My head spins, back and forth, over and over again with the
same old thoughts, the thoughts that invade my mind, when it is reeling with
the madness of the sickness. Dope, dope,
fucking dope. Seems like it is all I can
think about, but it doesn’t keep me from puking.
Where the
fuck is the man, and why the fuck has he not been answering his phone all
day? Fuck, man, I do not think I can
take this! I called everyone I knew that
might have a fucking bag, and it is just the same old story. No, I haven’t talked to the man, either. No, I am out, too. No, I wish I did talk to him because I am
sick as fuck. My head spins round and
round with this buzzing nightmare, as the whole dope scene speculates about the
man’s whereabouts. Jail, he must have
gotten locked up.
My head
spins around again, with the images of chains and metal doors, sliding closed
with the infinite locking sound, echoing in my brain. Images and pictures of handcuff, and orange
jumpsuits, and the awful metal doors, locking one behind, with no chance to
escape.
My mind, my
life is locked and chained with this addiction, and this sickness is driving me
mad, as I beg and plead with some power above to take mercy on my decrepit
soul. My head spins with nausea and
broken thoughts, jumbling images flashing back and forth across the caverns of
my dark and cloudy mind. Locked doors,
no windows, handcuffs, and chains. Dope,
dope, fucking dope, looking at me in the mirrors of my mind with and plethora
of images tangled with pills, powders, insanity and liquor.
My stomach
rumbles with a deafening roar, the empty rumblings of s sick stomach, stuck in
the mire of poisonous bile and acid excretion.
Cordless phone clutched in my hand, I meander slowly back to the
bathroom, before puking and pissing and shitting, all over myself, all over the
tiny little bathroom, tucked away in the back corner of my little shotgun house
in the Marigny. Damn, this shit
sucked.
Covered in
my own ejections of poisonous bile, all the toxins rushing backwards through my
bloodstream, hands shaking, as my whole body is racked with the sickness and
unsatisfaction. The floor feels cold and
inviting against my clammy skin, and my sweaty face. Sweating like cold bullets, dripping down my
face, and all over my chest, the sweat growing closer and closer as it travels
down, sending shivering chills to rack my gooseflesh, sending my teeth into a
chattering mad, mess. I moan in
coherently, as I lay, slightly twitching on the bathroom floor, a slow and
steady twitch that is coupled with the incessant chattering of my teeth.
I crawled
slowly to the bathtub, turning on the water, and letting it warm, while I took
a moment to dry heave once more, only ejecting thick and tiny pieces of the
yellow poison bile vomit. Somehow, I
peeled myself off the floor, and pulled my heavy body into the bathtub.
The warm
water surrounded me, soothing the gooseflesh, soothing the mind, so it could
just focus on the rush of the water. I
splashed the warm water all over my face, letting it rush down all over my
body, tickling every crevice of skin. I
listened to the sound of the water, as it filled in around me, surrounding me
with warmth and wetness, bringing the chilly shivering to a cease.
I lay back
in the water, and my long dark hair swam in the pool around me, floating like a
majestic monster in the water, tickling me with the touch. The vomiting and chills slowly faded, as I
sunk deeper and deeper into the water. I
began to relax, if only for a moment, I seemed to have found relief, if ever so
slight, still ever so sweet.
My eyes
looked towards the ceiling with the blankness of exhaustion and nearly a day
without dope. My skin seemed to relax,
only momentarily, and I seemed to be floating above the water, just huddling
above my tiny little bathroom.
The old
drain never really worked right, and sunk in my madness, my mind, staring into
the oblivion of the wall, and creating images there, the water slowly drained
out, as my skin grew colder and colder once more. My eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, but
the experience was more out of my body.
I was thankful for those few moments of outer body experience during the
living inside hell of dope sickness.
I watched
the scene from above, as I lay soaking wet in an empty bathtub, as the shivers
began to invade once more, and the nausea took hold again. I noticed my hipbones, protruding a little,
and my ribs seemed to stand out more than before. Wet and water logged, dazed with confusion
and sickness, I looked down on my sick and emaciated self, and for a moment, it
seemed as if my lips were turning blue.
The shivering set in hard core, and I even wondered if I was dying. My head suddenly snapped to, and I was
shivering violently once more, inside my body, looking up at the ceiling.
I climbed
out of the tub, soaking wet and too insane to even dry off. The air conditioner in the kitchen and living
room seemed to blast cold, cold air, even in the summer heat of New Orleans,
tingling my skin to stand up with the most upright gooseflesh. Too sick and racking with the madness to even
dry off, I merely pulled my clothes onto my wet body, and my dripping long hair
hung halfway down my back, dripping cold, shivery water all over the floor, as
I began to slowly pace back and forth.
I called
the man, over and over and over. I
rifled through all my pockets and purses, one more time, leaving all the mess
scattered all over the room, throwing bits and pieces from both pockets and
purses, flying above my shoulder, around my head, sending it hurling onto the
floor behind me. I heard coins
splattering on the wall, a cacophonous rainfall of metal, mingled with
madness.
I clutched
the portable phone, as my head racked back and forth with the madness of one of
my first kicks. I had been using daily
for at least six months now, and this was the first time I was cut off from my
supply for more than a few hours.
Solution, solution, answers, answers.
I needed something, anything.
I had
driven around in my car earlier, as the swimming feeling in my head took over
the wheel, as my mind became more and more cluttered with the sickness. Dripping wet, in the car, haunting all the
dope corners I knew, looking in vein for someone who was holding, but the
corners were empty, save for the small few junkies, just as sick as me,
wandering the streets, looking for a fix.
Swimming
with the ideas of a fix, invading my mind in the form of pills and powder, and
pleasure and pain. Thoughts running into
the nausea that racked my insides, and running into the sweat pouring from my
shivering forehead, as I grappled with the madness. Surely, I felt as if I would die. I dialed the dope man, again and again in my
desperation. Still, the sick junkies I
knew all remained sick, and the phone remained silent. Silent, save for the ringtone I heard every
10 seconds, as I checked just to make sure it was working.
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