annoyingpaperbakeryshoe

[annoyingpaperbakeryshoe]

“you called yourself the Devil as you pushed the needle into my veins, but in my eyes, you were like God, because you took away all of my pain.”

— (via queenondope)

[annoyingpaperbakeryshoe]

“Send my love to addicts, I know you didn’t choose this life. Send my love to the children of addicts, who had to bear more problems than they should. Send my love to those children who grew up. Send my love to those children who are now addicts themselves. Send my love to those who don’t know if that extra glass of wine at night is a problem or not. Send my love to the potential addicts who live in fear, knowing any moment it could take them. Send my love to the addicts who want help. Send my love to the addicts who don’t want help. Send my love to the addicts in recovery, I know you are fighting everyday. Send my love to new addict, old addicts, on-and-off addicts. Send my love to anyone affected by addiction; no matter what anyone says, you deserve love.”

— I’m really fucking tired of the way people talk about addicts (via figs3)

[annoyingpaperbakeryshoe]

“Everyone thinks the life of an addict is so exciting and eventful, like how it’s portrayed in drug movies. You picture dirty junkies running through the streets, stealing from cars and old ladies, drug cartels and gun shots, you picture us with other people, other addicts like us. Truth is, our lives are nothing like those of the junkies in Hollywood— it’s much more pathetic, I’ll still be an addict when that two hour movie begins rolling credits. Here’s reality; Every day is spent figuring out how to get your hands on $40, finding drugs, doing drugs, hiding drugs, finding places to do drugs, being high, being too high, not being high enough, coming down, going up, hating drugs, loving drugs, hating yourself, being too high to hate anything, making friends, losing friends, dead friends, having no friends, getting sober, relapsing and then finding $40 again. It appears exciting in the beginning but after watching the same scenes year after year, it quickly becomes your least favorite movie. When you look around you’ll notice the theater’s empty because all of your friends moved onto other movies, the front row now feels painfully lonely. Junkie bonds never last very long and they’re just as unreliable as the drugs they revolve around, when you’re trying hard not to love yourself it’s nearly impossible to love someone else. Once in awhile we’ll give into the loneliness and make an attempt at establishing meaningful connections but they inevitably fall apart like Candy and Dan. Maybe it’s subconscious or maybe we’re aware but fact is, we’ll always love the drugs more. We’re in love with euphoria, we’re in love with the numb and it’s a love so powerful that sometimes we forget about all we loved before. Hollywood has cleverly directed movies which give us false hope that one day we’ll meet someone so incredible that drugs won’t compare, like an angel sent to bring us to sobriety. After having your heart broken a dozen times it becomes obvious that those happy endings were nothing but fabricated lies. There won’t ever be an angel and there is nothing that compares. The film industry has provided society with an inaccurate representation of addiction, we’re often the villain, the liar, the thief who’s never remorseful, the unstoppable bulldozer destroying everything in it’s path. It’s one of the reasons so many hate or fear us, they watch us stealing candy from babies and pushing down the elderly. In reality drug addicts are usually overwhelmed by the amount of guilt they feel. For instance, I feel guilt after realizing my baby brother’s birthday was the week prior and I completely forgot, or when it’s my aunts wedding and I’m arriving as the reception’s ending because I was stuck in a parking lot for hours, waiting. The guilt is especially heavy each time I look my best friend in the eye and promise her that I’ll stop getting high, only to pick up a syringe before the end of the night. Sometimes I think it would be easier if we felt no remorse for the disappointment we cause because then it would make more sense when we did it ten more times and then five more after that. But we do feel guilty, we do know the hurt we’re causing but we can’t stop.. I can’t stop. Wouldn’t it be kind of nice if our lives could be like our favorite drug movies? Don’t you wish that we could have our happy ending, maybe be able to quit cold turkey or get a goodbye kiss from a woman as beautiful as Brittany Murphy.. if our lives were a drug movie, the nightmare would be over when the credits start rolling. Think about it.. after two hours we’d be able to live our own lives, leave the theater and choose a different film in a new genre. If this was a perfect world, my life would be a drug movie and I’d end up happy like the Hollywood junkies. Too bad rock bottom only plays one channel and I still need that $40.”

