DRUGS A-Z

It`s not as easy as you may imagine. Hanging once self is almost impossible within the parameters of an average apartment and plaster covered walls. No nail would support the crushing weight of your tired of life body. You see… a successful hanging is done through the breaking of the spinal cord, not choking and for that one has to fall a few meters to accelerate enough. A proper vein slicing is done length vise, not across and an overdose is rarely lethal, since the chances are that you are already a junkie with a body easily able to tolerate many times the dose of almost anything, used for an overdose. Suicide is rarely painless either. Execution, for example is not a merciful way to end a life. Chopping off once head often took several blows, while a hanging man was often struggling several minutes, doing the  “Wallcing Matilda”. The longest execution took 40 minutes by electrocution, still considered at the time as the most civilized and humane way.  Today’s  execution by the lethal injection consists of 3 steps. Tranquilizers, muscle relaxant and the chemical that actually stops your heart. One often is almost immune to the effect of the first two, having abused the same group of narcotics. Time stops completely, terrified unable to move, waiting.Waiting must be the hard part. 3 shots and you are out- the American policy was executing the lost souls for stealing a loaf of bread. Tied down and looking through the glass window at once relatives and the bunch of bystanders, who came just to take a peak. There is no  humane way to take a life. Still I tried. Hanging, cutting veins, overdose, death by a cop shooting, jumping from the 14 meters high window- I`v tried them all. One ending more pathetically than the other. Cops never guessed my plan and had never even drew their weapons at the drunken guy, showting at them, pretending to draw something from the jackets inner pocket.- Even in Sweden, one has to have the dark complexion to be considered as a deadly thread for the cops.

The time of jumping, I decided to make sure to die and overdosed with the alcohol and the chill pills mixture, as an extra nail in my coffin. After drinking half a bottle of  Stolichnaya and swallowing 50st of the Rohypnols, I climbed up the window, stretched my arms and jumped, landing on the asphalt, 14 meters below. I was still conscious, when my mother, having run down the stairs, lifted my head from the thick pool of blood. I whispered something incoherent, according to her, before passing out for the next several months. I realized, that by killing once self, one commits a murder or two on the way (one self and parents) , but at the time I was too deep in my ego to think about my mother. Junkies can be extremely self centered- a nasty quality that did not bypass me either in my 20-es then. 

When I was beginning my drinking and drug taking as a teenager- my good friend has committed a suicide by the same way, except, that he was jumping from the 17-th floor, so he succeeded. I am not sure what kind of a mess his relatives found at the bottom, but at the funeral the coffin was closed. He was 18 and madly in love with a girl I knew.  So much so, that the reason of his jumping was his jealous suspicion of her neglecting him.  At the time I hang out with her and we begun taking methamphetamine together, which became her number one priority over him almost immediately. She still loved him, she just “needed more space”- the phrase that pushed his dumb teenage body over the edge. I saw his mother at the funeral or rather I heard her- her howling is the most haunting sound I`v ever heard in my life.  Even now- just mentioning it makes me shiver- it was the kind of lonely sorrow and all consuming fear, that we, being teenagers, could not understand. She became a silent ghost since then. We never mentioned his name again, but I remember, that all of us drunk much more since then, as if trying to forget him with every shot of the hard liqueur.  Something, that I managed rather well- I neither can remember his face, nor his name now, but I will never forget his mother`s unearthly cry.  My Mother never was the same since my jumping either.

So, I am not trying to stop you, dear- if you have decided- I am sure you have some pretty good reasons for ending it all. You should know though, that those reasons will most probably look absolutely ridiculous to you in a couple of years, if you choose to fight.  My reasons at the time were the side effects of the daily ingested alcohol and the drugs mixture- the kind of anxiety, that is perceived as a physical pain. Sometimes I was sure, that I was having a heart attack- I could neither breathe nor move, with my body frozen around the black hole of pain in the center of my rib cage. Having developed the tolerance to all of the benzoephedrines, I had to take hand fulls of them, combined with alcohol and pot, before, only hours later during the day, the anxiety began to subside. By that time I was so wasted, that I had no true self awareness or memory of that day left. So went months in a row- all that I remember from every day, were those few morning hours of fear and agony, before the chemicals kicked in. It was as if my life was a non-stop torture. That is why I`v decided to end it.The alternative was quitting drinking and doing drugs- something I was not ready for then.

My friend did it over his teenage love- a popular reason for many kids, but like all of the reasons to kill one self, it waters down with time. I thought, that I`ve started my life with some powerful junk- I have experienced things, that many can not even imagine. I have tickled all of my brain receptors and I have milked all the hormone producing cells, to the almost complete depletion. One can not experience a 3 hour long orgasm and still think that the average sex is fun. Whatever happens in once` brain`s chemistry, when jumping with a parachute or with a bungie cord, or even when falling in love for the first time or experiencing a spiritual revelation- any kind of joy or ecstasy- I have chemically pushed it all to the max. I have mixed it together in all of the imaginable combination and I have done it, heightening the dose, until it no longer worked and now I was Bored.  Everything, that was left in life would be downhill, I imagined- never shall I experience anything that could compare with the heights and kicks I`v reached chemically. Luckily the memory of that unearthly buzz disappears fast and life`s experiences can feel fresh again. I`v, in a way cut the middle step in the process of experiencing life- living itself, getting directly to the feelings and since they are produced chemically in our brains-I was done with living. My chemical romance has let me down, leaving me depleted and burned out. I knew that this day would come, just not so soon.  Not even the psychedelics worked any longer,while weed just made me tired and the opiates made me drowsy, while the  ecstasy, strangely made me cry, crawling  all four, begging for this hell to end. I could eat pills by dozens, not getting where I wanted and not even  the good old amphetamine worked anymore. Coke was useless and even the trusty alcohol just made me loose my consciousness for a while.  Nothing made me smile and I forgot how the laughter sounded years ago. Music, that once was life changing, now was just a gray sound of the background. I could never experience the sweet sounds ever again, as I did once, being high out of my widgets. I understood then, what the creator of the track meant with every single note. They became alive, with their own character, talking to me in some alien tongue. I then have dissolved in the rhythm, having flown out of my body. Melody was almost too much- I could not take it any more, yet I went on and as expected, I`v depleted my reserves. Music never could sound the same.  I`v lost my psychedelic ability to hear the colors. I still could see and hear, however the shades of gray that were left to experience life with, only were good for the daily routines- to see and recognize the objects.

The “normal” life seemed both unreachable and undesirable- I`v built up a whole philosophy regarding the normal values, enough to distance myself from them with an arm length of cynicism.  My life was was used up- “live fast, die young”. Back then I did not realize, that my life had not even truly begun. I thought it was time to die.

I did not fear death for as long as I can recall. How can one fear something one is not consciously experiencing, such as a permanent dreamless sleep? Meanwhile if there was to be some form of an afterlife, I heavily doubt, that a God, unless being a sadist, would ever send us to a permanent torture of Christian hell. Pointless, and inhumane. Besides if we are able to forgive, the God must be even kinder, -I was grabbing religious straws, just to play with the thoughts, however by that time I`v completely lost any faith. Most of the people, having a near death experience, feel deeper appreciation for the life. Not me.
I didn`t feel specially bad on the day of my jumping attempt, except for being bored out of my mind. I had snorted almost  gram of speed in one go, resulting in a short overdose-caused sleep.
Having lost all of my veins to the hundreds of injections, according to me I had no body to play with left.  Suicide seemed as the ultimate experience,the last experiment and the proper conclusion to the wasted life.
I hoped that it would be nothing special. It`s just like falling asleep, not worrying about waking up again and having to face yet another day. Just what I was hoping every night for months, if I had any consciousness left to think, I only hoped not to wake up the next morning.

