More human than human

The trip to the doc yielded 2 scrips, one for neurontin and one for percocet. Eeeeh better than nothing I suppose, I also got corralled into resuming my psych visits. I have been avoiding that shit like the plague but since I am state ordered I guess it looks like I can either comply or end up having to deal with a whole lotta bullshit. So my appointment is for next week.
Those psych appointments are a joke! The bitch listens to NOTHING that I say and then prescribes stupid meds that do NADA! I have been criticised for poo-pooing therapy but how can being ignored be therapeutic? The cunt believes that I am repressing some hideous memory that has caused me to be the way I am and I disagree. I am not suffering from post traumatic stress disorder!!! I am positive that my mother never handed me over to satanists to be gang raped in some lame ritual when I was 3 and I do NOT need to waste my time looking for a "root" that does not exist! I have no problem dealing with my past, I am not harboring repressed emotions about a damn thing! Ask me anything! I've been through this shit before.....I don't blame my parents for anything, any past abuse/trauma is just that....PAST! I am over it and it doesn't bother me at all.
I do not stay up nights weeping into my pillow thinking about shit that I can't change.Hindsight usually does more harm than good and guilt is for suckers! I think that maybe my psych is hoping that if she beats the dead horse long enough I will start to feel bad about it. Is that fucked up or what? Shiesty quack!
Any one who is interested in reading more about my opinion on psychs and related subjects can follow this link or if the lame-ass link isn't working you can go to my July 11 post "I like my roots..."
So anyway, the Indonesian husband story...............
I had this friend from Poland named Borys, I had met him through one of my connects. He was a fence/club promoter in L.A. and had all kinds of crazy international hookups for weird underground stuff. He dealt in surrogates and baby brokering and green card marriages etc. He fenced stuff for us on occasion but mostly he was just fun to hang out with. He was gay and had a HUGE crush on Casey too. He was always taking pics of us and then he would laugh and say he was gonna cut me out of them. I'm fairly sure he did haha. Casey always was a fag magnet. Borys used to call us his little Sid and Nancy and take us to artsy parties so we could shock his uptight fag friends.
So one day he tells me that he has a proposition for me, he had this friend whose lover needed citizenship. The guy was willing to pay 15,000.00 for it, he was some kind of nuclear engineer or some shit, he could afford it. The guy I was supposed to marry was here on a temporary visa.
After Casey made sure that there wasn't going to be any marital "duties" involved we said yes. Why not, 15 grand is nothing to sneeze at and we had just been booted out of our current lodgings for "suspicious' activity i.e. too much junky business (thanx Johnny Thunders). We were staying with Borys in L.A. til we found a new place and that cash would go far in making that happen.
The first step was meeting the lovely couple, Mark and Teddy. They were super cool and took us out to dinner so we could discuss things. I give them props for not backing out when they saw us because Borys calling us Sid and Nancy was pretty damn accurate. I was on Methadone but shooting H more than I was dosing and Casey was just plain ol' strungout. We were all sucked up but we looked cute, heroin chic at it's finest hahaha. Not exactly the look to inspire confidence though. I guess they liked us and Borys assured them that we weren't gonna take the money and run.
After everybody was all palsy-walsy it was decided that the best thing to do was go back to Bako and make the arrangements there. It was my hometown after all and we wanted everything to look above board.
Mark put us up at the Doubletree (we were still homeless) and paid for everything. Borys was along for the ride as well and he was getting a cut for brokering the whole meet an greet, ever the businessman Borys.
The first thing I had to do was sign a pre-nup and then I signed some papers stating that I would not try to extort more $$ in the future (who me?), not sure how you would present something like that in court but whatever. After we got all that shit notarized we went and got the marriage license. All this took less than a week and the whole time Casey and me were bombed out of our skulls. Mark had kindly provided some petty cash, I wouldn't get any real $$$ til the deed was done. We went out to dinner every night and Mark and Teddy proved to be real troopers, looking the other way as me and Casey snuck off to the bathrooms and spent the majority of the meals trying not to take a nose dive into our entrees.
I ended up getting wed in a black bondage dress and my red and black steel-toes at "The wee kirk of the roses" on Brundage Ave with Casey and Borys signing as witnesses. The wedding photos were something to behold, we always wondered if the minister though it was strange that as soon as he pronounced us man and wife I went straight to Casey and Teddy headed for Mark's loving arms. We went to lunch afterwards and Mark slipped me en envelope with 10,000.00 in it. It was awesome! The stacks of bills had those little bindings on them like in the movies. I would get the other 5 when we passed all the INS bullshit.
Borys took lots of pics of the happy couple for evidence um I mean our family photo album and then we had them drop us downtown. We called up the connect and when we got back to the hotel we had 3 thou less than before. We stayed there for another week and then proceeded to surf from house to house being generous with what was left of the dope. We were in great demand as house guests haha.
I paid my methadone clinic 3 months in advance and we eventually ended up at Kristen's house. I bought a tacky-perfect teal green Firebird and even put some of the money away. That was why I had the $$$ to finance us when we needed it.
Throughout the time at Kristen's we would occasionally make the trip to San Diego (Mark and Teddy's) for misc appointments with INS.
This was also an excellent excuse to skip over the border into T.J. for various odds and ends. This was before you needed a passport to cross over and it was sooo easy to go back and forth on foot. You just went up the stairs and through the turnstile and voila Mexican pharmacies in every direction. You could actually put the pills in your bag and have no problem crossing back. The good ol' days........
We had to go to tons of appointments where they asked us personal questions and whatnot to ensure that we were actually living as husband and wife, needless to say I am a genius at memorization. We would have all night study groups where we would try and learn as much trivial info about each other as possible. Learning all that stuff wasn't that difficult, the real challenge was trying to make Teddy seem masculine enough to come across as straight. He looked very butch but on the inside he was all woman.
It took about a year but Teddy finally got his citizenship and I got my other 5 thou. They loved us and even bailed Casey out of jail one time when he got arrested in Oceanside (Casey gets arrested every time he goes out of town).
Borys got deported after some complications with a surrogate mother from the Czech Republic but when I was still in Bako I would get the occasional call from Krakow, wherever the fuck that is, Poland I suppose.
I'm not sure if I'm still married or not, I lost touch with Mark and Teddy. I guess it's possible, I should probably find out about that, Casey does want to get married eventually and an Indonesian husband could get in the way.
So that's it for now, my lemon-poppy seed muffins are beeping at me from the kitchen and I need a serious smoke break.....followed by about 10 percs heheh. Cold water extraction anyone? APAP is hell on your liver and I have problems enough. Kisses kids, Melody

