Water for the Hurt

Surprising Survey Results About Drug Dealing

Jeannesparkscarreker — Tue, 14 Apr 2009 14:08:10 GMT

Out of sheer curiosity, I posted a survey on my PNN front page about a year ago asking, “If you found out that your courteous, quiet neighbors were actually drug dealers would you turn them in?”

The results surprised me. You may view them here.
(About 44% said “Yes,” another 44% said “No,” and 11% were not sure.)

I am not sure what that says for the survey takers, anyone have any comments on the matter?

Methadone Maintenance: The Cure for Opiate Addiction?

Jeannesparkscarreker — Sun, 15 Mar 2009 17:23:12 GMT

Years ago, I believed that I could not give up my little pain pill habit. Lortab, Lorcet, Tylox, whatever opioid pill I could con out of a doctor or buy for about $4 a pill on the streets, I usually took no more than eight in a twenty-four hour period, and had "weaned" down to about five a day when I decided I needed to get help. That was years ago, when I truly did not understand what a drug addiction could tragically become.

Entire Article Here

"Let the Dead Bury the Dead."

Jeannesparkscarreker — Sat, 17 Jan 2009 15:25:58 GMT

So I have a business partner who is afraid to clean out a rental house with me because the previous owner, a woman in her 40's, committed suicide in the bedroom.

Okay, I understand people get the heeby-jeebies.

But when going to the house today in order to see just what needed to be done - and evidently on my own, at that - I encountered neighbors who dissected and studied the dead woman's life in an attempt to understand the incident.

Fairly normal, I suppose.

The thing is, now that she is dead, the woman is receiving a large amount of attention. Of course, the stories of her struggles and here-and-there remarkables and some downright heroic actions that these neighbors apparently will remember until the day they die their own deaths lead me to ask the obvious: why did she do it, then, when she had friends such as these?

Oh, but they only spoke in passing. Sometimes they exchanged Christmas cards by walking a few to each others' mailboxes.

Is it just that it was an interesting get-together on an otherwise dull, cold Friday, then? Why even bother to gather at her home and exchange stories of her hopeful times now?!? A little late well-intended fellowship, I'm afraid.

Because what I saw in the bedroom and indeed the entire home was extreme loneliness.

Be good to someone this weekend, people. Don't wait until it's too late to fill a few moments with something more interesting happening on the block than watching Judge Judy.

We Have Changed

Jeannesparkscarreker — Wed, 07 Jan 2009 22:12:49 GMT

Twista wonders where the love is, grandparents speak of a friendlier, more respectful day when others could depend on their neighbors, and I even remember a time when I actually knew who my neighbors were! And I knew the names of their children, and even the names of their pets!

I have yet to meet any of my neighbors where we moved a month ago, and am not sure we will meet any time soon. maybe in the spring time when everyone is out taking care of the lawn. Maybe we will speak then.

The point is, our country has changed. Yes, it has. We are not very dependant on our fellow man any longer in this new technological age. Who would be when a voice command can make a vehicle call for aid or an elderly woman can click a button on her necklace and alert medical personnel to the fact that she has fallen and cannot get back up again?

Is this the way, then? Are we destined to be loners talking to machines who seem to wince when another human comes into view?

Find Something Strange In Junior's Room?

Jeannesparkscarreker — Sat, 08 Nov 2008 23:41:23 GMT

Maybe it is something a careless druggie friend dropped. But then you remember the extreme mood swings . . . the missing money . . . a couple of nights when you are absolutely certain that your kid didn't get a wink of sleep and was still going strong the next morning . . . falling grades . . . losing interest in things he once enjoyed . . . . Well, what else can you look for?

Here's Some Paraphernalia For Thought

Methamphetamine, Crystal Meth, Meth, Ice, Cheeba, Chicken, Glass:

If Junior is experimenting with meth, he is either snorting, smoking, eating, or banging (intravenously using) it.

Snorting
Look for pieces of cut up drinking straws or even rolled up dollar bills used to snort. Also look for razor blades or even residue/traces of powder on his license or hard plastic ID card, as those are used to "chop" the drug into a finer powder.

Smoking
If he is smoking meth, look for either a glass pipe with a round bowl at the end or aluminum foil with burnt residue tracks on the dull side and/or black soot on the shiny side. Also look for black sooty stains on the fingertips and clothes. This will most likely happen with both the pipe and tin foil, unless he is using a glass pipe with a butane torch (in which case, you can possible find his equipment faster than he can throw away the aluminum foil).

