Two Close Scrapes

I’ve had two close scrapes today. The first one involved walking to the sex shop. I had every intention of viewing some triple-X rated DVDs. It was more morbid curiosity than anything else. I didn’t want to actively purchase them. But the images, once observed, are un-erasable. You can’t un-view those graphic pictures which adorn the jacket sleeves. And once they’re in, they’re in. I want to explore the rest of its delights. That comes with the price of amphetamine (I can’t afford cocoa today). Amphetamine means psychosis. Psychosis means Hell. There’s no simpler way of looking at it.

I changed my mind at the last minute. It’s the first step of a downward spiral. That wall of glitzy DVD cases is far more powerful than I’ll ever be. I can’t risk opposing my own sense of self-worth up against such slinky sexiness. I’ll lose every time. Think of all the many millions of people pornography has enslaved at the present moment. How can little old me stand up to that? I have to hide away from the polished gloss of its seductive artwork. Once I go toe-to-toe with it, I’ll lose every time. There’ll be something especially for me, I know it. Be it midgets or interracial or giant airbags. Something will do perfectly nicely. It always does. I feel like I’m missing out on all the new releases. It’s so powerful! I’ll have it snapped up in a heartbeat.

Instead I went to a cooking group at Pathways. I’ve just been to a Positive Thoughts group. I nearly just walked to get some pregabs too. That was my second scrape. Mood stabilizers. But every drug f**ks you over in time. Just because it’s my new drug of choice, more preferable than crack or ecstasy, doesn’t mean I can get away with abusing the substance, because I can’t. I’m needing more and more of the stuff. Tolerance builds quickly. And it’s the whole waiting around on street corners, after hiking to the dealers. I feel seedy. Not like an Appropriate Adult. That kind of behaviour snares doubts and insecurities in my mind. I want to remain fat and lovely. You know, good and honest. How can I be of help to myself or anybody else if I’m scoring drugs on a street corner?

Barry from Positive Thoughts just suggested that I write about what the last 69 Days have meant for me. Last time I got caught out on 66. Today, 69 is in danger of getting me. There’s something about these two numbers. 69 is a rude number, and boy, today, have I had the potential to act rudely, engaging in fapping (masturbation). I don’t need porn anyway, I have the DK’s voice in my head (I fap to schizophrenic voices in my head often…I know), but like I just got done expressing, I feel like I’m missing out on all the latest releases. Porn is cutting edge, several weeks away mark gigantic breakthroughs in the industry. They are always pushing boundaries and barriers. You may be struggling with the internet yourself. Believe me, I know what you’re going through. Strong bonds are formed with porn stars, depending upon how many hours you spend with them. Some drinkers can’t stop once they start. I’m exactly the same with porn and drugs. The bonds I’ve formed with the female actresses are supernatural. No other way to put it.

This bout of clear-time means a lot. It’s deliriously satisfying to not be psychotic. When you’re been in such copious amounts of unhinged misery as I have (through no fault of my own), you feel relieved when the voices go back to where they came from, and leave you alone for a few weeks. I wouldn’t say happy, but I’m still smiling along with the world, and I’m not surrounded by hate-mobbers and gang-stalkers, or getting bombarded with electronic weaponry, or having to deal with hybrid assassins in my home. Trust me, that makes a lot of difference.