Neglect and New Years

It's been a while since I've posted anything here, and I must admit, I've been pretty lazy concerning updating my blogs (this ain't my only blog). I guess I'll talk about today being new years eve, and my feelings concerning this holiday.
It kinda sucks, when I used dope, I often found myself withdrawing from society. I guess I did it because I was always ashamed of my addiction, and I was afraid the more I was around people the more obvious my drug problem was... Not that you couldn't tell something was up if you simply looking at my pasty pale green face.
Now that I'm sober, that social neglect has come to bite me in the ass. I have nothing to do tonight, and I'm really working on making myself ok with it. Admittedly, I'm pretty bummed out, but then again, I know if I'm out, I'm basically going to wish I was home. Also, really, it's just another day, and to be frank, for ten years, I partied everyday. It's about time I took a break from "partying", and allowed myself to enjoy some much needed solitude. On top of all of this, I have my next big show in less than a month and a half. If I want to get this done, I need to seriously use the rest of my time on my show.
On top of this, lately my inner junky has been trying to convince me that I can get away with partying at least once "cmon Luke, it's NYE, let go and celebrate." And I have to keep arguing with myself that it's literally impossible for me to just take 'one hit' and let go of it. That I have tried this over and over with the exact same results, once I start I can't stop. Fortunately this week my probation officer contacted my methadone clinic and now I'm testing 3 times a month. This leaves very little room for me to fuck up (unless I'm ok with going to jail).
Anyways, that's all for now. The results from my prune tasting competition will be coming up soon, along with more of my daily struggles.
Happy new year.

Grumpy/Moody

I am grumpy/moody. And that's all I want to say about it.
But saying/typing it sure makes me feel better.

Diminished

This morning, I woke up wishing I had slept more. Something about today is shattering my faith in humanity, and even more so, shattering my faith in myself.
When I walked out of the clinic, a homeless guy asked me for a quarter which I happily gave him, but then he was going off on all kinds of psychobabble about his grandfather, not knowing my people, etc. It was sad and disturbing.
I hope things start looking up soon.

Resolve

Earlier this week, the inevitable finally came to fruition. I was walking up to the methadone clinic when I was approached by a guy asking for a cigarette. I had left them in my car and said I'd give him one when I wrapped up my business at the clinic.
When I finally stepped out the guy was waiting. As we walked up to my car, he asked me what I was doing there, to which I replied that I wad getting my daily dose of methadone yadda yadda. After I gave him a cigarette he asked me if I wanted any heroin, to which I replied "no thanks, I'm fine". And we went on our way.
It wasn't till I got home did I realize the gravity of the situation, and the importance of my response, and for the first time in a long time, I wad truly proud of myself.

Prunes

Now that I've taken on the task of making myself regular, one thing I want to do is make this mission as pleasant as possible. The way I'm pursuing this is through the consumption of high fiber foods. Like I said, I've been drinking Metamucil like a astronaut drinks Tang. On top of that, I'm also munching down on prunes.
And I must admit, every time I say it, or type it, I shudder at the idea. But really, prunes (shudder) aren't that bad. However, there are a couple brands out there, and being the American I am, I've grown to believe that the more I spend, the better the quality. So, here are two of the more expensive brands I can find in my local Ralph's supermarket. In the near future, I hope to share on the Junk blog, a thorough and objective "prune (shudder) review".
My first two brands are Sunsweet, and Mariani. More in the near future.

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Constipation

In case you didn't know, opiate based substances make you constipated. I remember back in my small town days when I was strung out on OxyContin, my friends would jokingly refer to the situation as having a gnome that would cruise by, and "boulder up the cave". From my experience, the metaphor of the 'boulder' couldn't be at times truer.
Methadone Hydrochloride, has a bit a similar effect on me (minus the "getting high" aspect of other opioid analgesics). Just recently the constipation was so bad, it felt like I was passing a boulder. Actually, I was kind of scared. The movement felt like it was to big to come out, and I was afraid I would have to go to the emergency room for professional help. Fortunately things never came to that point, but the experience definitely scared the shit out of me (almost literally).
This morning I asked the methadone dispensing nurse if she could recommend anything to help me out. Milk of magnesia, prune juice, and/or lots of fiber were basically the solutions she recommended. Unfortunately none of these sound at all appealing to me.
Since then, I've been munching away at prunes and chugging orange Metamucil like my life depended on it. I can't save I've noticed a drastic change in my colons behavior, but things have been better than they have been.

