JUNKe Life

Good morning, good morning, good morning, yeah…
June 4, 2007, 9:27 am
Filed under: JUNKe life

I came upon a blog post this morning that covers almost exactly what I was planning on writing about. For some reason this morning I was hyper-aware, that is to say, way more aware then usual, of what my mind was saying as I was preparing my morning injection and doing it.

I have such a singular focus upon getting my morning fix into me. It is, after all, essential if I am to function. Coffee I can do without, but my morning fix – no way in hell! I can remember years ago when I actually felt a bit of pain when pushing a needle point through my skin, especially if it was a location I’d never injected before. Like the back of my hand, it was a really big deal to finally attempt to hit the big vein in the back of my hand. And it hurt a bit doing so because that spot is actually more tender then the crook of one’s arm. Accordingly, I’d find myself a bit cautious, and tentative, a super careful as I pushed the needle tip through the skin.

Now, it is completely different. I totally welcome the act of injecting. I don’t feel the least bit of hurt as the needle goes through my skin, or at least I’m totally oblivious to it. It isn’t scary, or something to be tentative about, it is an act I proceed with with the surest of intention. I pull the tourniquet tight, put the pull end in my mouth, and as soon as the vein swells a bit, I’m right there with the tip of the needle, proceeding to push through. My mind sighs a little “yes” as the needle goes in, and then, when I feel it pop through the vein wall, my mind notes a little louder, “alright!”. Almost there, I just need to switch my hand position somewhat on the needle, from one which guides the needle in, to one which enables me to push down on the plunger. Once my finger is actually on the plunger, “ok, ok, ok”, I take the time to flag, even though I’m virtually certain I’m well inside the vein. At the sight of a little plumb of blood, “good, good, good!”, I begin pushing the liquid into me, carefully noting the area around the injection point for any signs that I’m missing (like swelling, redness, or burning). Even as the plunger is depressing, and the liquid in the syringe is disappearing, I’m already signing in relief, “thank god, whew”. Then I withdraw the needle, toss it onto a tabletop, apply a kleenex and pressure to the injection point, and close my eyes, “oh yeah, that’s better”. Twenty seconds later I come out of that total reprive, open my eyes, and the daily quest begins…

Blood Plumb fills syringe

The Pacing Kitti puts it so well in her Guest Blog at Junkylife:

As the mix heats and disdolves it fuels my anticipation my heart starts beating faster my thoughts exciting my body with flashes of past hts the excitment peaking as the tornaque wraps around my body knows full what t to happen my figers swollen working as fast as possible to get it in. the cool steel slips under my skin with such a familiar ease before any visiual conformation I know I am in, the act so often repeated making me well experienced and acutely aware of the slighest of feelings beneath the skin. A short pull on the pick and Bingo! Thick dark red blood swirls in and fills the pick up a little more. The tornaqyue recoils with snap at its release and the liquid of nothngness is without need pushed into the rushing current becoming one with life blood as it surges throught out the body Whack! brain is hit … sounds die out… a euphoric numbness envelopes me, the aches and pains shakes and chills long gone, my eyelids enjoying the challenge they now have in opening and the complete ease in wich they fall to a close, the racing heart and panting breath have also become willing victims each breath a long and timely event which synchronises perfectly with the wholly relaxed beat of the heart.

Who cannot relate to that? Tragi-paradoxically the more valued that whole process (some say “ritual”) is, the more screwed one is. I don’t dislike myself for valuing it. I don’t cry tears for the opiate-naive person I once was. Now long, long gone. But I do know realistically, that my life is a whole lot more difficult and problematic because of it. And so life goes, greeting each day in the Setting Sun Cafe…

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