I became semi aware for a while in the intensive care unit, hooked up to every imaginable medical apparatus there was. Faces were flashing by. My mother, followed by  my best friend, an angel-like doctor and the busy nurses. Later, they told me, that through the whole time I had the dumbest grin on my newly patched up face, not being able to pronounce any words. My head looked like an egg, turned on its side.
I was high on the opiate based painkillers, delivered by a 24/7  dropper, having the most vivid dreams, probably partially due to the brain damage, with a plot and all senses involved. I was watching a non existent large screen TV, across the room, being amused by a never produced new Simpson`s episode. I was a worker somewhere in Asia, planting rice for a lollipop as a form of payment from my fat Buddha like landlord. I was serving sharks caviar at Wills Smith`s second wedding party. For a short while I was so impressed with the vividness of my dreams, that I speculated about the possibility of them being reality based- a past life or the parallel words. Later I found out, that the sharks lay egg like capsules and not the caviar.
My best friend brought me a bucket of  flowers and huge poppy seed capsules, which were the part of the arrangement, the kind that the heroine was produced from. I remember trying to reach them, in a hope of chewing them up and getting even more opiates in to my system. My arm, hips, legs and the jaw were shuttered, still I made a futile attempts to reach the vase. Never enough. Never…

Here is a piece of my writing from that time- note the heavy stench of the doom, around that piece. I hoped, that the world would end for years before my final suicide attempt. Apocalypse would take away the work load of me. Besides- I was dreaming for a change- something drastic, revolutionary- the end of the world I lived in. This why, already as a teenager I was seeking more and more extremist ideologies. Anarchism suited me well, but even taking part in the demonstrations as the peak- the riots did not bring  any satisfaction.   Disillusioned and depressed I was sinking deeper and deeper in to the suicidal depression.

While in the beginning I tried to defend my sinful pleasure seeking  in terms of philosophy, politics and even theology. However I, as all of the drug users out there, was simply out for the ultimate high. To get as much pleasure as possible. “Drugs are better than sex”- something I`v heard before loosing my virginity. Now, having tried it all in all imaginable combinations- I can say, that no- drugs are not better than sex, but sex on drugs can be something extra. However you must know, that combining those two, you run a huge risk not to be able to experience or give pleasure to your partner, unless you get buzzed. I`v messed up much of my social life this way: I only met people, while drinking.  Now, 20 years later, when I got sober- to my horror I realized, that I am socially handicapped. I had no lust left for anything- not to go out, and not even sit and chat with someone, unless I took somethin` somethin. I suspect, that when it comes to sex- this risks are even higher to create a chemical symbiosis from hell.  -I managed to avoid it, having tried sex on different drugs as an experiment. Yet, when it comes to love or any romantic feelings- I am a zombie. Last I felt in love, was when I was 15- 20 years ago- just when I started drinking and doping drugs regularly.  Drugs may last longer and cost cheaper, but compared second by second- no chemical beats an orgasm with your favorite person. So I decided to combine the two…

I`v tried to take up to 5 different drugs at a time- one after another. That did not make me 5 times happier. I presume, that there is a certain level of joy and pleasure, above which our brains just scramble. One is no longer  aware of ones feelings and is left confused. The highest high I would love to say, was  one of the mind and not the body. (Acid vs crack), but we are still the monkeys- creatures of the flesh and it`s the bodily pleasures, that are the most addictive ones. Combining the two kinds of high, would be like making love, being in love…s o I presumed. Now, years later, after my experiments mixing drugs, I can honestly say, that I don`t remember a shit. That is another point, with drugs- the highs are fleeting and don`t leave one with a warm memory, as  a does the emotional connection. Seems like the higher one gets, the less memory of it is left.

One step higher was still left- to try having sex, while being high on different drugs. While abusing chemicals, -love, relations and sex loose their appeal, replaced with the dirty lust to lie in ones own vomit, with a needle still stuck in ones arm.  One becomes more and more emotionally numb, while the sex drive becomes less and less. Still- I it never went away completely, so there I was- having the one night stands with the girls, whose faces I would not recognize, if I was to meet them today. Still- I know what happened in bed, after I took some…

Acid (LSD), psychedelics- by them selves, the psychedelics do not affect the body that much, however one becomes extremely sensitive, when it comes to emotional perception. It can be heavenly beautiful, a complete ecstasy of mind and body. Just as it can turn into a hellish puppet show, where one finds ones self as if looking at the most revolting perverse porno film, where everything is fake, and the strange bodies convulse in a scary scene. Of course then one looses the excitement needed to proceed.

Alcohol- well, you know that one. My first time was after drinking half a bottle of wine. While it may smear the connection and make one less nervous the first time- it takes away probably more, than it gives.

Benzoephedrines – the chill pills do just that- make you chill, which is not exactly what one wants in sex. Generally- all of the Central Nervous System Stimulants are more likely to get up upp and running, while the depressants, will do the opposite. (Alcohol, being a depressant is strangely responsible for a lot of sex, may it be unwanted one.)

Cocaine- coke makes you cocky, which is likely to get you laid. Just as much as it`s likely to get you slapped over the face for grabbing someones ass. It`s a stimulant, with all that it implies, being in the same category as speed.

GHB, GBL- if you are not going to pass out from an overdose, you have a good chance to have fun “doing it”- both emotional and physical senses are heightened. It is called a sex drug by some, however to get an overdose is extremely easy and if taken with a partner- you double the chance of one of you passing out.

GRASS, WEED THC – just as it may make you horny, it may drive you the other way- thoughts and feelings may get somewhat scrambled. It does make you rather tired also, but it may be loads of fun- mostly due to the heightened perception and emotions.

Heroine - if you are going to get laid on heroine, it`s likely to be some sad, turned away face sex, in payment for just taken dose. All senses are dampened and you will probably feel no love or attraction.

Ecstasy - there may be such thing as too much pleasure, when ones looses self awareness and perception turns into a complete chaos. E and sex can do this- one rolls one`s eyes, while the whole sweaty body jerks and trembles. Not a pretty sight.

Sage-Salvia Devinorum -Just kidding- if you would somehow miraculously manage to combine sex with this hallucinogen- you would probably come to, waking up, not knowing what/where/why or whom you were doing. Then you would probably run away scared.

Subutex- the synthetic opiate, does work like any opiate- dampening both the emotions and the physical feelings. With one popular side effect- one easily keeps on “doing it” for 40 minutes or more. However after using it for a while- one may notice, that the feelings, surrounding love and love making are not as sharp as before- it all works fine, just the lust is not as it used to be.

Viagra -I bought a bunch of the illegal knock-offs, having heard, that one does not need to have any problems, to enjoy the boost, they bring. I am not trying to show off here, but they actually still lie somewhere in a drawer. I think I tried one once and did not notice much, if any difference.

Generally, with drugs- as with everything- one pays for what ever booster or a kick one got at a time- for every high, there comes a low. Probably, -how ever contradictory it may sound- one pays more for the drugs, that seem less dangerous, giving less of a hangover or a withdrawal. Because the “less damaging” once, are more easy can turn into a lifestyle drug, instead of some one-time wicked trip,- and I would not dare to mix a “lifestyle” daily use of a  chemical with sex.

“Doing drugs ends in jail, death, suicide ore loosing ones mind.”  The ultimate scare story, I`v heard from the people, fighting for my sobriety. Something I`v long refused to believe, despite living through this prediction. During the first few years I  imagined finding the golden balance, able to combine drugs and booze with whatever life I choose. In the beginning I thought, that chemicals were my calling and I may be the first one to find the true happiness and life`s meaning through them. Later, as most of the grown ups, I become dreaming of the “normal” life- work, family and a bit of recreational dope. Or I may choose to quit, as I did with all of the drugs, except for the alcohol, opiates and whatever I found here and there.

Of course, one does not stop doing something pleasurable, until the pain and hurt overweight it. Later I realised, that  addiction, implies, that one does it, whether it brings pain or pleasure. One just does it. I`v lost the ability to think straight and logical, that even after the year in jail and the suicide attempts- I still thought, that I can reach happiness, doing drugs and drinking. I`ll show them all!

