As most of my older followers may know, throughout the last 4 years I hadn't gone a year without doing some sort of chemical drug- until this year. From the time I was 14 to 18 I mixed and sampled the following: (in order) tylonel 3, oxycodiene, MDMA- molly, "m" this drug is a mind killer, it ***** with your serotonin and dopamine levels the most, not super addictive in terms of ****** reactions but mentally it definitely sticks with you, for you will never feel as happy as the first time you try this- my #2 of the never ever try this. I will be a year clean of it on October 30th 2015, GHB- aka *******, *******- oh lordy where do I start. Perhaps with the fact that almost all the coke you buy is cut with laxatives or tylonel. I've suffered the greatest reprecussions physically and psychologically both immediately and long term from this drug. On this drug I experienced stimulant psychosis, cravings, shakes, twitches, believing that bugs were on me, dermotellemania, dramatic weight loss and my skin and hair were terrible. After I had become clean I noticed I still had no appetite, bowel and bladder problems, and craving similiar to those of nicotine. This is my #1- STAY THE **** AWAY FROM THIS, its a silent, slow killer and it's not worth the money you pay for it, $80 (per gram) on laxatives? No thanks. I will be a year clean of this on June 25th 2015, LSD, oxycodin, ****, heroine & dmt.

Personally, things like marijuana, psychobasilic mushrooms, LSD & DMT are still fine with me- I limit my LSD & DMT intake to once every 6 months (if that) and I've found no reprecussions from doing these drugs (yet!).
I was mostly majorly addicted to stimulants and I would advise anyone who wants to not **** up their life to stay away from any stimulant. They really don't benefit you in anyway- the high gets old, the aftermath isn't worth it. I have major mood and mental illness issues that I'm still dealing with to this day- I refuse to take any form of medication such as prozac because I'm afraid I'll get addicted and be on it for the rest of my life. I'm writing this in hopes that anyone who is using, or thinking of using please gets the notion out of their head that they need this ****- it's not cool anymore, its risky and it ruins your body by the end of it.
The reason I chose to stop was because I realized the fact I mentioned above, that it does absolutely no good in the long haul. There are so many better things (better, safer drugs even) then stimulants. I also met a man who supports me and helps me with the craving days I still get at least 1 or twice every month. And I've started to be happy with myself and my body. I want to be healthy. I want to be fit. I want to be happy and carefree- all these drugs do is chain you.

If you read this all the way through, you're lovely.

I hope this helps someone, somewhere out there.

Molly came to school when I was fourteen
but she was years older, appearing as a beautiful traveller
who'd circled the globe and made friends with everybody.

She was always the popular one, but one I never got to know,
because my sister at thirty-five told me that she had killed a man
once or twice.

The kids I knew found this hard to believe, as Molly got to know them all.
She'd hang out with them after school, and was always there,
waiting to widen her circle.
Molly never lost her charm,
and she stole the hearts of boys I loved.
She opened their eyes to a world I could not show them,
she drank their blood on Friday nights.
Every boy I'd meet would have a story to tell,
her name dropped like an atom bomb into conversation.

They'd all met her.
They all knew her.

They met her at nightclubs,
and stopped caring about how **** the music sounded
They met her on their holidays ,
and tasted her before the alcohol wore off
They met her at festivals,
where she'd creep into their tents before the main stage lit up

I wonder maybe one day will we be friends
Instead of resenting each other
because she's killed a man
more than once or twice

Fingers make contact with hands,
                                             we can’t stand like,
butter
flies
     on
       a
tree branch

amidst a strange wind.

Fluttering above
trees rooted in sidewalks,
out of sight.

And it feels like
the texture of our shirts
is truth,
    the cat fur,
       the bed sheets,
           our clenched teeth,
Molly whispers in our head
a meditative melody,
and we’re rollin,'
our infinite eyes
hung together
in widened silence,
enjoying a good lie.
Indigo children
with no words, just hands,
applauding the feeling,
dreading the end.
Time past,
grown up,
deflated,
we come down
to see that
sober is just
categorizing
adjectives.

There it was..
That heightened adventure that looked so bittersweet with all its bliss that I only had the opportunity to witness.
So, how would it be to actually feel it?
There it was..
Calling my name like a Siren,
Telling me to test the waters,
Convincing me that it's not too cold.
And She was right,
It wasn't cold.