Flying in the Twenty First Century

This past week, I ran out of town to attend the Art Basel Art Fair in Miami Florida. Living in California, I obviously had to take a plane ride to get me across the country, and for this trip I chose to ride Virgin America since I was going to flying across the country. I choose Virgin not only because they are a reputably better airline, but because each seat has its own television screen! (These television screens are something I absolutely find essential when flying across the country. And it still blows me away to know this piece of technology still not standard on all airlines, specifically the big ones).
It was the events that I experienced during this trip that made me extremely happy to know that I was drug free.
First "incident" occurred, in LAX. During the security check, officers from Homeland Security swabbed my fingers, palms, and laptop for chemicals. (What were they looking for? Drugs? Explosives? Both? Homeland Security wouldn't explain.) Fortunately I haven't been handling anything illegal, so I had nothing to worry about.
Five days later, in the Ft. Lauderdale / Hollywood International Airport, I got through security without issue. Funny thing was, I actually thought I was going to get enjoy the rather controversial full body scan, but I just had to contend with the metal detectors. However, when I got home and unpacked, this letter fell out of my suitcase:

 

That's right, the boys in blue went digging through my luggage. Once again, I have my sobriety to thank for making this a non-event. 

I keep imagining what might have happened if Homeland Security found something on me. I would have been thrown on the governments no fly lists in a flash, and the chances of me ever leaving the country would have been probably been somewhere next to impossible.

It makes me glad I got busted when I did.

Sixth Sense

When I first moved to Los Angeles, I moved to get away from the drugs I couldn't stop doing, and in the beginning it worked. When my career as an addict started, I was in a small town, and in small town, the drug user community is small and extremely tight. It wasn't till I had moved and innocently went to an art show in downtown Los Angeles (coincidentally next to Skid Row) did i learn how the open air drug market, common in most urban/metropolitan environments, worked. And it was at that event where I learned just why cities like LA and San Francisco are such major drug hubs, and it was then when I reassumed the role I had moved to LA to escape. Years later, I, like most drug addicts had picked up that unique "sixth sense" common with most addicts: The unique sense to "sniff out" dope wherever I am. Several weeks ago, this was a sense I treasured, but now it feels more like a curse.
Being out of town and immersed in the Art Basel art fair has been a great opportunity for me to take my mind off my addiction and absorb all the amazing stuff around me. Unfortunately, the event is also being held in Miami, and any dope fiend worth his weight can tell you that Miami is exactly where some of america's best dope makes it's start on its way across the country.
Fortunately I've got one major defense lined up to help me, and that is that there isn't a dealer dumb enough to cop to me cause I look the way I do. (Note: Most people probably wouldn't look at me and think me a drug addict due to my race and general appearance.)
The only trouble is that that doesn't mean I can't spot them a mile away myself. The good thing about in Basel is that being here, I'm constantly reminded why I'm here and exactly what i can potentially achieve if I stay on the straight and narrow.
I'm truly glad i've got something to live for, cause if I didn't I don't think I'd have any reason for me to stop in the first place.
That's all for now.

Wheelin & Dealin

When I went on my walk this afternoon, I couldn't help but notice how I found myself eyeing primer black Toyota Camry's. Of course, the reason why I was checking them out is cause my main dealer drove such a car. Fortunately for me all the cars that have caught my eye have been False Alarms. But I wonder, what would happen if such a car was my actual dealers. What would I do? Would I end up copping some dope? The proposition freaks me out. But I'd like to think I'm a pretty smart guy with a solid conviction. All I can hope for is that my dealer played it smart, quit the biz, and has decided to let me go. One can only hope.

Ritual De Lo Habitual

The ritual behind my using is probably one of the first things I found myself consciously replacing. All the crap generally associated with my getting high were replaced with the ritual of making coffee and English tea.
Actually, my entire morning has become somewhat formulaic. Every morning, I start things off with a cup of English Breakfast Tea (Twinings), coupled with an English Muffin (Thomas) with butter and honey. I'm then on my way to the clinic for my daily dose of Methadone. and when I get home it's coffee time, followed by me working on whatever projects I've got going on. It's this sense of order, that helps me get through the first part of my day. The power of familiarity. It makes life somewhat tolerable I guess.
I can't believe I'm turning into a morning person. I can't help but wake up before eight now, which is great cause the weekend hours at the clinic are from 6 to 9. But after this month I should be getting "take homes" for being a good boy and not using any other controlled substances.
But asides for waking up early, just about every aspect of my conscious behavior has changed on me. When I was using all I listened to was NPR. Now I'm listening to music. I used to watch countless hours of television and veg out on my bed. Now I'm lucky if I squeeze in an hour a day (if any at all).
One of the weirdest habits I picked up when using was the ugly habit of not bathing. I'm not sure why I didn't care to bathe, but fortunately for me and the people around me, I'm bathing daily.
Anyways, that's all I want to talk about right now, but maybe I'll continue on this subject later.

