I remember people telling me not to get on methadone. They warned me that I would end up as addicted to it as H, but worse. At least with H you know that four, maybe five days and all but a few insignificant physical symptoms will remain. After the initial detox period, I found with H, that the rest was mainly psychological. As in my thoughts were consumed by cravings and daydreams about getting high. But with the methadone, it's all more subtle, but so long and drawn out. For me, I've tried it fast and slow, methadone detox is months of mild withdrawals most of the time, peppered with the occasional bout of diarrhea. The lack of sleep really starts to get to me. It's so hard to get comfortable when you're laying still, aware of every physical sensation. There's no distractions when you're laying in bed and it's quiet. You can feel every muscle spasm, every bead of developing sweat, your thumping heartbeat, and racing thoughts.
I was super close to getting high on Friday. I actually went to the only place I know of these days in Brattleboro where I might find dope. I haven't actively used for over five years because of the methadone, so I really don't know anyone anymore who does that shit. Most of the people I used with have moved, died, are in jail or disappeared by now. But there are a few places that seem like they will always be there. One of those I feel okay about walking in and knocking on the door unannounced and uninvited.
I drove myself into Bratt which was stupid because my car is illegal in VT and I have warrants over there too. But I just had it in my head that the only way I would ever be able to sleep ever again was if I found some opiates. When I start to think that way, all fear and apprehension seems to float away and I'll do things I maybe wouldn't normally do. (Note: I'm not sure this would happen if dope were readily available. There would be no need to become reckless in such a scenario). But I made it into town fine, no police sightings. And rather than drive into town I parked on the outside, really close to the NH border at the train station and I opted to walk the rest of the way. I thought that way I would be less conspicuous to any cops, but there were frickin cops everywhere. They were driving in circles around the few main blocks and they were on foot in the area where I could have asked random people for dope, so that was out. Thankfully, I kept telling myself, I dyed my hair brown just the day before so I didn't look entirely like myself. Many of the Bratt town cops would know me by sight and they make a game of checking the warrant lists for people they know. I know this because I've been told as much by cops themselves in the past when I've been picked up for a warrant. Anyway, I made it up to the house which really isn't far from the train station but it's up a big hill. I started off feeling cold as it's been really gloomy and drizzling rain for weeks up here. By the time I walked up to the deck, I was dripping sweat, I felt like I had to crap my pants and my jeans were chaffing my thighs. It's strange that almost all places that you have to go to get dope sort of look the same. Obviously there are differences but rural, urban, whatever, you generally have to go into a shitty, dank, darkly painted or dingy yellowed hallway. Much of the time someone conducts the deal in the hall. Sometimes you go in an apartment. And many times the apartments are surprisingly nice compared to the hallway. Even in some of the crappiest cities I've been to. There can be throngs of dealers outside and then inside everything is meticulous. Maybe the apartment is owned by a girlfriend or elderly relative. Many times the apartments are shit too. It's more interesting to see the contrast of the mildew and falling plaster compared to the floral, ruffled shams and matching tablecloths littered with ceramic figurines of angels and kittens. Anyway, this particular apartment I went to on Friday is one of the shitty ones, no angels, no kittens, no flowers, pretty much nothing pretty and delicate about it. Everyone who lives there is on disability and if they're not junkies they're on their way or recovering. I like the guy who owns the place, let's call him J. He's quiet and soft-spoken and even though I know I'm always buying him something when I give him my money, there's something about him that makes me not really care. But he didn't answer the door. Some guy I've never met before comes to the door all puffed up with no shirt on. He's kind of handsome in a mean way but he's really no taller than me at five two, so he's obviously got a Napoleon complex and we immediately don't like each other. I asked if J still lived there and I heard Carmel's voice from inside (that's the lady who I got kicked out of the Brattleboro M-done clinic with/because of) so I kind of talked over him to her while pushing my way through the door. I also didn't like him because as soon as he opened the door he exclaimed very loudly, "Wow, you look high!", and I was like, "Ah, no, it's the fucking opposite actually". So then he jumped down my throat like he ran the place, "Well, what do you want?" I told them dope or bupes or something. So he was all, "I'll give you two bupes for forty". And I said three for forty and Carmel said yes and he flipped and wouldn't do it so I was all fuck it I'll just take em, whatever. But then he pulls out his shit and all he has are Suboxone which I don't want at all. So I called him out and said I didn't want that because they have nal-whatever, that stupid opiate blocker which would make me sick because I'm on methadone and not sick enough. And they were all pissed and telling me I didn't know what I was talking about because I had said bupes and Suboxone has bupenorphine in it. It does, I agree, but it also has that other shit. Subutex has just the bupenorphine and you can shoot it without getting sick. I guess you can shoot suboxone too but I've been told it makes you feel really sick for a while and then you feel high after that, I'm not willing to try it. The one time I shot some liquid medication I didn't know exactly what it was, I thought I was going to die.
So anyway, I didn't want the suboxone, they really do nothing for me but make me sick and give me a headache. So I tried to ask if they had anything else, or if anyone else did. But by then this guy and I really were about to jump on each other. I had my hand on my mace but I knew I was outnumbered, so I was trying to keep everything in perspective and get out without a scene. Nobody else was going to step on his toes by offering to get me something else. I know they wanted me to buy their last suboxone so they could use my money to buy something better for themselves. But this was really going nowhere. The guy was muttering about how he was trying to help me out but if I couldn't see that then whatever. So I ended up being like, "Go Fuck yourself and I stomped out. So now I'm not so sure about going back. If I knew that asshole wasn't there I would. But he seemed all over-coked up or on steroids or something. I'm totally a downer person and the other end of the spectrum throws me into flight, or fight more likely.
After that I was not up for dealing with the police so I left town thinking I'd go to Keene but when I got there it just seemed like more effort than it was worth. So, defeated I went home sulking. I wanted Mike to drive me to the city so I didn't have to embarrass myself asking people for dope who look at me like I'm the devil. I prefer it when I don't even need to do more than get out of the car and people ask me what I want. But he wouldn't and I didn't want to go alone and end up getting the car impounded.
End result: many Aleve's, klonadine (hydroxy HLC, however you spell it), vitamin D, and California Poppy extract. That put me out for, like, five hours or so. Then I sort of inevitably toss and turn until about six when I can convince Mike to go to the clinic.