I know this does not fit into the idea that I have of rehab, but there is a girl painting outside.
O.O
Everyone that I've met so far has been very nice and I feel better here than I did in detox. It was awful, no one to talk to and I felt antsy like my skin was crawling and I couldn't make it stop. But now... Now I have people to talk to and we can even go outside. Harry told me there's a pond outside and I can't wait to go see that. It might not be the ocean, but it will do.
It's been 18 hours, 26 minutes, and 34...35...36...37 seconds since the last time I did a line.
It almost feels like there are two people crawling around in my skin, searching for a way to get out. I hate the feeling. I hate feeling like my skin is too tight, that there are two people in my mind, and all one wants is just one more line -- just one fucking more -- and another who just wants it to go away -- it wasn't worth this, nothing is worth this-- and they're both locked into my head and my head hurts -- why can't they just shut up -- it hurts. It hurts.
They never show this, you never get to see people going through withdrawals. You never see that because if you did, people would never do drugs, I swear, the shakes alone aren't worth it -- I can't stop shaking -- if someone had told me it would feel like your insides are being torn apart and there are two people inside your head, an addict and the you that was, I would have never accepted that first line -- yes you would have it felt so good, so sweet like sugar in your veins, it made you feel so good, so powerful, you ownedthe waves that day you know you did -- or any line after that -- liar liar liar it was good, you know it was, you can't deny it, all you need is another line.
I just want to go back to sleep -- it is the only time you know peace -- because I can't hear the voices -- what peace, the only peace you ever knew was the one that came in the form of white powder -- and I can dream about the sea. Waves are full of energy but the ocean itself, that is peaceful -- peace ha ha, you can't lie to me -- it's like home -- the only home you knew was broken -- I just want
I was born on 7 June 1972 in Wellington New Zealand to Mack and Teresa Urban. My father was a leather goods manufacturer and hoped that I would follow in his footsteps until I realized that my true calling lay near the sea.
I was 5 when I got my first fishing rod and I would beg my father to take us out fishing every weekend. I would spend Friday afternoon picking up worms and putting them into a cannister. Saturday morning would roll around, and I'd hop into my father's pick up truck and we'd go down the road to this lake and fish.
I can still remember the first time I caught a fish. It was our third trip down to this lake, a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and I caught this huge fish. We took it home, my dad showed me how to skin and de-bone it, and then my mom fried it for dinner. I was so excited that night that I could barely sleep, even though we had already cooked and ate the fish, I caught it.
Thats one of the few happy memories from my childhood. My father didn't make a lot of money, so we didn't have much. He and mom constantly fought about this or that, and he died when I was nine.
Mom packed up the house and we moved to Auckland afterwards. I liked being closer to the sea, and I would often go down and watch the sailboats and fisherman. That's the only thing about Auckland that I liked. It was noisy and crowded, not at all like where I grew up.
I got my first job when I was fourteen, working as help for one of the fishermen that I knew. Mom had remarried by then, so I saved up my money to buy my first surfboard.
I was 15 when I was surfing on Whangapoua, very close to shore, and someone had left some trash in the sea. It cut a gash into my leg and I had to get 17 stitches afterwards. It scared me away from surfing for a while, but when I was 16 I finally returned to the ocean. I tried Maori Bay first.
That's where I met her. Angela Marcus. We were surfing buddies eventually turned lovers. She told me when she had enough money saved up she was going to move to the United States. As our relationship continued on, I decided I wanted to move with her.
So in 1994, when I was 22, we came to California. We integrated ourselves into the surfing crowds on Venice Beach. She got involved in drugs while I remained clean. At least that was true until I caught her sleeping around with half our crowd. It wasn't that hard to find her dealer and score some for myself.
I got a call from my mom a couple weeks ago, and she told me she was sad she hadn't seen me since I moved here. After the call I was very depressed, and the first thing I reached for was my coke. I never thought I was addicted until then. That's why I checked myself in. I don't like being this way.
jubilant
sleepy
exhausted
blah