Long Strange Trip it’s Been

My journey to active addiction began at the tender age of 8, where I took my first hit of weed. Now I know you’re gonna tell me that weed’s not a drug and I’m gonna stop you there by telling you I couldn’t agree more. But for me it’s not so much what, but why? And the answer is, escape. Escape from a life I have at times deemed, unbearable. To avoid not so much what I’ve done but who I am. I mean that and to party. To get fucked up. I always liked to get fucked up, shit I still do. It’s nice to be able to completely lose yourself in something, if only for a while. But it also sucks to lose yourself in something, if only for a while, and there you have my dilemma. Unfortunately, all of the things that I found to be enjoyable and fun, you motherfuckers made illegal. Well maybe not all, but close. And so in my stubbornness and society’s laws, I keep managing to catch vacations with the state, which unfortunately, I’ve become entirely to comfortable with. Jails, institutions, and all forms of corrections, having lost the fear that drives a lot of people to stay out of trouble and avoid incarceration. I am absolutely an institutionalized individual and have been for a very long time. Giving years of my life to the department of corrections like I planned on living forever. 3 time loser as I’m known to the courts, a career criminal, a lost cause, they’ve deemed me beyond repair. According to them I can’t be rehabilitated, I’m beyond the point of no return. If you asked them, I am doing the inmate retirement plan, which comes in installments, but nonetheless ends with said inmate dying in prison. Now I’m not trying to argue because I absolutely understand and also absolutely agree that my addictions have caused damage to numerous things in my life, from relationships to opportunities. My drug abuse has caused suffering besides my own and so in that sense, drug use is not a victimless crime. There are victims. But for the government to try and insert themselves in people’s addictions, in order to fleece the addict and his family of money and resources that could be used in a thousand better ways. For the government to claim that they themselves and the lame ass society that they have created are actually my victims in any of my drug related cases is asinine. Completely ridiculous. I owe thousands of dollars in restitution for two separate dope cases, neither of which was I caught selling drugs, only possessing them. Dope cases that I both MRD’d, serving my entire number, paying my debt to society in full, giving them nearly 5 years of my life to repay my debt. Then, illegally, I might add, I served parole sentences on everyone of my cases, regardless of whether or not I MRD’d the sentence or not, paying out of pocket for that. Needless to say, I’ve paid my motherfucking debt to society, paid in full. Shit I’ve overpayed. Well this blog was supposed to be about addiction and ended up being a rant towards the department of corrections. Anyways, for about 30 years, give or take a month here or a year there due to incarceration, I have been in active action. I know that society would say that I have a drug problem, but society can get fucked because I don’t have a problem with drugs, if anything, it’s y’all who got the problem with drugs. No my problem isn’t drugs, it’s hope. Or lack thereof. I get to a spot in my mind where I just say fuck it, fuck all of this, fuck all of that, just fuck everything. Right in the neck. I suffer from, what so called experts refer to as, mental problems and chemical imbalances. I’m a conundrum wrapped up in tattoos and topped with a mohawk, a literal walking oxymoron. Smartest retard, nicest asshole, full of love, consumed by hate. I’m a good example for some kind of case studies somewhere, but I’m all kinds of fucked up. I kinda want to set the world on fire, and I kinda want to put it out. All at the exact same time. Causing me all kinds of confusing emotions and realizations that I am really not trying to deal with right now. Or any time for that matter. I lack hope. I don’t look forward to tomorrow anymore, if I ever did at all and so that leaves me saying Fuck it. Who fucking cares? And so since truth be told, the only thing that I have ever really even known is active addiction, I easily and often return to what I’ve come to think of as my home. My addictions. And yes I mean addictions. Cause I collect those motherfuckers like baseball cards. I’ve got all the must haves that any true collector knows is a requirement for connoisseur status. Rare 1st edition inhalant addictions, to the run of the mill heroin dependency. Sex addiction? Fuck yeah, check. Unhealthy co-dependent hang-ups, absolutely. I’ve got them all. Never found a way to fuck up my life that I didn’t like. And I’ve tried them all. And the underlying reason for all of this neglect and self-destruction, I lack hope, and so I just don’t care. About much of anything whatsoever. I’m not preparing for tomorrow I’m praying it never shows up. And this is why I do drugs. Cause why the fuck not? Why the fuck not?

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