August 21, 2014
There is Nothing Cool About Heroin - My Life is Crumbling

I don’t understand why pictures of a pile of shitty stamps get a bunch of reblogs and likes by teens romanticizing heroin. 

Heroin is not cool. Heroin is not fun. It’s the end of the road when you’ve finished all other forms of chemical escapism and just want to live in a never-ending circle of problems. 

I’m 29 years old. I’ve been shooting dope for 5+ years. Snorting for longer. How I can find a vein is beyond me. I don’t know why I’ve never OD’d. I used to think that was luck and I was bulletproof. That recently changed as I’ve been diagnosed with endocarditis (that’s fucking heart disease.) All of those times I used a needle more than once; all of the times I looked in at my mixture and said “Fuck it, this doesn’t look like it needs a filter” caught up with me. Enough bacteria finally got into my bloodstream that my immune system couldn’t do anything more and I am facing the inevitable fate of any long-term IV user: an early death. One would think this would motivate me to quit, but I’ve still been picking up with that “this is the ‘one last time’” mentality. 

I used to think I could cover this habit up, but now I can see the mixture of sorrow, fear, and overall aversion in other people’s eyes when I don’t even verbally interact with them and try to do something nice like move my cart out of the way and shoot them an acknowledgment smile in the aisle of the grocery store. (And they just look at me like I used to look at bums begging for change on the street.)

When I started writing this blog, I was making six figures a year. Laughing at how I could get fucked up all day and enjoy the comfortable WASPy, self-sustaining life that my parents and everyone else expected of me after I finished college. That worked for all of a year before it went to shit.

I’ve blown so many second chances since then. It’s worse than it’s ever been now.

Now I’m back to lying about this and that to anyone with money and enough foolishness to listen and send me some. Yeah, sure, they’ll believe me. I’ve been to rehab 3 times so that means I’m a credible individual. There’s nothing fishy about asking Mom for $400 for a “car repair” 3 times in the same month.

I’m a fucking junkie and I don’t understand why so many naive kids here think doing dope is some sort of badge of honor. Like it validates their “pain” or some bullshit. Get therapy. Find someone to talk to. This is not a lifestyle you want. 

I’ve tried to quit more times than I can count, but I always end up back where I started. I used to have track marks that were hidden, now they are so bad, to get rid of the scars I’d have to shell out several thousand in cosmetic procedures just to fade them lightly. 

But, I guess I’m no different. I met a 60 year old heroin addict. He’d been using for the past 40 years (that’s not a typo.) His reasoning was that all dumb fucks die before 40 and that if he’s made it this far, he shouldn’t really stop. He has children and grandchildren that want nothing to do with him. He can’t even get a job as a crossing guard. 

It’s sad, but I was also thinking as I walked away from our little exchange: I bet I could do dope for the rest of my life and do way better than crossing guard. Who am I kidding?

I would show pictures of my scars and tracks, but they are so unique and large, I’m afraid someone eventually would identify them (along with the accompanying tattoos nearby.) I’d explain my professional background and how I used to have such a promising future and good life, but it’d be too easy for someone to identify me and potentially ruin my life, if I ever get it back together, at a new job or in a new academic program. 

There’s nothing fun, glamorous, romantic, cathartic, or interesting about your stupid posts of pictures of dope and you doing a little fucking balloon of BTH or you saying how “sad” it is that you just want to get high and it’s the best thing ever (no shit, moron, you don’t have to do it to know heroin feels amazing.) Just stop. You’re not interesting. No one feels bad for you but yourself and (maybe) me.

It used to be nice to come here and vent and hope that my brutal honesty about how shitty my life continually gets would at least be a cautionary tale to one person. Now, I just sit in amazement that a picture of some stamps of mediocre dope circulates amongst a small community of sad, lonely kids and there’s nothing I can do to help them. I’m not bragging when I post a picture like that. I’m showing you how pathetic it was that 30 little glassine bags was the only thing that made me happy.

I can’t rightly participate in this shitshow. Unless I feel super compelled to write anything again, I’m done here. 

You people need serious help and I hope you get it before it’s too late and you end up like me - almost 30 with a heart disease old people get and wondering one second why you can’t be starting a family, buying a house, getting a promotion, getting married while all your friends do - and then a second later realizing that the reasons are obvious and you’ve just been running from something for decades, too afraid to face the emotional truth. 

