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Drugs @ MindSay



 

   
Foundation Problems

I hate drugs.  They make me feel like shit.  I can't stand people who do them.  It is perfectly understandable for someone to have an experimental period, but a lifestyle ???  ::Really:: ???

I can not read someone who is on drugs. One day they're on x, one day they're on coc, the next time sober.  You wanna talk bipolar, let's talk about drugs.  There is no stability in their demeaner. 

The problem here enlies that I'm someone that draws drug-addicts.  They love me.  They think I am on drugs because of my energy.  Well, I'm not.  Guess again.  This is me, and the happiness that I radiate is real and it comes from the inside out, not from the outside in.  That makes me happy, just saying it.  I am so glad that I don't like drugs. Some people do, and they are cheating themselves.

That being said, drugs are never the root of the problem.  People that do drugs a lot, they do them to cover something else up, or to pull something out that they lack the strength to pull on their own.  You take away their drugs, and the problem still enlies.  It's a foundation problem.  You build a house on bad foundation, the problems always persist.  Fixing the foundation of your problems is always a better alternative than covering them up.  Drug addicts are that of a brick, shit-house.

My analogy for drugs is SheepSkin.  I meet someone who is on drugs, and they never tell me that they are.  I meet them and think they're one way and then I'm like wtf ??? Yup. He's on drugs. I can tell.  Drugs are merely sheepskin.  It is the wool that cloaks my eyes, and I do not like it.  I'm being lied to without using words.  How rediculous and pathetic.  Grow a pair and start living without a mask.  It's hard at first, but I swear ... the sunshine will gleam through and there's no better sense of pride in the world.  Being a real person comes with knowing yourself. 

 
 
   
 

Fudge nuggets... You know you are way too high
when your pillow tells you to get off of it. Then you converse, and and debate why or why not your head should go on it. Then you lose your high and realize you should have just gone to sleep instead of hallucinating with your pillow for like 2 hours...
 
 
 

   
When it seems good
and yet it really isn't. 

That being said, I don't like naysayers. But it is all falling apart. AND then there are the missles...
Guess we have to do the best we can, until there is no best left we can do. 

I've just gotten on my own nerves, which in the immediate sense is more worrisome than missles. But only in the immediate sense when missles aren't directly overhead. 

Oh...this is turning out like I've have done drugs stolen from next door or something. Bad drugs, not cool drugs. Boy, I have hit the jackpot on suggested tags though. How many of you can ring that many bells in one post? 


All I need to do now is talk about sex and rock n' roll...but it is 1:21 am and alas, I still have none.

Maybe this is just pms...it is near the end of the month, right? 

I will be in a much more gleeful mood at some point tomorrow, really - my moods are like the weather in Georgia...don't like it, wait 15 minutes and it will get either really hot and/or start raining. 

(OMG, this is the second really crazy post I have made in the last 3 days...some of you are going to think I am losing it for real. I'll try to sleep late in the morning and get a grip on it all, I promise)

Then I will probably freak out and delete this. *blush*





 
 
   
 

thanks giving, mupkin pie, whippits?
I accidently while in an attempt to get whipped cream out a can kept inhaling the gas and in know time I nded up here. I fel t like blogging about it. god I love pumpkin
 
 
 

   
5 Years?
Is that possible?  Has it really been 5 years since I got that phone call?

It's weird that it was also a Sunday freshman year when Stacey called.  I remember that weekend exactly.  It was the weekend I really started to question myself, and what a homebody I was.  I was 18 years old, living in New York City, but I was spending ANOTHER Saturday night in the dorm, doing work and watching a movie with friends (maybe, I might have just been doing work).  I was mad at myself - I was also very self-involved with this thought process.

So Sunday morning Stacey calls.  I'm excited to hear how life is in Rhode Island, since we haven't kept in touch nearly as well as we should have and I miss her greatly.  I'm expecting loud, crazy Stacey with a loud, crazy story, but instead, her voice is quiet and not-unnoticeably shaking.  I start to think of explanations; a fight with Jess, a fight with her overbearing mother, her crazy foreign roommate pissed her off again... anything.

Then she says, "Are you sitting down".  I sat, knowing that it was a little more than a tif with someone.

