Anyone here hit "rock bottom", was at any point a train wreck, or lived an extremely degenerate lifestyle?

Anyone here hit "rock bottom", was at any point a train wreck, or lived an extremely degenerate lifestyle?

I'd like to hear from those who were homeless, drug addicts, prostitutes etc.

I think they make interesting stories, if only they could write.

Well fortunately DFW wrote their stories up for em!

Yes I particularly enjoyed the stoner who used to throw all his marijuana paraphernalia out and tell all his dealers never to sell to him in an attempt to quit, then would buy it all again and find new dealers.

Or the old man who did cough medicine in a bathroom and spent two days there with ants all over him.

It's just media hype. Living "rock bottom" is just like Schindler's List wiuthout any artistic merit.

“Oh fuck, it’s tomorrow!”

Not just any tomorrow, either. It’s Saint Patrick’s Day. I promised my family I’d go to my parents’ house for corned beef and cabbage. Even if it wasn’t cooked by Irish people, corned beef and cabbage would still suck. But I’m an asshole that never sees his family enough, and I’ve run out of excuses for skipping family gatherings. My family is made up of good people, me being one of the few exceptions.

I tend to overthink these kinds of things. Getting together with my family really isn’t all that bad, especially since alcohol is always involved. A lot of ball-busting and jokes, dinner, and then you get to leave. But this particular gathering is a bit different, because I have been up for two days high on crystal meth.

Two weeks ago, I ordered some meth on the internet. What a time to be alive. I only ordered a half gram to spend a weekend with, but the homie sent me two grams instead. I don’t know if it was just a fuck-up on his part or a slick move to get me strung out and hooked. If it was the latter, it worked. Very well.

Which brings us to now. It’s 6 AM, I’m tweaking, and trying to drink myself to sleep. I want off of the ride. But in order to get off, I need (at least) two days to catch up on sleep, eat, and cry to myself about how things got to this point. I don’t have two days. I barely have a few hours. I elect to chug the rest of this whiskey and set an alarm for 10 AM. Sleep is a necessity, as I’d rather my mother not have to learn what stimulant psychosis is at the dinner table.

When I awaken I’m so strung out and weak that I can’t even keep my eyes open. My chest hurts and my tongue is stuck to the roof of my very dry mouth. I remember this feeling from my nights of heavy drinking and MDMA use. I’m still pretty drunk, too. I know that my only means of escape from this bed is a shot of meth. Here we go…

I never should’ve started shooting this toxic shit. I’ve tried my best to keep the vein damage and track marks to a minimum these last two weeks, but there’s only so much you can do when you’re injecting meth. Even though I used a fresh spike every time, my arms are covered in grotesque track marks and huge black and blue bruises. Shockingly enough, tweakers don’t have the steadiest of hands, and I’ve missed more than a few times. I do my shot. The rush isn’t even pleasurable anymore. My heart races and my palms sweat. How my body still has any liquid inside of it after all this is beyond me.

Good Lord, I look like shit. Almost like a person that’s been tweaking for two weeks straight. I’m sickly looking, with bags under my eyes. My face is even paler than usual and I’ve lost five to ten pounds. My pupils are huge too. Fuck, man. No amount of cold showers and black coffee can level me out of this one. But I try anyway.

All I can do is try to act natural, which is easier said than done. I can barely focus on the road as I drive, since all I can think about is what a piece of shit I am. Driving to go see my family drunk and on crystal meth. There seems to be no low that I won’t stoop to. Thankfully I make it to my parents’ house in one piece and without ruining anyone else’s life.

Everyone is already here. I don’t think anyone is on to me yet, except for my Dad. He knew something was up the second he saw my strung-out ass. You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, and my Dad is a master bullshitter. He’s been clean for years now, but he still knows every trick in the god damn book. “You ok, son?” He whispers to me sympathetically as I walk into the living room. God damn it, this is brutal already. That “I’m genuinely concerned for you as a friend or family member and am scared you’re going to die” inflection is the worst. I’ve had a lot of “we need to talk about your drug use” talks over the years, and the angry “WHY CAN’T YOU JUST STOP BEING SUCH A FUCK-UP!?!” ones are so much easier than the supportive, calm, ones. “Yeah, Dad. I’m fine.”

I make myself a very stiff Jameson and coke and have a seat at the table. My younger sister sits next to me. I’m proud of her. She’s the exact opposite of me. She works hard and does well in school. She doesn’t use her rough upbringing as an excuse to use drugs and wallow in self-pity like I do. “You look like you lost weight.” She mentions as she stares at the mess that is her older brother. “Yeah I’ve just been…” Everything stops. I cannot do words right now. Yup, I’m having a brain zap. These are common with stimulant drug abuse. You’re sitting there, having an inane and illogical conversation, and then… nothing. The crystal took the words right out of my mouth. I snap my fingers, say a lot of “um’s” and “fuckin’s” to start my brain up again. “…Eating less shitty food. Sorry, I was out late last night…”

I barely say a word while my relatives talk amongst themselves at the table. Mentally, I checked out days ago. I am on auto-pilot and every time I open my mouth this becomes more and more apparent. My mother brings out the corned beef and cabbage. I have never been this unhappy to see food in my entire life. The thought of eating nauseates me, despite not having done so in two days. But I can’t just not eat. That would blow what little cover I have left, if any.

