm not making excuses because I don't need one. Using is the reason. That's the excuse and the answer all in one. I love it, I want it, and I need it. I'm an addict, a junkie, a user. Was I clear enough? Pretty sure I was. Anyway, back to the point. Change... it's wild how much has shifted over the last few years. Sounds cliché, I know, but looking at the gap between Max in 2000 and Max in 2004... man, it makes me want to toss the gun, the spoon, the citric acid, the tourniquet, and the cotton right out the window. You wondering why I didn't mention the dope? Same reason I wouldn't mention the gear—it might end up on the pavement under my window. I don't have any right now, and even if I did, I doubt it'd hang around long. I'd probably cook it up, shoot it, or in a moment of pure madness, sell it tomorrow just to have a little luck during a bad crash... just to have enough cash to buy more pizza when the withdrawals get too heavy. There I go again, circling back to the start. No matter how you look at it, I end up with a gun in my hand and a needle aimed at pale skin. Soon enough, the needle breaks the skin, hits the vein, and with that practiced, easy flick of the finger, I pull back the syringe to make sure I'm in. But I already feel it hit the vein; I know a drop of blood is gonna bloom in the syringe like a red orchid in that brown liquid... that's the sign everything is ready to inject that warm, brownish solution to solve all my problems, whether they're mental or physical. Provided the stuff is good, obviously. Of course, the high doesn't last forever. But nobody can pay you for that first minute. In that minute, the entire universe, life, and death are condensed. No explanations needed. You just know. You just know. Slowly opening your eyes, still alive even though you were just on the other side. That’s gotta be what it feels like when someone actually dies, those first few seconds on the other side. To everyone still snorting dope or chasing dragons, I'm telling you... it's worth it. Believe me, it's worth it. Not that I'm going back, you can count on that. I'd rather get clean than give up the needle to go back to snorting or smoking. People say it's all the same shit, but it isn't. I thought it was too, but the difference is a bitch. I've always wanted to try injecting; usually, I'd stall because I wasn't in a rush, years went by, and now here I am... time finally came for me to feel that massive flash everyone talks about. And the hype is real.
Ever notice this one thing about our high-tech lives today? It’s how we talk on the phone. Like, when someone you actually know—friends, family, people you actually give a damn about—calls your house from their cell, and you can tell the convo is gonna drag on, you immediately offer to hang up and call them back from the landline. Just so they don't burn through their data or whatever. And what, we get the home line for free? Around here, a landline is still treated like some vintage toy that costs nothing to run. But then a bill shows up from AT&T covered in tiny print and math, and the total at the bottom hits you like a punch to the gut. Not me, maybe, but definitely my parents. I contribute to that total myself by surfing the web on networks that nobody in this world could ever truly control. But man, I love it. If it weren't there, my life would look totally different, even if that sounds dramatic. Think about it. You'll see. Back when the internet first started hitting homes, people were terrified of modems. They hated the machine because it was a mystery, and everything they heard about it sounded sketchy or negative. Like the internet was the devil's playground. People think tech progress always comes from the gutter. But funny how it works—they'll complain about it until they get a flat tire in the middle of nowhere, then they're all over their cell phones calling AAA to get a tow truck out in thirty minutes. That's fine, right? I try not to waste breath on people like that, though it's tough. Those are the types who recruit all the bigots and the narrow-minded crowds, the ones ready to judge anything that doesn't fit their old-school mold. Don't get me wrong, I'm not out here leading the charge for every social cause or protesting for some exchange student. No, I'm too far gone for that. The heroin slowed me down and pushed me off course; the tide just pulled me too far out to find the strength to wave a rainbow flag or shout about tolerance. But hate seeing intolerance. It hurts to see basic freedoms stepped on, or people being judged for who they are just so they can be "put in their place." Yeah, I'm an addict, but I won't let anyone walk over me. Sometimes I just want to show everyone the tracks on my arms and yell: "I'm a junkie, it's my choice, it's my sickness, but I'm not any less smart or worthy than you!" Everyone has their own big "mess" in life. Mine is heroin. What's yours?
The drug scene in my city has been trashed for weeks now, and it's driving me crazy. You can never be sure if a dealer will even pick up the phone or move fast. But don't think the cops are doing anything better about it. The whole system is just broken from the jump. And the smaller the town, the worse it gets. In a place like Chicago or LA, you can always find a way. Of course, that's only if you know enough people. But where I am, you could know every user in town and it wouldn't matter, because everyone's chasing the same two or three guys. There's no point calling friends when we're all stuck in the same trap. Sometimes the city just runs dry. Total chaos. Everyone calls everyone, but nobody can help anyone. We're all just waiting, burning cash, hearing rumors, but nothing happens. It's always the same: "Don't know," or "Maybe tonight." Then, when the stuff finally hits the streets in the middle of the night, it's like a dam breaks. Suddenly, those empty corners are crawling with people. An hour later, once things settle, you can actually feel the city breathe again.
That’s where things get messy. Some of us just forget to grab a fresh kit during the day. Then, right when you need it most, the needle clogs up or something else goes sideways and leaves you stuck. So what’s the move? One night, I was sitting there with a few old syringes left—but they were blunt as hell—so I decided to roll the dice and hit up a 24-hour CVS to see if I could snag some new insulin supplies. Just wanted to avoid the struggle of using a dull needle. Honestly, I was curious if anyone would even be awake to help me in the middle of the night. Man, let me tell you, the guy at the window totally blew me off. He just buzzed me through the intercom and muttered, "See you tomorrow morning, kid." Like, excuse me? Tomorrow morning?! Does he have any idea what kind of situation I'm dealing with right now?!