In a previous post on here back in July I was saying that I had been put on court-ordered injections of psychiatric drugs, the antipsychotics for a year. I was thinking about just leaving the state but was afraid that I would probably end up homeless, so I ended up just staying and took them all instead..I'm kind of guilty and ashamed for it, but my will to fight right now has only gotten even stronger..
I want to get what's mine before it all goes to hell and maybe society collapses or something. I'm also a felon for something I did 6 years ago where there was a problem with my neighbors and then a standoff with police. I've had some trouble finding jobs too. Recently after working at freakin' Subway for like 5 months, I quit and didn't work for like 7 months, then all of a sudden found this staffing agency that got me jobs, like manufacturing and assembly jobs which weren't too bad actually, but I just freakin' got fired from 3 jobs in like a month and a half!..
I've also been using street drugs to help cope and because they can make you feel ready to take on the day and be feeling like superman too, but they might have some negative consequences, I was only like microdosing them though and making sure I got enough sleep even though it was hard sometimes. Im thinking of just getting a prescription for adderal just to keep things legal and above board, then maybe try some of that Ketamine therapy they have now, where you can even just order some pills online for yourself it looks like. Then maybe shrooms and something else as well..
What To Do Now..
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Felix
- Posts: 850
- Joined: Thu Jul 01, 2021 8:12 pm
- Has thanked: 1369 times
- Been thanked: 899 times
Re: What To Do Now..
The Perfect High
There once was a boy named Gimmesome Roy. He was nothing like me or you.
’Cause laying back and getting high was all he cared to do.
As a kid, he sat in the cellar, sniffing airplane glue.
And then he smoked bananas –– which was then the thing to do.
He tried aspirin in Coca–Cola, breathed helium on the sly,
And his life was just one endless search to find that perfect high.
But grass just made him want to lay back and eat chocolate–chip pizza all night,
And the great things he wrote while he was stoned looked like shit in the morning light.
And speed just made him rap all day, reds just laid him back,
And Cocaine Rose was sweet to his nose, but the price nearly broke his back.
He tried PCP and THC, but they didn’t quite do the trick,
And poppers nearly blew his heart and mushrooms made him sick.
Acid made him see the light, but he couldn’t remember it long.
And hashish was just a little too weak, and smack was a lot too strong,
And Quaaludes made him stumble, and booze just made him cry,
Till he heard of a cat named Baba Fats who knew of the perfect high.
Now, Baba Fats was a hermit cat who lived up in Nepal,
High on a craggy mountaintop, up a sheer and icy wall.
"But hell," says Roy, "I’m a healthy boy, and I’ll crawl or climb or fly,
But I’ll find that guru who’ll give me the clue as to what’s the perfect high."
So out and off goes Gimmesome Roy to the land that knows no time,
Up a trail no man could conquer to a cliff no man could climb.
For fourteen years he tries that cliff, then back down again he slides
Then sits –– and cries –– and climbs again, pursuing the perfect high.
He’s grinding his teeth, he’s coughing blood, he’s aching and shaking and weak,
As starving and sore and bleeding and tore, he reaches the mountain peak.
And his eyes blink red like a snow–blind wolf, and he snarls the snarl of a rat,
As there in perfect repose and wearing no clothes –– sits the godlike Baba Fats.
"What’s happening, Fats?" says Roy with joy, "I’ve come to state my biz.
I hear you’re hip to the perfect trip. Please tell me what it is.
For you can see," says Roy to he, "that I’m about to die,
So for my last ride, Fats, how can I achieve the perfect high?"
"Well, dog my cats!" says Baba Fats. "here’s one more burnt–out soul,
Who’s looking for some alchemist to turn his trip to gold.
But you won’t find it in no dealer’s stash, or on no druggist’s shelf.
Son, if you would seek the perfect high –– find it in yourself."
"Why, you jive motherfucker!" screamed Gimmesome Roy, "I’ve climbed through rain and sleet,
I’ve lost three fingers off my hands and four toes off my feet!
I’ve braved the lair of the polar bear and tasted the maggot’s kiss.
Now, you tell me the high is in myself. What kind of shit is this?