I swallow the bits of corned beef and cabbage like pills. I almost gag and puke right there at the table. “Come on Harry, it’s not that bad!” My uncle jokes. “Hehe, my drink went down the wrong pipe, I guess.” I croak back. “You still working at the pharmacy?” My aunt asks me. “Yup. Still there.” Shit, that’s right, I do still work at the pharmacy. Doing exactly what I was doing when I was 19 years old. I punch the same clock as legitimately retarded people. My job can be performed regardless of having little to no grasp on the English language. It’s funny how real life fades to static when your world revolves around getting high. Then, when you least expect it, it kicks back in, and it’s loud and unnerving as all Hell. My aunt isn’t drunk enough to comment on the severe lack of progress in my life and I’m very thankful for that.

I can barely get half the plate down before I have to tap out. I shouldn’t have drank so much so quickly. Jesus Christ, acting normal is hard. It used to be so easy. Everyone’s talking about TV shows they’re watching or movies that have come out recently. Cable and Netflix cost money, so I have neither of them. “You don’t watch Game of Thrones?!?” My little cousin asks in shocked disbelief. “Nah. Never seen it.” I reply robotically. “I’m going out for a smoke. Care to join me?” My Dad asks. Ah fuck, here it comes…

We smoke on the back deck in tense silence until my Dad finally pipes up. “You sure you’re alright brotha? You look rough.” “Yeah, Dad, I’m fine… really. Just had a rough night, you know?” My Dad reaches into his pocket and pulls out two pills. “Well, you know that if you’re struggling with anything, you need anything, you can call me. I’ve been through it all, I know how it goes.” He dumps a couple of his Ativan out into his palm. “I know that, back when I would have a rough night, I’d pray that a few of these would fall out of the sky. I feel like you could use some of these right now.” I just nod and put them in my pocket. “Thanks, Dad.” “Don’t take them until you’re home and you’ve sobered up a little. And lay off the Jameson, you’re driving.”

Everything comes to a boil as I walk back inside. Free drugs are free drugs, and who wouldn’t be pumped to be handed some benzos after a meth binge? But not when your Dad has to give them to you. He knows I’ve gone off the deep end at this point, and he’ll find out just how badly eventually. My brain has been depleted of serotonin and dopamine. Throw some whiskey and shame over that and you’ve got a recipe for a breakdown. I’m gonna lose it if I don’t level out with more crystal. I head to the bathroom and mix up a shot. There’s a knock at the door while I tie off. “Just a minute!” I snarl with my belt clenched between my teeth.

Of course, I can’t find a fucking vein. Dehydration always constricts my veins. It takes me almost ten minutes to finally hit and my arms are covered in blood. I go to check the medicine cabinet after I wash my arms, but stop just short of opening it. “Really, dude?” I leave the bathroom to find my sister waiting outside. This just gets better and better. I mumble out a “Sorry...” as I walk past her and go to the living room.

I make up a lie about having to go to work and leave as quickly as possible. “Be safe, remember what I said.” My Dad says as I hurry out. I put my meth in my sock and ditch my needle out of the window as I drive. Only break one law at a time. With my high tolerance to alcohol and the crystal coursing through my veins, I am surprisingly lucid as I drive. But in the eyes of the law, I’m driving drunk. It just dawned on me that it’s Saint Patrick’s Day, the day of drunks, and the cops might be anticipating people doing the same dumb shit that I am doing. But the luck of the Irish prevails, and I make it home safely.

Crystal meth might be the only drug I’ve ever been scared straight with. It’s just too damn powerful for its own good. The first night or two of partying is fun, but god damn does it turn its back on you quickly. I no longer wish to tweak, and debate taking the Ativan. The benzos would put me out of my misery and get me some much needed rest. But the depression and shame compel me to run back into the loving arms of heroin. Yeah, I could really go for some heroin right about now.

I call Slim first. He’s rarely late and is the most professional connect I have. He drives a nice car, but not too nice. He doesn’t dress like a thug, because he doesn’t have to. His eyes do all the intimidation for him. “Sup, bruh. Haven’t seen you in a minute.” He says as he closes the door to my apartment. “Yeah, tried the quitting thing, didn’t work out so good.” I mumble back. “Hehe, heard that before. This new shit’s pretty fucking crazy, though. Take it slow, ‘specially if you been off it for a while.” “I certainly hope you’re not just blowing smoke up my ass here, Slim, and that this heroin is indeed good enough to potentially kill me.” “Thanks, man. I’ll be careful.” “No problem, bruh. You got my number.”

