There were other times...

There were always times i wasn't dying, overdosed, passed out, stealing, throwing up, lying, cheating, depressed, obsessed, fiending, scratching or flat out suicidal.  And the way i remember those "fondest" years of my life spent in and out of hospitals, stranger's houses, and the glovebox of every car i could pry open [which incidently, isn't hard with a knife and a brick] - will always puzzle me...
If i think really fucking hard, i mean - for a few days, really contemplate going back, and try to remember how everything felt...i start to grasp hold of the hole i was in.
Then and ONLY then do i remember the constant sickness, the bleeding nose, muscles just fucking twisting in knots until i got a fix, throwing up anything i'd try and eat, and consequently, not eating for days.  the headaches, the ulcers, coughing up blood, the countless psychiatrists, psychoanalysts, social workers, case workers, counselors and "coaches", sleep? fucking forget about it...the 40 minutes i'd dose off on the train to the city was about the only time my eyes would close.  the always scabbed and reopening cuts on my wrists.  No money, no food, no cigarettes, a different place to sleep every week......fucking tiring, that's what 5 years of shit will do to you...tire you out.  unfortunately - when your time's up, rest is the last thing the liscensed doctors surrounding you will let you have.

Otherwise - all i can remember is when there were other times...times that weren't like that.  and only these times stay at the front of my brain, ready to be rattled off in conversation like medals, ribbons, and trophy's.  sick and twisted - that's what that is...and i'd love to assume we're all a little sick and twisted, but from my experiences - i think it's safe to say the vast majority aren't.
i think the bulk of people who you converse with on any given day, have never stabbed anybody, shot anybody, watched somebody bleed out, seen the pavement on independence blvd. on a tuesday night at 3 am...ate with crackheads and whores, spent time in just about any type of hospital, with just about any type of mental practicioner you can think of...people don't function like this...junkies do.
and we do with love and valor.  like a goddamn walk in the park - nothing unusual to the numbed eye.  not a person, but a body, a vessel...just floating on by waiting for that day to come.  and TRUST me, you can see it coming.  but all the while, you'll swear it'll never happen to you.



that's usually when you start rattling off the war-stories, the laughers, and the "no-fucking-way"(s).  right after the quick but mesmerizingly horriffic realization of death.
The shit i burned, the trips i took, those perfect days spent with nothing but a pack of camels and a couple bags of dope...
everything else resides far in the distance. the blood, the cold, the ever-ending life...it takes a permanent back seat.
that's the sick and twisted part - that there were other times. times i will too soon forget.