Here he sits, on top of his mountain of manifestations, ready and eager to try a drastic switching of the cards. An absolute and total overhaul from the basement to the attic, replacing all that is static. And so what is there left to do but send this year of 2013 to the gallows. I thought 2012 would be the rankest year my short life would ever have to endure but boy was I underestimating the depth this planet has for scum sucking serpents. The tolerance for tyranny once again out measured its previous capabilities.
If 2012 was the year of the aloof and afraid, then 2013 was its skanky twin sister; ready to fuck you over the second you shut your eyes. Never before has altruism been met with such agony; benevolence rewarded with belligerence. Biting the hand that feeds you somehow became the norm. The gift horse was raped, roasted and rekindled over and over again, and just as soon as you’d expect the beating to be over with, you’re getting hauled away in a federal cop car due to information received from a weasel whose life you saved. Thats right honey, no one was off limits this year.
You cannot get something for nothing and never has this ageless epitaph garnished more wages in this junky’s life than 2013. Whether its drugs, women, cars, clothes, men, or all the above, if anything you should desire seems its been acquired too easily I beg of you to follow this simple command: run. That’s right motherfucker, run. Run like you’re being chased down by rabid animals because I can promise your conscience you are doing just that. Whether or not you feel the bullseye on your back, I assure you its there. If this miserable year taught us anything, its that not only are you in the crosshairs, but the fucking bullseye is probably being aimed by your most trusted confidant.
The year didn’t start off this askew or predestined for failure. Quite the contrary. 2013 was brought in, with its first 8 weeks being a sort of drug addled hit parade. Travels to New York to visit my sister highlighted the beginning and returning from the east to engage with Anarchy in ourqq own little rendition of a Hotel California, without the palm trees or Pacific beaches. Ours commenced along the Mississippi riverbeds and had you suggested even in the first week of March that the year 2013 was to be anything shy of spectacular, such ideas wouldn’t have been granted a moments notice or the slightest bit of consideration. We were kicking life’s ass, day by day. We were invincible.
The rapid unraveling of our yawn initially began the 3rd week of March, when after shooting junk for a 3 day stretch, we were in that desperate grasp of just trying to knock ourselves out. We had acquired some Haldol, a powerful tranquilizer used for the overly abrasive and psychotic. What a bloody fucking mistake. After 4 hours of taking the devil drug, alone in my upstairs lair, my malnourished body began convulsing, rapidly jerking and shaking itself like an epileptic with a light saber. To add to the convulsions was a deep planted back spasm pattern which felt as if the Wolverine had impaled my filthy kidneys with his 10 inch razor nails. Worse was the underlining fear that this newly acquired handicap was going to sustain itself as the new norm! Was I really damned so much so that now my fate as a wheelchair-ridden spaz was to be accepted? 9 hours of seizure after seizure, until noon hit and I finally called 9-11. I tried everything inside my minds eye before calling the paramedics, because I knew that once the manager of the Sober Houses is hauled away in an ambulance, the party as I knew it would be over, and we would change forever.
I disappeared into detox for a week, and returned to the houses, both filled with embarrassment as well as relieved. No more was I under the thumb of the petty alliances I had built up around us to protect our double life. The “plan” was to have me work behind the scenes with the houses, forfeiting my role as shot caller and money manager, and certainly no longer the face of the company. I lied and said I was excited for the new, less stressful role, while in actuality I could have hurled on command at the mention of such of demotion, had I any calories to upchuck. To go from the grandstanding puppeteer to the bum who pulls the curtain was the only way my polluted mind could ascertain what was happening to my fortress, kingdom, and world I had carefully crafted. If I had simply cut the losses as they were and moved away in peace, well, then this wouldn’t be The DopeSick Diaries.
2 miserable months of having to act like “everyone else” at the Sober Living community was proving to be too much for my pride and patience. The tipping of the scales came on a May weekend that had Anarchy out of state with family. It always came to pass that whenever she would be away for a few days, I invariably acted out of order. This blunder would prove to be a notch cut deeper. A salt-soaked wound. You see 2013 was the year of Ultimate Betrayal. The initiating example came a rodent we will call Chrome Dome. A brief description is that Chrome Dome came to me while I was still the manager, broke and homeless with no food or job. In 2 months he was back on his feet and so much so that he was healthy enough to tell the police officer that had him pulled over that if the cop went to room such and such at the whatever hotel in town, the manager of the Sober Houses is having a heyday. That’s right, Rudolph. How do you like that? Ratted out by a rodent who hadn’t a piece of cheese before I showed him the cheddar. Minutes after he spilled his gutless stomach, the hotel room I was in was flooded with federal, state, as well as the local bacon patrolman. The betrayal brigade had began its march through our muddy waters.
