part three...

After having fixed and satisfied my only true ambition of not being sick (without the necessary amount of heroin to stave off withdrawal symptoms), i attmepted to rouse my companion.
"wake up, jerk," i said, with a half-joking tone.
The reply that came from beneath the pile of blankets beside me was one that was filled with the mirth that only awakening addicts can muster:
"fuck off asshole..."
Needless to say, i hadn't clearly illustrated the gravity of the situation. The day was upon us, ripe with the potential of degrading and illegal acts set into motion by the notion of being without drugs. This impossible urgency invokes an ambition and drive that is baffling and unmatched in the non-addict's world. The constant and impending threat of sickness is a force to be reckoned with, turning the most responsible and well-to-do individual into the most depraved and dope-hungry drooling madman the likes of which would make the "Reefer Madness" hop-heads blush. i knew that at that juncture, an executive decision had to be made and enforced. However, i also still had a bit of drugs still remaining, and while my P.I.C (partner in crime, of course) remained unmoved by my earnest attempts to wake him, i had a chance to finish it off unabated. i fixed the remaining amount of heroin, and mixed in the bit of cocaine i had saved (drug-addict 101 says, "heroin + cocaine= speedball.). Almost instantaneously my head was filled with an odd combination of pleasure and fear. i felt the blood rushing from the jackhammer that laid beneath me ribs, and laid back to enjoy the moment. i stifled the urge to be sick upon myself and struggled to maintain control of my life-functions. That moment of true powerlessness, walking up to the abyss, spitting in it, then turning and walking away... It is a feeling that fills my mind with dread and anxiety. How could i be so reckless? Wasn't i supposed to be in school? Wasn't there people who cared for me that would surely be concerned that this is what i had become? i jumped up and ran to the nearest bush to throw up.
After i was sick, i regained the ambition to start the day. i roused my p.i.c from his opiate slumber and we cleaned up the campsite. We gathered the few meager possesions we held dear and loaded up our backpacks, ready to set off into the piercing morning sun.

part two...

My overall outlook had not always been as jaded as it had become in recent months, nor can i really say that the languid cynicism i had acquired of late had been the constant theme. i had, prior to a set of miserable circumstances, maintained a fairly positve attitude. unfortunately, the decisions i had made that led me to my current and ogre-esque environment had instilled a new sort of distaste for mankind, and all who categorized theselves as such. my life, as it existed within the fabric of time, had simply begun to be threaded by a substance not dissimilar from burlap. Without my realizing it, my demeanor bristled at the most simple of human interaction, and the feeling that i was unraveling became more and more prevalent. i was short with the people i cared about, and those who were kind enough to call my rapidly devolving state to my attention were met with stoicism and resentment. The good samaritans met my solicitations with generosity were met with an arrogant sense of entitlement. I felt i deserved far more than this world and everything it's lousy inhabitants could offer. My troubles and hardship had amounted to an amount exponentially greater than mere human comprehension.
With all of the weight i had piled upon myself, and welcomed into my being with reckless abandon, i dragged myself from my earth-laden bed (a light-weight sleeping-bag spread out upon a tarp), and set out for a day of panhandling and regret. Before speaking to my still sleeping partner in crime, i quietly slipped a small leather pouch from my pocket, and set about to "fix". The term "fix", and the act of "fixing" in and of itself has always cast a quiet and pleasurable sort of reverence over me. For those who are unaware to what it is i grant this distinction, "to fix" or "fixing" is the act of preparing drugs for consumption, ultimately leading to the act of consuming. In my case, i had chosen the most unfavorable of these, the scourge of the illicit, the most heinous and disgustingly seductive: heroin. For me, fixing had become an idyllic and perfect ritual. Of all illegal and socially frowned-upon pasttimes, heroin use seems the most overly romanticized. I was aware that i had become one of those that i had, so many times before, frowned upon. This brings about the other aspect of fixing: that, definitively, addressing preparation and usage of a substance as "fixing" implies that without said substance, one is broken. So heart-wrenching and beautifully tragic, the addict's vernacular.

part one...

entropy

Sometimes the very first thought that enters one's head in the
morning can give the greatest insight into one's current state of mind
and well-being. that being said, it seems somewhat just that, in the
midst of my drug-use, my first thought upon wakening generally began
with an expletive of four-letter infamy, occasionally accompanied and/or followed by,
"here we go again," or "really?!" So it was no surprise when, after
slowly stirring from a restless and drug-induced 8-hour coma posing as
a night of sleep, my first thought was expressing a sort of
lackadaisical dismay at still being alive.
My eyes began to pull the kaleidoscopic display of various blues,
greens, and grays into focus. Coherence began to set itself upon my
thoughts, sorting and governing them like some weary caretaker,
overwhelmed and work-weary by the ever-growing to-do list. The
picture that presented itself only furthered the feeling that
something- a BIG something was amiss in my life. With an underlying
and nagging disbelief, i began to recognize the canopy of leaves that
swayed gently beneath a backdrop of concrete and the clear morning
sky.
i was familiar enough with this view so that, with a bit of
effort, i could piece together the events that had transpired to put
me there. i stretched my arms out and in doing so inadvertantly
located my glasses. After gingerly knuckling the crusty whatnot from
my eyelids, i put the misshapen frames on. An unintentional sigh
escaped me as i finally came to terms with my current reality, and was fully (and
regretfully) awake. The situation i faced was that of despair, and an ever-familiar sense of dread overcame me. I had slept under a bridge for the third night in
a row.