I guess, that was the part of loosing iT. IT, being me, my persona and my mind. I am writing this, after many  meeting with a psychologist and months of therapy. I am writing this, for the first time, since quitting it all- beginning to feel, that I am better. So much better, that I am able to see in how deep of a psychological hole I am. Realising it IS actually the first step to being better. Does it mean, that I am going to stop writing and will get me a gray suit and a pink tie, showing that I am not “one of the suits”- I still have a playful side? No- I hope I will write more, without becoming one of the anti-drug propaganda sites. I may sometimes regret the time wasted, but I am not going to feel sorry for the life experience, that made me who I am. It may have fucked me up, but now I think I`m on the path to revival.  I still find mind chemistry and drugs to be the most fascinating subject and there is as much left to say and tell as ever. However, sadly I have to admit, that unless you are smoking an occasional reefer. there is a big fat chance, that you will end as the beginning of this post. I have done and went through it all and I have not ended this way, mostly thanks to the Swedish drug rehabilitation programme.

My biggest problem, after sobering up, was realising how incredibly boring my life is. I could no longer hang out with people, finding it mind numbing, without some chemical relief. That is where I am now- trying no longer to run and hide from life and people, but to find the new spark and interest. Do you have it?

It has been over a year, since the last time I did drugs.  Or 6 hours, since the last time I took an opiate. You see- in most of the worlds languages “medication” and “illegal dope” have separate words to define them, while in my favorite English- drugs are drugs. Doctor prescribes you your drugs, while you have to go to a rehab to get off the drugs. Of course- there are few other words, such as “dope”, but then we are talking more of a slang. “Shit” is also a popular word to describe a favorite chemical.

Before I did not quite get it, thinking, that it is confusing and a medicine should not be defined by the same noun as an illegal drug. Now, however I think, that it`s brilliant. One  understands through the context, which type of chemicals one means, but drugs are drugs, Something that I`v learned through skin.

I probably have mentioned here before, that I am on The Program.  The Swedish narcotics substitution program, which is spread and is growing world over, having slightly different names for the synthetic opiates, meant to replace the heroine and now even alcohol addiction and lower its` craving. You may have heard of Methadone or the other one, called Subutex here or Subuxone in the States. It works and it saves lives, one of many is mine. The point meanwhile is that it`s still a drug and can be used as a hell of a junk if snorted or injected by some fun seeking dope head.

When thinking about all of the drugs-I always had one sort in my mind,  that did not fit in neither the “drug” nor the “medicine” definition. Those were the psychedelics.

I never thought, that they could or should be used as a purely recreational, -”getting high” drug.  Being a sacrilegious act for many, who took them to communicate with a god or rise in to some spiritual plane, its` effects just did not fit with all the others. I would never take LSD again or lick a frog or swallow a mushroom, but I never regretted the experience. I thought, that I`v gone through all the insights and enlightenment, that it could give me. Now I would probably only get some sort of hallucinogenic high from it- which was never the point for me, taking them. It has been several years, since the last experiments, smoking the  Salvia Divinorum (which I found less that fun and more that pointless). So it was then, that I`v decided never to take any psychedelic drugs again in my life. Which was quite easy, considering, that all of the psychedelic drugs I am aware of are not addictive. So it went, and I forgot about them, until I was prescribed a pill by my doctor. One that dragged me through the 3 days of the strongest psychedelic experience of my life.

I`v also mentioned, that thanks to my 21 years of the alcohol abuse, I`v developed a something like the epilepsy. I begun collapsing all of a sudden in a seizure, violently convulsing, hitting my head over the floor. It could happen anytime anywhere. Sometimes I could feel it coming a few minutes before, feeling growing panic and a sense of loosing the touch with reality. The most scary experience in my life- until that 3 days-long tripp. The medication I`v got is called Ergenyl and was supposed to stop my cramps. Also it is mood stabilizer- something to help me with my mood swings. Despite not having them on a medical scale, the medical stuff on the Subutex program have insisted, that I need something for the bipolar disorder. I thought I give it a try, despite not really suffering from neither a clinical depression, not any sort of a manic periods. Later a major doctor ( a head above all the stuff at where I go to get my pills)- she said, that it`s ridiculous and of course, I clearly do not suffer from a bipolar disorder.

Then one begins to wonder. While the majority of my “program” recovering junkies colleagues are sure, that a large meaning of the whole drug substitution program is to have a bunch of right less addicts to experiment and test different medications on. I still never thought of it that way and way rather grateful for the whole shebang. I got a bit of a doubt and a shade of paranoia, however, when I`v told the doctors about my violent psychotic reaction to the Ergenyl and they have all denied it. I saw others on the net, describing the same reactions- still the medical stuff around me denied any possibility of the Ergenyl being the guilty part. All until, I`v met that holy doctor- the one I`v mentioned, she is the head of the different division of substitution program at the hospital. The clever one, she admitted, that I did not suffer from any of the bipolar disorder symptoms and she also admitted, that she has met others, who got the same psychotic side effects from the Ergenyl. Would`t you agree, that one can get slightly mystified on a verge of paranoid, wondering- what the hell is going on.

Basically, that night, after taking the Ergenyl pills, I`v begun to feel a slight feeling of disconnection with reality. My thoughts went surfing through what I`v thought were parallel dimensions. I thought of the evolution, the creation, the theology and philosophy that night- experiencing every mind blowing insight on my own mind and body. It was very much like LSD, times ten. I loss the perception of time and just lied there in my bed, starring in the empty space, filled with flying strings (which I thought were those from the physics string theory) . Like it is with the LSD and other psychedelics, that whole effect gradually disappeared the next morning and my mind blowing insights faded away, while those left in memory, did not seem as deep.

So I`v popped two more pills that evening and the effect returned with a vengeance -this time it was one of the most horrifying experiences of my life. Basically I felt, that I was loosing my mind, which was more scary, than the fear of death. I remember through all the terrifying confusion being able to call the ambulance and beg them to get me or I don`t know what will happen. 45 minutes later they`v picked me up, lying curled in the corner of my building, outside.

The worst of the bad acid trips, took sometimes up to two days to completely recover from psychologically. This one took 2 weeks, before I could completely reconnect with the reality and stop getting flash back feelings of loosing connection with the reality.

I did not find this side effect on the Ergenyl`s home page, however, as I`v mentioned- it was described by others on the net, in the medical discussion groups and the major doctor of the program also admitted seeing this rare side effect.

Tomorrow I’m going to go through the magnetic brain scan. I`ll drop a line as soon as I get the results. While feeling alright psychologically- my epileptic seizures hit me double as often now, comparing with the times when I was drinking and taking all that could be called a drug. It`s ironic, how I am getting to pay for all my wild years now- when I`v been clean and sober for over a year…

I should have been dead.  So, so many times.  From my own attempts to end it all, to the dosen overdoses.  Many people thought, that I have died this time, while I was away at the hospital for almost a month.  All the time I was being checked, tried and tested the new drugs on (as in medication)- all to stop my epileptic seizures. Something, that normally is genetic, I have managed to develop through the decades of the alcohol abuse.

It is ironic, I guess, how I have to pay for the 2 decades of chemical abuse now- when I became clean and sober.  I shall continue writing- try to do it more than ever, since I have so much to say. The problem is that I have hit my head so hard and so many times, when having the seizures, that I have trouble concentrating. So, instead of writing- I drew…

…I think I`v got myself a braindamage of some sorts- I feel that I am getting dumber by the minute, forgetting things, while doing them. Just freezing there, with fishy eyes, cofused and scared.  I believe that the alchogol is to blame- besides killing off the brain cells, while soaking them in liquer- I`v actually developped epilepsy- getting ceisurez- collapsing and convulsing, like posessed by a demon. (One of my relatives, when seeing my drawings, said, that I may need to undergo an excorsism. I will take it easy, rest and hope for the human body`s incredible ability to heal. If I get back to normal- I shall continue writing. For now- here are a few more of my drawings, while at the hospital.

inhalers666@gmail.com – is my less than private e-mail, so please do write if you got something inspiring or something that has to be said. I do not promice to answer, but I will check it out regulary.

For now- I need to rest, allowing my brain to… what`s the word…?

Words- communication riot- the chemichalls missfire… I think I shall be returning to this page to drop a throught or two, untill my thoughts become more coherent.

