Sunday: Apparently while I slept saturday night my room mates decided sunday was drinking day. Wanting me to participate they bought me a bottle of Southern Comfort. Those tricky bastards! Well it was an absolutely ridiculous night, fun though. From the few bits I remember and what people told me I did. I was pretty much in black out mode by ten. From what I've heard I was absolutely horrible. Couldn't stand, speak, or really look at anyone straight. I apparently got married to and macked it with Timmy. Something I was more than a bit embarassed about. But that's life. Sometimes you have to humiliate yourself to have a good time. I'll take that deal. I also woke up with massive bruises from sliding and falling everywhere. I then had to clean out the tub that Chad and I puked in, which right after we did it I thought it would be a brilliant idea to somehow wipe our tub down with a paint roller that was chilling in our bathroom? Not a good idea, as it turns out. But you live and you learn.
Last night however was adderall time. Given my past history with amphetamines, not my brightest of ideas, but fuck it I was bored. It was a night for Samm to be completely out of character. I wasn't even paying attention to the dose of the pills, something I'm always very conscious of. So I couldn't tell you how much I took. I snorted 1 3/4 pills. I felt pretty nice. I got jittery and energetic and horribly horribly talkative. So I decided to have someone give me a cotton shot. Bear in mind, even at my worst, times with coke shooting up was not something I did more than once in a blue moon. It was also a very bad idea. Tried it in the crook of my arm, nothing. Finally got it in my left wrist, although it's still insanely swollen and bruised, eight hours later. I then decided I was not finished for the night. So, since four of us bought two to three pills each I took a small amount of one person's, then scraped everyone's excess, then scraped the table and threw all of it into another cotton shot. It was my left arm's turn to be a pin cushion. Crook of the arm, again failure. Left wrist, big failure followed by more swelling and bruising. Back of the hand, nada. We FINALLY found a spot in my right foot. Odd, yes, but it finally worked. All of this, bear in mind, and the person popping me is a pro. Not giving that any connotations of being a good thing, if whoever's reading this doesn't like drug use. I'm just saying, the girl has never missed, never had a problem. But I have ridiculously tiny veins, so phooey. My left arm is also rocking some very odd, very hard to explain, very explosive bruises from tying up. It was so strange, I didn't feel any pain but I'll be damned if it didn't destroy my arm. So once I was done with the process of getting it in my system, I proceeded to destroy myself as a person. Fo'rillz, HOT MESS. I could not stop moving or talking. Colin and I spoke for hours about NOTHING. While Chad and Allison just kind of chilled. I also for some reason at the peak of my high decided to become an emotional nightmare. I still feel horrible. Carlos was feeling kind of crappy, so I went into the living room to ask him what was wrong. Ended up curled up with this kid, bawling my eyes out, bitching about everything horrible that's happened in my life. Literally, everything. From Mike and Dutch dying, to my disasterous relationship with Jon. To how awful I feel about living here without a job. To my father, fo'rillz. I think there was a thirteen year old cutter living inside me and adderall released the beast. The real bitch of it was, the entire time I was doing this, I knew what I was doing. I knew I was being a selfish cunt, and that I was probably annoying the holy fuck out of him, and that the whole thing was straight up ridiculous. I could not get myself to stop. I tried so fucking hard, but my mouth had zero interest in listening. I hated myself and was embarassed with every word that came tumbling out. Go me. So finally, I realized that if I returned to the dining room, around happy people, I would probably stop targeting poor Carlos and find another topic of conversation to distract my silly ass. Which I did. I parked my fat ass at that table and didn't move for hours. I just kept rolling packs of cigarettes and chainsmoking like a motherfucker. Which I'm still doing now, waiting to come down so I can go to bed. We rambled about everything that popped into our heads. That part of the night was great. Feeling all jittery and just everyone babbling forever. Although I think I've smoked at least fifty cigarettes without exageration thus far. The only bad part outside of making a damn fool of myself was towards 8 a.m. I started to get horible pains in my stomach. I wasn't sure what it was, so I ate cereal thinking it might just be lack of food, which blew. I wanted nothing to do with solid foods. I had been pushing fluids all night to avoid dehydration but food was a much bigger problem. I forced most of it down, to no avail. At one point it started to feel like my ab muscles were tearing apart. So I took some naproxen, which did the trick. But I still can not come down at all. I'm jittery and shaky and now everyone is either at work or in bed so I'm left to my own devices. I googled what would be best to help me, and I guess taking sleeping pills would work, according to the magical intarwebz, but I haven't gotten to it yet. At one point I did become quite paranoid. I was just agitated because I couldn't sit still or sleep which led to me somehow convincing myself that when the wrists did not work out, I somehow blew the veins? I don't knoiw. I know I didn't, but for a good twenty minutes, I was horrified. I'm also having chills and hot flashes, which is lamesville. I just want to sleeep. I also can't stop having to pee like a race horse. I do not enjoy it. I'm kind of feeling like a crackhead at this point. I'm just going to let my money ride on sleeping pills. Here's to hoping!