I can barely discern the bruises and my veins at this point. I’m out of fresh needles and have to use an old one, which gets duller and duller with each failed attempt to register. My jaw aches as I bite down harder on my belt in frustration. “FUCK!” I take a moment to compose myself as blood runs down my arms and I try to hold back the tears. After taking a deep breath, I steady my hands, tie off again, and…

An overturned chair, an old needle, drugs everywhere, and a body covered in dried blood. My room looks like a crime scene. “What the fuck happened? It’s 10 PM, have I discovered time travel?” I landed on my chest, apparently, and now have a nice big bruise there to match my arms. “Maybe an angel came down from heaven and beat my chest until I returned to consciousness, saving my life.” This retarded idea makes me giggle childishly as I stumble to bed. I’m way too high for the gravity of the situation to truly sink in. I don’t care, and I love it.

I can finally get some sleep.

pretty cool

This is actually amazing, but read it before.

>Or the old man who did cough medicine in a bathroom and spent two days there with ants all over him.
Is that from IJ? Id like to read that story

Yes. I think it might have been the same guy who put cats in industrial strength bin bags and killed them.

Ugh, marijuana and cough syrup, DFW is such a fucking plebe.

A poor writer and a poor thinker who does drugs like a 15 year old.

“Oh man whoa, I am so addicted to marijuana. I better go to MA to overcome it. Then I will fictionalize my struggle so the world can know of this interesting and compelling plight.”

Christ grow up and do opiates, amphetamines and psychedelics. Experience real highs and real addictions if you are going to write about it. Not how your gross retarded ass got high and ate three cans of frosting.

People who have usually want to forget it. It's ridiculous to romanticize that kind of thing, it's not even that interesting to the person living it. I mean in the categories of drug/alcohol/homeless.

It's shameful for a reason.

He did a lot of acid when he was 12/13, which he advised against.

you are fuckin retarded get your IJ straight
randy lenz (not an old man) killed cats and poor tony krause (not an old man) is withdrawling from heroin when he hallucinates the ants

Source?

it's pretty early into the book too, dude smokes insane amounts of weed to the point of being completely immobilized for days, dfw just lays it out in an immensely hilarious way, would recommend

plebby comment

t. functional opiate addict (pharmaceuticals only, fent at times though)

I quit my job and spontaneously travelled to the Balkans so I could live off my savings and spend my days exploring and drinking. Some might consider that "degenerate" but it was the best few months of my life.

Me, I made it up.

>ctrl+f
>no Mary Gaitskill
Look her up, OP. She was a prostitute for a bit, and is a damn good writer

Not exactly what you ask for but Genet was close from prostitution and crime all through his life (before he started to write he was stealing expensive books and re-selling them). Also greek sailor Kavvadias wrote about life on cargos and stops through prostitution and crime world in "The Shift". There is also this autobiography from young german prostitute and heroin addict ("Christiane F.") Sorry for bad English, I'm not native-English speaker

I was talking about the cough syrup scene not the weed addict scene

I was a freight train rider for nearly a year. Wasnt a junkie but at one point I did smoke meth under a bridge for two straight days. Not sure if I qualify.

I lived in a hotel in SA for a while that had a few "regulars" who were in the cartel/drug dealers/smugglers/addicts. Afterwards I was "homeless" and living in Brazil working a variety of shit jobs as an illegal immigrant.

A couple times I'd get tropical infections that would leave me bed ridden for days, at one point I thought my dick would fall off from an infection, but I was able to get antibiotics so it just ended up oozing blood and puss for three days instead.

A nigger threatened me with a metal pipe in Brazil a couple times because I got in a fight with a shitty boss I was working for and she told him she'd give him cocaine if he beat me up. He was too much of a pussy to actually do it though.

All in all it was a good time.

What convinced you to smoke meth? Where were you train hopping? I've been thinking about doing it myself come spring.

being alcoholic
t. meth smoker

Check out William T Vollmann's - Rainbow Stories

I don't know. I didn't drink at the time and I was stuck in Colton California waiting on a train to SLC and was bored and the opportunity arose. We flew signs and bought a bunch of meth. After it was over I had been up for 72 ish hours ND my muscles felt like they were being digested or rotting. Me and the girl I was with got on an engine unit and lay on the floor in misery for about 20 hours.

Did a 60 day stint at a fancy rehab in Utah for oxycontin. Have stories if anyone's interested.

I don't think OP necessarily is romanticizing the thing. It just seems like he's curious about degenerate lifestyles as he's never lived one. That and I believe he thinks hearing someone's war-stories will spark creative inspiration in him.

To your second question:. I'm from SC and I went across the country. I wanted to see the Pacific and the west. I did. It was okay.

go for it

>stopped sleeping
>would frequently get 2 hours of sleep at most or just stay awake until the next night
>developed auditory and visual hallucinations
>hearing weird whispery voices and seeing demons. Think there's two people living in my basement plotting to kill me.
>become paranoid. Every car that drives by is the government coming to get me.
>there's something around every corner that's going to get me. Can't close my eyes for more then a second because I start to see shit.
>can only fall asleep from exhaustion
>can't even find peace there. Have horrible nightmares that I wake up screaming and sweating from
>look like a crackhead
>death and suicide constantly on my mind

I don't how because my memory from that period is terrible but somehow I managed to get out of it.

I once found myself blowing my middle school gym teacher while strung out on oxycontin and adderall without realizing who it was. That was a pretty surreal experience.