You can also identify meth on aluminum foil or in a pipe - it will be brown to white with a sparkly, crystallized shine like flecks of tiny diamonds.

Banging
If he's shooting up meth, look for syringes, small bottles/cups of water and/or bleach, burnt spoons which may have been bent for more steady control above the lighter flame.

Many drugs are kept in small, zipper-lock baggies. The tiny baggies can be clear or have any number of designs or characters on them. For instance, popular gram-size baggies used in Alabama to distribute Methamphetamine and Cocaine have the red and blue Superman "S" printed on them in a repeating pattern.

Pot, meth, cocaine and even pills are kept in the tiny bags - which actually can cause Junior to be charged with the distribution of a drug if it is in more than one tiny bag - you know, a gram of meth split up into five small baggies weighing .20 grams (called a "twenty sack") to sell.

If you have any questions pertaining to drug abuse, contact me at h2oforthegaslit@hotmail.com.

My Sober Halloween Treat

Jeannesparkscarreker — Mon, 03 Nov 2008 05:13:28 GMT

Tonight being Halloween, my eldest daughter, Monica, was anxious to get little 15-month-old Lexi dressed in her Alabama Crimson Tide cheerleader costume and out into the night to trick-or-treat for just a little bit. Yeah, yeah, I know she's just barely over 1 year old, but I remember the utter joy I felt when first taking Monica trick-or-treating at an extremely young age (13 months, ha-ha!) I saw that joy in her tonight and it just - I don't know - completed me. Does that make any sense? The total enrapture of witnessing the radiance when she beamed at my granddaughter was better than any high I could have instead partook tonight. Yes, I really do mean that. Oh, believe me, I do not say often that I'd rather do anything other than an OC-40 and a couple bowls of really good meth. I guess my priorities are realigning again :)

Is Your Kid Getting High?

Jeannesparkscarreker — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 23:31:26 GMT

Signs Your Kid May Be Using Drugs:

Does not want anyone to go into their room or bother belongings.

Skipping school or grades falling.

They seem to avoid you more and more.

Conversations with buddies take a strange turn: they seem to be speaking in code or are very private with phone conversations.

They acquire buddies, maybe someone they normally would not have anything in common with.

They seem sad, depressed or do not want to get out of bed sometimes, as if there’s no reason.

Their appearance changes.

It seems like they may be inhaling something, such as hairspray or spray paint? Have either turned up on their clothing or skin?

Using air freshener or perfume to hide smoke or smells.

They constantly use or request eye drops, which may be used to brighten the eyes or hide dilated pupils.

They use mouthwash or breath fresheners more.

Borrows more money than usual.

There is missing prescription medications from your medicine cabinet – especially pain killers or downers, such as Xanax or Valium.

They are very moody.

They no longer enjoy former activities or relationships they once did.

Drug paraphernalia found, such as small bags, pipes, rolling papers, straws for snorting, razor blades (many addicts who snort use their ID or Driver’s License to “chop” powder more finely for smoking – has either turned up in strange places or have either been left on a flat surface or mirror and perhaps have powder on them?)

Veronica Scores a Gram

Jeannesparkscarreker — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 22:05:04 GMT

     This is Veronica. A couple of years ago, if she had just known what crystal meth was really all about, she would have never found herself sitting alone there, trying to live through a shrieking moment of the
"WHAT THE F**K DID I JUST DO FOR THAT GRAM?!?"
realization.

Maybe the next time she sleeps with someone to get high it will be easier for her to cope with afterward. And then the next time after that, and the next time. . . Hell, pretty soon, there won't be much Veronica left anyway, so it'll probably be smooth sailing for her conscious from here.

Besides, now Veronica has that little baggie and it's screaming her name - only this time, she dreads the new realization that she doesn't seem to be looking forward to getting high as much as she did this morning. This time, the escape will have to help get her through the new way she acquires an escape.

Too bad she didn't get some info about meth years ago. Too bad she didn't

find the answers. . .





Enter Text Here

Breaking Hearts On Meth??

Jeannesparkscarreker — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 21:42:06 GMT

Pulling No Punches When Fighting to Get the Word Out About Methamphetamine

So you can finally squeeze your ass in those size 5 jeans, huh? Think you look pretty hot since you've been on the Stem Fast Diet?

I remember believing that I looked so damn good when I was strung out on crystal meth.

WHY??

Little things you tell yourself, I suppose. The "PROs" or "advantages" of being on methamphetamine and ignoring the fact that you are slowly becoming just a skeleton.

