Methadone & Me

It's 5 a.m.  I'm sitting in my truck looking out the window.  There's a Doral 120 hanging out of my mouth.  I'm sick.  I didn't sleep last night.  My body is covered with sweat.  The smoke from my cigarette is rolling into my eyes and they burn.  My nose is running.  My boots are untied.  One lace is shut in the door.  I didn't have the energy to bend over and tie them.  I take a final drag off the cig, then flick it out the window. 

Cars begin to pull in around me.  Before long a 'closed' sign is flipped to 'open'.  I roll up my window with the last bit of energy I can muster.  Then get out to take my place in line.  I'm not sure if I even want to be here, but I need help.  Looking at the others in line, I see me.  A whole lot of fucked-up people.  There is a mother pushing a stroller with her baby.  A guy my age.  An old man with a walker.  People of all ages and races. 

It is now 6 a.m.  Once I am inside I am handed a questionaire.  I sit down to fill it out. 

How long have I been using?  What is my drug of choice?  How many milligrams do I use a day?  Do I drink on top of the drug use? 

I fill this out and turn it in at the desk.  A nurse takes me to a room for a physical.  She takes a urine sample and while it's being analized she goes over more questions. 

On a low end I use 500 milligrams of oxycodone a day.  But, I use up to 1,000 and even more.  When I am out of prescription doses, I buy street heroin.  Lately, I have been smoking crack as well.  I also smoke the heroin. 

Today, I am at a methadone clinic.  I was told to come to the clinic in a state of withdrawal.  I am.  My urine shows I have all the drugs in my system I claimed to be using.  The nurse then walks me to a small window and hands me a small cup.  "Drink this," she directs.  I have just been dosed with the drug methadone.

By the time I leave the clinic the shakes are gone.  I don't feel sick an hour later.  Only empty.  I'm not 'high'.  I'm not sick.  I feel dull.  Is this what 'normal' feels like?  I don't know...I forgot. 

My day continues...

Later in the afternoon a friend throws me some roxycodone.  I chew them all at once, then take a blast of crack.  Now I'm in a better state of mind.  For the first time today, the beast is happy and allows me to smile.  I light another Doral 120 and smoke it to the filter.  Long, deep drags.

I continued through the next week like this.  'Dosing' at the clinic at 6 a.m. then using whatever is available as the day progresses.  Methadone is designed with users like me in mind.  Once it is in your system, it becomes an opiate blocker.  After a week of morning doses of this drug, the street drugs no longer get me high. I am still a junkie and try.  I would spend my money on crack, or a bag of heroin.  I was using it with no effect.  I can't get high.  All I get is pissed.

This causes me to drink more.  The alcohol still works...only after I have drank myself to black out.  So that's what I do.  People marvel at how much I can drink.  I am a machine.  Now I have yet another problem.  I drink too much.  I continue like this. 

The clinic has upped my dosage.  I hear methadone is just as addictive as opiates.  Withdrawal from opiates is 3-5 days of hell on wheels.  I've been there.  Methadone is 30 days of hell.  That's not cool.  But, by daily dose of methadone is 12 bucks...my daily does of opiates runs in the hundreds.  What should I do?  A week later I quit the clinic and hit the opiates harder than ever. 

Opiates and narcotics are the drugs that consumed me.  I couldn't find the strength to get free.  They are also the easiest for me to conceal while 'under the influence'.  I told my woman this the other day...catch me sucking a Doral down to the filter?  Give me a drug test.  That's not a joke. 

I always want to be better.  For me and everyone who loves me.  Basically, I've put myself on probation.  I'm a fan of preventative maintenance and short leashes.  Not many guys are...I know.  I can't live like most guys.  I need my woman in my shit.  Not many dudes like that either.  This dude loves it.  What God, my momma and my boo can't handle?  Ha!  It isn't much. 

Et Hem - Let Me Clear My Throat

I realize there are some things I say that might be offensive.  But in the end, it’s those very things that have painted me so “real.”  People I’ve never met can write to me and talk to me like they’ve known me for years.  …Blows my mind.

Too many people go through life trying to paint a pretty picture of their life.  Why?  Because somebody said that’s what you’re supposed to do?  What the hell?

We all fart, our shit stinks, we make mistakes, bad decisions, piss people off, and unless you’re a square – masturbate.

Yeah, I know that’s not politically correct to talk about, but fuck it!  I just did.

I just talk about this stuff openly.  Why not?  I think it causes people to realize it’s OK.  It’s OK to be you. 

I have tried to make myself look like a really great guy (and that was back when I was a piece of shit!).