I wake up. My room is cold and dark, the air smells like moldy cheese. I crawl from my hovel of pillows to my only computer. Pissing into a bottle I relieve myself. I turn the computer screen on and inject 50cc of dank memes straight outta Veeky Forums. It's twelve hours later and I only realize it now. I have been shitposting all day. I sleep.

Was this while you were in middle school?

I was in high school at the time.

>Be me
>16 years old
>a skating injury from three years before got me on pain pills.
>Fellow junkie highschooler traded me his adderall for percosets
>Blasted on amphetamines, I get crazy horny
>Post on craigslist about wanting to suck cock
>Get a message with a picture of a fit older guy from the neck down
>Tell him I need a ride to his house because I dont have a car.
>He picks me up. I'm so nervous I cant look him in the eye
>We ride to his house, He feels me up as we drive.
>Get to his place, go into his bathroom to snort more adderall
>As I come out, see a picture of him and his kids
>Suddenly realize I go to school with his son
>Suddenly realize he is in fact my gym teacher from three years ago
>Come back into the living room where he has a basketball game on
>He pulls his cock out and beckons me over
>I suck him off for about 5 minutes.
>He holds me down and comes in my mouth
>I spit his cum out on his lap and he gets up to clean himself up.
>See his wallet on the table next to the couch
>take all the cash out of his wallet while hes away
>He comes back out and gives me a ride home
>I try to jack off, but the pills wont let me cum
>go to bed and cry myself to sleep.

This thread did a better job at convincing me not to do hard drugs than the DARE program ever could.

I guarantee you're masturbating to this post right now

Nope. I was pretty fucking terrified for a long time because I thought I probably got AIDS from the dude. It was a sickening and humiliating experience and I'm glad I got my shit together afterwards.

I have an eerily similar story:
>I was 16 as well, Lived in temporary Corporate Housing with my dad.
>Dad is gone for the day
>Take two 30mg adderall IR and begin reading the end of Anna Karenina
>After three hours I realize I was coming down and had trouble focusing so
>I snorted three more 30mg, making it 150mg
>I finish Anna Karenina in pure ecstacy and masturbate, trying to message some female friends and ended up just creeping them out
>So I installed Grindr, at 3AM
>I started to feel insurmountable pressure in my head, so I took three xanax (I was selling at the time)
>The guy picked me up, he was an overweight black guy
>The dude was super nice and not creepy at all, just sort of had bad hygeine
>He suddenly says we need lube, so he'll pulls up into a sex shop and we go in and buy lube
>We get the lube and then go back to the corporate housing
>I suck him off for a while, feeling a little empty headed and disgusted with myself
>The guy eventually fucked me, which was incredibly painful but I didn't show it
>Once we were done fucking I heard the front door open, it was my dad
>By some miracle I got the 40 year old, overweight black guy out of my house and my dad was none the wiser.
>Just glad I didn't get fucking AIDS as well

I'm really tempted on doing something like that. not only would it be liberating, but I would like to think that you could pick up a language or two.

did you grow up in utah or did someone send you there?

Serbian is a very difficult language to learn. I picked up on quite a bit of vocabulary and memorizing certain phrases, but if i wanted to get a deeper understanding for the language I would have studied some grammar before I went.

from your fucking gym coach? I get the sickening part, you probably regretted it halfway through but you didn't have the resolution to stop.

>Senior year of High School
>Get 2,000 research chemical xanax pills from an undisclosed source
>Sell them to the rest of the high school, eventually becomes a quasi-epidemic
>One person crashed into a light pole and was seriously injured while driving on it
>Countless others were caught by their parents with it and sent off to rehab
>Only make like $6,000 which melts in my hands like snow
>One night someone attempts to rob me (with a knife)
>I overpower him, take it a little overboard with the beating and leave him in a ditch with more psychological scars than physical
>Said kid commits suicide 6 weeks later
>Work a normal job now, have a normal family in a normal suburb,
>Couldn't have turned out better for me but I live with the knowledge that I am a shit human being

>I live with the knowledge that I am a shit human being
You let one action you committed define you as a shitty person? Come on, user.

Thanks for the consolation user. I really do appreciate it.

cough medicine could fuck you up more than most drugs tho

This is Burroughs' best book desu

Although of course you end up becoming yourself by David Lipsky

>Lived in an abandoned house for 3 months
>Remarkably had water and electricity
>Found an OG Xbox and TV on the side of the road
>Stole DVDs and books from the library
>Did drugs that entire time
>Realized if I was ever gonna be a great artist I'd have to reform

I reformed and live a normal life now. I still remember that time fondly

You guys need to start specifying what chemicals or plants you were consuming. It's hard to take these tales seriously when you hear shit like "addicted to drugs". Huge red flag.

I raped my girlfriend when I was drunk. I'd been a budding, if not full-blown, alcoholic in highschool. It's pretty hard not letting that define you. Other user should live his life, but they should know that the regret they feel makes them a conscionable human. I'm under the impression I don't deserve forgiveness. I'm not saying this because I hate myself, or any other rapist or criminal, but because Christianity and its onus on "turning the cheek" and "forgiving" doesn't create introspective, caring people. It creates apathy, a greyness of morality, and fake redemption.

