OVERDRIVE: autor tohohle webu a autor tech bezvadnejch mixtapes mi napsal neco o svem zivote, je toho vic, zajimave mj. je to, ze kdyz to psal, nevedel o mem tanci na spicce jehly, nicmene vrana k vrane seda, a koukam, ze je to definovane uz i hudebnim vkusem... nebo, ze by bylo pro nektere opiatove uzivatele priznacne, ze maji vkus [poplacat po ramene] nebo talent [poskrabat za ouskem]?
at tak nebo tak, tady je kus jeho dopisu
About three years ago I was offered a job that involved tons of unsupervised chemicals. I guess they wanted me to look after them, but after a year of working there, I started supervising oxy up my nose.
Never saw it coming. After a while my apartment had transformed into little pharmacy and work toilet had become my own personal opium den. I learned to look down on people to hide my bloody nostrils.
I didn't think I had any problems as long as it didn't affect my work. Sometimes I wondered how in the hell I didn't manage to die from all the drugs and alcohol in my system (I almost did, about five times).
I build up a high tolerance for every interesting drug in the market. When friends came over I offered them liquid oxy shots, like some enlightened bartender from William Burroughs novel. They really like to come over. I snorted over 400 mg of oxy everyday and took 1-2 g's of pregabalin to triple all the fun. I guess that wasn't enough, because I drank everyday and explored all kinds of pill combos like a little kid in a museum of natural science. At that point I got bit scared I wasn't gonna make it out alive. It took me a ocean of tears, sweat and nightmares to get some control on my using.
I thought it's gonna be very embarrassing if my clueless country boy boss is gonna find about my little secrets, well he didn't. Onetime he asked my buddy, why my eyes are like saucers (it was the pregabalin),
he also tried to break into toilet while I was crushing pills. I guess he was onto something. He never confronted me or fired me. What a strange fellow.
He started calling me Bin Laden because I didn't shave for over a year. Atrocities were committed by both sides. I never had to be away from work and that needle stuff didn't appeal to me.
I thought to myself I was going to stop everything this spring/summer, only to find myself sucking on whole transdermal fentanyl patches everyday.
That went on for three months, then all the bone ache got too painfully real and I decided to try out the power of self-suggestion and taper down the fentanyl use.
You tell yourself a lie and work on that, death and empathy are great mentors. I succeeded and changed the drug into buprenorphine for two weeks and then stopped completely.
I tried to get professional help once, but their whole ”we wont shake your hand, but we want to watch you pee behind a mirror” method didn't motivate me for too long.
I didn't need their drugs, just wanted someone to convince me to change my habits.
Those were interesting two years, but I had enough. I left that job last month, now I gotta new job in my line of business. I've been completely sober for three months now.
My mind is a grasshopper trapped inside a pop-o-matic bubble. Ejaculation and appetite are back, but I'm turning into Adolf Wölfli. Paper trumpets and imaginary marching bands behind my back, here I come.
Oh, the folly of youth.
A kindly ruin.
This is just the post acute withdrawal talking. I'm relatively happy.