What didn't kill me yesterday makes me harder to kill tomorrow

How ironic is it that the day after I posted the fact that I have nothing to bitch about I landed in the hospital? *sigh* Only in my world.
Before I launch into my hospital adventure I wanna thank everybody who sent me messages etc via k1tten and myspace, you guys made me feel so.......loved haha and you know I eat that shit up!
K1tten called the house the same day I was admitted and upon hearing that I was on my deathbed promptly stalked me. It's funny 'cause she actually tracked me down before Casey was able to. He was still trying to force info from the nurse's station while I was blabbing to k. She also spammed me all over blogger to let everyone know I was at death's door which really appeals to my sense of the melodramatic.
Thanx k1tty, you tha best girl!
So on Friday morning I was outside smoking with Casey before he left for work and I was bitching about the fact that my feet had been kinda swollen and ache-y. It was about 40 degrees but I was barefoot and happened to look down.........my feet looked purple and shiny and my toes resembled ready to burst blood sausages. Tasty right?
I pointed this out to Casey who was suitably impressed. I was doing a great job of staying calm until I noticed the black-ish streaks running from my feet and climbing up my calves.
I closed my eyes, whimpered, "Babe, think I need to go to the emergency room" and then smoked like 5 cigs in a row. Anybody who has been a long time Dopefiend knows what black streaks mean and it's NOT good. As long as I have been doing H I have heard tales of the dreaded black streaks and was always hella thankful that I had never experienced them firsthand.
Don't get me wrong, I have had some gnarly abscesses. I even had a few that made me so sick I was sure that they were gonna take me out because I refused to go be butchered at the hands of some "I told you so" E room doctor. I would just trade some smack for antibiotics and suffer though it. I am and have always been disgustingly healthy for someone who has done what I do so I always recovered nicely and continued on my way. Even feverish and puking from infection I always kept a sharp lookout for the black streaks that would indicate blood poisoning and immenent death.
We went to the E-room and I was admitted after about 15 minutes which had to be an indication of my condition but by this time I had come to terms with the situation and was reasonably chill about the whole thing.
They nurse took one look at me and went for the doc. He looked at me and confirmed the fact that I did indeed have blood poisoning and would be spending some time at their mercy. Acute Cellulitis was the actual diagnosis, along with some other shit I can't remember.
I was too busy trying to explain to the nurses that they were so not getting any blood from my arms. As usual they paid me no mind and proceeded to turn me into a pincushion. I kept telling them that they were gonna have to stick my neck but nobody listens to me. Casey was rolling his eyes as he watched them go through the motions of tying me off and feeling around for veins that disappeared long ago, we've been through this before.
One nurse managed to spear a spidery lil sucker on the top of my right hand. I was hoping against hope that it would hold and it did.....for a few minutes. He was using it to run a line into me and before he hooked it up to the bag he pumped me with a shot of morphine. It burned like hell but was worth it for the 30 sec it lasted. Morphine sucks! It also kicked the shit outta that tiny vein and when he plugged in the saline it leaked under the skin and had to be taken out.
While all this was going on the other nurse had been jabbing away at my left hand, going so far as to try and catch the veins on my knuckles. That does not feel nice! I mean I've done worse to myself but for some reason a fat shot is way more appealing than a bag of salt water and therefor worth the ouch. I know, I know......I was really sick and getting a line in me was important, can't help the fact that I think like a junky though.
After coming up empty on both sides one genius nurse pointed out the vein running across the palm of my left hand and through the meaty part under my thumb. No fuckin' way! That shit hurts so bad I could never even get it trough the top layer of skin and believe me I tried!
I told 'em to get fucked but was eventually coerced into going ahead with it. That cunt dug around under my thumb for-fucking-ever and got jack shit! For some reason I let her try again in my palm when what I really wanted to do was take that stupid butterfly and stick it in her fucking eye! She got that one and stole 6 vials of blood from me.................3 minutes before the doc came in with an ultrasound machine and proceeded to put a line in my neck! I don't think I have to point out the irony.
I didn't even feel the needle go in and I got hit with another shot of Morphine as soon as they were done,so it wasn't a total waste.