Tell someone if you are struggling. Get some help. Stop going on here and psychologically enabling yourself. You’re better than this. 

July 29, 2014
This was a sweet time. I told my dealer I needed 2 buns and he gave me 2, and then handed me another, like he had forgotten 5 seconds ago he gave me my actual order. It’s kind of nice when they are too fucked up and it plays to your advantage. I think these came out of the Newark area around the new year. BLING BLING, Whitney Houston, and 2K14 were all the same shit, just a different stamp. I don’t really remember the days that followed receiving this motherlode, but at one point I almost lost my job because I fell asleep in my office chair with drool hanging out of my mouth.

This was a sweet time. I told my dealer I needed 2 buns and he gave me 2, and then handed me another, like he had forgotten 5 seconds ago he gave me my actual order. It’s kind of nice when they are too fucked up and it plays to your advantage. I think these came out of the Newark area around the new year. BLING BLING, Whitney Houston, and 2K14 were all the same shit, just a different stamp. I don’t really remember the days that followed receiving this motherlode, but at one point I almost lost my job because I fell asleep in my office chair with drool hanging out of my mouth.

March 16, 2014
It’s just got a hold on me.

It doesn’t matter how much I know I am in the hole financially. it doesn’t ever matter. I always have money now. Not unlimited heaps of “fuck you” money… then, I would just go to rehab for however long it took.

Instead, I subsist on an upper middle class income that’s self-generated and if I didn’t spend hundreds a week on drugs, my life would sure be a whole lot more enjoyable. Sometimes I sit back and fantasize about all the trips I could have paid for instead.

What fun would they been, though, if I couldn’t get high during them? 

Not only am I physiologically addicted, I’m psychosocially addicted as well. I’m afraid of leaving town because it means I can’t get high. If I leave for a weekend, then I get anxious because I’m driving with hard narcotics - not just some weed and papers. And when I fly, I have to overnight myself drugs to the hotel the night before.

I’m so sick of this life. I hate it so much. I just can’t quit. I can’t do it. It used to be a nonevent. Can’t afford a 10 pack of Roxy’s, so I’d just deal with it for a couple of weeks until I had the money. Today, every single dollar of every day is spent on dope. I tried to make it 24 hrs. Even used methadone to ween me off. 

What a waste of time. I feel hopeless. I feel like this is my existence. I live and die by the needle. I would never wish this life upon anyone. I used to beat myself that this was a choice I was making, but I have something in me that I can’t control. Too many failed rehabs, too many relapses, too many impulse purchases, too little forethought. This isn’t me. It’s my fucking broken scrambled egg brain-on-drugs. Rationale gets thrown out the window. 

I want to leave this world, but I’m too pussy to end it. My life is just going into shambles more every day and I’ve stopped caring. Don’t feel bad for me. Don’t judge. Just take a second to stop and realize what you’re doing to your life by using. You’re ruining every aspect of it. I don’t care how “in control” you think you are now. Just give it time, and you’ll understand where I come from. 

Worst mistake of my life. Worst choice of my life. Worst thing in my life. Best thing in my life. Only thing in my life I can look forward to is getting high. 

November 5, 2013
T + 4 days clean

Every time I fart, I fear it’s going to be a wet one so I rush to the toilet and sputter out some liquid and little shit. Finally the shit is shitting out of my system. 

This happens every time I stop. Withdraws have never been debilitating for me, fortunately. Probably because my psych has me so pumped up on benzos. My legal addiction. The one that’s OK. Who knows. Having a runny nose and shitting a lot is not really that bad. People talk to me about getting dope sick or sweating or feeling like death. I just can’t empathize. And at the very least, I know I’m cleansing my colon of all the packed fudge from my last binge. 

Now that it’s been a couple of days, I’m feeling better again. It’s the beginning of the usual cycle. I get clean for a little while, recognize the benefits, and then just decide fuck all, I’ll get high because I have the money; have the time; have a bullshit reason. I want it to be different this time. Just like I have all the others. Melodramatic me with my last post. I’m back at home. My father loves me. The air is clear. I want it to stay this way. I spent Sunday in bed drinking apple cider mimosas. 

I don’t know what is so hard about quitting. I commit to myself, but I can’t make the resolve. I’m in constant denial. I don’t need help. I just need a good reason to just stop and put an end to this soul-sucking, money-draining, family-ruining, relationship-shitting-on behavior. 

Focus on the good shit, right? Four days since my last shot, I feel a lot better.

