I feel stuck inside my snowglobe world of meth. Time doesnt exist here. Weeks go by with a little chuckle as i struggle to find a semblance of normalcy. Im living in a fucking dirty sandy tent shooting meth and taking ghb jerking off 12 hours a day. My dealer lives and a closeby motel where i walk through the riverlands like fuckin homelees tweaker steve irwin. Trying to act like nothing is wrong with me if i happen to pass a father and son fishing. I text him im 1 minute to his door. He opens it in his bath towel only. He never wears anything else. He has never hit on me. I use the shower and sleep in my musty hobo ensemble sometimes. Its a place to feel normal and find a vein. He is lonely and enjoys my conpany. Everyone else he knows are just clients that come for happy tweaker endings. Thats when i have to leave.

Theres 4 racoons outside my tent as i type this. They are fighting over my garbage. I like to bust out my construction site flashlight and see their eyes scurry off into the void of the riverlands. 24/7 i hear sirens and helicopters. Police station is right across the yonder. Sometimes i hear evil out there in the darkness late at night. People screaming, crying becsuse they lost their mind and they know it aint coming back. This land is plundered by meth rot.

I shoot about .7 a day. Lumped arms and bruised my arms are figments of what they were. I can tell my mind is starting to harden and crack. I shouldnt be okay with this. How am i okay with this? Getting sober feels impossible after the stimulation of the last 2 months burned into my mind. The trolley and sirens sounds surely will be amiss.

Now i just need to gain the forsight to go to detox.