Casey had to run to work and they moved me to a room in the main hospital. I got hooked up to some super strong IV antibiotic and then had to answer a bunch of stupid questions. My new doc came in, asked me if I was in pain and then promptly prescribed a schedule of IV Dilaudid every 4 hours and Lortab every 6. Oh and Restoril for my fragile nerves. *frail sigh* I may have hammed it up a lil bit.
That first shot of D straight into my neck made me giggle it felt so freakin good! This hospital shit was starting to look up! The Lortab was useless but I took it anyway just on the off chance that it might enhance the D. Even sick as hell I still have my priorities straight! *snicker*
I got to lay in bed, watch TV and nod out which was awesome but I also had to get stabbed in the gut with anti-coagulants 2x a day. They were worried that the line in my neck would throw a clot and cause an aneurysm or something.
While I was there they swabbed me for MRSA and guess what? I was diseased, lucky me, like cellulitis wasn't bad enough! They said it was really common in NM and that it was nothing to worry about and then shoved some kinda gel up my nose 3x a day from that point on.
I made it damn clear that I could get to the bathroom on my own, no catheter for me thank you!
The antibiotic was going in me 24/7 and it was so strong that it made me nauseous. That was compounded by the fact that the food they were trying to force on me smelled like hot barf and looked like wallpaper paste with chunks floating in it. I would rather dine at the county jail for a year than ever have to smell or taste that crap again.
The times they didn't stick around to make sure I was eating I flushed that vomitous shit but sometimes I was obligated to eat some. They wouldn't hit me with the D til I ate.....Nazi's!
At one point they wanted to put in a pic line but I vetoed that noise! You would think that the thought of a semi-permanent sure-shot line would appeal to me but there's something about them threading a catheter up towards my heart that freaks me out. If I had stayed in longer I wouldn't have had a choice, they will only use the same IV site for 4 days before they move to another to avoid infection.
Casey was smuggling in candy and McDonald's and I was sneaking onto the balcony to smoke. I mean I had to smoke after I got my shot of D but dragging that IV shit around was a pain in my ass!
Casey reminded me of his last hospital stay in Bako, when I came to visit every day and was shooting H into his IV the whole time. We just had to keep our fingers crossed that the nurse wouldn't notice the brown cloudy shit in his line. HAHA I'm such an awesome junky girlfriend! He said he would have returned the favor but A) we had no H and B) I was getting loaded enough already. True but how loaded is loaded enough?
So that's pretty much it, on the 4th day I bid farewell to my friend Dilaudid and did my damnedest to convince the doc to release me. My feet were almost back to normal and the horrid black streaks were just faint shadows that were rapidly fading.
I really didn't want that pic line!
I got out Monday night and came home with scrips for Augmentin, Bactaban gel and Lortab. If all goes well I should be disease free by the end of the cycle. My blood work came back clean for everything which is a miracle in itself. I'm still kinda amazed that I never picked up Hep or HIV, Christ knows I had enough chances, just lucky I guess.
The Lortabs were supposed to last 2 weeks but are GONE, what a fucking surprise. They are worse than useless but as I said before, the druggie in me takes them just in case they might work. I'm still waiting on that!
I'm sorry it took so long for me to post and let y'all know I had not kicked off just yet. That Augmentin makes me pukey so I have been laying on the couch watching TCM and snarfing down sour bears. I'm not malingering......not really.
I've told Casey that there might be a chance that I have to go back if the Aug. doesn't work. He told me if that happened he would probably lose his job and have a nervous breakdown. I didn't realize how worried he was until I came home. He told me that he hated that I was gone and that the house was weird without me. My being sick really wrecked him, he actually got a little pale when I mentioned going back.
There's nothing quite like knowing your honey would miss you if you died, especially considering the fact that I have done shit that left some of my ex's willing to commit human sacrifice on the off chance I might expire. HAHA good luck with that fuckers *smug smirk* I'm too much of an asshole to die. The world needs me!
So now I have one more reason to hate New Mexico, this wasteland managed to do what 10 + years of living in and out of junky squalor did not. For whatever reason all the I time spent in filthy squats, shooting galleries, motel rooms and jail never touched me. A little over a year in NM, alot of that time clean and I get diseased! NM mud is apparently toxic and carries cooties, go figure.
I love you guys and didn't mean to leave anyone in suspense, thanx again for all the well wishes etc. It really did help.
I won't say much to the haters who are gnashing their teeth at my recovery, just this, "Too bad,,,,,,,,,HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA"
Ciao for now kids, (a slightly less diseased) Melody Lee
P.S. Hope y'all like the pic, I woulda made a damn fine zombie!