It’s like when I quit smoking pot. It sucked for a long time, but then I realized there is a difference between pot vs. no pot. And I preferred no pot (even though I still preferred yes opiates.)

I love and hate heroin. I watched a documentary, Seduced and Abandoned, about raising money for a movie. That title and phrase directly applies to heroin.

It’s far too easy to find a reason to use and after you do, there’s no more. And unlike a movie, the lights don’t go dim and then come back on a second later so you can leave and go home. They stay off for a while. You never really leave. The more you want to use; the longer the darkness. The less you want to continue being a drug addict; the shorter. 

At least I have a normal salaried, career-relevant job now, a second relevant part-time job at a non-profit, and a third volunteer commitment to a cause I’m passionate about. These are reasons to stay clean, but the challenges they present are what scare me. I don’t want to fail and when faced with something new, it’s so much easier to run and hide in my bed with a tourney, a bag of freshies, and some good dope for a couple of days.

Even if my “recovery journey” (that sounds so fucking gay and I can’t articulate in any other manner) has been wrought with relapses, they’ve been fewer and far between each time. The trajectory is a positive one. I’m doing better in life. The more things get back to my personal sense of what is normal, the more I want this to just end. Of course, as soon as I delete my numbers, I get texts telling me to come through, or I bump into someone who’s always holding at that exact moment where I just realized I have a few hundred in my pocket and I’m so proud of myself for not spending it on drugs. Nothing worth doing is easy: a constant reminder stapled to the inside of my eyelids.

Ultimately though, heroin will abandon me. And I would much rather abandon it. 

October 20, 2013
Fuck a Career

10 Months since my last post. Sunday afternoon. 2PM. Too much Klonopin (but not enough.)

Some highlights since my last post:

  • Made a lot of money doing almost nothing with Bitcoins. Avoided working. 
  • Lost and spent a lot of money on dope, getting burned, and trying to maintain some semblance of a $500USD/week lifestyle on top of an on/off heroin habit.
  • Spent 3 months in intensive group substance abuse counseling. 
  • Almost became homeless. Took drug tests and assuaged my benefactors (I shot up the day before one of them so I have no idea how I passed.)
  • Almost lost my girlfriend. Thankfully, that didn’t happen.
  • Got a menial job (had to quit the counseling, but found a therapist.)
  • Then, got a real, big boy job. Salary, benefits, relevant to my “career”. A validation point towards my college degree.

Now here I am. About a month into my new job. It’s at a “good company” to work for. Everything on paper is great. Decent salary. And most of all, a second (third? fourth? fifth?) chance again at a normal life. 

So yeah, I could agree with my therapists, my parents, my girlfriend… I worked hard to get to this point. I got very lost in an addiction and now I’m finding my way back.

But the way back sucks. It’s hard. I have more money than I ever did before. How am I not supposed to spend this on dope? 

My job is “good”, but I’m bored out of my skull. I’m back in a fucking cubicle underneath artificial lighting. I get to go to meetings and remind other people that their work is due. I get to sit on client calls and chime in. Before I started, this is exactly what I needed. Now that I’ve started, I feel like it’s the last thing i needed. 

I need to quit my job and start a business. I need to be engaged. I need an endless to-do list.

I’m already drinking everyday after work. I’m drinking now. I’m smoking more cigarettes than I ever have and because of that, I just buy the cheap ones that give you a nasty smoker’s voice and burn fast enough that I can suck down 2 during my drive.

It’s also find it defeating driving there in my downgraded car. When I first started this habit, I had no morals, so I lied a little and got a brand new BMW that was way out of my means. That car went bye-bye quickly after I lost my last big boy job and defaulted. No big deal, there was another car for me to drive and it was free.

Then some shit popped off. My family found out I was using again. Drug tests. Drug counseling. No money. No time to work - just going to group therapy. It sucked. But I got clean. Then I didn’t. Then I did again. 

Now, I don’t really want to be. 

The days are so short. I just want to lay in bed and sleep the day away. The thought of spending an extended period of time in a mental ward is actually kind of comforting. Three meals. Decent food (where I live it’s actually quite good.). Some optional therapy stuff. Some not-so-optional. Most all, not working. That’s the most appealing. I miss “working” at home. I had a legal side business going for a while that didn’t make me rich, but I got back to the yuppie lifestyle I was used to. I even started to look at new cars again.