Not really. After a point you'll experiment with whatever comes your way.

Native Serbian speaker here.
AMA, if you want.

I started at rock bottom and am now finally done.

As you like

>smoked my lungs into COPD by age 21 with weed and tobacco.
>the list of medications I have been prescribed is literally longer than my resume, all kinds of old school antidepressants, a few ssri's, a number of anti-psychotics, benzo's, dexamfetamine, and a bunch of off label stuff.
>used to drink until black out quite frequently just to escape my conscious state of distress.
>after 20 I went on to do everything under the sun for about 7/8 years.
>speed, ketamine, lsd, DOC, 2cb, ghb, shrooms/truffles, MDMA, various research benzo's and dissociatives, nos, oxycodon, tramadol, codeine, salvia and I'm probably still forgetting a bunch.

I am writing a book but it's not about drugs.
Social interaction compels me to bomb my brain with some sort of substance after a few hours, I'm exhaustingly alert around people and can't shut it off, I start analyzing their strengths and weaknesses and how they may be destroyed or manipulated or otherwise influenced, it's an automatic thing ingrained deeply in my thought pattern on account of being raised in a hostile environment.

>spend my last 2 years of high school and first 3 years of college doing every drug I could get my hands on
>other than a few questional sexual encounters and one overdose / suicide attempt don't really have any crazy degenerate horror stories

I never hit "rock bottom" whatever that means, but hard drugs, especially heroin and meth are damn shitty

all my interesting stories tend to be more lighthearted or funny ones while being on psychs or coke

I did meet some "rock bottom" degenerates though, who had some horrible stories like this one kid (like 17 when I met him) whose mum forced him to do meth when he was like 11 years old to prove to someone she was selling to that it was safe

Do you know if there's a demand for native English speakers to teach in your country? Not necessarily only in public schools but also private foreign language schools. I'd love to live in serbia for a year or so.

actually, now that I think of it, this story is pretty degenerate fun:

>have a friend who I used to do speed with in high school
>hadn't seen him in a few years so not really sure what happened but apparently he was homeless and then put in a mental institution
>for some reason or another (probably while I'm drunk because this was a bad idea) I contact him and ask if he can get me some good ice I'll do it with him
>says he doesn't do it anymore and is trying to stay clean, but tells me he can get me some
>figure once I buy it he'll change his mind and want to do it anyway
>apparently he has "turned his life around" and has a maintenance job at a hotel which his "friend's dad" owns
>has a place to live with 2 other people
>I meet him in their room at this hotel, really shitty looking motel place in trailor-trash part of town
>normal looking black dude is sleeping on the couch
>my friend is watching TV
>my friends "friend" who got him the job and the room looks fucking insane, eyes are bloodshot, huge bags, pale skin, scabs everywhere, the dude is clearly tweaking because he keep twitching and picking at his skin
>think to myself goddamn it, there's no way my friend is staying clean
>my friend introduces me to the tweaker, tries to convience me he's a good guy
>the tweaker is actually pretty polite and introduces himself
>from the main room I can see into the kitchen where there's clearly a bunch of rigs laying out and pill bottles
>lose trust in what I'm doing, ask my friend to leave with me so I can talk to him in private
>tweaker suddenly starts rambling incoherently
>we start to walk towards the door
>tweaker suddenly jumps in front of the door, starts screaming "WHAT WERE YOU TALKING ABOUT I KNOW YOU WERE TALKING ABOUT ME WHERE IS IT WHATDID YOU TAKE WHER AFUCKING I KNOW YOU TALKED ABOUT ME SECERTLY" etc etc
>my friend tries to calm him down, talking him down
>my friend empties his pockets and asks me to do the same
>I do, realize I don't have anything to defend myself with and being slightly drunk hope for the best
>tweaker calms down
>I walk outside into the hallway, friend says wait up because he wants grab his back
>door shuts
>5 minutes go by
>suddenly huge crash
>screaming coming from the tweaker again, same incoherent rambling about "WHAT DID YOU SAY ABOUT ME BEHIND MY BACK"
>hear more crashes
>prepare myself and reluctantly open the door to make sure my friend is okay
>tweaker is standing in corner of the room with this INSANE look on his face, huge eyes twitching all over
>holding a nail gun presumably from his maintenance/repair job

cont

>he jerks his head towards me and I duck behind the door
>hear the nailgun shoot like 10 times
>but it isn't even coming towards me, at this point get scared as fuck for my friend's life and peek back inside
>realize the nails are just launching and falling to the floor when he pulls the trigger
>he lets out a final scream and lunges towards my friend who is hiding behind the couch
>instead of shooting my friend, he puts the nailgun point blank to the sleeping (?) dude's stomach
>launches a nail into his stomach
>friend dashes out towards me while the tweaker is kind of flipping over the couch
>dude on the couch doesn't even move or flinch
>I run down the hall and down the stairs, friend is coming close behind me (with his goddamn bag)
>let him in my car, he instructs me not to call the police
>we end up going to hardee's, he goes outside every couple of minutes to make calls before he asks me to drop him off at another house where he assures me is a safe place he can spend the night
>never hear about the tweaker again
>never find out if the guy on the couch was dead or overdosed or what
>ask my friend what's in his bag anyway
>its his bong and like 3 nintendo 64 games

Read it where? Would love to read more from that author.

