Every time I think I have finally found a decent balance of medication one of my doctors has to fuck it up. Now I get to choose whether to withdraw from klonopin, which I’ve been taking as a prescription for four years, stopping suboxone and going through an opioid withdrawal or go back to shooting coke, dilaudid and fentanyl.With my anxiety at a peak, this being the year my dad died, my genius doctor is taking me off the medication that stops me from obsessively slicing holes in my body during panic attacks. I guess i could go on enough methadone to be too out of it to feel anxious. Really not caring much. Every time I try to do things the “right” way it somehow gets fucked up. Now the cravings have returned and all I want is double shot of hydro right in my mainline. I don’t trust anyone at all. 240 pages into my novel and I just stopped caring. I’ll write more when I get some speed. I’m so irritated at this point I would do practically anything. The only thing stopping me from going back to my poly-substance trash can ways is that B. is visiting. She’s the only person who’s opinion actually matters to me. If things go well maybe it will break this fog of misery. If not I’ll go west. I have places to stay and enough connections not to have to worry about anxiety or withdrawal. What most non users don’t understand is that we know its fucking awful for us, we know that a bad shot can kill, we’ve had cotton fever and we don’t care. When you live that sort of lifestyle its not a matter of if you die, so much as how and when. Everyone accepts it except the ones so tweaked they think they’ll live forever. The truth is that by the time you’re sticking needles in your flesh looking for a working vein and spending all your cash on your habit you don’t give a shit if the next shot puts you down. There is only the present and the present is junk. Some, like me, get out before that last one but every day more people drop like flies and nobody really cares. Whats another dead junky to this world?