40 Pats On The Back

40 Days of Clean time equal 40 pats on the back, a Samaritans worker has just suggested to me. I suppose I should be kind to myself. Maybe I’ll celebrate with 40 beers! No, I’m doing really well, truth be told. I’m just painfully aware that it can all go Pete Tong any day of the week. I’m overdue a relapse, if I’m honest, this is a lengthy spell to be away from drugs and porn stars. A very long period of abstinence indeed. I miss them so badly though today, all of a sudden!

I’m getting a little tempted for the first time in this most recent of recovery terms.

Two things have got me thinking down the Use-Up road again.

One is a chance occurrence with my dealer yesterday. He’s fresh out of prison and I took his number. He offered me Fast (amphetamine) and I declined. What I’m after him for are PGs (pregabalin). They are my drug of choice these days. They hardly even qualify as real drugs, in my opinion. Prescription drugs are just medication which the doctors don’t know how to administer, that’s all. If the quacks had any sense, they would have me on a handful of pregabalin every day, instead of sticking a crappy anti-psychotic in my glute which doesn’t do jack-sh*t. So, that’s my version of it. Not even a real drug, just medication. Okay, I take ten, instead of the prescribed one or two, but I’m a big guy with a high tolerance. And they put me in such a good mood. I had some last week, walking around in a happy coma, half-asleep on my feet for much of the time, but it feels so nice. And yes, I’m still clean, because I just got done telling you that they aren’t even drugs, in my humble opinion. You might do and probably do do disagree. You might say that I’m abusing them.

Of course, the temptation to buy Fast, with his number in my phone again, is quite prevalent. What’s putting me off the obvious hedonism and horny sexuality of the drug is the fact that my perps might put another hybrid into my property. I’m not fortunate to believe in the possibility that the last two mutants have been harmless shape-shifters borne of my imagination: I believe that they were physical entities implanted in my bedroom by a shady agency, with the purposes of getting me to get up and leave, thereby evicting myself.  The eventuality of sharing your inner sanctum with hybrids who live under the bed for weeks at a time is almost too frightening to properly cogitate, and results in a fate worse than death.  You might think that I am off my head, thinking along these terms, but you haven’t made eye contact with or smelt one of these things. They are truly revolting and terrifying in every sense of the words, and I’m not too big and brave enough to admit it. Honestly, I don’t know how in God’s name I survived them. They were genuine attempts on my life. If not to evict me, they were there to kill me. They defy description.

Number two reason for this momentary bout of temptation is a sexy encounter by a positive spirit visitation last night. It beats getting raped by the Devil with a metal file (wasn’t that a bangin’ night terror), but it hasn’t really helped my sensuality for fapping. Now, I’m thinking dark thoughts about a certain Demoness Woman who has enslaved me for the last decade. I’ll talk more about her at a later date, but, apart from her forbidden delights, she brings psychosis and terror. She goes by the name of DK. I’ll discuss her after.