Once I was pushed to outskirts of town by the local klansmen, torches and battle hymns in tow, I found myself subscribing to my old friend death wish inside the walls of my littered hotel suite. 6 weeks of succumbing to any poison being peddled, I was locked in on losing it all. What did I care? I went from local superstar to neighborhood nuisance overnight, so to Hell with any ideas of salvaging this shit pile. Against my will to die alone, I was offered a life jacket from a friend to the east and it was as undeserved as it was ingenious. It gave me the ideal surroundings to get off junk and give this game one final quarter.
All things considered the unexpected revival went swimmingly for far longer than anyone could have predicted. However, 2013 and the year of betrayal would prove to be unaltered despite the moments of recent triumph. This time the attacks would come from the hands and heartlessness that only a mother could orchestrate. That’s right. Just as soon as I had been clean for 3 months or so, my mommy-dearest found it necessary to disturb and dilute and of the filtered watered my life had cleaned up. See, mommy doesn’t like this blog. She hates it because its uncut and actually honest, both attributes her narcissism cannot stomach. For some reason she feels as if my downward spirals will give a reflection of her and her parenting. Like I said, narcissism, but anyway mommy dearest decided to show up to my court hearings and scream to the ceiling about how much of a danger I am, since, *gasp* , I take methadone! It’s bad enough she tried sabotaging my court proceedings and luckily the judge isn’t half the imbecile my mother can be and actually the gavel man is thrilled at the drug’s success within my life; But mommy’s arrow aiming didn’t cease there. She found it appropriate to call around town to employers of my son’s maternal relatives and expressing the danger the family is in due to my methadone maintenance/ drug replacement therapy. All of this from a woman with a masters degree.
So much betrayal, such little time. As I logged in an earlier entry, I was sold out by a long time partner in crime for a quarter gram of meth, attacked by a dyke with penis envy and a list of other assaults of character, all of which came from the hearts of those I once helped a hundred times back again. No good deed goes unpunished I have heard, but alas, I’ve now lived it as intensely as any poor bastard might. Somehow I have sidestepped the suicidal ideation that would be more than appropriate considering the aforementioned misery, which doesn’t even calculate half of the examples. Some of the news surrounding my health could fill anyones quota for quitting but here I sit, similar to 365 days ago, scribbling about the theme of the last 12 months. How much empathy does the planet have left? How long our are attention spans for the consideration of others? Or have we went from the comatose condition of 2012, to the over zealous back knifing of 2013, never to be a balanced act again? Its as if we either say nothing as we see a child entering traffic or we usher them into the danger and run them over ourselves. Nothing in between.
It hard not to wonder what the wine that once was water will taste like in 2014. Surely not as bland as ’12, but nothing as bitter as 2013 should be anticipated either, right? Who really can say? In typical fashion I will freelance the fun, one word at a time and in proper form will be starting my 2014 with a tidal wave of change. See tomorrow I will begin my taper off of methadone. Currently I take the state’s limit of 400 mills each day, and starting tomorrow at 0530 hours, I will begin the maximum taper allowed of dropping 15 mills each day. Most junkies drop 5-10 mills each week when they decide to taper. I know better. I know I’m much too marinated in my medication to pussyfoot the process and expect any sort of success. So I must approach this tramp the way I would any other. Rudely, crudely, and full of amped up attitude. I was fortunate to have the clinic when I stumbled in, though I cannot sustain myself on the fringes of any society. Half in, half out, not really clear headed but not as cloudy as it could be. Nonsense!
However you decide to costume yourself Sir 2014, I will be steady in my discernments. Maybe more so than any other time I am prepared for any awful outcome, because there is nothing that can be tossed into my bubble that hasn’t blown me or blown up before me, thus far. I expect the empathy tanks are drained and empty for an androgynous, queer loving commy junky that daunts makeup and self mutilates. That’s okay, as its expected. The world has been taken over by phonies who scream liberal songs and altruistic hymns until whatever circumstance touches their own family and then they pucker tightly like asshole of a country conservative who can’t admit he likes his love button penetrated. That’s right, this whole nation of “liberals” that love the rooftop hollering of equality, except in matters concerning their own (in) security, can burn baby burn. Perhaps when their asses turn ashes, something sustaining can resurface. It’s the last grasp left. Ta-Ta. For better or worse…