So….Chemicalls, huh? -The language of existance-from gods imagined to the insect squashed…

…Looking from the outside- a sober person can be amused or even shocked over  the choices a junkie makes throughout the course of ones chemical adventures. Addiction is a bitch and it is understandable, that it would not always  follow the logic of “worth”. Selling ones house for a few hundred grams of heroine or giving a blow job for a fix  are the classic stories, when describing the horrors of the addiction. Here, however I would like to describe some of the personal retched pathes I`v descended, that are not related to my heroine use, but are no less strange and  harder for me to understand now, Looking back and being clean…

 "TheHasaCool" or Not...The story of weed ans as it slowly lost its poin...

For long cannabis has been my background buzz to everything other, since THC often strengthens the effect of everything other taken with it. After a while, as with any other dope, the tolerance reached such level, that it became impossible to take a high enough dose to reach the satisfying kick.  Just like with many other drugs I`v tried different ways of consuming marijuana, such as smoking it in different pipes and even eating it in bakeries or for example smoking “the bucket” (ones head is pushed down by colleagues into a bucket,  inhaling lungs full capacity in a split second)- all to increase  the intake of the alkaloid THC. Had it been possible, I would have begun injecting it, as one usually  does with the  majority of other drugs. The other way to get the kick was to seek out the ever more potent sorts of the grass, and while selling it- I have reached the top, buying the cannabis cup winner, grown hydroponically. Imagine a flower, covered in thick crystals, which are basically the pure THC.

I`v first encountered a dilemma, when my lungs have revolted, rejecting the inhumane amounts of smoke and tar  and I begun experiencing asthma-like symptoms and an awful pain in my lungs and throat with every inhalation of the grass filled- pipe. For me it was a cul de sac- I could not, would not stop smoking- not so much because of the addictive properties of the cannabis, since  pot is not really that addictive, (comparing to all the other drugs). I begun experienced the effect of inhaling half a pack of Marlboro’s in one blow/drag. However it has become so much the part of my daily routine, as well as my persona, life and identity. -Weed was the flag of my ultra- liberal political views as well- as I`v mentioned- it made all the other drugs work much better.- Potenciating.  My dumb choice was to continue smoking, slightly less, compensating it with the ever growing amounts of alcohol.  It was no longer as fun, but then again- it has lost its initial “pot-header`s” effect years ago. I remember, that the only enjoyable smoke became the “glorious morning one”.  On an empty stomach, still half dizzy after awakening with the heavy head from all the drinks and drugs, that  I`v taken the day before. It was as if all of the chemicals awoken and had a last mad dance with the morning drag from the pipe. I could no longer smoke every hour, because one would think, that IT WAS NO LONGER WORTH IT- lungs aching & the ever diminishing effect, that in the end was at best some dizziness and numbness. Plus about a 50$/day I could save on it, if just selling the useless shit!  Not giving up- I was still pushing the boundaries, smoking as much or as I thought was worth, in my somewhat stoned head. Now I wanted  to find something, that would make the effect of the pot stronger, -as it once was.  So I begun drinking more of the extra strong beer (7,2%), starting with one directly when I woke up and continuing through out the whole day, waiting for the kick-ass evening, when I became drunk enough for the weed to bring its` stoning effect. No longer have I enjoyed the psychedelic or mood elevating qualities of the THC…  I no longer could feel the creativity buzz or laugh my ass off at the dumbest of the sit-comes on TV- all I felt was “NADA”, the Eldorado of drug abuse- basically sitting and staring in front of me, drooling as a brain-dead. The state of mind,every junkie is a  seeker of   be it heroine or mixed benzoephedrines with alcohol- The senseless, deprived of any feeling- the state of Nothing. Being stoned was no longer the initial point, it was simply a step to the “lights on but no one home”  state of mind. One is so gone, that there usually no memory of the day before- then one knows, that one got fixed, switched off , so the day was “successful”. Don`t get me wrong- one can be enjoying cannabis as well as other drugs, one can even be a true connoisseur, however here I am talking as a professional junkie- not a user, but abuser. Let`s call this mindless state for “The State” or “Newroza” in my further narrative. How can it be worth it to spend everything one owns, destroying ones health, feeling anxiety and depression every minute, when not “fixed”-all for the feeling of complete numbness? I dunno… It`s the addiction- ones`s point of life, ones job, ones occupation and ones hobby… Basically not to feel anything. That was never me. Sure- I have used drugs as a social lubricant, sedative, sleeping aid, mood elevator, creativity boost and many more, but when I wanted to feel the “drooling nothing”- I tried to kill my self.

Bigger problems came after I got busted for the first time as a drug dealer and the government took an  interest in me as a drug user. After serving my one year in 3 jails, I had to show up and leave the regular urine tests, to show, that I was not doing anything stupid and was in fact rehabilitating and dope free.  Showing a positive result on any of the common drugs, would leave me outside the “system”- basically homeless  and without the social care or the welfare money. Weed was the most dangerous of the drugs  as failing the Test- while being the most wide spread, cannabis also got the aura of the rebellion surrounding it.  Often people took a few drags from a joint, when drunk at a party,- feeling angry at the system and thinking, that “Grass is not really a drug, it should be legalized, I am a grown girl and they have no right to control my life!”- all those childishly rebellious thoughts were especially dangerous, combined with the fact, that the THC stays in the body longer, than any other drug and even a couple of the lung fulls shall sink into your fat tissues and slowly release in to your urine during many days ahead. So many people have woken up the next morning with a hangover and a horrible anxiety over smoking some grass at the party and now risking to loose everything. It could mean anything from a talk and a warning to loosing ones job & apartment,- basically ones life-support. All depending on who and how deeply is interested in ones drug use and how well you were doing before, rehabilitating yourself. I have failed the urine test a couple of  times, just because of that- smoking weed, at a party, after drinking.  Being sober I would never risk my life for a 20-minutes being stoned, of course. “One”-@ -least I`v  learned my lessons from every stupid misstake. Never shall I drink to be drunk, never at a party, never near cannabis, never share my tobacco-pipe, never smoke something I am not sure of… The question of worth with smoking cannabis is ofter rather clear- you are not going to jeopardize your life for being stoned for half an hour. If one was to take off the legal matters and imagine a life with the unlimited amounts of the world`s best grass and hasch and an entertainments-  room, build solely  for the grass smoking- 2M3DPlasma-TV with X-Box with all the games, 5 different methods/pipes available for smoking, cable TV, home delivered food and beer. Money not being an issue, being the city`s best pot dealer. I guess I was living the dream- having all this when I was in my twenties (21-26). It was then, that I drunk up the half a liter of Vodka, ate the 30 benzoes and jumped from the 4th floor, landing on the asphalt, 17 meters below. Questions of whether what one is doing is worth it must be about the same as the meaning of life-  happiness, contempt, development and occasional joy…Those seemingly perfect days, when I was living the dope heads dream- having everything. Now I realize, that a simple and perhaps the most important part that was missing, was banally love and relations- the steps to the happiness and contempt?  I had sex then occasionally- thinking now:, horrifically, exchanging it for some cocaine or newly-prepared crack.  I was justifying it by the fact, that She was a friend of mine and we would perhaps have sex anyway- drugs were  just to boost the inevitable. Was it all worth it?- Of course not! At those times, when I was living my junkie`s dream, while regularly  trying to commit suicide – one thing was  clear: to get a high, to be stoned or buzzed was no longer my goal in the life of the drug abuse- I wanted to simply switch my self off with the chemicals, which in their turn made me feel suicidal- the vicious circle.  Solution became a cold turkey- eventually one must interfere- family or police. Thanks god, in Sweden they have some rather humane rehabilitation methods. Still- just kidnap the bastard and detox, locked up during a week or so.Point of mine here, to conclude is that a junkie, even just smoking weed with some wine and a few sleeping pills KAN have lost the “worth” balance and point, meaning killing once self for just feeling nothing.   It might be worth to have a joint with some wine, on a Friday night in order to relax and have some fun- in comparison to the small price one shall have to pay, it`s worth it, I guess. However, even the same amount and combination of the chemicals may be taken in order “To shut the fuck off , cause I  can`t stand this shit any longer!” – then the very same “party kit” becomes the 3 steps guide to suicide. I mean- think about what you are doing and you shall be amazed at how stupid and mindless we often act.  Yet there is probably no other drug, that makes you loose your mind and act as stupid as…

ALKOHOL…DRINK A SHOT to calm you down, take A SNUFF to have some fun, drink A GLASS to socialize, swallow JAR to forget,fly far, suck  A PINTE to dump the fear ,sit with A JUG to try the luck, and a shoot to kill all thoughts- DOT JUS the brain`s pain, need A LITTLE SOMETHIN just cause… I`m drunk and … SOMETHIN, when no longer works, so.SOMETHIN needs to braindead…SO…What?  