My ears ’fore they froze off," says Roy, "had heard all kind of crap,
But I didn’t climb for fourteen years to listen to that sophomore rap.
And I didn’t crawl up here to hear that the high is on the natch,
So you tell me where the real stuff is or I’ll kill your guru ass!"
"Ok, OK," says Baba Fats, "you’re forcing it out of me.
There is a land beyond the sun that’s known as Zaboli.
A wretched land of stone and sand where snakes and buzzards scream,
And in this devil’s garden blooms the mystic Tzu–Tzu tree.
And every ten years it blooms one flower as white as the Key West sky,
And he who eats of the Tzu–Tzu flower will know the perfect high.
For the rush comes on like a tidal wave and it hits like the blazing sun.
And the high, it lasts a lifetime and the down don’t ever come.
But the Zaboli land is ruled by a giant who stands twelve cubits high.
With eyes of red in his hundred heads, he waits for the passers–by.
And you must slay the red–eyed giant, and swim the River of Slime,
Where the mucous beasts, they wait to feast on those who journey by.
And if you survive the giant and the beasts and swim that slimy sea,
There’s a blood–drinking witch who sharpens her teeth as she guards that Tzu–Tzu tree."
"To hell with your witches and giants," laughs Roy. "To hell with the beasts of the sea.
As long as the Tzu–Tzu flower blooms, some hope still blooms for me."
And with tears of joy in his snow–blind eye, Roy hands the guru a five,
Then back down the icy mountain he crawls, pursuing that perfect high.
"Well, that is that," says Baba Fats, sitting back down on his stone,
Facing another thousand years of talking to God alone.
"It seems, Lord", says Fats, "it’s always the same, old men or bright–eyed youth,
It’s always easier to sell them some shit than it is to give them the truth."
There once was a boy named Gimmesome Roy. He was nothing like me or you.
’Cause laying back and getting high was all he cared to do.
As a kid, he sat in the cellar, sniffing airplane glue.
And then he smoked bananas –– which was then the thing to do.
He tried aspirin in Coca–Cola, breathed helium on the sly,
And his life was just one endless search to find that perfect high.
But grass just made him want to lay back and eat chocolate–chip pizza all night,
And the great things he wrote while he was stoned looked like shit in the morning light.
And speed just made him rap all day, reds just laid him back,
And Cocaine Rose was sweet to his nose, but the price nearly broke his back.
He tried PCP and THC, but they didn’t quite do the trick,
And poppers nearly blew his heart and mushrooms made him sick.
Acid made him see the light, but he couldn’t remember it long.
And hashish was just a little too weak, and smack was a lot too strong,
And Quaaludes made him stumble, and booze just made him cry,
Till he heard of a cat named Baba Fats who knew of the perfect high.
Now, Baba Fats was a hermit cat who lived up in Nepal,
High on a craggy mountaintop, up a sheer and icy wall.
"But hell," says Roy, "I’m a healthy boy, and I’ll crawl or climb or fly,
But I’ll find that guru who’ll give me the clue as to what’s the perfect high."
So out and off goes Gimmesome Roy to the land that knows no time,
Up a trail no man could conquer to a cliff no man could climb.
For fourteen years he tries that cliff, then back down again he slides
Then sits –– and cries –– and climbs again, pursuing the perfect high.
He’s grinding his teeth, he’s coughing blood, he’s aching and shaking and weak,
As starving and sore and bleeding and tore, he reaches the mountain peak.
And his eyes blink red like a snow–blind wolf, and he snarls the snarl of a rat,
As there in perfect repose and wearing no clothes –– sits the godlike Baba Fats.
"What’s happening, Fats?" says Roy with joy, "I’ve come to state my biz.
I hear you’re hip to the perfect trip. Please tell me what it is.
For you can see," says Roy to he, "that I’m about to die,
So for my last ride, Fats, how can I achieve the perfect high?"
"Well, dog my cats!" says Baba Fats. "here’s one more burnt–out soul,
Who’s looking for some alchemist to turn his trip to gold.
But you won’t find it in no dealer’s stash, or on no druggist’s shelf.
