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  1. So I was trying to quit last year, around this same time, and was active on this forums. But because of a lot of life shit, I slipped deeper into addiction. Brief updates: best friend of eleven years and I fell madly in love, but he basically decided: "yeah, I like kissing you and cuddling naked, yeah I jack it to gay porn, but I just gotta end up with a woman so this was fun sorry bro!" . . . Well he put it a lot more eloquently than that, saying "our love is transcendent and indescribable, and we will certainly grow old together, but even though I will never love a woman like I love you, I just *have* to end up starting a family with a woman. . ." 'Transcendent' is a total cop-out lmao. So then, I left (I live in Tennessee now), started school but because of some beaurocratic complications, couldn't pay my tuition so I . . . wait for it: Started trading my body for methamphetamine. . . As you may know from my previous posts, I have schizophrenia. February 11th marked the anniversary of one full year out of mental institutions, the first full year since I was 13. I felt super proud of myself. But I was up for literally fucking weeks, off my meds, tweaking and losing my damn mind in Starbucks from opening to closing, and also heavily addicted to kratom, an atypical herbal opioid. And I felt like I was dying. My guts felt like they were twisting and burning. I am not sure how much of that was psychosomatic, but I am still feeling some gastrointestinal discomfort, but it's a lot better now. (Oral and sublingual was my route of administration for the meth, and meth has been occasionally known to cause bowel ischemia and assorted other issues due to vasoconstriction from activation of certain receptors in the gut.) So, February 12th, at 5:00 AM, I took an Uber to the ER. Had my t shirt tucked in, and a rosary wrapped around my hand (sorta ex-Catholic, was gonna be a priest), said: "People do really really stupid things; it's inexplicable, but it's all part of the mystery of the human experience, and I have been crushing inhalers and eating the cotton inside for their amphetamine for years, and I've also been on a meth binge for the last two weeks." Honestly had so much fun at the ER lol. It was actually terrifying, but the kindness from the staff made it so much better. Doc did some tests and said: "Your insides are not burning or rotting. You still have a bunch of methamphetamine in your system; you're just tweaking out kid. You feel like you're dying because you haven't slept or eaten in almost a week. . . Congrats on the year out of the hospital." And I strutted out of the ER with a cigarette in my hand, chugged like 3 cups of coffee from the machine in one minute, then told the receptionist: "Meth is SOOO bad for you!" She laughed. But anyway, I got kicked out of my house in Tennessee lol! Also can't come back to San Francisco house. Some background: my dad--who was also addicted to meth--beat me the fuck up every day from ages 11-13. I've had my nose and my jaw broken. Anyway, this past year, I made the mistake of believing he had """changed""" and that our conversations had """healed""" us or whatever. Well, he doesn't do meth anymore, but he is so damn dysfunctional due to his moods. Bipolar disorder. When he is depressed, he is ANGRY and VIOLENT. JUST like when I was a kid. So, when he read my text that I went to the ER, which by the way, he HAS NO IDEA WHY I even WENT to the ER, he lost his shit and screamed long loud "ffuuucckk"s down the block, I STILL hadn't slept, I fumbled with the lock, ran the fuck out, and just like that, I was only a scared little boy. And I realized. . . I have never moved past that. I am quite an immature person, in some ways. I have a breadth of intellectual maturity, but when it comes to tolerating negative (or just neutral) emotional states . . . I am just that scared little boy. Running away. Incessantly. Endlessly trapped in this pattern. This past. This ENORMOUS open and barren wasteland of memories. It haunts. It is infinite, and not in a Divine-like way. I'm currently staying at my neighbor's house. Slept for literally 20 hours. Now, 2 days sober. Haven't spent two days sober in a loooong time. (I also quit the kratom cold turkey.) And I have a job at Starbucks. But I am driving across country in March with my neighbor, back to the Bay, where I will go live in a transitional housing program in Palo Alto that I've been referred to. Withdrawal SUUUCKS. First day sober, I ate TWO WHOLE BOXES OF CHOCOLATE lol. Brain zaps. No drive. Nightmares. Does it still count as sober if I consume ~1.5 grams of caffeine a day? Haha. Anyway, this is. . . necessary. A highly unpleasant and explosive eruption into true maturity and adulthood. It's needed. Maybe I should have gotten sober last fucking year, BUT the lessons the Universe cannot be rushed. Hopelessness interpolates with hope. Despair leads to action. . . or the patience to wait. Hope is something imagined in mutuality. I continue pressing forward. . . Zigzagging toward the light. God is SUCH a femme fatale. (ALSO: my book of poetry is being published LATER THIS MONTH, so you guys should buy & read it!)