When I met people, I was young, good-looking, successful, had a house, a car, a truck, a motorcycle… Life was good, right?

No!  I snorted Oxys off my dresser at 4:30 a.m. to wake up, drank G.H.B. all day, and smoked both heroin and crack.  Oh, she’s your girlfriend?  Leave her around me and I’m sure to fuck her.  Don’t like it?  Well, fuck you too!

I have spent nearly all my life as a huge piece of shit who painted whatever picture I needed to get ahead.  …Whether ‘ahead’ was making money, taking advantage of you, or getting some pussy.  I lied my ass off.  I was a straight up con-man.  Anyone who knew me called me the used-car-salesman.  I was scum.

Today, I have changed all of that.  Here I am, trying to help myself…yes!  But not at your expense.

Biggest difference is that along with helping myself become a better man, I want to help you too.  No, I’m not asking you for money – this isn’t about money.  If you like my art, please feel free to buy a shirt from Miss Ester Jean.  Or don’t.  I don’t care.  Stick around and enter a contest and maybe we’ll give you one for free!

…Cause that’s how we do it.

Matter of fact, we are now looking for a way to lower the prices on the shirts so more people can get one without digging too deep in anybody’s wallet.

Some of the art looks great on a shirt, but those Zazzle price-tags?  Not so nice!  I feel ya!  It’s one thing to spend $15 or $20 on a shirt you’re gonna love.  However, $30 is a tank of gas (note from Ester: remember he hasn’t bought gas in a long time…), dinner for two, or some hot lingerie for your lady.  OK, I take that back… unless you’re shopping at Wal-Mart, $30 isn’t going to get you much…. 

And now I’m getting side-tracked J

Wow, I need to get laid!  (Who said that?) 

Ester wanted to be the all-American girl (buying American-made apparel).  Well, nice guy finishes last, sissy.  So we are now looking at Chinese sweat-shop shirts.  Nice, huh?  Your shirt will now come packaged with love by a 6-year-old.  When you see “Made in China” stamped on the tag, just remember all the money you saved.  That money you saved will buy you a Happy Meal from McDonald’s on your way home today.

Don’t question us!!  Just support your local felon.  Come on, be a Hooligan!  I know, you’re pissed off.  That wasn’t cool, and you don’t want a child-labor-manufactured-special-edition Hooligan shirt.  God, you sound just like my sister!  It’s OK.  You women always win, don’t you?  It’s just not fair, I say!

OK, so maybe we can accommodate you.  We can have your shirt made in America by some pissed-off, underpaid, middle-aged American who hates his job and had a hang-over from drinking 6 too many Milwaukee’s Best the night before.

Jeez, why can’t I just make the shirts?  Can’t I just make a cardboard-cutout stencil and spray-paint the shirts?  That should bring the price down!  Plus, what says “Hooligan” more than that?  Some felon, spray-painting t-shirts in an alley somewhere.  …Might as well do some graffiti on the nearby walls while I’m at it!  Fuck yeah!  Now we’re talking Hooligan language!

Now I should stop.  If this is supposed to be a form of advertisement, then I just failed miserably.

Like I said, whether you buy a shirt or not, doesn’t matter.  However, the prices still need to fall.  Isn’t that the Wal-Mart slogan?  Something about their prices are falling all the time?  Then again, see what sweat-shop labor will get you?  Mmm hmm….

You know, I have this blog I write for every day, but I have never seen it.  I know the general lay-out, thanks to Ester’s updates and description.  Ester’s last update shows we hit 15,000!!  My first goal for J.J. was 500.  I don’t screw around, so my goal after that was 10,000.  Well, I just set my new goal.  You ready?  Well, are you READY?  It’s you – yeah, Y-O-U who can make this a reality: 50,000.

Yeah, so call your cousin, call your friend, tell them about the jack-ass yelling shit from his prison cell.

Looks like the West Coast is beginning to pick up.  Very nice!  Ester sends the print-out of our map, which shows where people are signing on J  I laughed when I saw a reader sign in from a no-name place in Africa.  No – for real!  The town was called “No Name.”  I was laughing as I pictured 6 black dudes hovered around a lap-top in a grass hut….  Saying, “Look what the crazy American is up to now.”

Hey, Ester!  Can we send them some Jailbird mugs?

Ohhhh yes, I can see it now.  They are all standing around the lap-top with “Support Your Local Felon” coffee mugs!  Beautiful!!

OK, right, time to stop the madness.  I’m out – peace!!

Much love,

The Hooligan