After all the 32 plus chemicals used and abused, mixed and  experimented with, it was the mighty spirit, that made me loose my control, take more than I should, do stupid things, that I`v regretted,  loose my home, my friends, my girl, my work, and my health. Above all it was the alcohol, that made me go over board of the sensible, go beyond reasonable and definitely, like no other go over the logic of “worth”, risking everything for nothing, time and time again. Much more addictive, than any other drug as I`v discovered for my self, after 20 + years. Alcohol has it all:

-Physical dependency- few other drugs give such a historical withdrawal the day after and such a  “FIX” for the pain of the hangover- just have a tiny shot of the same poison. Its`  withdrawal even got it`s own name- the glorious  “hangover”. Potential and ease to continue the addiction and abuse is unlike any other drug. Of course- booze has one foot ahead, being the blood of the Christ and generally deeply impregnated into our social history and national character as grass may be in Jamaica. Booze is the only drug, that may kill you during a true withdrawal or leave you paralyzed after a stroke or poison your liver or fuck your mind up during the delirium. A demon in the sheep`s  clothing, being socially more than acceptable, its` deadliness is o so more.

I begun drinking, having the taste at 12, getting my first alcohol poisoning with a bottle of the cheapest red port- I was vomiting and unable to speak for 48 or so hours.- Yet I was “back on the horse” within a year, drinking  poisonous kiosk beer, instead of going to my school and the morning class. I was leaving home, to go to school, fetched a 5 liters plastic container and filled it up with what they sold as a beer, half a mile from our school.  Water , 30%(to make money)/washing powder(for the beer-like foam)/Rohypnol(for the kick) and some actual beer for the name and taste. This was my daily routine during most of my 6 to 8th class of the Soviet schooling.  I had a finer encounter with alcohol, as all of my 3 parents were connoisseurs, to say the least, so I had tasted some fine whiskey and of course- the Stolichnaya Vodka and the 3 types of the finest Soviet Champagne, was everywhere at home. P.S.   “Stolitsja”=Capital city`s=Moscow=my home.- A 0,75 Liters were sold to me with no questions asked for less cash, that I got to buy some breakfast from my Mom. Kids often bought strong spirit to revive their parents, so it was sold as a medication.

It was after drinking loads of it- (vodka), that I first encountered what looked like being possessed by demons, an Epileptic Seizure or what the ancient Greece`s Plato  described as the “holy disease”. My friends had no good name for it- being horrified seeing me acting as an Exorcist patient. Today, my caretaker at the rehabilitation program, to be academically cautious calls it ” the state “. While being similar in many ways to the Epileptic Seizures, it had some very distinctive differences.In Swedish, they have a name for it- “Fulle Slag” – “A drunker`s Fit”- as in attack,a hit. Weirdly the drunker`s homeland Russia had no good expression or a description of my hits.

My first time- I was sitting in the middle of a room on a chair, nodding, when suddenly I`v  jumped up and with the characteristically dead-fish eyes, I shouted something incoherent, then collapsing and convulsing violently anything from 10 to 20 minutes, then loosing consciousness.  The end of every such attack to follow looked much like a common epileptic seizure. Except for at least two points, that did not allow it to be defined as  one: -. I did not shit or piss in my pants, during those hits. I did not produce any foam round my mouth and I could talk and move around for quite a while, before actually collapsing- the strangest and most scary state of mind. That and  some other details, did not allow my dear caretaker or my doctor to call it EP.

It was a  special alcohol withdrawal state, that I have developed purely thanks to my 24/7 drinking.  I am not sure of the mechanics, but I was getting those convulsions or  “cramps” when I was actually missing a  drink for a day or two for some reason. It took me many years and doctor`s help to make this connection…- My loosing mind- exorcist  attacks, where all as a result of the Alcohol Withdrawal. It would /could be all fun and games, this part, except for some side effects and other consequences:

a) General confusion- it recovers gradually, but  specially directly after  such an episode- I am totally brain- fried, not knowing who/where/why am I.

b) Memory loss- before and after such attack I would be recovering up to a month- anything from the events and (especially) people`s names and faces, as well as  door`s  codes and my mobile number.

c)The cramps – I mean-  I collapsed,often without any warning- I just hit the ground repeatedly with my head, resulting in the multiple concussions.   Many times  I`v woken up- alone, in a pool of blood, beginning to vomit, (being a symptom of a  concussion).

…So it went- drinking daily for weeks or months in a row, then having a day or two of a sober break- missing money to buy or for some other reason not being able to get the alcohol fix, which  lead to my waking up somewhere, covered in blood and vomit, not knowing my name. When I got those  “cramps” -often own in public- people always called an Ambulance- in which cases I woke up in bed, covered in the monitoring electrodes and intravenous wires. Confused and scared,  I often went  “Matrix” -pulling out all the wires and connections, grabbing my clothing from under the bad and running from the hospital.Mad, scared, confused and fountaining blood from my arm.

d)Yet the worst part, as strange as it may sound  were 3-10 minutes I often felt before the “lights went out”. It`s the gradually escalating feeling of loosing control and the connection with the reality, while knowing , that inevitably I shall collapse and hurt my self violently. Strangely, then it was already too late  to help my self,- as to by steering off a road or towards a soft grass. My body did some strange things, no longer under my control- for example I started to urinate in front of my neighbors and showed some “violent behavior” towards the arrived paramedics.  “Being possessed” would have been my explanation, had I been the least bit religious 

Being possessed is still the best way to  describe the loss of control and my weirdest actions, just before I collapsed in cramps. I“v been through the alcohol  delirium and the amphetamine- 3-days sleep deprivation caused hallucinogenic/schizophrenic  paranoia, as well as some some bad acid and other hallucinogenic  trips, I had some wild panic attacks and many other freaky situations-

Still- those few minutes, before the collapse were much worse.  Much much scarier than anything I`v ever experienced….  So- was it worth it to drink? Risking not only all the social financial and medical support, but actually risking my life for a short, rather boring buzz. Still it took me over 2 years of trying to find my safe dose, that did not lead to EP-hits. I was trying to drink still. Less and less and less.. Now using some booze as the self-medication against the anxiety and depression. When it all got unbearable.

So I am back to the somewhat rhetoric point of “worth”. I had the choice, like with no other narcotic here:  getting drunk.  I was not much of a heavy drinker- I preferred to be conscious and fully aware, but buzzed non stop- never completely sobering up.  I always had a few strong beers at hand, in case I woke up at night- to knock me out again, within a couple of minutes. This does not mean, that I was a socially pleasant drinker and never was truly wasted.  No- I was usually somewhat acceptable before the midday,  while later, when the true buzz caught on- then I`v reached the state in which I  spent several years, of which I do not remember a shit. As a detective, I`v spent the next morning reading the anxiety-inducing clues of my actions the night before. Usually the overly emotional text and e-mail messages, that I`v wrote to everyone on the Facebook and phone list.  I used to take growing amounts of the “downers”

- Rohypnols and Flunitrazepams or Xanor- all to hurry the switching Off my mind. Those I`v stopped taking, once, when I once woke up, Covered in blood on my shirt and a bundle of cash in my pocket. Neither were mine.  That morning was my first serious wake up call.

it was not worth it.  If I could go out and physically hurt somebody- it was too big of a risk for zero reward. I could no longer take the benzo or the “Downers” with alcohol.  While not giving a crap about my own well being at the time- I still always had my deep moral ground intact. Never could violence be a solution to any problem or conflict. Not of any sort. Never.

When talking of  “WORTH” in drug abuse- one must touch the question of “RISK”. Risking ones life is something an average junkie does daily, without ever thinking twice over it, really. It is different from my suicidal years, when death was not a scare factor for me- most of the time I wished to die or rather no longer to exist, Thus I was not really “risking” my life then. 