I like my roots just the way they are, dark and exposed

So I went to my bi-monthly psych appointment yesterday and it was a fucking waste of time, as usual. My Doctor is a condescending cunt! She never listens to anything I say, always just nods and says "uh huh" before asking another of her asinine questions. On this last visit she wanted to try and expose my root. My root? Oh for fuck sake, the only roots I have to expose are on my head.
There is no hidden tragedy to blame for my mistakes. I refuse to believe that there is some repressed memory that is responsible for who I am. Don't get me wrong, I have had my share of shitty experiences but I am not a sob sister!. So I had an overly affectionate step dad, so what, me and a million other girls. It's over, done with. I see no purpose in torturing myself over something that I had no control over.
Abusive boyfriends, check. Rape/sexual/mental abuse, check. And your point is? Everything but the step dad incident happened after I started using drugs. I don't think I know one girl (especially girls that ho and use) who has not had a rape or ass-kicking experience. Even girls that don't use or hustle have this shit happen to them.
I feel for the girls who can't get past what happened to them but that is not me. I have no issues with it. I can't change it, I can't forget it but I refuse to dwell on it. I can talk about it without getting all weepy and alot of times I find some of it funny.
For example I can thank my high school boyfriend Grant for kicking my ass regularly. Because of him I am fearless when it comes to throwing down with mouthy bitches, after having a huge guy beat on you like you were a man what the fuck is some girl gonna do to me?
As for getting raped, like I said I would be hard pressed to find a single girl who hasn't suffered the same. It's just one of those things. Deal with it, I have.
All of that shit is irrelevant when it comes to who I am unless you consider the fact that it made me smarter and tougher when dealing with certain situations. I have never sat down and done something destructive just because I couldn't get over the fact that some asshole guy did something fucked up to me. I don't need a reason to run wild and get loaded, I do it cause I like it and it feels oh-so-right.
The exception to that is when I got fucked up to try and forget about Casey. I don't think that counts because it was not the result of some kind of abuse or drama, it was the result of my inability to give up all my bullshit and grow up. My fault not his.
So I think if it were not for the fact that I am required to see the bitch-whore psychiatrist, I would have quit going a long time ago. I can analyse myself just fine. I'm fucking crazy, surprise! So what, learn to love it, I have.
Krazy Kisses Bitches, Melody Lee

Friday the 13th, just another day in Buttfuck, New Mexico

So, I'm sitting here, bored, bored, bored. And being that we're such good friends I just knew you would be dying to hear about it. The mortuary down the street has been doing back to back cremations, so I have been enjoying the smell and ash that floats down here to my little piece of Hell. As if this place could be any more dismal. The only satisfaction I get is when people coming out hear me blasting TSOL Code Blue. You know," I wanna fuck the the dead." It's petty but I never said I was perfect, or did I? Whatever. I don't really wanna fuck the dead, it's just a good ice breaker.

