Even junkies have mothers…

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Mum's just come out of an induced coma in hospital.  The nurse in charge said she'd still be very drowsy but that I'd be welcome to visit today so I'm going in a few hours with a big bunch of flowers even though I can hardly afford it, it's worth it.

Only a few days ago she was here at my house sitting at my kitchen table chatting with me, getting drunk with me, and laughing at the budgie.

We offered her the guest bed so she wouldn't have to travel home but she didn't want to. 

Several times both me and Jake tried to suggest that she have a bit of a lie down before she went but she insisted.  I was tipsy too so Jake happily agreed to accompany mom up the road to the station. Jake says he got concerned and offered at various times to take her by the arm or have her take his, but towards the end she was shaking off the suggestions almost angrily.  Stubborn as a mule my mom can be at times.

When it happened it sounded like a rip[e watermelon hitting concrete, Jake reckons.  He didn't see it because he'd gone ahead onto the road crossing to slow down any cars that might be coming because mom can't walk very fast since her leg operations last year.  There were others who did and they say she just fell straight backwards, like she suddenly lost consciousness.  When he ran back to her Jake thought she was dead at first.  Luckily she came to, but was dazed and didn't quite know where she was.  Jake called me to let me know whilst waiting for the ambulance to pick her up. He said that she had a cut on the back of her head where she'd hit the concrete full force.

I informed Dad, and the next he phoned to say that she's had to have an operation to open her head to release the blood that was building up pressure inside her skull. She was now lying in ICU in an induced coma. Dad had come all the way out from the city (a trip of one and half hours at best) and been there most of the night. And she thinks he doesn't care.

Now I'm talking I'm really prattling on, eh?  I don't know, I feel partly responsible.

Anyway, I'll get back to you soon just got to get through this.

Don’t know why I even write this…

I’m on my way up to the goddamn chemist to get my dose – who CARES!!!  I don’t – except I’ve got to live this life.

Merry Xmas and all that

I wish I meant that.  I mean I DO think that for you, but as far as I'm concerned I've had a shithouse Christmas and New Year "season".   Yeah, unseasonally hot.  Sweaty, horrible.
The worst thing about the whole bloody deal is that the dispensary (in my case a pharmacist who shuts  every Sunday and public holiday without fail) gave me 4 take aways (take-homes in the US) for the Xmas break and then just today the same again.  Needless to say I I've already shot up three of them and have given the remaining one to my husband JJ to look after so I can't dip into it nefariously.
     Yep, I've never learnt to control myself.  The only way I managed to achieve the transition from heroin addiction to methadone maintenance was by the psychological ploy of staying on it because I could hit it up.  I don't know exactly what it is, maybe it's the instant "effect" (more like relief when I'm feeling sick) and the irony is that I wouldn't be feeling sick in the first place if I didn't hit the shit up and have it processed and eliminated so much quicker. 
     I've been toying with the idea of quitting injecting my 'done for years but somehow I've never been able to.  This year I have finally realised that I need proffessional help and I'm going to start looking for it.
     There's an Australian subsidy catering for twelve visits to a psychologist in a calendar month where 3/4 of your fee is refunded to you.  That means about $55A out of pocket.  I've found a psychologist on the internet that is both local AND seems to have a really cool view on drug issue that I'm going to try first.  But if she's no good I'll keep looking.  I'm not giving up THIS time.  THIS year is going to be different.
     Why a psychologist when I could see a psychiatrist on Medicare?  Because they're lazy fucks who won't work for the petty fee that Medicare pays them but instead reach for the prescription pad and although this may be good for some people it definitely is NOT what I want.  I want REAL change, not just another pill.
     In the meantime I will change pharmacies because the bitch and her assistant who run the place really lived up to the the name over these holidays.
     First of all they refused to give me and my husband the same amount of takeaways and on the same days, destroying any planned outings overnight (like to my parents' place). 
On Xmas Eve I walked into the "cupboard". That's what I call this little gyproc cubicle accessed by a door to the side of the pharmacy counter where you enter to have your 'done dispensed.  It's hardly a meter by a meter in size (I think that's about 4 and a half feet square).  They use it to keep us out of sight of their "regular" customers.  Anyway when I walked in and was about to be handed the plastic cup containing my dose, I noticed that the bottle containing the water used to wash down the medicine was almost empty - there was hardly half an inch there and it would have been the same water that had stood all night, since yesterday.  She refused.  I was feeling sick from not having anything for a day (and moreover having drunk over Xmas which ALWAYS seems to make the elimination of my methadone more rapid) - and I kick myself now for not taking action over which I had every right. 
     A week later, this morning, I'm sick again (this time from drinking) and when I unscrewed the plastic bottle top I saw that the rim of the actual bottle was smeared as if by someone else's lips or something.  It was so disgusting...oh how I wish I had stood up for myself.
     At any rate I'll be bringing my own bottle of water from now on.
     Well, despite all the horror, I wish YOU a Happy New Year (and I certainly hope your Xmas period passed better than mine did) and for ME, I hope that I can finally bring my life around to the heading I want to be.