Son, if you would seek the perfect high –– find it in yourself."
"Why, you jive motherfucker!" screamed Gimmesome Roy, "I’ve climbed through rain and sleet,
I’ve lost three fingers off my hands and four toes off my feet!
I’ve braved the lair of the polar bear and tasted the maggot’s kiss.
Now, you tell me the high is in myself. What kind of shit is this?
My ears ’fore they froze off," says Roy, "had heard all kind of crap,
But I didn’t climb for fourteen years to listen to that sophomore rap.
And I didn’t crawl up here to hear that the high is on the natch,
So you tell me where the real stuff is or I’ll kill your guru ass!"
"Ok, OK," says Baba Fats, "you’re forcing it out of me.
There is a land beyond the sun that’s known as Zaboli.
A wretched land of stone and sand where snakes and buzzards scream,
And in this devil’s garden blooms the mystic Tzu–Tzu tree.
And every ten years it blooms one flower as white as the Key West sky,
And he who eats of the Tzu–Tzu flower will know the perfect high.
For the rush comes on like a tidal wave and it hits like the blazing sun.
And the high, it lasts a lifetime and the down don’t ever come.
But the Zaboli land is ruled by a giant who stands twelve cubits high.
With eyes of red in his hundred heads, he waits for the passers–by.
And you must slay the red–eyed giant, and swim the River of Slime,
Where the mucous beasts, they wait to feast on those who journey by.
And if you survive the giant and the beasts and swim that slimy sea,
There’s a blood–drinking witch who sharpens her teeth as she guards that Tzu–Tzu tree."
"To hell with your witches and giants," laughs Roy. "To hell with the beasts of the sea.
As long as the Tzu–Tzu flower blooms, some hope still blooms for me."
And with tears of joy in his snow–blind eye, Roy hands the guru a five,
Then back down the icy mountain he crawls, pursuing that perfect high.
"Well, that is that," says Baba Fats, sitting back down on his stone,
Facing another thousand years of talking to God alone.
"It seems, Lord", says Fats, "it’s always the same, old men or bright–eyed youth,
It’s always easier to sell them some shit than it is to give them the truth."
_________________"If you throw yourself to the wind...
________________________You can ride it.""
_________________________~𝓜𝓪𝔁 𝓘𝓰𝓪𝓷
________________________You can ride it.""
_________________________~𝓜𝓪𝔁 𝓘𝓰𝓪𝓷
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garrettabc
- Posts: 744
- Joined: Fri Jan 15, 2021 2:06 am
- Has thanked: 425 times
- Been thanked: 594 times
Re: What To Do Now..
Yeah it looks like I'm kind of on my own on this one, I was a stupid motherfucker and fucked my life up pretty bad 6 years ago with one decision done out of anger or stupidity or both, I don't even know what the hell came over me to cause me to do that, it was almost like my mind was like hijacked by demons or something for a bit..
But I'm gonna keep fighting, there's no other choice, this is what I want my tombstone to say..
'Got a .38 special with a hollow-point slug, I ain't ever goin' down, fuck the world I'm a thug..'
Badass as fuck..
Re: What To Do Now..
It can be really hard sometimes, but in the back of my mind I might tell myself something like this..'None of these little bitchass motherfuckers are ever gonna fucken break Me!!..'
Re: What To Do Now..
That was actually pretty deep man. And believe me if I could just be like completely sober and just be able to enjoy all of the little things in life again that sober people seem to be able to do who have fully-functioning brain chemistry then I would just do that. Having real emotions was almost like actual magic and after what happened to me with the psychiatrists I seemed to have lost maybe even quite a bit of that..but I also told myself in the back of mind mind that I was going to do everything in my power to 'succeed', and that I was going to succeed with or without drugs, and if there comes a point where I'm just going to have to be like completely sober or something and that it would come down to the choice between horrible failure or actually achieving success then I guess I would just have to do that then..Felix wrote: ↑Mon Nov 21, 2022 6:44 pm The Perfect High
There once was a boy named Gimmesome Roy. He was nothing like me or you.
’Cause laying back and getting high was all he cared to do.