Today, I look at my future and I see more corporate bullshit. Most mundane, long days where I can’t be high at work. I see a regular paycheck, which I usually have already spent in my mind before it even arrives. I see an existence I never wanted for myself. I am seeing my psychiatrist again and I struggle if I should share these feelings. I suspect they’ll be met with “Well, there is this great new SSRI/SNRI that a couple of my patients have really liked…”

I can’t numb myself of an existence that’s humanly unnatural. I want to go back in time and not waste my college credits on business courses that have lead me to failed and successful entrepreneurial ventures. I wish I learned something interesting. Engineering. Photojournalism. Pre-Med.

If I quit, people will wonder what the fuck happened. If I get fired, just the same. 

So now I sit, in purgatory. I’m blessed with something most 20-somethings don’t have right now at an enviable employer and I’m being told that I’m doing an obvious good job. But am I happy? Not really. Only after work. And on the weekends.

I remember the not-so-distant days where I pined for this sort of gig. A “normal” life. I spent yesterday getting day drunk and going to the usual roster of restaurants and bars until we got back at midnight and wondered how we killed 12 hours. It was nice. I felt normal again.

It was also nice to not keep stopping in a restroom every coupe of hours to snort something or shoot up or use my vaporizer.  

Anyway, 2:35 now. Time for another glass of wine.

October 25, 2012
The Buy

That indescribable feeling I got as a child before Christmas Day far overshadowed the giddiness I’d feel before leaving to pick up. 

Buying drugs from someone who you’re buddy-buddy with is always preferred, but when you start doing heroin, there are no suburban white college kids to buy from. You’ve got to hit the street. Sometimes there’s a white “normal” heroin dealer, but that type of dealer’s gear always sucks. You want a real fix.

It’s pretty easy. I’ve found that in any major city, the third time’s a charm. Go to the ghetto, roll your window halfway down and when you see a bunch of guys who look like drug dealers, slow down and make eye contact and wave one over. 

Initially, I did this being completely naive to other elements of the buy beyond the drug transaction. After I established some regular contacts, I realized that I probably shouldn’t drive my nice car there. Nor should I wear my favorite leather coat. Or anything else I’d usually wear. Instead, I’d dress down and found myself driving my beater car to the dealer. I even once got 3 free bags because they felt bad I had to ostensibly get rid of my other car so I could keep up my habit. Despite my precautions and hundreds of “shady” deals, I never had a gun pointed at me or was threatened in any manner. 

I got robbed by a Puerto Rican once. It wasn’t anything violent or traumatic or scary in the least. He was some background person, always in the periphery and an acquaintance of one of my dealers. Once, the dealer told me to meet this other guy instead. I just gave him a couple hundred dollars and then sat in a parking lot like a schmuck for an hour.  

The fucked up thing was I never got angry for being taken advantage of making a bad decision to trust someone I didn’t know. I was angry because I couldn’t get high that day. That was the last money I had until a paycheck would hit my account 4 days later. Until then, I subsisted off Ritz crackers and tuna out of a can. An hour in a parking lot. I don’t have that kind of patience for anything when I’m sober.

I never got hungry because I was always high. Why buy groceries when I can buy dope? And you really don’t need anything other than those two aforementioned delicacies and water when you’re vomiting in withdrawal; it worked out quite ideally in retrospect. 

One can only imagine the ugly consequences if all I had to eat in the apartment was leftover chili. 

Ended up going to a Coinstar machine in desperation and converting my jar of change into $14.90. I dug a dime up from under my bed luckily and bought a bag on day 3. Why didn’t I think of this resource earlier when I was “working from home” and trying to achieve the high personal goal of keeping a glass of water down for more than 10 minutes. I found a random dealer I’d never seen out in the area before. Immediate wave of relief. Rush home. Shit was fucking fake. 

The drug deal.

Depending on who you are, the smallest of transactions can be the biggest rush. Soon though, it becomes an errand of sorts like running out to the post office or to the cleaners; except it’s an errand you look forward to with the utmost rush of fortune. I sometimes imagine how churchgoing, non users would feel being in the backseat of one of my deals. It’d probably be the scariest thing ever. I wonder if I’ll ever be that scared of anything.

And even after being disappointed with fake shit, I still couldn’t wait until the next day when I could hit up another dealer after I got my direct deposit. 

They say drugs can affect your perception of time and it’s true because every minute I was waiting for that high, several hours were passing by in my sober head.