There's more to it than just going to the chemist every day

Hey!

Welcome kids to the 101 education centre about drugs!  Honestly, if kids learnt even a vetted corner of what I'm writing it would stand them in could stead - INstead they have to work it out all alone.

I have no network, no "Higher Power" - no nothing to aid me in my message...all I can hope is that a few conscientious people may read and learn from one (my) person's experience, and either help themselves or help others.  That is almost the whole reason I'm trying to do this.  The final reason is because I need to save myself.

At the moment this is the situation of THIS current drug addict:
I am on 110mg per day of methadone - I have to - HAVE TO - hit it or I would be on the streets looking for heroin...see, I'm addicted to hitting (injecting) as much as the drug, if not more.  I collect from my neighbourhood pharmacist who treats all their methadone clients like shit (no exceptions).

I can say for a certainty that if someone told my my doctor I was injecting my methadone and he (reflex kick/no thought) cut my take aways/take homes I would be back on the street working for my addiction like in my twenties - so much worse now I am 40...what do YOU think?

Polyethylene

Polyethylene by Radiohead, both parts but part two in particular, is an epic rock song.  The sort of music that becomes the soundtrack to your life.  The riff you hear as you go about the tragedy of your everyday movements;  the groove of the same rituals masking pain and self-doubt....the emotional twisting of relationships as they rip at your emotional being - the excruciating soul-examination and the journey of pain into the light.  
This is songwriting at it's height.  It's not just about the melody or the chord progression - it goes beyond that:  This song demonstrates the imagery and intuitive power of music at it's best.  

It's 3am in the morning,, like Eminem's song.  I've finished the last of the cask of cheap white wine that I bought from the local liquor shop yesterday (the owner trusts me and gave three dollars credit on a ten dollar cask) - four litres drunk in two days:  not good.

But somehow I can't live life straight.  I get too bored too easily if there isn't a drug of some sort in my body affecting my mind.  Yes I'm junky, I admit it - how can I do otherwise?
At 9am I have my dose at the pharmacy that dispenses my methadone (I call it my 'swallow') and I pick up two bottles - two bottles containing two days worth of doses.  One of them goes to my partner, my husband. The other one I get to ingest in the manner of my choosing, my preferred way.  Really, there's nothing that gets me up in the morning except the expectation of a hit of methadone, and the pleasure and peace of mind and body that will bring.  Alcohol is just a side addiction.

     The above picture is accurate in so far as the size of the barrel used and most definitely the colour of the 'done (which is not green like in the former picture, although there is a brand that comes in pink).  The glass bottle pictured was used by dispensers for take aways (or for the benefit of Americans "take-homes") until just a few years ago.  Then inadvertently they were all replaced by plastic bottles, of which I will post a picture  whenever I take it of my current take away bottle. 

      I tend to get rid of all shooting equipment as soon as possible,  always exchanging the used wrappers in a plastic bag and the syringes and needles in sharp-safes to the workers who deliver fresh supplies right to our doorstep when I call them.  The Australian Needle Exchange Program has saved my life - I am sure that was I forced to share needles I would have acquired HIV and most probably suffered a horrendous and protracted death by now.  Thank the world of good that some strong and far-sighted politicians could see their way to insist on doing the right thing in the wake of the AIDS epidemic in the mid to late eighties.  

   

      I'll probably have to shoot my 'done up in the public toilets tomorrow morning (which is in a few hours) so that I feel well enough to do the shopping.  I am almost certain that if I return to the house to inject my dose I will find it just a little more than difficult to leave again to perform the necessary grocery acquisitions.  It's not too bad a public toilet (it even has a sharps disposal container affixed to one wall) but it lacks any sort of platform one could use for the multiple syringes necessary for preparation to be injected sequentially. I have to divide a 22ml dose into 5ml barrels because the goddamn government decided any syringe barrels larger than that (such as the 10mg and 20mg barrels I used to use) would no longer be dispensed by needle exchanges as of a few years ago.  As usual the motive of prevention never achieves its aim only making things harder for the people addicted such as myself. It takes more than 5 barrels because it is necessary to dilute the methadone syrup's viscosity.  The trusted NUAA (Users & AIDS Assoc), a grassroots drug users' support, information and advocacy group in Sydney, published that injectors of syrup should dilute the 'done 1:1 with water, but that's just too ridiculous. At 3:2 syrup to water my entire dose requires the use of eight separate barrels, and that's already more than enough for me.   

     I doubt I'll get stoned tomorrow - it took both 120mg/22ml take away doses injected on top of a 120mg swallow at the pharmacist's on Saturday for me to get nodding - so the best I can hope for tomorrow is to be comfortable.  I'll placate myself with a bottle of the cheap version of Malibu - a beautiful coconut flavoured liqueur that can be mixed with anything from soft drink to milk and cream and tastes great - there's three varieties: Bombora, Rumba, and Coconut Island.

    I'm going to get a few hours sleep now, before jumping up and getting dressed quickly (because it's becoming a tad colder now that winter is almost here) at eight thirty am to get my precious amber fluid.