As a kid, he sat in the cellar, sniffing airplane glue.
And then he smoked bananas –– which was then the thing to do.
He tried aspirin in Coca–Cola, breathed helium on the sly,
And his life was just one endless search to find that perfect high.
But grass just made him want to lay back and eat chocolate–chip pizza all night,
And the great things he wrote while he was stoned looked like shit in the morning light.
And speed just made him rap all day, reds just laid him back,
And Cocaine Rose was sweet to his nose, but the price nearly broke his back.
He tried PCP and THC, but they didn’t quite do the trick,
And poppers nearly blew his heart and mushrooms made him sick.
Acid made him see the light, but he couldn’t remember it long.
And hashish was just a little too weak, and smack was a lot too strong,
And Quaaludes made him stumble, and booze just made him cry,
Till he heard of a cat named Baba Fats who knew of the perfect high.
Now, Baba Fats was a hermit cat who lived up in Nepal,
High on a craggy mountaintop, up a sheer and icy wall.
"But hell," says Roy, "I’m a healthy boy, and I’ll crawl or climb or fly,
But I’ll find that guru who’ll give me the clue as to what’s the perfect high."
So out and off goes Gimmesome Roy to the land that knows no time,
Up a trail no man could conquer to a cliff no man could climb.
For fourteen years he tries that cliff, then back down again he slides
Then sits –– and cries –– and climbs again, pursuing the perfect high.
He’s grinding his teeth, he’s coughing blood, he’s aching and shaking and weak,
As starving and sore and bleeding and tore, he reaches the mountain peak.
And his eyes blink red like a snow–blind wolf, and he snarls the snarl of a rat,
As there in perfect repose and wearing no clothes –– sits the godlike Baba Fats.
"What’s happening, Fats?" says Roy with joy, "I’ve come to state my biz.
I hear you’re hip to the perfect trip. Please tell me what it is.
For you can see," says Roy to he, "that I’m about to die,
So for my last ride, Fats, how can I achieve the perfect high?"
"Well, dog my cats!" says Baba Fats. "here’s one more burnt–out soul,
Who’s looking for some alchemist to turn his trip to gold.
But you won’t find it in no dealer’s stash, or on no druggist’s shelf.
Son, if you would seek the perfect high –– find it in yourself."
"Why, you jive motherfucker!" screamed Gimmesome Roy, "I’ve climbed through rain and sleet,
I’ve lost three fingers off my hands and four toes off my feet!
I’ve braved the lair of the polar bear and tasted the maggot’s kiss.
Now, you tell me the high is in myself. What kind of shit is this?
My ears ’fore they froze off," says Roy, "had heard all kind of crap,
But I didn’t climb for fourteen years to listen to that sophomore rap.
And I didn’t crawl up here to hear that the high is on the natch,
So you tell me where the real stuff is or I’ll kill your guru ass!"
"Ok, OK," says Baba Fats, "you’re forcing it out of me.
There is a land beyond the sun that’s known as Zaboli.
A wretched land of stone and sand where snakes and buzzards scream,
And in this devil’s garden blooms the mystic Tzu–Tzu tree.
And every ten years it blooms one flower as white as the Key West sky,
And he who eats of the Tzu–Tzu flower will know the perfect high.
For the rush comes on like a tidal wave and it hits like the blazing sun.
And the high, it lasts a lifetime and the down don’t ever come.
But the Zaboli land is ruled by a giant who stands twelve cubits high.
With eyes of red in his hundred heads, he waits for the passers–by.
And you must slay the red–eyed giant, and swim the River of Slime,
Where the mucous beasts, they wait to feast on those who journey by.
And if you survive the giant and the beasts and swim that slimy sea,
There’s a blood–drinking witch who sharpens her teeth as she guards that Tzu–Tzu tree."
"To hell with your witches and giants," laughs Roy. "To hell with the beasts of the sea.
As long as the Tzu–Tzu flower blooms, some hope still blooms for me."
And with tears of joy in his snow–blind eye, Roy hands the guru a five,
Then back down the icy mountain he crawls, pursuing that perfect high.
