In Limbo

Stomach acid and blood in between dry heaves... Jesus Chris, how the **** did I get here? I can't really even remember...
When I was young I wanted to be a Junkie. I thought there was something romantic about it. The "dying poet". All of my heroes at the time.
These were the early nineties I'm talking about. That's my generation, after all. Long since passed. Shannon Hoon, Lane Staley, and of course,
Kurt Cobain. Later in life came others like Charles Bukowski and William burroughs and Bob Dylan and Jim Carroll. All drunks and junkies. All of them
my heroes.
Not that I particularly blame my current situation on the media, just that I soaked it all up and identified at the time, or so I thought.
I never thought about the other side. I never considered the sickness. Never thought about the almost complete lack of proper sleep. The constant
and ever growing stomach ailments. Going to sleep at 3:00 in the morning and waking two hours later, needing a drink or a hit because I was too
sick to continue sleeping. Waking up feeling like someone was kicking my *** all night while I was passed out. Hustling my family and closest friends
for a few dollars at a time. Stomach acid and blood in between dry heaves. Jesus christ, how the **** did I get here?
The first time I got high was somewhere in sixth grade. Speed. Some prehistoric diet pill called "Adipex". I believe it was an amphetamine.
I remember so sharply how I took five or six or them (way more than necessary) and shoveled the snow in the driveway slowly, enjoying at the time
the biting cold air. That night was the first I ever spent tossing and turning on account of drugs. I diddn't particularly like it, but I diddn't
really not like it, either. Around the same time I experimented with downers that my dad was prescribed to. I don't remember what they were called,
but I remember how much more I liked them than uppers. You need to know that I was a spaz as a kid, a serious spaz, so downers made me feel more
"normal". Ironic, as I can no longer remember what "normal" feels like. No more target range. **** it.

...to be continued