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 

Random Thoughts

You ever want to say something but just can’t find the words?

It’s like the answer to some question in on the tip of my tongue, but I’m not sure what the question is.

Usually, when I write, I have a story or a particular thought in mind.  I’m not even going to bull-shit you – I’m drawing a blank.

So, step into my head.  J.J.’s random thoughts and let’s just see what happens.

Kenny Chesney and some lady with a pretty voice are telling me how tequila drives them crazy.  That’s what’s on my headphones.  Pleasant.  

I’m actually listening to a lot of country these days.  The other day, somebody was telling me how cool Lady Gaga is.  Perhaps you bumped your head and need to seek immediate medical attention.  Oh!  This is nice!  Now some dude’s telling me how his chick thinks his Tractor’s Sexy… leave it to Country music.  This dude hit his head for real.

Oh yeah… Lady Gaga.  Her music is catchy.  I have actually listened lately to see what I’m missing.  She’s a money-making-machine. 

(What was your first clue?)

Can’t knock that.  However, I want people knowing I sit around listening to Lady Gaga like I want people thinking Brad Pitt is better looking than Johnny Depp.

(YES)

(Dude doesn't even have any visible tattoos - pshh...)

So, moving right along….

Come on, you can’t tell me Johnny Depp isn’t the absolute shit in those pirate movies he’s in.

Then again, you’ve also got Penelope Cruz to look at in those films.  Still, Depp is way cooler.

Hey, let’s talk about J.J. for a minute.  Ester sent me an update today.  This one covers The Answer is Love, Matters of the Heart, and Dark Days.  Whew!  Heavy stuff.

Occasionally, Ester sends me the pictures she used in the post.  I could tell there was a picture on one of the pages, so I flip ahead of myself to see what it is….  Cool!  It’s a very pregnant woman sitting in a thicket.  …Or some woods.  Now I gave my full attention.  What’s going on here?  OK, I’m looking closer now.  No, doesn’t look like she’s in trouble.  At first, I thought perhaps she was doing some last trimester hiking.  Then maybe she began to feel tired and sat down to rest.  Nope, she doesn’t look tired.

Being in yoga now, I’m thinking perhaps that was a quiet spot to work on some breathing exercises.  Maybe you just completed some ‘sun salutations.’    

(I get tired trying to keep my balance, too.)

Bottom line: this is a beautiful woman very with child (Ester likes that term better than “pregnant”).  Whatever you were doing on that hillside, I’m thankful that someone came by with a camera.  Good thinking on their part to capture that special moment.  I like it!  Thank you J

And jokes aside, the picture truly is beautiful.  I am an artist, and I see wonderful art in that photo.

I am also an ass, so I had to give you hell for a minute.  May I tell you a very sincere congratulations?  …And thank you for lending Ester a hand with that wonderful photo.

Let’s talk a little more about my art.  Ester and I are learning as we go here.  I was really excited to create art for our giveaway winners.  I did feel bad that, initially, one of the winners drawn was one of my lady friends.  All she needs to do is ask me for something and I’ll try to make it happen, ‘cause I’m cool like that.  So to keep things fair, I asked Ester to draw another name.

(Yeah, yeah, we know this is old news – this is another piece Ester lost right around her birthday, what with all the drinking and camper-living…).

Phillip (regarding comments left on "Dark Days"), I would agree with Ester.  Less drinking and more… I’m not sure?  You’re not even old enough to drink!  Yeah, that one always works well.  Isn’t that half the fun?  You know, shit like this makes me feel old, lecturing kids.  I say something like that and I realize you probably just rolled your eyes at me.  What do I know? 

Great question!  What do I know?  Never mind, read the blog.

Hey, Osh-Kosh-Ondad or whatever….

You’re coming around with something to sell, huh?  Can’t exactly do you like I used to do the Jehova’s Witnesses when they bum-rushed the house that one time.  I swear, they must have a list.  …Like they come to the house and check you off?  Um… He’s not interested!  (check)  He’s got frickin’ pit-bulls!  (CHECK!)

So dude, thanks for telling us all about how much money your mother makes.  After all, this is a ‘help project.’  From what I can tell, you’re trying to help someone make a lot of money.  What are you, some type of a fairy?  You have enlightened us all now.  Thank you.  Perhaps I could help you in return.  ...Help you right off Facebook.  That’s the only help I have for you right now.  You’re welcome.

If you read the blog, you would know that I already know all about making sales from home.  I spent my high-school years selling weed from my parents’ home.  Then I went on to sell cocaine, pills, and heroin (which I DO NOT CONDONE).  Here’s a closing idea for you.  …Get paid $1,500 a week to stuff envelopes from home.  Maybe $2,000 a week assembling bird-feeders at home.  And for free, I can put my foot up your silly ass.  You’re dealing with hooligans on this blog – eat your Wheaties, son!