Showing posts from January, 2018

Body Issues

Last Monday was a self care day. On a recommendation of a friend, I decided to go a reasonably priced Spa. I should probably have done more investigation but I did not. It was a last minute decision to take some time to myself with no animals needing me to pick up their poo, no kids fighting on the couch, and no staff people asking my opinion on one issue or another. When I arrived at the Spa, severely over caffeinated at that, the bells went off. AH- this is a nude Spa. The kind where the genders are divided. I was handed a robe and a towel that would barely cover one of my thighs. As I entered the locker room, I quickly saw what I have rarely seen- naked bodies. Not in a lecherous way or a scientific way. I was seeing naked bodies in their natural habitat. Women of all ages were inside the place. I was very nervous at first. I was raised in an almost puritanical setting. My parents NEVER discussed sex with me. In fact, I rarely saw my parents kiss. If it wasn’t for the fact

Mood swings

Question of the Moment: How do I deal with the mood swings that come when you stop opioids. Answer: I wish I knew. Opioids act as a mild anti-depressant from most of us. I would also argue that a good chunk of us had mental health issues to start with: depression, anxiety, PTSD, and the like. Op ioids feel fucking good. Why else would we take them, right? Well, I think the answer is more nuanced. Opioids have diminishing returns. At a certain point, the don't feel THAT good. Continuing to take them is more of a stop gap measure to avoid the mental (and physical) hell that comes from getting off of them. The higher the dosage ie the more you are taking, the less you are generally getting out of them. I strongly recommend any of my active user friends out there try remedies to reduce tolerance. It is a few days of bullshit but it will mentally benefit and financially benefit you. Baby rhino tolerance = baby rhino spending and the potentially criminal bullshit that comes with k

A Small Lesson In Harm Reduction

In January 2000, I attended a conference focused on heroin in Seattle, Washington.  Here's a description: Heroin overdoses and overdose fatalities are steadily increasing in North Am erica and around the world. Many overdoses are preventable, often with simple and inexpensive interventions based upon scientific research, epidemiological and ethnographic insights, and common sense. More then 400 participants attended the two day conference, which featured presentations by leading experts from around the world -- scholars, service providers, outreach workers and others who deal with and are affected by heroin overdoses, to discuss: Risk factors and epidemiology of heroin overdose Treatment modalities Outreach and education Naloxone distribution The roles of researchers, emergency medical services, law enforcement, and families and friends of overdose victims You read that correctly. This is what we were talking about in January of 2000.  It is now 18 years later.

Not today

I used to firmly believe that drugs were not my problem. I believed the lack of drugs was my problem. If I only had an endless supply of drugs, I would be fine. It was a scorching summer morning, a rarity for San Francisco. It had been impossible to sleep the night before. The heat of the approaching midday made me feel as if my eyeballs were going to explode. I felt as if I was going to have a seizure. My legs were twitching so hard, they felt as if they were going to rip off my body. Speed will help, he said. Just try this, he said. Complete and utter misery was what I was calling it. My friend and camp mate had given me an ultimatum. I needed to kick heroin or else. Everyone was "sick of my shit" or whatever that meant. We camped in a perfect spot between an empty lot and a restaurant that was closed. The only cars that were parked up here were the occasional guy jacking off before he went home to the wife. You would see the bundle of tissues stuck to the sidewalk a

Two Chicken Soft Tacos and a Gram of Dope

A few days ago, I was get off the train station at the Civic Center train station in the center of the city I love so much. As I walked down the hallway on my way to the escalator that would lead me towards my office, I passed by homeless folks that lines either side of the corridor. A few were laying on their sides, sleeping soundly. I could see open sores on the legs of a dusty older man. A young brother in a peacoat had passed out, his crack pipe still in his hand. A woman slept on tops of her bag, which appeared to be filled mainly with other bags. A few half eaten chips were next to her hair. The two centuries who appeared to be watching over their companies stood on opposite ends of the hallway, one with a bloody uncapped syringe in his hand, the other with a full register in his arm. I held my hand up to signal "whoa- please don't stick me". I knew the transit police would be along soon to sweep the lot of them out of some of the only dry space available on a rainy