I just got through tossing out the psych meds I got prescribed last week. What a fucking waste of time! Instead of giving me Benzos like a normal Psychiatrist, the bitch put me on some ancient anti-depressants from the 60's. I know amitriptlyn sounds like fun, but guess again. For the first couple of days I felt like I had a colossal hangover and on the third day I made the genius decision to mix it with Jim Beam. Having achieved stellar results before when mixing prescription drugs and alcohol I never though twice. Big mistake! In less than an hour I was twitching like a puppet on strings. The only thing I can compare it to is taking Seroquel w/out heroin to balance it out. Funny huh, balancing out an anti-psychotic with opiates.

Well anyway, it took about 8 hours of arm/leg jerking hell before it wore off. Ugh, I get cold sweats just thinking about it, way too close to kicking for my liking. It's funny how I never worry about kicking until it's too late. Like in the back of a cop car too late. It's at that moment that it hits me. I don't care if I just did the fattest shot, the second those cuffs go on I start to get sick. It's like cop car cooties just drain the dope right out of me. The mind is a powerful thing, now if I could just figure out how to do it in reverse and get loaded at will my world would be complete. I'll just have to settle for my weekly deliveries from my Internet friend, my new best friend.

Ah, I digress. Back to those stupid meds. After spending hours in the psych's office doing my best anxiety Annie impression all I get are shitty anti-depressants? Oh and relaxation tape therapy. Fuck ! If I wanted to listen to that crap I could do it in the privacy of my own home, on my stereo. My Cd player can't prescribe me drugs, more's the pity, that's what I pay those assholes for. It's a thoroughly disgusting situation. I am thoroughly disgusted. I go back on Tuesday.

Nazis in Nurses' Uniforms!

I don't want you to laugh but I am afraid of needles. I always have been. While I have no problem poking and jabbing myself repeatedly, let someone else try it and I'm outta there. Case in point, I could not begin to count the number of times that I have been asked to hit people but I can count on one hand the number of times I've let someone hit me. Pretty retarded for an IV user I know and it only gets better. I have been shooting up since I was 16 and I had shitty veins to begin with. It took me about a year to tap out my arms, then a little later my hands went. Then I moved to my tits, shoulders, legs, feet etc. until I had to start muscling my shots. Hello abscess city. Anyway, by medical standards it is a miracle that my hands and feet haven't dropped off from lack of circulation.
So needless to say it it just about impossible to get any kind of blood work done when I go to the doctor. It would probably help if the needle wielding Nazi they call a Phlebotomist would shut her yap and listen to me for a minute. I don't think there is anybody on this earth who knows my body better that I do, especially when it comes to finding veins. But No! The bitch just rolls her eyes and ignores me, doing her best to win the cunt of the year award.
Check it out, I'm a junkie not a moron. Alot of people may not be aware of the fact that, !BEING A DRUG ADDICT DOES NOT MEAN YOU ARE A MORON! It means you're human, and prone to questionable decisions, not retardation.

Attention Cunt Nurses!


When I tell you that there is not a snowball's chance in hell that you are going to get blood from my arms, believe it. Do not, I repeat do not nod at me and go about your business, skewering my arms anyway and then looking disgusted when nothing happens. I fucking told you so!
Then they have nerve to get mad. I had one nurse tell me that it was only right that I suffer since it was my own fault that had no veins left. My mom had to jump to keep my hands from wrapping around the bitch's throat.
So, all this blah blah blah is leading up to the fact that I have a doctors appointment tomorrow. To get blood drawn. I am not ecstatic.
After the last time, when Nurse-zilla threw up her hands in defeat, I was told that my only option was an art-stick. Most long term needle freaks know what this is. If you are not one of the chosen ones let me enlighten you.
An art stick is what they do when they have no other options. It means going to the hospital because it is too dangerous to do in the office. It means letting a doctor take a long-ass spike and insert it into one of your main arteries! Aside from the fact that it hurts like a motherfucker, it is scary as hell.
It may surprise you to know, but bleeding to death under the skin is not on my 'Top ten favorite ways to die' list. It ranks up there with burning to death in a flaming wreck and being drawn and quartered. No thanks.
Fucking up an art-stick is the equivalent to slicing someones jugular, it bleeds out so quick there's not much you can do about it, it's just over. I will be God damned if I am letting Dr. Diazepam anywhere near my femoral artery! Not gonna happen. I just hope that the 51/50 patients rights waiver has expired. Wish me luck. Melody