Later, something had happened around my age of 28-29, when not realizing, I`v  underwent a deep shift of self preservation- it was now there. No matter how shitty I felt- a suicide was no longer an option.Something rather self explanatory and clear to every living creature was re- introduced to me. Without any deep insights of revelations-simply I  no longer felt like it`s alright to die.  I probably felt just as depressed, filled with anguish, pain and anxiety, not seeing any point in existence, but this is what I now did- I lived. I simply had to.

One may be surprised how egocentric a usual  junkie is.  Huge Ego and spending hours, fighting for ones rights as a patient at a hospital, for example- may go in conflict with the zero care one seems to take of ones health or risks one takes sharing needles, or shooting a possible deadly over dose. There we come to the contrary,  illogical and conflicting world of the drugs use.  Rewards vs the Risks. Pleasure vs Pay.  The Wrath of the  Worth. I`m feeling pissed off at my self, thinking what I`v risked and sacrificed for … nothing.

I drunk, knowing, that it`s around  70% that I shall get a cramp attack ,

-of which ~ 30% led to a concussion with a possible brain damage and I got those regularly

-ca 10% led to some serious injury(broken bones and such)example, when my leg got run over by the tram`s steel wheel

-5% impossible to say, but collapsing out and about eventually may end up in a deadly accident or becoming an invalid- fully paralyzed

However the worst of all- I would get busted for drinking and already having one  warning -I shall loose the right for my daily medication, synthetic opiate – Subitex. It keeps me healthy and actually strongly dampens my alcohol drinking wish & need . (Methadon as it`s more famous cousin is called). Without it, I shall probably feel like shit for a a week, than like hell for another months- hellish withdrawing of mind and body and then I shall gradually start to recover. However it`s the mental collapse, pared up with all the present  anxiety&dread of my daily life and the fact, that without  the Subutex rehab program- I shall be back free to roll, smoke, snort, hit, push, shoot and drink.  Feeling sorry for my self, while being angry at the system, that betrayed me-all on the top of my base depression and anxiety, Latter two were that led me to the’”self medication” drink in the first place. I shall then slowly die,  agonizing and convulsing on the way to loosing my mind`n body. Exchanging everything of any worth in my life for any mind altering chemical. Worth? No.

Now here is an insight to how an addict`s mind rationalizes: -The doctor have told me “not to drink much”- which I am not going to! I have been completely sober for the whole week and now I `m not planning to buy any strong liquor- strong beer only. The point of my drinking is not the same,  that is usually punished by the disciplinary actions at the rehab program:  I am not going to drink as a social relief or a pleasure of any kind. I am drinking as a slight medical relief of my mental pain- to dampen the sometimes unbearable emotional explosions and to be able to take a short relief- a breath and sleep through the night.  I shall drink alone, during a well planned evening, that shall not have any negative consequences, except for me “being aware of have been drinking”, the day after. This fact and its` potential dangers I am fully aware of: imagining, that  drinking being less dangerous, that it truly is- which in it self is a potential step and a push down a true Relapse! I have analyzed this notion deeply and for a long time now- which is perhaps just as dangerous as actually having a drink and stop obsessing about it-whether good or bad. Reading written above I can only say  what a bull shit!

I have gone through the many different types of heavy addictions and mad cravings and chemical obsessions. Within the alcohol alone- I grew with the 3 different types of alcoholism around me, in my family:

My mother-was drinking seldom,-locking herself alone in her room, drinking 2-3 days, until loosing consciousness, sleeping,  then sobering up and going to work on Mondays, My dear father- was whom I have picked my drinking style-he was drinking every single day, after work, To get the inspiration to write his journalist  articles, while getting truly drunk on the weekends, 

The Scary drunk was my Stepfather: could not drink at all-risked to die of a stroke or become paraplegic.  Interestingly- he voluntarily got his  implants- the s.c.  “torpedoes” in to his butt chick, which basically could kill him, if he drunk. It has scared him off the alcohol. The torpedo however gradually dissolved and about after a year it was somewhat safe to drink again. I remember him drinking 3 times.  Twice, he drunk too early and was lying with his arm paralyzed, angry like hell, waiting for the life- saving blood transfusion. His personal doctor came and fixed him both times. One time, however- he  got drunk, when we lived for half a year, isolated in the mountains of Lebanon, while he was writing a book about the local monarch.  I really thought, that he is going to murder us all, being drunk- even his 13-years old daughter thought we all were going to die.  Hunting  us with a kitchen knife, bare naked with not a thread of his usual intelligent mind left.  In his drunken, filled with the livid rage mind- we all had to die. 

I then understood, why he risked his life, every time, undergoing the home surgery to get the implant- if he did not- he would have a drink and then probably murder his own family.  He died of a drunken stroke, a year after we left him in Moscow, moving  to live in Sweden- I believe it was his conscious decision to drink then- so early after a new implant. I have experienced this kind of mad anger once, that I remember of,( being normaly an overly kind and compassionate being)- I felt “The blinding rage”- I know, that this expression is point  literally, as it was probably the blood pressure in my head, that totally for a minute completely blinded me. There was no good reason for my rage outburst- except having eaten a dozen of the “pix” pills ( benzoephedrines) and being drunk, as always all day.

Conniption or a tantrums do not quite describe the rather special, drugs and alcohol related fits of rage, that have no good ground or explanation, – it comes and dissipates often within seconds, leaving the one, who experienced it often slightly shocked, guilty or even scared as I was, knowing that I could have done anything. As my step dad.  Given a weapon-wow- I can only imagine how many thousands are  murdered in amongst others- US, where the deadly combination of the mind- blowing dope and the 24/7 cheaply available booze, and on top the firearms. 

Having digressed, let me return to the point, that I was making- different type of drinking and now back to me. I have experienced this, latter type of alcohols effect in a much milder form- still it was my fits of rage, that made me forever stop drinking the strong booze- (anything above 40% ). This was my reaction to all other drugs, that made me loose my mind- I stopped using one after another- over 32 different chemicals. Not before hitting the bottom in some way- loosing my mind, overdose, poisoning, fits of violence etc. Now I never would drink or want to drink even any wine- after  loosing all of my  possessions, having, gambled away all of my cash and behaved as a deeply embarrassing drunken jerk, around my companions.  I realize now, that being an ALCOHOLIC- I can not risk having any strong or large amounts of alcohol available to me. I can stop myself from going and out and purchasing more, but it`s as good as drunken up- if it is @  home with me. I shall gladly drink a 3 liter card box of wine- a risk I will never take again. I will probably get in a risk zone of getting the cramp attack, when drinking anything more, that 2,5 liters of 7,2% beer. “Luckily” this is my  enough to “calm me down” dose, which I have used at an emergency  situations, when I could no longer handle the drama in my life and my emotions.

I realize, that I am a strong enough man, having probably lived and made it alright to the other side through the worst of what this life got to show me and to hit me with and if not- I am probably stronger, than I think. It`s just that sometimes one wants to offer let one self to be weak, to whine, to bitch and pity and- yes- have a drink as an exceptionally rare solution to ones problems. To be honest now- I`v already bought the 4 strong lagers,* -Another tip about an addict`s mind working- once “The Idea” to take a line, shot or a snort has appeared in his/her, troubled, racing mind-it`s as good as done. One can think and philosophies around and about all the pros and cons- it`s as good as taken. One should keep it clean for the future, but this time- why kid oneself? The longer one drags on  it, the more drama and guilt builds around the final break down- it`s better to take it, and move on- not making the same mistake. (In this case not to go to the liqueur  store and not to plan the drink-relief on the weekend, as I did. Instead- to think what am I to do on the next weekend, to keep my self occupied?

Actually the best therapeutic tool, that I possess is writing this blog- it has kept me from so much dumb shit, that it should be awarded a medal for saving at least my life. Besides- while writing, I`v  got so many new insights and realizations about my addiction! The last, but not least of the great blog`s achievements is organizing my thoughts and ideas. One sees things from a new perspective and gets even more ideas- such as right now-

One of the things that I came to, during my years of drug abuse was that brain gets used to any kind of extraordinary stimuli and experiences, rending them after some time useless and blend.