It hit me,
Like the chemical reaction of a lit fire ******* about to pop off and explode into a million tiny pieces.
It hit me,
Like a dream.
I couldn't move but I could see and feel everything around me.
Every fiber of my body tingling with electricity,
With life.
I can do anything.
I am Alice in her Wonderland,
Exploring another dimension other than my known reality.

Dripping, so much drip.
I can feel my heart begging for more with each sulfur liquid that slides down my throat.
I can feel my mind exploding, taking Her in like somehow She belonged there.
My muscles clench, chills circle my legs and make peace on my arms where they claim their seat on this joy ride to insanity.
She has made me Her home,
And I welcomed Her,
a stranger,
to do with me as She pleases.

An hour, maybe 2?
She is drifting, like a ship sailing away to sea.
"Don't let me leave"
I hear Her whisper.
She is fading, fading too far out of reach.
"Stay with me"
She pleads, but I can barely hear her now.

I can't let Her go.

Up! Up is where I find Her.
I feel Her coming,
Running back into my veins.
Into my heart she crawls.
I can hear Her now, calling my mind to join this facade She has impressively created.
Not calling, but screaming.
Screaming so loud that I can't help but give in to Her game.
I'm rolling.
Rolling like a ball thrown down and endless street with no destination, no obligation to stop.

"I belong here"
She screams, grabbing ahold of my soul and intertwining Her fingers with mine like I am Hers for the taking.
(I am Hers..)

Lights invade my eyes.
Bright colors like the 4th of July.
I feel like I am falling.
(Am I falling?)
Numbness wraps around me, grabbing at my legs and knocking me down.
I'm being thrown in and out between realization and this fantasy but in that realization I see that it is Her.
She is taking hold of my chest, my mind.
I can't think about anything but this euphoria I am stuck in.
Standing on my legs so I can not move She hisses
"I have you"
If I let her I can die.
(Should I let her?)
An overdose and I am its host.
Her hands close around my throat.
(Do I dare let Her squeeze harder?)
I push, push through this trip I am so willingly taking and in response She screams in pain.
"Come with me"
I hear Her say and I stand telling myself I am okay.
I will not die today.
I will not die today.
Molly will not have Her way.

This bed is a comfort,
Much like the sounds of used water
flowing through ninety-year-old pipess,
Soothing me,
while the sounds of the city
are brooding inside of me,
and it’s the same.

It may be the pinnacle
of 1922, pre-collapse Providence,
but it’s the same.

It may be different,
but it’s just the same,
And that's just the way it is
So I cool this brain that's on the fritz
And do my best to keep sane.

The wallpaper is interactive
and there's an infinitude
of pigeons on a television screen
that is worth more than my apartment,
and it’s still the same.

The rug is soaked just the same,
the lingering odor of feet is the same,
and I can feel all the ghosts of guests
from the last century trying to,
dying to speak to me
and through me,
and it’s the same.

The way the sun rises makes me feel like
I have no cause to be awake or asleep,
but I’m awake,
and it’s the same.

The stress of lost cigarettes,
and the blame of untapped digresses into unnecessary depths
is the same.

The way I’m viewing the start
of this day that hasn't yet
is the same,

and it’s a shame.

Moving amidst my Ramona chapter books,
I make out your movement, M, the moody turns
Of your mounts and valleys, the moniker of

Family names, you marked me like a maternal
Emblem of the generation’s matriarch,
You mingled amid reminiscences of former matrons  

Maria Helena from the Midwest,
Who crossed the mountains in a wagon,
Madeleine, a migrant from Marseilles,

Who baked warm loaves in San Francisco,
And her own daughter, my Mimi,
Who muttered merde while she drank martinis.

In my own time, you materialized in
Marjorie, my nana, and Maria, my mom,
The women in which I knew you growing up,

Then Molly, who made dreams out of
Magic and Movies and Marie Antoinette,
You embellished my most favorite things.

In my monogram, you aimed my impulses
in your masts’ diametric directions
Towards competence, towards imagination.

In your middle ‘s mysterious compartment I make snug
With magazines and novels and mugs of hot milk.
You nuzzled me in moments of melancholy, then motivated me

To meander among your fundamental family,
The sumptuous L of melt and mélange,
The meticulous N of man or monk or money.

Even W, which matches your mien in mirror
It warped wicked witch while you
Milled maidens and damsels, so I imagined

The mutilation of those two majuscules formed
My image of womanhood. M, Molly Smithson materialized
From a meek mademoiselle into the mistress of mischief.