September 23, 2012
Junk of junk.
Back in my heyday. 

Junk of junk.

Back in my heyday. 

September 20, 2012
Only 20mg Ativan left. Just 14 days ago I had another 40mg. Luckily I am sitting on additional 30mg Klonopin with a refill due in ~15 days Should probably get this habit under control. It just feels so good to be so relaxed 24/7. It’s not a passive, ambivalent calmness like most weed strains provide, but rather a clearheaded, mindful state of mind where ever action feels direct, smooth, natural, assertive. I don’t know how to describe it. Kind of like coming out of 30-45min of deep meditation and instead of feeling relaxed for only a little, you feel at peace all day. 
Got a slick deal on 7g of Moroccan hash from Silk Road tonight. I love Bitcoin. Very, very tempted to order some H, but I resisted. Though, I’m getting a stronge urge to have some Roxy ordered tomorrow and overnighted to me so it’s here Saturday and I can kick-off a nice IV binge on Sunday when my girlfriend leaves. Strongly fighting this urge as well. I think after a good night’s sleep, my morals and long-term perspective will return.
Good night, sweet, sweet, Ativan. 

Only 20mg Ativan left. Just 14 days ago I had another 40mg. Luckily I am sitting on additional 30mg Klonopin with a refill due in ~15 days Should probably get this habit under control. It just feels so good to be so relaxed 24/7. It’s not a passive, ambivalent calmness like most weed strains provide, but rather a clearheaded, mindful state of mind where ever action feels direct, smooth, natural, assertive. I don’t know how to describe it. Kind of like coming out of 30-45min of deep meditation and instead of feeling relaxed for only a little, you feel at peace all day. 

Got a slick deal on 7g of Moroccan hash from Silk Road tonight. I love Bitcoin. Very, very tempted to order some H, but I resisted. Though, I’m getting a stronge urge to have some Roxy ordered tomorrow and overnighted to me so it’s here Saturday and I can kick-off a nice IV binge on Sunday when my girlfriend leaves. Strongly fighting this urge as well. I think after a good night’s sleep, my morals and long-term perspective will return.

Good night, sweet, sweet, Ativan. 

September 13, 2012
My Top Drugs (feeling nostalgic)

I got a really thoughtful note from a follower here and it got me thinking about my favorite drugs. I find it a bit cathartic to talk about my addiction, the funny (and dangerous and precarious) moments it lead me into (all I can do at this point is laugh about it), the relapses, the recovery, the reasons why…

I was thinking about of all the drugs I’ve done (never done crack, PCP, or meth [not one for uppers and they just seemed dirty]) and wanted to list my top 10:

  1. LSD - Insightful, fun, long-lasting, requires an open mind, so much fun with friends.
  2. DMT - The business man’s trip. Hits you immediately, 10 minutes feels like hours, lots of fun visuals, no bad trips. Same chemical that gets releases the second before you die, causing the “life flashing before the eyes” phenomenon. 
  3. Heroin - Despite being clean from it for months on months, I still rank this as #3. It’s immediacy and the pure euphoric escape that it offers is amazing, but it doesn’t outweigh the psycho-social-physical consequences of habitual use. 
  4. IR Oxycodone/Roxys - Less nodding off relative to heroin (unless you have a low tolerance or dose a lot), more intraday functioning, one of the few remaining water-soluble painkillers today.
  5. Ketamine (IV/IM) - Snorting is sucks. Injecting it is amazing. Almost impossible to overdose on. Very safe drug and extremely conducive for self-exploration. Getting into a K-hole is like being in a sensory deprivation chamber. 
  6. Diazepam ampules - The rush from injecting a benzo is incredible. Valium, when taken orally, is OK, but the liquid ampules are too much fun. 
  7. 5-MeO-AMT - Think this research chem may be outlawed now, but I really enjoyed this. It was the perfect blend of LSD and MDA without being too overwhelming. 
  8. Psilocybin - While mild in psychedelic properties, I always enjoy the ethereal body high that comes with this. Whether it’s just 1g or 7g, I always have an amazing time and the best part is the come-up, where I can feel some sort of natural energy take hold of my stomach and rise up through my esophagus and spinal cord and into my brain. Always feel much more connected to the natural world after these experiences and tend to have a new snap in my step after. 
  9. MDA - Never been able to get very high of MDA. I’ve tried a gamut of dirty brown shards to pure slightly off-white powder freshly synthesized. Even the latter, snorted or taken orally in a gel cap, has never done much for me. It has a mild effect, I tend to have more empathy for human kind than I do when I’m sober, but I’ve never had an incredible experience. For me, it’s kind of like having a nice glass of brandy after a good dinner. 
  10. Benzos! I started years ago by conning my GP into starting me off on 0.25mg pills of Xanax. Every subsequent visit, I’d complain about how I’m having to take several for any affect and eventually ended up with 1mg, referred to a psychiatrist who kept it going, added on Klonopin, Halcyon, and Ativan (which I would have to say is my personal favorite.) Xanax is really fast acting, but has a short half-life. Ativan is really fast acting if you let it dissolve under your tongue, which only takes about 30 seconds, and it tastes like sugar. Then it lasts 8 hours. It’s also the only drug that I can carry around entirely legally. 