Tolerance must be one of the mind`s  survival techniques as well as the psychological aspect of not all in life being fun and games- if the kicks were just as mind-blowing as the first time. Well- what then`?

The painkillers and opiates are like no others soon must double and quadruple themselves to give any kick. This is also the number one cause of the junkie`s death- the overdose.

Today I am on the government`s program of the synthetic opiate. I found it strange at the time, that it all begun with the 2 weeks of my being locked in the psychiatric ward, getting my dose adjusted. Basically, before I begun with the program, I used to take 1-2 mg of the Subutex every second day. After I was released I was on the permanent 24 mg/day dose. Later, when I was whining,  trying to get it even higher, to feel any kick- I heard from a doctor, that the 24mg/day is how much an average brain can cope with. Not more.

Tolerance is a bitch. I used to eat amphetamine with a tea a spoon every three hours, I used to take 25-30 times the daily dose of “Lyrica”, I felt obligated to take a weekly dose of the painkillers at a time, washing it down with strong liqueur- all that just to feel something. Had I started with any of the mentioned doses, taking it for the first time trying- I would have died a painful death, choking on my own vomit, feeling that I am loosing my mind. Same applies,  in a  slightly lesser form, when returning to an old favorite chemical, after being separated for a while.  The thing is that we all know it, being one of the first things one learns in the addicts life school of toxins- the overdose and the blood transmitted deceases. Still we, as a group of the society do it time after time. Explanation is probably very simple- we just did not give a fuck- getting a fix ASAP being more important than anything and everything.

Loosing the kick, the high the trip from a certain drug is a huge disappointment- after investing millions of the brain and liver cells, and almost everything one owns in the material world- one soon finds, that it is not enough. The hunger is never to be satisfied and the only one way to please this god is by offering ones life. Something that I have decided quite early- that my life is not THAT important and actually something that can be both experimented and gambled with.  So I did.

Besides the tolerance being one getting used to a certain amount of a narcotic- one also finds that the kick is not just that exciting any longer. The answer became mixing. I first found that the head spinning rush of the cannabis can be cysteine with alchemical. I soon found myself drinking for only one reason- keeping the grass working. It became a symbiotic relation, where one was just a blend and useless shadow without the other.  I found myself never going out without the equivalent of a liter and a half of wine- just because wherever I went people were smoking weed and I was going to as well. Something that did work for a while, when the summer warmth was out and people did not yet switch to the intravenous narcotics use.

Psychedelic/hallucinogens were a special group, where on one side the tolerance was like no other. A life transforming LSD trip, felt like a slightly stronger color perception after a short while of experimentation. Cannabis did revive an gray trip, but only for a short few minutes and even that was  not enough. Deadly and foolish attempts to find some psychedelic high and happiness with sniffing some butane gas and even gasoline, send me into a such schizophrenic dream, that there was no actual fun in that.

Eventually almost all  of us were put in front of a Sofie`s choice of getting ones life together and quitting all shit or to go on into the shady world of the heavier and heavier narcotics. For some time, I managed to extract some effect from mixing more and more of the middle group drugs. I begun my day with drinking a few of the extra strong beers, just to immediately smoke some grass, balance out the psychotic anxiety with some benzoephedrine pills and only then I could start thinking about what is it actually I am going to “do” that day. As if the pallet teasing appetizers, the  daily group made me think about the actual meal, which of them consisted of the amphetamine, to be inevitably followed by the heroine or other opiates. Staying high on the speed for days in a row, often left me paranoid and hallucinating- standing for hours in a row in front of my apartments peeping hole. Spent, on the verge of exploding, listening and watching for every shadow move behind my door. This state of the alarm ready made it, so that a sound of telephone ringing would send me bouncing of the ceiling. I actually enjoyed this self induced crazy- even my hallucinations played on with me and I was seeing fully equipped and armed special military forces hiding amongst the branches of the trees outside my window. I realized that I had officially lost my mind as it was trying to correlate the paranoid hallucinations with some insane stories of me actually being the most important and dangerous person for the government as I had discovered the brains secret abilities, which were to set the humanity free from the material slavery. Parallel to this madness, I did realize, that I was simply a lonely junkie, hiding behind the curtains of his room. Even today, telling this- I do find myself missing it somewhat. Yet at the same time I understand, that I probably damaged my brain irreparably, during those months of speed schizophrenia. Still- I do, probably like no other, until today, understand how the brain of a clinically insane patient works.

I payed dearly for this understanding of something that is not only useless, until one is not a psychiatrist, but also will haunt me throughout what is left of my life. It was fun though. I really see why the crazy people often feel themselves being incredibly important and special.

This kind of highs could not go on- at the time it was stopped abruptly in the middle by the police taking me in my flat for dealing the mentioned drugs and putting me in to the prison. Luckily I did not return to that- it took too much preparation. One has to have a secure place, when one is guaranteed not to be disturbed for days in a row. Plus one has to have the huge amounts of all of the drugs.

The simpler solution, in the hunt for a kick- for me as for the many of the other serous addicts, became heroine. After that there is not much left. One can either quit or continue for some years, if lucky, doing the smack.

I was not yet ready to give up, after being released from the sentence and the only possibility I saw at the time, being watched by the government social services-was the booze. Legal status of which was the number one reason for my being choosing it.

For a while I found myself searching for something that was not to be seen on the urine tests and thanks to the internet one, armed with a credit card can easily obtain. One glitch was that I did not have a credit card and besides- I was getting older and much, much more tired. After having tried some 3-4 different cannabis and meth simulators- I was bored. Never again I was to feel the highs I once felt, but the thing was that I did no longer missed them in my life. Even now- with no job, girlfriend or money-I find the thought of getting wasted too daunting to pursue.

Maybe the real life, after all has something more to offer- if only I go on living it.

One sad thing about all the junkies is that we are all incredibly predictable and my life’s story is almost to a detail similar to all the others`.  Death, prison or the lonely damaged life of a completely sober middle ages. Or maybe not? I do not yet know how my story will end, but sometimes I feel some hope and that makes me go on.

So- it`s official now: Russia is the most heroine addicted land in the world. There was no doubt in my mind that it`s going to end this way: first the  “Stolichnaya”, flowing like mothers milk and now this…  Somehow no one around the world has yet realized, that the Russia`s own war with terror went on for decades in the Afghanistan- the number one heroine producing soil on Earth. Imagine being an 18-years old horny teenager, given a Kalashnikov and being sent to shoot everything that moves (and if it does not move- move it first and then shoot it).

Souls and minds destroyed by the war`s  violence- would be, but there is a catch: the unlimited supply of the world`s purest smack. Russians get drunk, get wasted and get high like no others. They also came up with their own very special way to fight the war on drugs.

My step father was an alcoholic with his very own doctor, who was at a call day and night, whenever the booze took over. The way to stop his relapses was something called a “torpedo”- an oval pill, that was put inside his flesh- his butt chick was cut open and this ,thing was sown in. The effect of it was that if Igor did drink again during the time the torpedo was  dissolving within his meat- he would get paralyzed. Which he did-once he got drunk and lost his right arm. After a complete blood transfusion he got it back. This hard ass way to fight the addiction went on to heroine.

An addict is being locked during the withdrawals  3-4 days in a room.

USSR Part 2 (old memmory find)

*** USSR-part2

I was a horn dog. God damn it- I would do anything to get laid!  At the age of 14 I had a brief case, which was sort of a tool box of seduction. (Mind you I was 14).

-A bottle of imported red wine. Big deal, considering, that imported alchogol (or anything for that matter) in the USSR was an equivalent of 5 gees of coke and whistle.

-A condom. Without any  holes. A precious commodity in the country that produced the rubbers with 4 out of a 10 packs  leaking so bad, that one wouldn`t rely on them for a water-bomb.

-A tape with some rock ballads. Also a precious piece of  import. Soviet music sucked sooo bad, being mostly a regim-haling  pseudo-folklore. Imagine country-toothless-moonshine-fuck your cousin-music and now make it political. Then I had Bon Jovy , Queen and Pink Floyd. For any  Sovjet- grown girl It was  the angels singing.