So she asks me if I remember Ilan Schwartz.  Of course I remember Ilan - he graduated a year before us, and he was to put it shortly, a jerk.  Very cocky, full of himself, never wanted to talk to anyone who wasn't in his group of friends.  Not someone I had missed for a minute since he left my life.  I tell her that I remember him though.  I half listen to her next few sentences - the ones about being out at a club while he was at school, the getting into a fight with some guys at the club, the part where he got stabbed during the ensuing fight, and the part where he was dead.  And this might make me sound like the biggest bitch in the history of the world, but I have to be honest:  I wasn't all that broken up that he had passed away.  We'd been forced together for 3 years due to youth group functions, and never had a real reason to interact, so his death didn't really affect me that much.  It struck me as a little weird, because people can tell me about a grandparent passing away I've never met, and I get very empathetic and I've cried, but Ilan passing... I wasn't happy or getting ready to do cartwheels, but I also was very apathetic to it, too.  Again, judge me if you will and think I'm a bad person for not caring more about this boy's death, but that was how I felt.

Except, Stacey's still talking, talking about how she had heard the news from Ilan's sister, Hadar.  I'm half-listening still, until I realize how weird that sounds to me.  "his sister, Hadar".  I start to think about Ilan, and realize, he had a little brother, but no sisters.  So she wasn't talking about Ilan Schwartz.  I think about it more, and my brain starts to make connections between 'Hadar' and 'Hadar's siblings".  Moshe, Tali...and Elie.

Stacey was talking about Elie.

Elie the boy I knew and loved and looked up to.  He was the one who was dead that November morning.  Elie, a boy everybody loved and wanted to be friends with.  The boy with the over-the-top personality who had an insatiable sense of humor and an even better laugh.  The guy who was always nice to me, his little sister's friend.  Elie was the one who had been the victim of a terrible act of violence as he enjoyed a night of his senior year at school.  Who could hate or get mad at Elie enough to stab and kill him?

Over the next few days, more of the real story came out, a more painful story than any of us had initially realized.  The fact that his death was self-inflicted, even if completely unintentional still haunts me.  It's still the reason I get so upset when people I care about experiment with drugs that are harder than marijuana.  The fact that one of his best friends was visiting him the weekend that he killed himself is something Craig has to live with the rest of his life.  I don't know whose 'shrooms' they were; might have been Elie's, might have been his roommate's, might have been Craig's housewarming gift.  Either way, Elie was on a 'bad trip', and went to the kitchen, and though his friends were trying to stop him, he stabbed himself repeatedly in the neck with a large knife.  They tried to grab him and hold him down, but he jumped out of the window of the third or fourth-story apartment, breaking one or both of his legs, but living through it, screaming out in agony as he crawled around, begging for help.  He survived all of this horror, but the doctor's in surgery couldn't save him.

I still miss him terribly.  I think about him a lot.  I still get mad at myself when I think about this.  When I was a freshman, I pretty much worshiped Elie from the minute I met him.  He was so inspirational to me; he had this passion for living and for our group that he got me excited.  I  had initially been very against the group, wanting to quit, but seeing how happy it made Elie and how much he got out of it, I decided to give it a second chance, and see what it could do for me.  I had an amazing 4 years after that point, and I wouldn't have had he not inspired me to stick it out.  I had these daydreams of running into him one day and telling him about it.  About all he did for me unwittingly, but I never did.  I always felt weird attempting it, but I figured one day I'd get to be a grown up and more comfortable with myself and be able to just say, "thank you".

I never got that chance.  Even if knowing that he'd inspired me to stay would have been insignificant to him, it would have meant a lot to me, but I didn't do it when I had the chance, like when the 2 of us ran into each other at a dance my sophomore year, and I'll never get to, now.  I've been writing a lot here about Sam, and how Sam has inspired me to write the people I care about letters letting them know how amazing they are, but Elie was my first wake up call.  Both of their deaths came way too early (they were both 21 at the time, Elie having just turned, Sam being about 2 weeks away from 22), and both losses were profound and hit me pretty hard.

Take that minute to tell someone you love them, even if you think they know.  You never know when you'll get the phone call that they're permanately out of your life and you'll never get to say those words to them.  Have enough confidence that you and your feelings matter enough to the person you're addressing them to.  I'm still working on that one.  I'm working on picking up the phone and calling a long list of people who I've let slip out of my life and just reconnecting as much as I can.  It might not work; but it's better than doing absolutely nothing.  It's better than getting another phone call like the one that knocked me on my ass.

may angels lead you in
hear you me, my friend
on a sleepless road the sleepless go
may angels lead you in


 
 
   
 

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