Opium-Methadone

The month of mercy and forgiveness, and the disgust and loathing for other human beings who are nothing and worthless in my eyes. The moon doesn't exist tonight, only stars above the city like venereal disease scars, and here they are, glistening with dazzling clarity. I visited my mother today; she had terrifying toothaches, and the doctor prescribed 10 mg of Percocet per day for her. Lucky her, opiates for the masses.

I was in such a diminished mental state that I reached into the box and considered dissolving a crushed pill on my tongue, all for the noble purpose of sending the day-to-day troubles up to the high heavens, so that the joy of life would burst forth from the spring within her that has been clogged for years. Oh Mind-altering pills – you are the longest affair I've had in my life!

I returned the pills to the drawer, and I think my dick got hard up after I passed the test - five years clean. That's exactly twice as long as the longest time I managed not to fuck over the heart of every girlfriend I've ever had. It's not obvious, I used to be one of the heavy smearers – I'd spend whole nights sprawled on couches while opium-methadone bubbled in my blood. And it's not my fault, I was restless because of my mental disorders. The worst of them, even more than my beloved OCD, happens in the sensitive and dissociative moments of deceptive derealization. Everything feels devoid of emotional color and depth, as if I'm walking in a dream or virtual reality, wandering among you, fictitious people. I feel like Descartes, except for the thought narrating in my head, everyone is experienced as unreal and Untrustworthy..

And Dante's Inferno pales in comparison to this hell. This is the climax of the transition season, and God in heaven - I want to cry over all this pure torment. You feel as if you're about to go mad or become psychotic, but your sense of reality remains completely intact. And this creates immense, immense suffering because you are fully aware of every second, minute, and hour of what is happening to you. Like Sisyphus who rolled the immense boulder up the mountain only to reach the summit and watch it fall back down, at least he had summits. Like waking up from anesthesia in the middle of surgery, completely paralyzed, and being tortured under the surgeons' knife now cutting into your living flesh.

Opium-methadone and uninhibited sex. And acid. Because there are things more terrible and satanic than the dangers of addiction and self-destruction. And the soul moans, moans under the stench, the violence, and the wastefulness of the internal combustion engine. My soul is dazed, and my eyes are hazed, and a few days ago someone bit my lip in the heat of the moment, and I tasted the iron flowing down my throat, and it definitely tasted good to me, but I didn't tell anyone about it lest I be considered insane.

Today I wandered around the neighborhood a bit. Down the street, on a low stone fence, I saw a sad woman who reminded me a bit of myself, sitting in the company of an empty cardboard box and staring into it. I wanted to approach her and talk about the ailments of the world, because I knew that she and I shared the same feelings, and only we would truly understand what each other was going through. Such a misery was in her gaze, how her entire body language screamed - "leave me alone". One reaches such a place perhaps only after years of real suffering; and only now realized that that's it, she can't go on, she will no longer be accepted into the company of the normals. She was already past the age when it's possible to start anew. I felt with her, as mentioned, a sort of fellowship in fate, but sometimes I judge others by an internal and unique code that is mine alone, and maybe she was actually happy and from a warm home, I don't know.

Opium-methadone, and I feel like tearing myself apart with slaps or scratches. To feel how the flesh is deeply gouged by the nails until a bleeding crater is created. Afterwards, I'll dig there with a fountain pen, and what a beauty - a new tattoo. Also, I feel like beating another person to a pulp, to make him feel what I feel every day. How much rage I store here. Then I'd offer him opium. There's a thing with this substance where you're not sure if it's affecting you or not, so you reinforce every few minutes until suddenly everything comes into order and your brain starts leaking through your ears, you begin to hear the creation of the world in reverse and all the angels respond amen. If you add ecstasy for dessert, you'll start to erotically embrace the street lamps. But it's dangerous and hard to break this chain because the ecstasy produces such a down that you immediately need to find some drug for immediate consumption so that the down won't swallow you forever.

If I break up with my girlfriend, I will never again date prudes or conservatives. I love the real women of life, cheap yet with a glorious pelvis, IQ at the expense of sex appeal. Usually, they flow with my anomalous existence. I especially love girls from good homes looking for dark adventures to tell their future grandchildren. I am the Messiah of the feed, the fulfiller of wishes. That's what they think. Then I sober up, the thought fades as it came - I will no longer live with those whose existence contradicts mine. No one benefits from such a relationship.

Derealization, and again I'm shaken between sanity and madness, disconnected from the external environment, as if something separates me from the world around. Familiar places suddenly look alien, strange places momentarily appear surreal. Beautiful women turn ugly, well-wishers to soul seekers, motivation to mania, smell to taste. Opium to methadone.

My partner hasn't cried because of me or for me in several months, my mother for a year and two months. My father, for much longer. Opium-methadone, and my soul is torn.