My gunslinger days are over, boys.
They outnumbered me, and definitely out-gunned me...
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See, I used to come onto this website for sometime, but then slowly I drifted away.
Into crazy times, there were good days, great days, and shitty hopeless days.
I went back into junky phase, instead of just taking meds as they should be. But my mind was wandering into sinister lands all the time... sometimes I wouldn't take my meds. Sometimes I even liked the completely hopeless disposition opiate withdrawal gives; comtemplating just "letting loose..." and something stupid and lawless.
For a while I was doing good, taking my meds like I should, working and making money.
Then some ridiculous family issues got to me, I blamed other people too much, and instead of dealing with myself starting dating Opie again. Everything was 'all good,' always had pills (I'm pharmaceutical opiate junky primarily), fentanyl patchs. I could go on a nice trip to the coast, drive my 4Runner around on the beach, stop, snoot a powerful fentanyl concoction right up to nostril--then the fun really began...
Anyways, I was furthermore letting other people alter my mood, and not accept my responsibilties--even though others weren't either. (Isn't it funny, when somebody's life is out of order, they find other dysfunctal people to preach to...?) Anyways, the fun was coming to an end, I was running out of money, and then ! ! ! I get ripped off for $900 bucks.
Now my mood is really changed, doctor's got me on 6mg of klonopin a day so I can chill, but gotta dose up on my weed and opiates to really chill.
If I don't take chill-out substances I' malignant, because I haven't completely come to peace with MYSELF, I wanted to kill that fucker, and this fucker, or ... I had bad vibes heading out like radio waves, easy to pick up. Started playing with my guns until I was satisfied with my shot (good), then I decided it was time to pack a pistol at times.
I was gunna get my money back, that's partially what was really pissing me off.
Times get worse, I get frustrated, I'm in pain -- all I have is a bottle of tramadol and it's not working to well, so if I wanna work and make good money I've got to snatch some extras--MS-Contins, Kadians, Norcos, Oxys plus my tramadol. And then fentanyl is for when I really want to get fucked up.
Well anyway, I reach my snapping point, I'm focused too much on other people, other people are too focused on me. I needed to take a vacation, get in peace with myself...
Instead, shit hit the flame...
Bad mood, phone call, getting bitch at, in my head thoughts start to race, argument over stupid work shit, dad wants me to help him out, I want to do work elsewhere to make more money, other shit comes up. BOOM all my pent-up bad assortment of temperaments burst forth.
Look at collection of meds in my bag-- don't take 'em, nope I'm gunna deal with this shit, right?
Tell friends I gotta go.
Meet dad, he starts bitching, I grabbed his cell phone, put it away.
Said: "You're listening to what I've got to say" (I had been trying to tell him I need some help)
Out pops gun. "Don't fucking move I'll snap a bullet into your head, or both of ours, I don't fucking care I've had it..."
About an hour passes I'm holding him nearby, almost have things worked out, mind you I said some pretty stupid obviousy psychosis mode shit... Still I believe we would have both walked away safe and alive.
Well, I believe my stepmother who is paranoid, knows her/my dad's house well because she goes nowhere else--why should she all the pills are there in her bag. *** She knows about my guns...
She was always peeking into my business, going through my stuff when I was gone.
So I took some of her pills. She would try and find drugs I might have stashed for God knows what...
Anyways *** back to the point, she must've realized the unregistered handgun was missing, she hated it when I play with muh' guns. And she kept calling my dad's phone with no answer, she knew we were dealing with something.
Soon, a sheriff arrived... well shit.
So I put the weapon down, it was a fucking .22 caliber hand gun, not trying to firefight my way to freedom.
Officers asks where the gun.
I walk towards the bed of a pickup to point its location and...
"Don't move I will shoot you." ....the fuck? You asked where the gun was, I followed your order.
Now he's telling me get on the ground.
"No."
Now there's several officers pulling up.
These yellow cords unravel very quickly towards me and I feel something hit my leg.
Officer says, "Well that didn't work." With a great expression upon the face, I'll never forget that.
So I rip the spike out of my leg to make sure he doesn't get it to work.
Now they're approaching gun in hand, and one dude goes for the takedown, I wrestle for about a second before accepting the reality there was too many of them and I didn't feel like being beaten with a club.
And then...a wonderful journey to jail, a horrible jail at that.
After 21 days of boredom, shitty food, awesome clothes-- underwear worn hundreds, thousands who knows how many times by how many inmates and sporting a black-eye from a shower dispute...
I was BAILED ON MY BIRTHDAY! HOORAY!
In retrospect, it may turn out to be a positive thing. It could have gone worse-- what if I got into it with the dude who ripped me off? In the state I was in, I mike have done something reaaal stupid; be sitting in jail facing a long time. Plus I am beginning to learn blaming others for issues gets you knowhere, dealing with yourself matters, and does get you somewhere.
SO I will be leaving again, but it looks like my parents did that parents thing parents do and I'll probably go to a program for mentals/drug addicts, etc...
I found a good-looking one down in L.A. so I think it could turn out to be fun.
So hopefully I'll get the help I need...
But yeah, just sharing my story.
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