He tried to rob you with a knife he's lucky you didn't kill him out of sel-defense then and there.

Besides, he probably killed himself due to other reasons: keep in mind if we was a robber he probably was going through some rough times. I doubt you beating him up would be the reason he killed himself.

>MDMA with ssri's
You're lucky to be alive

I didn't combine those, it spans over a decade, most of the medication was before my 20's, most of the drugs post 20's. Despite my extensive degeneracy I did thoroughly read up on everything before trying, I took care to avoid too dangerous combinations and to always read up on whatever I was taking before taking it.

I had much closer calls than that, the immediate fear of death after a seizure left enough of an impression to change.

>
>Do you know if there's a demand for native English speakers to teach in your country? Not necessarily only in public schools but also private foreign language schools. I'd love to live in serbia for a year or so.
Absolutely none. We have too many of native English learned teachers who still are unemployed because corruption is through the roof

No. I was born to a great family and now I'm a lawyer. I can exercise discipline and judgment and thus have no real vices. Life is fulfilling and rewarding and I enjoy what I do and I'm working to get published in my free time.

Right here homie. Ask me whatever you want. There's not much glamorous about rock bottom desu. "Rock bottom" for me was mostly drug addiction, being extremely poor, lonely, and bordering on homeless

I also did this, not that young though. I was very interested in acid from the time i was 12/13, but it wasn't until I was 15 I managed to get my hands on it. I would trip every time I could afford to, usually every weekend or every other weekend. I did tons of other psychedelics too, up until 17 when I had one bad trip too many. Nowadays I can't touch it, i'm pretty sure i'll lose my sanity if I do. I sometimes find myself reminiscing about that euphoria and peace that comes with LSD, but i'm too scared of having a final nightmare trip that sends me over the edge.

I did try a very small amount of LSD earlier this year, at the urging of a roommate. We took 2 hits and cut them up among I think 4 or 5 people, I took the smallest hit, and after a few minutes I freaked out and went to the bathroom to spit it out. I didn't really trip, but I got that familiar feeling again, felt really off and like something bad was going on, reminded me exactly of my last few trips.

Maybe in many years, when i've self-improved a lot and gotten over all my hangups, become a person I can be proud of, maybe then i'll be willing to try LSD again, but for now it's not meant to be.

>a few weeks ago
>been an alcoholic since highschool
>been doing xanax whenever i could get them
>in the last few months had a much more steady supply of xanax
>take a few
>all judgement gone
>spend the rest of the night doing coke, smoking weed, taking more xanax, drinking, and stealing shit
>im absolutely fucked up
>blackout
>come to in the back of a (stolen) car
>we're driving by the woods
>I say we should drive into the woods
>dude driving says okay
>he turns and goes down a little hill/incline
>we hit a creek head on
>jump out through the window, see my phone floating in front of me
>grab it and quickly run out of the water
>absolutely soaked
>blackout
>come to somewhere, cant really remember where exactly, i think a warehouse or something
>i thought it was still the same night, but I found out later it was 2 nights later
>we're breaking into buildings and smoking, going through the last of the coke and xanax
>some sketchy nig has joined us
>we see some girls walking on the street
>they yell at them to come join us
>they actually do
>we take them back to our place (just one room and two beds)
>one of them leaves, the other one stays
>5 guys and 1 girl
>she sits on my bed
>everyone else sits around us
>shes not good looking at all
>we all leave without anything happening
>we go back to breaking into random buildings
>the sketchy guy keeps trying to get me to help him break into someones house to rob him of his pills and money
>tells me he'll hold him at knifepoint, I just need to go through the stuff
>when i finally wake up its 4 days later since i first started, i've spent most of my money and been robbed of the rest
>all my drugs have been stolen also
>withdrawals were hell
Everything i've said in this post is purely fiction for the sole purpose of entertainment, not a confession.

you don't have to be a show off. I wish I were dead so yeah

terrysfriendharry.com/

Herion feels like god shows up revealing itself to be the love of your dreams, embracing you in a warm cozy bed until the trip is over.

The problem with herion nothing else in this world can make you feel so loved, so content with your experience and existence in one moment.

If a Christian was to feel the warm touch of angel, it would be the defining moment of their entire life.if you parents said everything you ever wanted them to say to you in one moment you would never forget. Now you know why, I sell my soul for a hit.

"It's better to have loved and have lost, then to have never loved at all"

Look into my addicts eyes and see if this true.

Kys

Drug addicts disgust me.
Meanwhile, I have history of spending 20 bucks at wendys then going to mcdonalds and spending 20 bucks there in a single night without stopping.
I eventually got pancreatitis from doing that so much, had to detox in the hospital like seven times. I would eat tons of food at once, then get constricted in horrible pain and drive myself to the ER where they'd put me up in the hospital for a couple days keeping me NPO(not eating anything, saline drip). What was worse is that I enjoyed the hospital stay because it was a huge adrenaline rush and the pain medicine. So I kind of cycled like that for about a year, sometimes heading into the ER twice a month.