What a crock, man!

So if you have that slim, trim meth physique and if you are steadily losing cup sizes in the chest area as well as your hips, don't think you'll break hearts, Baby.

Get sober and think rationally.

I Discovered the Pit!

Jeannesparkscarreker — Thu, 30 Oct 2008 02:56:46 GMT

I cannot truly explain in earth-sown manner
How revolting this hole is - so, I guess, rather,
When taking you with me in unknown plight
I'll show what I can of that dark pit's night.
The dread of surfacing into conscious thought
Every morning I woke, ensnared and just caught;
The panic that filled me, the symbols of time,
The crude and imbalanced and murderous shine.
The fiends and ogres who fed on my smiles -
The ones who stepped harder while stomping my trials.
The bags that soon emptied, the screams to be filled,
There, void crawled the walls in the pit where I lived.

-Jeanne Sparks-Carreker
December, 2007

California Spending Too Much On Prisoners:Meth Dealers Going

Jeannesparkscarreker — Wed, 29 Oct 2008 00:15:02 GMT

Entire Article Here

New York Times Reported:

According to a new federally backed study conducted at the University of California, Irvine, the state’s corrections costs have grown by about 50 percent in less than a decade and now account for about 10 percent of state spending — nearly the same amount as higher education. The costs could rise substantially given that a federal lawsuit may require the state to spend $8 billion to bring the prison system’s woefully inadequate medical services up to constitutional standards.

The state also has perhaps the most counterproductive and ill-conceived parole system in the United States. More people are sent to prison in California by parole officers than by the courts. In addition, about 66 percent of California’s parolees land back in prison after three years, compared with about 40 percent nationally. Four in 10 are sent back for technical violations like missed appointments or failed drug tests.
State lawmakers, some of whom are fearful of being seen as soft on crime, have failed to make perfectly reasonable sentencing modifications and other changes that the prisons desperately need. Unless they muster some courage soon, Californians will find themselves swamped by prison costs and unable to afford just about anything else.

Meth Blog Straight From the Stem

Jeannesparkscarreker — Tue, 28 Oct 2008 23:56:49 GMT

So, my connections hit a temporary "drought" of sorts, due to a huge bust that had been making its way into Alabama from Texas. We'd be down for about a week and a half, probably, they had said. There was no meth to be found anywhere, and the gnawing in the pit of my stomach spelled out a fear that, for me, was every bit as frightful as a fear some people experience when faced with losing everything they own or even when first hearing that our nation is going to war.

Withdrawals were coming. I could taste them, smell them, and dread them in a way one dreads entering a courtroom in order to be sentenced after a guilty verdict. I didn’t want to go through it. I didn’t want to stop using. The routine had become second nature to me. I was definitely a meth junkie, and though shameful of the fact many times, escaping into that little glass bowl at the end of my pipe wiped away all the guilt and anxiety of neglected parenthood.

But this time it wouldn’t matter. Everyone was out. A strange and complete drought had come to Alabama, and I had never been one who was able to “put back for a rainy day.” Oh, I had tried to before, just for times like this, but I always ended up smoking it, wanting to be higher, wanting more and more until finally I ruined relationships further due to meth psychosis and having been up way too many days without sleep.

The meth I had just ran out of was pretty strong, and it carried me throughout the night and into the next morning while I picked through the carpet in the floors of the rooms I had smoked in, searching for just another crumb, another decently sized shard of crystallized peace. The cravings for more had set in hard. If I didn’t crash soon, I would find myself hysterically crying and cursing, throwing a fit that could not be justifiably termed "emotional breakdown." I searched for a pill, anything to placate the gnawing fear of being without. It’s so incredibly unbearable. I wanted to be knocked out, but my body was not tired yet. And there was a faint hope that someone somewhere would find some more for me to buy or deal out in order to have some of my own. I remained in this state for about half a day. Then I dropped.

When crashing after a four or five day stretch with no sleep, it’s as if I am in a coma. Nothing really wakes me at all. If I am aroused, it is only to a slightly coherent state where nothing makes sense to me. “Mama, the house is on fire,” would be answered with “Okay, sweetie, but not for too long because you have homework to finish.” That deep crashing sleep lasts, for me, about 12 to 15 hours. After that, there is a period of normal sleep, lasting about 2 to 4 days. I can wake normally, eat, understand things during that 2 to 4 day sleep time, but I am so drained and drowsy that I want to do nothing more than sleep. And of course, faced with the knowledge that I have no dope, sleep is preferred to being awake.