Did I get laid with my tool-box?- No, I did not. I have “made love” some time later- at the age of 15.

My first time was rudely interrupted by my friends knocking shit out of my front door in the middle of the whole thing… When I opened it, they said that my parents were on their way, then said that they were just joking. Ha-ha-ha…    How was your first time?

Then the drugs came in to play for real.  Something  died, when it comes to love and romance,  with that  first injection of amphetamine. Some residual “horny” never disappeared, but love has turned all its force into the drug chase. I remember the last time I fell in love- she was the most beautiful girl I knew.  She also was my best friend`s girlfriend. So I couldn`t. Neither could she.

I felt sick just writing about it. You see: we were drinking altogether and her boyfriend (my best friend that is) went to sleep it off in the other room. I was left beside her in my somewhere travelling father`s  bed. Having been drinking strong liquor for days in a row, I tried to kiss her. She responded, but then we both remembered that she was together with what`s his name…

The next day Valera took an elevator to the 14^th floor of a new apartment building and jumped.

The casket was closed. Weirdly- I remember her (his girl),  trying to console me.  While I felt that I felt nothing.  It was a minus 20 white Moscow winter and I remember his mother passing by, screaming with the grief. I felt neither the cold, nor any emotions. In some sick way, maybe his suicide gave me the green light to double my drinking and drug taking.

Nothing.  I felt nothing. This zombie-like non-expression was mistaken by many as a state of shock. No- I just didn`t feel a shit. “Philosophically” speaking- what is everyone so unnerved by?  If you are a believer- he either got what he deserved or is in heaven.  If not- he is in the none-existence.  Like a shot of heroine. I became less and less emotionally responsive- nothing much bothered me or caused me lust.

“Asexual”- the word my best friend chose to describe my sexuality. I definitely was not a homosexual.  Never had the tendency whatsoever. I just seemingly preferred mostly dope over the pussy.

One night stands flew by. I remember one, when I was rudely interrupted by the girl with the beautiful  tits, telling me :”My boyfriend is coming now… so…”

It should all be about love. That much I realized. However if life was a balance of hatred and love of black and white of eying and yang…

I could for some time drop an E and feel  love.  I could experience something universally uniting-power of –creation-penetrating-all-seeing… on the `shrooms. The ecstatic power of love.

Numb fuck. All in all. I knew, thanks to LSD, that Love is the most powerful, most important power of all the magical powers, creating the universes.  However here I was:

Love: not since 15.

Cry: not since 9.

Hate: not since 13

Sorrow: not since 14

-The “***” stands for “sex” in the heading.  So let`s dissect it:

-          I never understood the sex-crimes. Neither have I gotten the reasons to commit a crime to get a fix. Still: especially I could not understand how one could rape someone or have sex with a minoror or with some one who simply was not up to it? Is sex THAT important?!

-          Just shoot up some meth or coke, have a jerk-off session  and chill if you can`t stand it.

-This is an old piece of my writing and I am happy to say, that now, being clean for over a year- I think my emotional life is reviving. Slowly- perhaps slowed down by all the prescription drugs I get, including the synthetic  opiate, but I`m getting better.

-           

RE-PUBLISHED: C volt.

It`s the fourth copy that has vanished. I was going to spell check my blog with a pirated version of the MS Office for quite a while now.  (Now the spell check is included- I know, but this is an old post) The first and the second copies have disappeared together with my bags during my alcohol related epileptic seizures. The third and the fourth were sent to the rehab by my friends by post. Neither one have reached the destination, which is unheard of in most of the civilized world. (Now I know, that the weak link is not the post, but the drug abusing friends- funny how I did not realize it then!)
Had I been a superstitious fellow, I would conciser it to be a sign either not to mess with Billy Gates and his copyrighted material or to give up writing altogether. However since we live in an infinite universe, the chances are that any combination of events that may happen- have happened, thus even the most meaningful of the coincidences are just that- coincidences. So I will be relying on my dear readers not being walking dictionaries and look over my poor spelling for now at least.
I will be reviewing, rewriting, editing and adding new material to the old chapters. This would mean that part 1 will be published the last, landing it at the top of the page. There is a lot more details that I`m starting to recall as my memory improves, but I`ll make sure to do my best not to bore anyone, specially myself. How about…
Suicide attempt at the age of 6?
First tattoo that almost led to amputation of both hands?
My biggest regret after half a year spent in Lebanon?
Price being put on my head by a religious fanatic?
The benefits of suppressing  the painful memories?
Why the personnel asked me to leave the psychiatric ward?
How taking drugs is good for ones economy?
That`s just off the top of my head, so stay tuned. Here I also publish some of the “dellirium draws”- pictures I manically drawn, copying my sleep deprived hallucinations appearing on the sheets of paper.
Remember that I was not quite right in the head at the time I was creating them and sincerely believed that all of them have a deep meaning, moreover, every tiny detail had a meaning,while I was drawing at least.
I`m actually slightly impressed by a few of them: the cross for example, considering that I`v drawn it completely freehand, with no prior sketch in about 40 minutes- something that I would not be able to do today.
Feel free to leave the comments- as I`v said, I feed on them and you can do it anonymously. Otherwise zxale@yahoo.com is my mail. If you send me an advertisement however- I`ll make sure that your corporate web page will be hacked. This does not apply to the business prepositions, unless you are selling land mines to the blind kids.

-A winning comment will get published and the author will get a “rezinovaja nezadachka” .

And remember- don`t do anything that I haven`t.

P.S. Got the “Office” today and begun reading the blog from the beginning. Shocking how scattered my thoughts were- constantly jumping from one subject to another. ()the very nature of CNSS- speed and methamphetamine) At the time of writing it, I was still with my head up in the clouds from all the drinking and pills. It shows. It also means that I`v got a huge work load ahead of me, to organize my thoughts by the topics, led by the common sense rather than emotionally fired bits of information from the restless mind at work.

As history has shown us in the previous chapters- forbidding anything  just makes it stronger. The best way to fight the youth with its wild urges is to accumulate them, caramelize them and show them on the Disney Channel.

Riding in the car today I got really mad- a feeling of anger that I thought was completely eradicated together with the part of brain responsible for calculus, yet there I was cooking inside, listening to a radio hit. ”I wish I was a punk rock girl, with the flowers in her hair. The year was 69 and revolution was in the air…” There was so much wrong with these two short sentences, that it felt almost surreal.  Only  a 50 year old nark would call herself  ”a punk rock girl”. If you are truly one of the breed and must define yourself (say under a threat of a felony record), one would hardly even squeeze a  simple ”punk” out of you.  As with the techno heads, who would never call themselves that,  so is “I am a punk rock girl” sounds like “could I buy some cannabis-marijuana or an injection of some drugs to get groovy, please?”. Then came the devastating “with the flowers in my hair”- the only way a punk would put flowers in her hair would be to smoke them later or to put on a grave of a hippie. The confusion went on with the 69-when the (presumably punk) revolution was in the air.  Not only it was off by about half a decade, but punk has never been  about the flowery revolution, but rather about a dark nihilism with the mighty beautiful “fuck it all” attitude.

I am trying to illustrate what can be done and has been done to kill any desire to deviate in youth.  This song was a good example of killing 2 intoxicated bunnies in one shot on a smaller scale. Hippies because this was a very hippie sounding song and if hippies are so messed up in their head- I would rather stay away from acid and weed and just in case this sort of “cool” rubs of- punks. But nothing did it more than the fact that it was sung by a woman, who sounded like a 50-es housewife.  So if you want to scare the life out of your kids, when it comes to  “dancing rave”- put on a suit and join them at the party.  This has been done on a grander scale with the weapon of pop.  Pop and disco have killed rock, punk, skate, rap, rave and if waiting for the next big thing to hit, to put out its joint, drag out of the basement, give it a shower and put a funky tie on it.

The question is- can this be done with drugs or are they the continuous fuel of every new “thing” to corrupt the young souls. If Mickey Mouse dropped an acid and went off to split a fat one with the Telletubbies- would this scare the kids back onto the straight and narrow? Maybe not the little ones, but it sure would be allot more disturbing than any propaganda film.