I didn't learn anything from that experience, basically still dead set on downing ridiculous amounts of food. In my opinion, it's the lamest addiction possible I can think of. There's wasn't any real danger, I was just ramming my head into a brick wall I could see a mile away over and over and knowing full well what I was doing.

So, then I hit the so-called rock bottom in a different way. Since I was intent on staying in the hospital, even though I felt better, the doctor had to put me on a feeding tube because they didn't want me to even have a liquid diet. They did that to me before and they put me out for putting in the feeding tube, this time they tried to do it when I was awake and a went literal ape mode, screeching and such. I was perfectly rational in my head, thinking "what the fuck am I doing" and after that I gained a severe anxiety about going to the hospital.

The thing that stopped me from binge eating was the treatment I got when I pushed the limits of medical care. Even then, for a bunch of months after that I spent tons on food, I just made sure to eat an amount that wouldn't send me to the hospital.
I'm doing better now, but I'm still pretty retarded.
Yesterday, my doctor was all excited because I cut all my bad numbers down and I told her my diet went to shit again. I'm back on the wagon again, but it's a very sensitive set of precarious beliefs that I've made up for myself that maintains my fragile mindset.
I'm merely more afraid of getting treatment at the hospital for pancreatitis then I am about overeating. When that fear goes away, then I have no problem binging.
Since I started writing I've saved money at least, because I spend most of the time thinking about how everything I write is shit instead of bingeing every chance I get.

Sorry man. Buy you lunch?

I lived under 3 bridges, in 3 hammocks, and in 2 caves over a period of 6 years. Never cared much for opiates benzos or amphetamines but I binged tryptamines at an average rate of twice weekly for that time and worked hard to convince a few generations of highschoolers I was some enlightened indigo child and that the best thing they could do with their lives is to skip school and join in my adventures and of course have sex with me.

Honestly there's not much to tell. Lots of stupid people and general excuse making, blame displacing, and image consciousness. I got arrested a few times. There were lots of parties and what at the time I thought were deep conversations. My memory is obviously quite patchy. Luckily the further I got into my twenties, the more I felt pathetic until I moved away, stopped tripping, started reading and went to college and realized my messianic delusions were old hat.

I've tried many times to write my adventures into any kind of story but the sad truth is that what was super cool when you were seventeen is pretty one-dimensional, repetitive, and unoriginal when you've read a few things and made it to the latter half of your twenties. Now I just have to live with the guilt of still being the same guy that did all that, and wonder how many of those ruined lives were my fault.

Where the fuck did you find two caves?

Youre addicted to the cycle of becoming, ceasing and passing

youre no different than an addict

He obviously knows that.

One was a concrete drainage tunnel under a road that all the kiddos called "the cave." The other was an actual cave in arizona.

Mind explaining the social interactions bit further? I also find it incredibly difficult to interact with others in a comfortable way. It's usually exhausting, and I end up shutting down and losing all productivity afterwards. I'm not an addict, tho I started smoking weed last year and it got to a point where I would just isolate myself, smoke weed, masturbate, etc. I gave it up, but I've always worried that I'm susceptible to abusing substances (runs in the family) if things ever got bad enough. Would just like to hear from someone else for whom daily interactions is a struggle. I'm by no means resentful; I'd like to learn how to connect with others more.

Not that user, but I also got into drugs---opiates and heroin specifically---because it helped me function in social settings. The waves of euphoria and general mental buzz silenced that consistent nagging voice of anxiety, self-consciousness, and unjustified regret.

Heroin made me a better person. Now to quit...

I have no sympathy for rapists. I hope you drown in the bottle at a young age.

>Anyone here hit "rock bottom",

I could have hit rock bottom, but then I thought I had many times only to discover there was more depth to my ignorance than even I imagined (which, I learned, is the way of ignorance). But I'm not your average street Joe. I switched it up. I'd go on the street for a while--for inspiration, to learn and to remain humble--and then I'd go back to work and advance a computer career.
I still understand and somewhat relate to the homeless and those living in poverty, but I would be as capable in a boardroom presenting to managers and directors (if I could stomach being around so many busyness types that are so mentally challenged that I want to puke all over their shiny clothes). I study in several science and social areas so it's unlikely I'll ever have dementia as many my age will. I can write in complete sentences, you may note.
I don't regret pushing myself to suffer so much on the street, to move past most of my ignorance (and it is hard out there, except for those who don't feel anything). My classmates are still the emotionally immature four-year-olds they were when I left them for adventures; and something more than drinking every night while watching an idiot box...decade after decade. Most of them may have houses and cars, but they lack spirit, wisdom and, worst of all, they lack self-compassion and self-fulfillment. Most of them have only debt, worry and regrets. I have little--and little to worry about--but if I die I think my soul is safe. My karma is well cared for.

So I had this horrible amphetamine bender a month or so ago.

