Donk75

Nothing Exciting

Today was my day off from work. Well it was suppose
to be, they called me in for a few hours. I was working
with a guy who wants me to teach him how to be a big time
dealer. It is actually kind of flattering and funny all at
the same time. I am flattered that he thinks I could teach
him the difficult art of dealing. Yet it is funny at the
same time because this guy would never make. No matter who
helped him. If I was still in active use and dealing and
he tried to mess with me I would probably have him "talked"
with. That is bad to say, though, because he is a nice
guy. Anyway, Eventhough it does not really bother me, or
to the point of relapse mode, I can't help but endulge in
memories about the "old" lifestyle and how great it was for
awhile.
For awhile I had money and power. I had women and
respect. It was everything I had always wanted, and then
some. But towards the end friends began to stab me in the
back, my girlfriend of three years(who I was about to
propose to) was sleeping with my boss, I began to turn more
of my clean friends into junk boys, and I was misserable
and suicidal( and homicidal to boot). This, I believe, is
the only think that is keeping me sober. As much as I miss
the "game" I don't miss the loneliness and despair that
came with it. You can never truely know who your friends
are, or if your girl really loves you( or just the free
drugs) I catch myself thinking of her alot lately. In my
dreams and while awake. It still hurts really bad. That
last night was horrible( and not something to put online).
I still miss her at times. I guess there are just
somethings I will never let go of. Then I think to myself,
do i miss her or just having someone there? i don't know
at this stage. Luckly I do having someone(other than
family) that really cares. That, of course, is Butch. I
can go to him with anything, and it won't freak him out and
he won't think less of me. He is the only one in the city
that would drop everything if I needed him. For that I
thankyou Butch.
Sometimes, when I am by myself, I begin to think alot of
thoughts that I use to think about before treatment. The
suicidal and the homicidal thoughts are back( but not as
strong) Although I should mention that the homicidal
thoughts run rampant through me head at all times. And I
actually dream about them at night. Why do I keep
torturing myself with these thoughts? That little devil is
back on my shoulder telling my lies. Though I don't listen
to him, he will not leave me alone. Being by myself is
like being in an asylum. The craziness flows like manna.
As long as I keep living one day at a time I think I will
be alright. That is it for this chapter of the life of a
man named bubba.