When you stop and think about who you are and why you are the way you are, what comes to mind. What makes you tick, what sets you off, what turns you on. Where do we develop these TICKS or did we come pre programed? I believe we are products of our enviroment to some extent. We come preprogramed to a point. The atmosphere we are subjected to on a daily basis forces us to become jaded.
The people we meet and interact with develops our skills to communicate with others on different levels. Meth addicts are a creature of habbit. Not by choice, but thriugh their chosen addiction. Meth addicts have many characteristics that set them apart from many other addicts.
We, Meth heads love to tinker with things. We find projects that we wrap our minds around in order to slow the pace at which we have increased our mental speed. When under the influence of our chosen narcotic, we become scatter brained. We think of a thousand things to do, when we pick one, we are locked into until completed. We may not sleep, eat or drink for many hours. It is not all together a bad side effect, however dehydration, sleep depervation and Being F'd up play signifigant roles in our ability to make intelligent choices.
I once had the idea of taking motor vehicle undercoating and spraying the outer casing of my Palm Treo. My thought process was this:
The under coating is tough, providing alot of protection for the device. The drying time was the problem. Thirty minutes is along time in drug time. My solution, bake the sprayed phone case. This would have worked out great had I not placed the oven on broil and got lost in internet porn. I am now the proud owner of a five hundred dollar, undercoated blob. Lesson learned, any idea I have should be ran by a sober person first.
Thats all for today, its friday, I have a new Pathfinder that needs to be detailed. To everyone have a good weekend.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
At first glance.
At first glance I look just like most men my age. I am in reasonably good health considering the HELL i have put my body through.
My face bares the scars of violence, my nose slightly canted to the side. The tale tale signs of a man that has been struck by another more than once. My eyes are dark, the gateway to my soul or should I say what has been spared of my soul. Loving as they can be, they are cold more often thatn not. The harsh reality of life has removed the boyish charm once bestowed upon me. The lessons learned from life have hardened my heart and quickened my temper.
I stand 6 foot 2 inches at 230 pounds. A formatable apponent when you add anger and meth. My hair is cut short, trimmed neatly to the sides. The MARINES and the mentality of the Corps sticks in my mind.
My dress is casual yet professional. I often wear dress shirts, untucked with denim jeans and dress shoes.
To meet me on the street during the week, you would not ever assume ill of my character. This is how I appear to the social public.
On the weekend or after work, I remove the robes of society and reveal the side of me most well known to those that know me.
The relaxed black tee shirt, exposing my tattoos. The removal of the dress shoes gives way to flip-flops and camo shorts. The addition of a baseball cap, turned backwards, of coarse! This is me. This is the me that I feel comfortable with. This is the me you will get to know before I introduce you to the man I am today.
The ease and comfort I once knew is gone, I can no longer use my skills with my hands as a tool to navigate life and social situations. But it was not always so. My name for now is twistedirish. My story is one that some have lived, some have thought they wanted and others have turned thier heads, minds and hearts away from.
My face bares the scars of violence, my nose slightly canted to the side. The tale tale signs of a man that has been struck by another more than once. My eyes are dark, the gateway to my soul or should I say what has been spared of my soul. Loving as they can be, they are cold more often thatn not. The harsh reality of life has removed the boyish charm once bestowed upon me. The lessons learned from life have hardened my heart and quickened my temper.
I stand 6 foot 2 inches at 230 pounds. A formatable apponent when you add anger and meth. My hair is cut short, trimmed neatly to the sides. The MARINES and the mentality of the Corps sticks in my mind.
My dress is casual yet professional. I often wear dress shirts, untucked with denim jeans and dress shoes.
To meet me on the street during the week, you would not ever assume ill of my character. This is how I appear to the social public.
On the weekend or after work, I remove the robes of society and reveal the side of me most well known to those that know me.
The relaxed black tee shirt, exposing my tattoos. The removal of the dress shoes gives way to flip-flops and camo shorts. The addition of a baseball cap, turned backwards, of coarse! This is me. This is the me that I feel comfortable with. This is the me you will get to know before I introduce you to the man I am today.
The ease and comfort I once knew is gone, I can no longer use my skills with my hands as a tool to navigate life and social situations. But it was not always so. My name for now is twistedirish. My story is one that some have lived, some have thought they wanted and others have turned thier heads, minds and hearts away from.
In my own eyes, I see....
I am a recovering METH addict............
What a statement to make. To look at me you would not suspect, I cover the signs so very well. I hide the scars left on my skin and bury the emotional one deep within.
Everyday I venture into the socially accepted world. Smiling the polite smile or returning the uncertain nod to a stranger. Would they accept the monster that lurks beneth the iron pants and well groomed smile. Would they offer thier hand if they knew the fury that my fists posses. I cover my rage with a smile. I cover my fears with violence. I cover my insecurity with the pain I inflict on others.
I AM A METH ADDICT!!!!!
Recovering Meth addicts and Meth heads only have one thing that seperates them. One is using and one is not. Yes, I am a master of the obvious. In all honesty you never recover from addiction in general, however, the meth head or recovering meth head have the uniquie affliction of suffering from an addiction to a stimulant that ingrains its self into your mind and eats your soul like a cancer.
I am in no way trying to put down my brothers and sisters who are currently using meth, ice, crank, jetfuel or rocket fuel. I am just offering my opinion and letting out alittle of the rage that surfaces on a daily basis.
My Meth addiction was exactly like the drug I was addicted to; fast, furious and at time Deadly.
I lived life holding on to the tail of a bull, my grip slipping with every hit, line or pill.
What a statement to make. To look at me you would not suspect, I cover the signs so very well. I hide the scars left on my skin and bury the emotional one deep within.
Everyday I venture into the socially accepted world. Smiling the polite smile or returning the uncertain nod to a stranger. Would they accept the monster that lurks beneth the iron pants and well groomed smile. Would they offer thier hand if they knew the fury that my fists posses. I cover my rage with a smile. I cover my fears with violence. I cover my insecurity with the pain I inflict on others.
I AM A METH ADDICT!!!!!
Recovering Meth addicts and Meth heads only have one thing that seperates them. One is using and one is not. Yes, I am a master of the obvious. In all honesty you never recover from addiction in general, however, the meth head or recovering meth head have the uniquie affliction of suffering from an addiction to a stimulant that ingrains its self into your mind and eats your soul like a cancer.
I am in no way trying to put down my brothers and sisters who are currently using meth, ice, crank, jetfuel or rocket fuel. I am just offering my opinion and letting out alittle of the rage that surfaces on a daily basis.
My Meth addiction was exactly like the drug I was addicted to; fast, furious and at time Deadly.
I lived life holding on to the tail of a bull, my grip slipping with every hit, line or pill.
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