"Well, that is that," says Baba Fats, sitting back down on his stone,
Facing another thousand years of talking to God alone.
"It seems, Lord", says Fats, "it’s always the same, old men or bright–eyed youth,
It’s always easier to sell them some shit than it is to give them the truth."
Last edited by Dre_87 on Tue Nov 22, 2022 12:17 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Re: What To Do Now..
I just turned 35 but have like the mind of a tired old man by now, I felt like I might've lived like several lifetimes worth of pain at this point too, but I also don't want to be like a victim about it ever, and want to actually be victorious in the end hopefully. I was thinking before that like if I just started right now at this very moment, and just looked at like all of the realm of possibility of every possible action that I could take from this point forwards, and that if I played it right that I could probably make like 6 figures..
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Felix
- Posts: 850
- Joined: Thu Jul 01, 2021 8:12 pm
- Has thanked: 1369 times
- Been thanked: 899 times
Re: What To Do Now..
Happy Birthday 
It's okay. You are still here.
Today is a new day bro.
I'm no saint. I use cannabis. I smoke weed.
But I was Gimmie-some Roy for sure.
You do what you need to do. I am NOT here to judge you.
But you are unfortunately living in the apocalypse.
You do NOT want to be dependent on ANYTHING YOU DO NOT NEED!
Money won't matter by 2030 for sure.
Just survive till then by any means possible.
You're still young and strong.
My advice is just go camping by yourself for 2 or 3 days with nothing but some easy to cook food.
Walk a little bit, but always be able to see your tent.
Tell someone before you go, and tell them where you're going, and only go there.
Leave the phone and computer behind, taking them is cheating.
Isolation is a gift and a chance to discover solitude and real personal growth.
I think you would find that you would return a new man.
You'll see or at least start to see,
That you are strong and don't need anything or any of this shit anymore.
Best to be able to walk away from the system if you can.
Roasting hot dogs by the fire sounds good right now, haha
I am glad you are here Dre_87.
It's okay. You are still here.
Today is a new day bro.
I'm no saint. I use cannabis. I smoke weed.
But I was Gimmie-some Roy for sure.
You do what you need to do. I am NOT here to judge you.
But you are unfortunately living in the apocalypse.
You do NOT want to be dependent on ANYTHING YOU DO NOT NEED!
Money won't matter by 2030 for sure.
Just survive till then by any means possible.
You're still young and strong.
My advice is just go camping by yourself for 2 or 3 days with nothing but some easy to cook food.
Walk a little bit, but always be able to see your tent.
Tell someone before you go, and tell them where you're going, and only go there.
Leave the phone and computer behind, taking them is cheating.
Isolation is a gift and a chance to discover solitude and real personal growth.
I think you would find that you would return a new man.
You'll see or at least start to see,
That you are strong and don't need anything or any of this shit anymore.
Best to be able to walk away from the system if you can.
Roasting hot dogs by the fire sounds good right now, haha
I am glad you are here Dre_87.
_________________"If you throw yourself to the wind...
________________________You can ride it.""
_________________________~𝓜𝓪𝔁 𝓘𝓰𝓪𝓷
________________________You can ride it.""
_________________________~𝓜𝓪𝔁 𝓘𝓰𝓪𝓷
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SeeD_Command
- Posts: 1818
- Joined: Mon Sep 27, 2021 3:56 pm
- Location: Upstate, New York
- Has thanked: 2213 times
- Been thanked: 1491 times
Re: What To Do Now..
Grow the fuck up!! Nobody thinks your badass. And To be honest, that epitaph is lame as fuck!!Dre_87 wrote: ↑Tue Nov 22, 2022 6:39 amYeah it looks like I'm kind of on my own on this one, I was a stupid motherfucker and fucked my life up pretty bad 6 years ago with one decision done out of anger or stupidity or both, I don't even know what the hell came over me to cause me to do that, it was almost like my mind was like hijacked by demons or something for a bit..
But I'm gonna keep fighting, there's no other choice, this is what I want my tombstone to say..
'Got a .38 special with a hollow-point slug, I ain't ever goin' down, fuck the world I'm a thug..'
Badass as fuck..