The Politics of Surrender

This morning, when I was getting my daily dose at the Methadone clinic, I couldn't help but notice that the dope dealers were out in force. I'm wondering if it's because it seemed like only two people were working the clinic, or maybe it's because it's the after a holiday or what, but seeing those assholes drives me nuts. I'm not if the feeling is rooted in disgust (preying on the "weak"), or jealousy (cause a part of me wishes they would sell to me). In all honesty, it's probably both.
Of course, if I were a drug dealer, I would probably do the same. Go where the dope fiends are. It's just kind of sad cause, like me, I'm assuming most of the clinics clients are addicts who truly need help and are actively looking for it. It's just that it's hard staying strong all the time, especially if you don't have anything to be strong for.
Lately I've been pulling my strength and conviction from my career, but I wonder to myself, is this truly a solid source to harness my need for stability and sobriety? I've tried relying on my ambition before and I've relapsed regardless.
I've been reading "Bill's Story" in the Alcoholics Anonymous book, and "Bill" kept failing at sobriety till he "surrendered" himself to his "higher power".
I really hope that isn't the ONLY solution, cause surrendering simply isn't something I know how to let go so completely. And further more I just don't understand how or what it is you surrender too... I want to believe i have a spiritual side, and i want to believe in a god. I just believe in a god without the trappings of organized religion. Anyways, I'm sure I'll be getting in to all of this in depth soon.

TIRED

Tired. I've been crazy tired lately. And I'm wondering if it's because of my recovery, like, my body still needs the rest cause of the insane amounts of damage I've inflicted on it. Or maybe it's the methadone that's making me tired. Like nodding out tired.
Last night, after my 6.5 hour drive from San Luis Obispo, I passed the fuck out after dinner. Before I even had a chance to post this story to my blog. I really hope it's just the methadone, cause I'm planning on lowering my dose after week five (last Monday marked four weeks for me). We'll see.

San Luis Obispo

I'm in San Luis Obispo. The town I went to school at. The town where I experienced my first love, and the town where my eventual downward descent started. I'm in town to register with probation concerning a drug offense from 8 years ago, but before I do all that legal mumbo jumbo, i'm partaking in some of my personal favorite legal pleasures this town has to offer. So far I enjoyed a fantastic dinner of beef sukiyaki at Goshi's (formerly "Tsurugi's") and now I'm at Linnea's enjoying a cup of tea and their amazing carrot cake.
The drive here was a trip (in more ways than one). For a while, this uncomfortably nostalgic feeling I used to have when I would drive to town cause I was out of dope and I needed to "cop" from the only source I knew came up a couple times. It's been more than 7 years since I've done that drive, but the sensation was as fresh and real as it was back then. Fortunately it really has been more than 7 years since I've kept that company, and I'm happy to not know anybody in the area anymore. When I got in town, I simply checked in to my hotel, called my family to let them know I had arrived safely, changed, and ran out for some healthy nostalgia. I'm happy to say SLO has become the quiet, innocent, town it's supposed to be.
Of course, tomorrow is another day, and tomorrow I'll be checking in with the rest of the seedy underbelly living in this small town that were unlucky enough to get busted like myself.
Thats life though.
Sides of a coin.

This is a test

This is a test. Since I'm going out of town today for Probation Registration, I just want to make sure the email blog posting option still works.
I've added this handsome photo of my take home Methadone Hydrochloride to see if the image upload works too. Fingers crossed.

28 Days Later

Today marks my fourth week "sober". I guess I feel like I need to put "sober" in quotes because I attend a Methadone clinic where I am on a "Maintenance" program, meaning, I'm still consuming dope. However, I'm not high off it, and I'm DEFINITELY not punching a hole in my body to get it in me. NA "purists" would almost definitely say I'm not sober, but I really want to believe that all this counts for something.
Before these last 28 days, I was wearing my addiction on my sleeve. You simply had to take a quick look at me to realize something was wrong. My skin exhibited a uniquely unhealthy pale green, my hair was falling out, and my skin hung on me like an over sized jacket. It took me getting arrested to finally throw the breaks on my self destruction.
I remember the moment the cops drove up on me, a mixture of feelings I would describe as both "Fuck Me. This SUCKS" and "Fuck Me, Thank GOD" came upon me. I finally found myself standing at the crossroads, and it was time for me to make a choice. Was I going to take this opportunity to get my shit straightened out? Or was I going to keep up with my other option. I chose the latter.
Since then, these past 28 days have been difficult to say the least.
Today after I got back from the clinic I found myself inclined to do what I used to do when I was still using. Climb into bed, close my eyes and wait for a call from my dealer. It was a weird and unsettling feeling. Fortunately I don't have a number to call to contact anyone from that life, and I have plenty of LEGAL reasons why I should maintain a life on the straight and narrow (more about that as things develop).
Though I haven't hit any NA/AA meetings yet, and I don't have a sponsor (not because I'm opposed to these things), what I think I'm going to do is use this blog as a daily place for me to vent openly and honestly. The way I would to a therapist or a sponsor. Hopefully that will help me find some much needed calm and peace within me.
I guess all I can do now is see where things takes me, and I'll do my best to document these experiences here.
PS: if I stop addressing this blog for more than three to four days in a row, chances are it means I've relapsed, in which case, wish me luck that I can find my way back. But I truly hope it never comes to that.