Tuesday, July 03, 2007

H is for happiness, and hell

My therapist adjusted her glasses, and asked me watery-eyed, the last time I wasn't doing any drugs, or drinking and remember being happy. I thought and thought, but finally, my lip between my teeth, I had to shake my head.

Drawings of pills cover pages and pages of my old journels. The messy handwritten words say things I don't want to hear. And sometimes, depending on how wasted I was, things I can't even read. I thought I missed myself before heroin. It turns out I've always missed myself. Always.

What if heroin users just know a secret that no one else does? We may wish we didn't know it, but we always will.

Why spend money on that boob job, those overpriced heels, why buy a plasma TV, an anything? They won't make you as happy as...

If you knew the secret you'd be fucked too.


Blogger Michelle's Spell said...

This makes perfect sense to me. Heroin always puts me in mind of Chet Baker who said that all the music he made couldn't compare to the beauty of heroin.

10:12 AM  
Anonymous dharmabum said...


My "therapist" has me do this thing called EMDR. It is the new thing to replace hypnotism to bring back memories. I had brought up the fact that i feel uncomfortable around the majority of people i meet. I think they are fake. I say I think it has to do with a certain circumstance from my childhood. She tries to bring me to a point where i can feel comfortable around these people. I ask her honestly, why? In short her answer is that we have to interact with people no matter if we dont like them. Again, WHY?

So today we debated the finer points of who sets the rules? Are they inherent with being born? Since mommy and daddy decided to have me, or drank too much wine and were too horny to go get the condom, do I have to adhere to the "rules"? Why can't you exempt yourself from those rules. By the rules, i mean the rules that others say we should live by. Like the number one rule that says don't question the rules. If you slip outside certain parameters then you become a DSM diagnosis. We get our name changed to "borderline personality disorder with histrionic tendencies" or some other such 'Tag' Or the rule that says you cannot be normal if you do not have healthy relationships. I guess all that shit was on the back of the stone tablets Moses brought down. He just hid them until he could figure up a way to use them to control his people. I wonder if they had "Idol Worship Support Groups back then." Or a group for jewish mothers that did not want their newborns penis foreskin hacked off. I can see the name "Mothers against Penis Pinchers".

Maybe the Garden of Eden was really a garden of Opium Poppies. I know i would not be worried about clothes if i was there and that was the case.

In other words T, yes we know a secret that is the mother of all secrets, there is something better. There is something to make all the bads-goods, and all the fake people unimportant, and all the terrible memories nothing more than a wisp of nothing important.


1:31 AM  
Anonymous John in Boston said...

I love your writing so much, and just wanted to let you know. Keep it up!

4:43 PM  
Blogger IVY said...

I dont understand why they dont just make oxy and heroin legal and let us have as much as we want of it for the rest of our lives. i think we'd have better lives and i really do believe that... unlike a lot of other drugs i think this one is different and it isnt just because "well I do this one so I buy into this mythology." I researched a lot and had this opinion before i tried opiates.

2:04 AM  
Blogger IVY said...

PS. How do you think the secret fucks you?

2:04 AM  
Blogger I.:.S.:. said...

I thought on this one long and hard at one time.

You put it more eloquently perhaps.

3:38 AM  
Blogger Michelle said...

I never heard it put like that. It's like when you watch people in a burning building trying to get out, get to safety, get away from the pain and the horror, but they can't. But we found the emergency exit. Aaaaahhhh.....

1:11 PM  

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