After two straight weeks on speed I was walking from my ini to the metro station and stumbled into the alleyways, because at that point, I could either think or pick a direction. So I see this graffiti of a naked woman on one of the walls - it's rough, unfinished, mostly a schematic rather than any detailed representation, with crude tits and overemphasised vagina. Something clicks within me and I remember that I haven't had any interest in sex for the last week, the area is completely erased from my mind. my brain comes to a conclusion that I'm slowly losing what makes me human - desire to voice myself, to create, but what's on the bring of fading is any desire to be with another human. I freak out. There's only one solution: I need to awaken the flame back again lest it disappears for good - that is to say, to jack off to this simplistic drawing. The problem is it's freezing (-15 C), the alley is empty but probably not for long, and metro closes in half an hour. I try to move and I can't, I'm paralyzed by the thought. My dick is hard.

I jacked off, but it sucked.

Uninterested in sex but able to easily get hard and cum, on speed. Right. That sounds totally real. Do your research.

I'm an actual drug addict who's currently smoking black tar heroin I purchased from Los Angeles' skid row and is on my way to pick up another gram from my main plug.

I've been in the dope game since 12 (I'm 25 at the moment). I became addicted to opiates at 18 and have been a career criminal since with the occasional attempt at going straight. Most of what you hear/read about drugs and the criminal lifestyle is totally fugazi. If you have any questions I'd be happy to answer, I've been a drug dealer, bookmaker, quasi pimp and stick up kid. AMA

Both gay? Both Girls? Hard to tell

Sure, I was there.
I'm still crawling out of the hole I dug.
Don't recommend it.

I can't speak for the first post, but I am a dude and it was a gay hookup, hence the grindr.

I was an alcoholic for about 15 years.

I was homeless a few times, though not really "homeless" homeless a lot, there's all kinds of places that will take you in. Most hardcore homeless are the people who's schizo or habit is so far gone these places won't even take them in.

As far as rock bottom, mine was pretty boring, like actually a lot of people's are. I had just been drunk for like 3 days, I think I drank like 9 bottles of sake, 2 bottles of vodka, a bunch of beer and painkillers, and I was trying to talk to this guy about a music video I saw on youtube, and I wasn't even making sense to myself. It was just the point where I knew this couldn't go on any longer, not just that I didn't want it to as I didn't want it to for years, but I just knew this physically couldn't go on any longer. Got into rehab and all that stuff after it.

I wrote two books while drinking, which I really like but couldn't get them published. Working on SSs right now. I wrote a book while in rehab, which I basically laid out my entire philosophy of addiction, and even life, but I dunno, might be way too out there for most people.

Same tbqh. Alcoholism is no excuse.

Tell me about your early days dealing. About being a pimp. Lastly, how's the heroin? You think there is any chance I can do it once and drop it? Ever did opium? How was it? How's your living situation right now? Thanks in advance

You guys are more sociopathic than he is. Honestly, fuck you guys, Veeky Forums disappoints me sometimes. If we don't accept alcoholic rapists here, then jesus, who the fuck do we accept, you fucking whiny liberals.

>The problem with herion nothing else in this world can make you feel so loved, so content with your experience and existence in one moment.
holy shit found the hedonist. learn about piti and sukha, wtf.

I returned from a 10-day Goenka Vipassana six days ago. It was my first retreat. Following the retreat I've experienced changes in perception that haven't budged, even though I've done no formal meditation since. As a psychologist, I'm worried that what I'm experiencing seems to have a large amount of overlap with a dissociative disorder, as some of the phenomonelogy is similar to what peope who are experiencing derealization and deporsonalization describe. Similar reports can be found of DR/DP support forums. I don't know if all of this is because I've gotten "deep" or if the meditation and stress on retreat have triggered something for me. Psychologically, I have few risk factors: I'm generally emotionally stable, high functioning, have exerienced no significant traumas, had a wonderful upbrinding, am financially comfortable and have a good support network. However, I have dabbled with recreational drugs in the past, which can be a risk factor; I also experienced severe stress on retreat, which can be a trigger. In terms of dharma, my teacher is Kenneth Folk, who I have been working with for a short time; he believes I made it up to the 10th Vipassana Nana, Re-Observation on retreat.

--

I can presently really relate to the "Headless Man" phenomenon described in Sam Harris's book 'Waking Up'. I have much less of a sense of "me" up there beind my eyes. It like my head is hollow, empty. I feel that I'm "just seeing" -- I have less of a sense of anyone up there doing there seeing. I also feel less attachment to my body.

I can also relate to the 3-D glasses effect discussed in Dr. Robert Foreman's 'Enlightement A'int What It's Cracked Up To Be'. I have seen few references to this outside of it. It is like something has changed with my depth perception. While I initially thought the 3-D effect was a good description, it could also be that my brain has stopped creating the illusion of object permanance; if a water bottle is facing me I only have a visual sense of the side I'm seeing; I logically know it is rough and has a back, but I'm only visually aware of the image I see of it. From that perspective, the visual experience could also be described as things looking somewhat more 2-D. Apologies if that seems illogical or paradoxical. My visual field also looks like I'm playing a first-person video game, like my perhipheral vision is integrated, and I'm just seeing what's on my visual screen - I am my visual screen.

I initally enjoyed visual changes on retreat, as it seemed like everything was clearer and more vibrant. However, now things almost have a cartoonish or unreal quality to them.