Typing that all out does make me miss the opiate rush, but frankly, it’s just not worth the trade offs. I could go through the trouble of copping some dope, but the only thing I’ll want is more as soon as the high wears off. Plus, it’s an easy way to fatally OD if you haven’t done it in a while. I don’t want to die :)

August 11, 2012
Gave birth this morning (on binges coming to an end)

For me, the most painful part of any opiate binge is when you wake up in the morning and the drugs from the past 3 days have mostly worn off so you’ve got 72+ hours of excrement just busting at the seams to escape and now’s your only chance. So you go to the toilet since it’s probably the only opportunity you’ll have at taking a non-forceful shit before you get your morning fix.

But the opiates haven’t entirely worn off, so you still do have to force it. 

The feeling of relief that washes over you after it’s escaped and you’ve finished exercising your asshole muscle is almost as relieving as that first high of the day.

It’s crazy how fast I’ve gone through all of these pills. The first 2 days, I got really high.

Then all those extraneous opioid receptors in my brain that were dormant during the time I was clean all reactivated at once. It was like I went from having zero tolerance and thinking my pill stash would last 2 weeks to my old, ridiculously high level of tolerance at the peak of my usage, shooting 10-20 bags of dope per day. 

It wasn’t long after I realized this that I bought some needles, did cold water extract with a bunch of Percocets, filtered twice, and used the oxy/water mixture. The rush definitely isn’t the same as IVing straight oxy/roxy. There really isn’t a rush at all. More of a slow take over of your body as slight pins and needles and the opiate itch sort of flow into the experience. And it’s pretty cool having a couple plugged up test tubes in my fridge, knowing that each one is good for 5 separate 1cc injections containing ~25mg of oxy per injection. I’m on some Breaking Bad shit, yo (Science, bitch!)

So I’m sure these test tube vials will be empty by the weekend’s end.

What’s strange is that before, when a binge was coming to an end and I’d be running out of pills, my first and foremost priority was obtaining more. 

This time, it’s different.

This time, I’ve accepted that it’s just a binge and when I run out, I run out. Also seeing how quickly my tolerance got back up to a ridiculous level has made me realize that regardless of the drug, whether it’s Rx painkillers like this binge, or like dope in the past, that I don’t stand to gain much from binges except the physical, recreational pleasure. Emotionally, I have nothing to hide from anymore. I don’t have any feelings I want to repress. So it’s OK that I’m running out of pills and my homemade mixture in a couple days. I’ll know to buy a lot less the next time around, whenever that may be, if there is one. It was fun, but just not the same as it used to be. Makes me wonder if it’s even worth it to do it again. My rationalization for this one was a celebration of my birthday.

The other big pro to this binge ending is I get to avoid all the awkward public urinal situations. Like last night, of course some asshole is in the stall doing shitty coke, so I have to use the urinal. Of course, there’s only 2 and a line of people. You have no idea how awkward it feels to stand there at a urinal, holding your dick, telling your mind “pee, pee, pee, god damnit, just fucking pee” for like 2 minutes straight as other guys the same age as you, who don’t have prostate issues, and probably aren’t on a lot of opiates like me, shuffle past the urinal that’s next to me and release their urine in less than 20 seconds. I just keep my face straight ahead and feign a slight wince so it looks like I might have some sort of urinary tract issue and I’m not just standing at the urinal with my cock in my hand trying to cruise for men or masturbate or whatever the fuck people think I’m doing. When I was using heroin, I would often just stand at the urinal for 30 seconds, and even if I had to pee really badly, it wouldn’t ever come out, so I’d just flush down nothing and leave. 

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