—

-anonymous (via drunktofeellove)

mermandickbag

(via vein-damage)

[annoyingpaperbakeryshoe]

“Maybe there’s a chance that you could shoot-up heroin just once, and experience the unprecedented bliss of heroin, a feeling which I think is a profound part of the human experience. Part of me believes that people ought to know what an IV heroin high feels like. I can’t justify it, really. I guess I believe that something that feels so unique and so, so good, deserves to be felt. Heroin ought to be experienced. I don’t know. Here’s the thing. Once you feel that feeling, if even one time, it cuts you so fucking deep that there is no turning back. It’d be like giving a blind man sight for just a moment, and then telling him to walk around for the rest of his life with a new knowledge of what he lacks. Once you know junk, it pulls your soul in that direction like a muslim to Mecca. It wounds you. IV heroin is like coming in from the cold to a warmth you never knew you lacked. Does that make sense? It’s like you’re born, and you need food for hunger, drink for thirst, warmth for cold, love for loneliness, and you get all of these things to sate your body and soul, and you’re a complete person. You’ve got everything you need and there are no loose ends. So then you take a shot of heroin and all of the sudden you have this new need. All of the sudden you’re lacking this’ something, and you walk around with half a fucking soul. Opiates put a cold in your bones that can’t be alleviated with the use of anything else. You’re out to a good meal, and your belly is full of expensive food. You’re still lacking. It’s Christmas morning and you’re surrounded by love and comfort. You’re still lacking. You fall asleep in the arms of the girl of your dreams, and you wake up to her on a Saturday morning. You’re still lacking. You work your balls off for that big sale and payday comes. Lacking. You lead an existence of hunger, cold, and want. It’s what I imagine an old widower feels like when his lifelong sweetheart passes away. There’s a part of you missing. If you want to experience shooting heroin, you’ll walk around for the rest of your life with a loose-end that can never, ever be tied up. It’s a splinter in your soul, man.”

—

(via junkie-grrl)

wow

(via drugmelovely)

The realist thing I’ve read

(via strippinginhell)

This

(via wanderingofsouls)

[annoyingpaperbakeryshoe]

“Stop fucking knocking. I’m going as fast as i can and when I’m done, the bathroom will be yours but until then, get your knuckles off the fucking door. I’ve been fishing in the same spot for a full 5 minutes, my arm is purple, this needle is used 6 times dull, some blood has somehow leaked into the rig, i swear im on the verge of tears but I’m determined to hit this fucking vein, i fear any second this shot is probably going to be coagulated and there will be nothing i can do except start this bullshit process over in another public family bathroom and I’ll be forced to accept the fact that i just wasted this dope that i had to fuck some worthless 55 year old guy for, and i don’t know what vein will even come up now because this is the only one that’s been working this week and now I’ve just dug into it so much that it will be nothing but air if i try to register another shot after this, and god dammit you are the one who keeps banging and startling me whenever i get close, I’m so sick and hungry and tired, i just needed to get well but you won’t leave me the fuck alone and i don’t even know who you are on the other side of that door but my shot is ruined and right now i hate you more than anything. i needed less than fifteen minutes, i needed a vein to work, i needed to get that rush and chemical back inside of me, i needed to turn off these emotions that are hitting me like a tsunami right now. instead, I’m curled up crying on this dirty tile floor, I’m full of rage but too weak to get up yet. You dont even have a clue whats going on, you just came to pee, but i don’t care about innocent intentions when my addiction is starving. I’m going to find another fucking bathroom.”

— junkiebby (via junkiebby)

[annoyingpaperbakeryshoe]

Please don’t try to hold me right now. There isn’t enough room for me, my self pity and you on the bed. I’ve stopped rationalizing why I keep going back to drugs. There is no excuse. Nothing that makes it right. Nothing that will ever make it right. But if I hide myself and my secrets long enough, and keep my mind on that high, it’s as if the whole world stops. My parents sleep soundly knowing that I’m home and in bed. They don’t need to know it’s 3:39 am and I’m high on amphetamines. And don’t worry, I’ll cover up the bruises on my arms in the morning. People who I would call my closest friends don’t need to be worried about me. They don’t need to know im not responding to their text because I’m tying off my right arm in a public bathroom. And nobody tell my bank why I can’t seem to save a buck. But what do I tell myself at the end of the day? I don’t. I just react. I throw on my fasaude and do what I gotta do to feel my “normal”. I’m scared it’s never gonna stop. I’m scared the desire won’t ever go away. I’ve done the rehabs, put work into the twelve steps, listened to the shit at meetings. But none of it stops the feeling, like I’ve been punched in the gut, or my chest is caving in. My body and mind craves that relief so severe. I may throw the baggies away when they’re empty, or break the needles when they’re dull, but the chains never come off.

[annoyingpaperbakeryshoe]

[annoyingpaperbakeryshoe]

And tattoo number 9

[annoyingpaperbakeryshoe]

“Hardly any man is clever enough to know all the evil he does.”

— François de La Rochefoucauld, Moral Reflections

[annoyingpaperbakeryshoe]

2020 october — florence, ore.

[annoyingpaperbakeryshoe]

[annoyingpaperbakeryshoe]

Surprising

[annoyingpaperbakeryshoe]

by alexkittoephotos

[annoyingpaperbakeryshoe]

[annoyingpaperbakeryshoe]

[annoyingpaperbakeryshoe]

Sometimes, it isn’t the one who takes your breath away, it’s the one that reminds you to breathe.

k.b. // by jennifer johnson

[annoyingpaperbakeryshoe]