About the fifth or sixth day without crystal meth, I abruptly awake in the middle of the night, my kidneys burning, perhaps because I am dehydrated, perhaps because I have laid on them for five days without getting up and moving around much. My spine is tingling with an uncomfortable twisting sensation and every hair on my body is standing on end. I just want to go back to sleep, but cannot. I’m awake. And nothing helps.

I need a sleep aid. I search the house for something, anything, and come up with a nighttime allergy medication that helps induce sleep. I take as many as I can find, about 6 or 7, and wait for the blissful waves of sleep to engulf me and save me from the twisting grip something has on my spine. Cold sweats grip down into my bones, it seems, and I try not to think about anything because the anxiety and outright fear creates monsters of problems within my worrying mind out of anything I dwell upon for very long. Faces of people who love me and want me to love them again flood my mind and before I drift off to sleep to be free from this wave of withdrawals, I cry hard and long for my children. I think about how they must feel. I think about the time I have wasted, the looks on their faces when they want me to spend time with them but I am too busy looking for my next high. After the long cry, I am off to dream about the same things, though now they are horribly twisted into unreal pictures in my dream world, pictures of my daughters drowning and me not being able to save them.

I have always believed in God. I have known Him from the very earliest memories I have in life. I have known Him in a personal, friendly, Fatherly way for as long as I can remember. And His enemy knows this. His enemy loves to plague me with things, and I suppose I make it easy for him to, considering the ways I choose to live my life. So, interspersed with the “my kids are dying and I sit helpless” dreams, come the occasional “there’s something evil in the room it must be Satan he is here growling and holding you down” dreams.

About five hours into the allergy medication induced sleep, the dreams have made me wake up fully, and I cannot get back to sleep. Kidneys burning, no position comfortable, spine screaming and twisting, mind racing. Just a few more days, I pray. Just a few more. What then - the depression? Will the cravings end? How long will this go on? I know enough about withdrawals to know that some doctors mark the length of post acute methamphetamine withdrawal at anywhere up to two years. Did I dream that? No, it is so, as crazy as it sounds.

My God, why did I ever start this horrible, wonderfully pleasant, frightfully terrible relationship with crystal meth? What on earth could I have been thinking? I start to blame everyone from the President on down to the mayor of our little town for allowing such a horrible epidemic to find its way to our country. Still, I know I am the one to blame for having tried it. I know it is my fault that I am in the uncomfortable, strange, frightening, sad, hopeless, sick position I am in. And I know it is going to get worse. I know that very soon, I will feel displaced, out of my own skin, and fully awake to enjoy every hideous moment.

And if the person who had originally handed me the straw to snort a try of it years and years ago could have instead shown me this day, I would have ran away screaming “No!" And I would have never searched for an escape from the beautifully welcoming small problems I once believed I could not handle sober.

Tough Love: Helping a Friend Overcome Addiction

Jeannesparkscarreker — Sun, 26 Oct 2008 11:28:53 GMT

by Meghann Vance
Associated Content Producer
CP Page

Addictions can be extremely difficult to beat and sometimes all you can do is dish out a little tough love. Often, people don’t recognize how far they’ve sunk into addiction, how much they’ve lost control of their lives… it take’s a friend, a TRUE friend, to point it out.

Entire Article HERE

Why Don't You Get Dressed and Come Down?

Jeannesparkscarreker — Tue, 04 Mar 2008 14:27:00 GMT

Picking up pieces of myself after dropping everything for a few, and
The attestation you endlessly display leaves me with only one truth.
The dilemma I always allow me to face gives rise to obsolete excuse:
The problem's not the lack of concern, but its aroma that will confuse.

Why don't you get dressed and come down here,
With these adversaries, these rivals, these foes, these
Merciless creatures, come here to hunt, come here to wrinkle your nose?
I can't understand why I just don't want their patronizing time!

Entire Poem Here

Nicotine Addictions

Jeannesparkscarreker — Thu, 14 Feb 2008 03:05:41 GMT

Addiction

By JConstance

I sneak around
Seeking out the places I hid my paraphernalia
Away from family
Away from my friends
An ashtray
The lighter that caught my eye in the store
Just a day ago I confessed I had quit
And that I had gained the willpower to simply ignore the cravings
Obsessively doing things
Trying to keep busy
As I complete my daily tasks
I pass by my purse
The sewn fabric that holds just enough to buy a pack....

Entire Poem Here