August 12, 2013
So Saturday I was wicked hungover and I planned to stay at Dave’s until I could walk somewhere else without simultaneously puking and shitting everytime I felt sick. When Dave woke up he was like “have some of the hair off the dog that bit you” which is a stupid expression, what are we cowboys? Wait a minute. Yeah I think maybe I’m kind of a cowboy. Without the horse or livestock or the plains and fields or the chaps or boots. But I think I want a cowboy hat. So the hat and the attitude, then I’m a kind of cowboy, maybe. I don’t know anything about cowboys except they seem to work harder than I ever have.
Anyway, sometimes that trick doesn’t work for me, like Saturday, when I needed food, not more liquor. Dave called his friend over, some guy I didn’t know, in order to bring some food. His name was Frankie and he smelled like meatballs, but he looked like a shorter Steven Seagal. He brought pizza which was freakin’ disgusting and greasy, maybe because I was hungover, or maybe just because I’m sick of Greek pizza. There are no good Italian pizza places around here. Actually, there are no Italian pizza places around here at all, good or bad.
Frankie also brought heroin and Dave was like “this will fix you up.”
I was like, no way man, because I was just trying to get fixed up enough to walk back to Paula’s at that point, since I remembered about Gary Oldman, my kitten. I just kind of left her which was irresponsible of me. So at first I wasn’t even going to go back there, but I had to get my priorities straight.
I also knew the moment that Dave offered me heroin, he wasn’t my friend. He never was. He was just a drug dealer and if I wasn’t hooked on shit and making him money, then he had no use for me. It’s a fact that’s been in my face before, but I ignored it. If I had gone to any other friend’s apartment after relapsing and going to the bar, they would have taken me in, cleaned and sobered me up. Dave took me in and told me that what I needed was more alcohol and drugs. He didn’t even care or seem to acknowledge that I relapsed after all my hard work getting clean.
I’ve done heroin in the past, but I smoked it or snorted it. I never shot up. But that’s what Dave and Frankie Meatball were offering me. Meatball was like, “trust me, this shit is prime” and he said it would get rid of my hangover. I was saying no, no, no, yeah I don’t think so, no….repeatedly and they were saying, come on you have to try this shit, you’ve never had anything like it…
Finally I decided I had nothing to lose. In retrospect, as I’m writing this journal, I realize that I do have a lot to lose. My life for instance. And I’m not just talking a mortal life, I’m talking life in general. I don’t want to be a drunk and a drug addict. I also was in the process of establishing things in my life that were worth keeping, like people mostly, as I evaluated who was good for me, who was true, then my family, and of course Gary Oldman.
But I was thinking, I hate heroin, makes me kind of sick, I could never get addicted to this shit, and I didn’t have the energy to keep saying no, so I was like, fine whatever. So Frankie Meatball cooked it up, let it cool, then opened a new syringe package, filled it and handed it to me after flicking out the air bubbles. He offered to do it for me but I hated him and I didn’t want to be a virgin junkie pussy, so I did it myself. There was this amazing flood of warmth like an orgasm through my blood, but then I was out and the next thing I knew I was waking up on the ground by the side of Dave’s house, with puke all over me.
I checked myself and Dave and the fucking Meatball robbed me. They took my money, which was about $400 left from my birthday money, my phone and my cigarettes. I buzzed his security door but they ignored it. I was pretty messed up, extremely out of it but I climbed up the house from the porch to the two balcony porches on the second and third floor. I pushed up the screen in the window, but couldn’t get the window itself open, so I kicked it in, and climbed through, cutting my arms and stomach in the process. Dave and the Meatball came in, but I was already through the window and the first thing I did was punch Dave hard enough to knock him off his feet, especially since he didn’t expect it, and he was fucked up off balance anyway. Frankie Meatball came at me, but I ducked and tackled him from the middrift then put him in a headlock so he could barely breathe. I was like, give me my fucking money and my phone, and give me my smokes. Dave stumbled up and went at me, but I pulled myself up with the Meatball kicking and used him as a shield. I dropped him, hit Dave again and kicked the Meatball in the face. I struggled with them some more and got my shit. I snorted the heroin they left cooling in the spoon. I’ve snorted the liquid before, weird but do-able. I grabbed the half empty bottle of vodka and walked out the front door. I had to piss so I pissed just outside Dave’s door, and I’m sure the puddle leaked in. Then I left, taking a bike that was out front. I think it was the Meatball’s, douchebag drug dealer riding a fucking bicycle.
I went back to Paula’s, went directly in the back, drank down the vodka, and tossed the bottle in the cooled off embers of the fire. I took the bike, smashed it to pieces against a tree and threw the remnants of it in the fire pit too. I then saw Paula on the patio watching me do this, while I had puke and blood from the window cuts all over me. She said, “you took off on your cat, that’s irresponsible,” then she went inside.
So now it’s Monday and I’m still at Paula’s and she’s at work. It was late afternoon on Saturday when I got back and she hasn’t spoken to me since then. But I’ve been thinking a lot. It was just a temporary relapse, I haven’t had anything besides cigarettes since the vodka. I’m supposed to start back up working at Sharly’s bookstore today, but I don’t know if I can. I suppose I should try. I made a mistake, many mistakes, and now I’ve decided I have to fix them all, and start over, get real, grow up. I’m 24 now, I’m running out of excuses for being an idiot.
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