I’m out. For real this time.

There’s always an extended period after the first time I say I’m out. There are three or four pipes that I can scrounge tiny bits of white powder off the sides. There are bits in my baggy. It’s amazing how…

There’s always an extended period after the first time I say I’m out. There are three or four pipes that I can scrounge tiny bits of white powder off the sides. There are bits in my baggy. It’s amazing how many days you can get just enough of a hit in the morning even though you have declared self out of drugs.

Yesterday was to be the last day and on the last day I pretty much go wild and I clean all the pipes with a little bit of water that I boof, as well as scraping down all the insides of the pipes. I did a tiny line of the dust that was in the ashtray container where I break the crystals down.

I think the final boof (injecting a stream of bong water mixed with any last hints of white from all sources into my butt) was stronger than I expected. I was focused enough to work the entire night. I was on a mild zombie state, not really wanting to get up and be active but in no way tired. I lay awake in bed the entire night not really thinking or dreaming. Just awake in bed.

This morning, rather than sleeping the day away, I tried once more and managed to get 4 more decent bong hits. It’s Friday

I managed to stretch being out for the entire week. I’m lightly buzzed and about to get a bit of work completed.

It was so automatic this morning I didn’t really even think about it. I just reached for the bongs and burned every last corner out.

I’m not sure what I’ll do tomorrow. I’d like to think I’ll be fine. No insane cravings. No madness. Hopefully some of today’s work will yield payment because I’m out of food too. The meth keeps the hunger pains away but I’ll need protein today.

This is my life at the end of a binge. A scavenger.

My mood however is good. Nobody is really mad at me. No yelling. That’s all I really need.