$adboy’s Daily Journal - XanheistT
Last night I hung out at Pablo’s place at 5 West (the apartment complex that I’m not allowed at because the property manager caught me on video taking a piss in one of the hallways). Dylan wanted some boi, so I called up Tieno and took Dylan’s money & put it with mine. I get two bags for 20 from Tieno, so for every $20 Dylan gave me, I would keep one bag and give the other to him, saying they were dubs when they were really dimes. That’s middle manning 101; basic entry-level-thug shit, but it’s smooth and effective when it comes together the way it did last night.
Dylan had just gotten his Covid-19 stimulus check and his unemployment benefits had just hit, so he was loaded. And, because he was, so was I (just with dope instead of cash.)
The meth was fake, though.
Pablo’s guy, (some creepy old dude that kept touching my thigh all night) came over and sold me a dub of some shit that looked & felt like crystallized toenail clippings. I shot up about half of the stuff before I decided it was probably a good idea to just throw it in the trash.
While in between shots of toenail-meth and bouts of dodging the creepy old drug dealer's gnarled, gropey hands, I worked on graphics for the release of my debut single, “World Without You” all night and into the next morning. Here’s what I’ve come up with so far:
That is the last draft I hacked before Dylan, Pablo & their paranoid delusions about me stealing Dylan’s Xanax got the better of them. Pablo told Dylan he knew “FoR a FaCt" that I took the pills and Dylan kept repeatedly asking me If I wanted to give him back his drugs, so I ultimately ended up shutting down my Lenovo Thinkpad and bouncing the fuck out of there
When morning came around, Dylan and Pablo were convinced I had somehow stolen Dylan’s Xans, even though I was still sitting there in Pablo’s apartment with all of my worldly possessions, hammering away on my Thinkpad’s keyboard and track-pad while I sketched out designs for the release of “World Without You”. I ended up leaving because I couldn’t put up with their paranoia anymore, but before I did, Dylan offered to store some of my stuff there at the apartment so I wouldn’t have to lug it all along with me. I hate lugging all my personal possessions around with me all the time (people don't treat you so nice when you look homeless), so I immediately jumped at his offer.
Later that day, this happened:
The first time I ever hung out at Pablo’s, he and his dad got into it really bad. It reminded me of my childhood. Pablo instigated and his dad called him queer and a “funny walkin’ mother fucker. " The fight hadn't come to blows the day I was a witness to their dramatics, but apparently, it had today.
Anyway, I shoplift. I shoplift a LOT.
But, most of (i)those(\i) clothes I bought with cash my dad had sent me or my stimulus check or the wad of 70-something $1 dollar bills I had found in the console of a beat-up coup I had ransacked in someone’s driveway two nights prior while car hopping. It sucked to lose them.
This is where I started thinking he was full of shit.
Like cops don’t have anything better to do than just wait outside of people’s doors to nab hallway pissers coming to collect their clothes...
I really wanted those clothes back...
So yeah... IDK if I’m gonna do that or not. I’ll see you in the morning I guess. I’m just not holding out on getting them back.
After I left Pablo’s I went and copped some cream from 6. He commented on how much more amiable and jocular I am when I’m sober.
We were at a red light, waiting, and this bum was asking for change. 6 started hounding the guy.
"Why don’t you work? You can make money!" said 6. "This guy in the backseat is homeless like you and he makes money! Look at him! He has nice clothes!”
“Yeah!” I said. “I play guitar and sing outside of Walmart and have sex with old men. That’s how I make my money, and I make a lot. You should try it! It’s worth it!”
I called my dad today and told him I’m taking Suboxone, which is a lie. He sent me 100 dollars & asked me if I planned on staying in Tampa. I told him I felt like if I could just get a place to stay, I think I could do well here. (i) that (\i) wasn’t a lie.
I DO think I can do well here because I HAVE done well here. I’m not perfect but I’ve done some positive stuff, like networking with Jenna at the kava bar, performing downtown & getting my song published. I’m on the right track.
At least, I think I am.
My dad said he’s gonna get me a camper and he told me to look for a trailer park near Ybor to park it in. I’m ecstatic. I’m finally getting off the streets.
I texted Josh on Instagram and told him about it from my Ben Rollins account.
How am I ever going to get clean? I keep telling myself that it’s OK because I’m doing less and less and as long as I keep doing less and less I’ll be all right, and eventually I won’t be doing any.
But, that’s bullshit.
I’m lying to myself. I mean for the most part, yeah. I AM doing less and less. But, the fact remains: I am taking two of the most dangerous controlled substances on the planet, putting them into a syringe, and shooting them into my bloodstream.
It’s not healthy.
It’s going to kill me eventually.
I have to stop.
I don’t know how.
WHAT’S NEXT?
I’ve got to stay positive. I’ve got to stay healthy. I’ve got to stay focused. I’ve got to concentrate on my music and get these graphics finished and have a successful launch for my single. I’ve got to focus on web design. I’ve got to focus on marketing. I’ve got to build an audience for myself. I’ve got to do all of this even though I have a horrible reputation on the Internet because of the people that I’ve swindled & scammed.
