Went to Summer Camp music festival.  Got to see Primus, Gogol Bordello, Victor Wooten, Moe, Umphrey’s McGee, Pretty Lights, and a whole lot more.  Three days of hippies, drugs,friends,and of coarse, music.  I did mushrooms for the first time, had kind of a bad trip, but my friend brought me out of it, continued to trip during Gogol and Primus.  Danced hard as fuck for both.  Got a miserable sunburn from the first day, so I had to wear a shirt.  Smoked hash, and did ex for the first time, yet again I danced hard as fuck, and everything was super good, music, friends, water, all way better than usual. Lol. Smoked Opium for the first time also, which was cool.  Super mellow after that.  I can’t wait for next year.  So much happy this weekend, it’s going to be difficult to go back to giving fucks about things.

That little crackle you hear after you light a cigarette. 

The past five or so years have been very strange and very eventful.  For most of that time I was a very unhappy person.  My father died, I had a long relationship end, badly, I couldn’t seem to hold a job, I had no ambition or drive, I had no outlook on the future.  I was a scumbag in every sense of the word.  My morals slowly deteriorated.  For more than half of that long relationship I faked love.  It was the worst thing to ever do to a person.  I did it, and I’ve felt terrible.  Near the end of the relationship I grew to hate my girlfriend.  She tried so hard to make it work, but I had given up, and I was too much of a coward to end it with her.  Instead I lied to myself and said, “I want to break up with her, but I don’t want to hurt her so close to the holidays.”  or some other bullshit story.  Eventually my disinterest lead my ex girlfriend to start another relationship before ending ours.   I remember being shocked, and it was like I hadn’t been faking.  It actually hurt.  She at least had the courtesy to tell me to my face, I respect her for that.  This was about a week or so before my twenty first birthday.  I had never drank, I had never smoked, I had never even thought about doing drugs.  At this point I kind of dove in.  It started with drinking.  I would drink with my best friend just about every weekend, sometimes more.  Sure, we had good times and so many adventures, but I also had some of my darkest days.  Nights I would drink alone, or end up alone after a long night of drinking, would end with punching, cigarette burns, I would cut up my hands, then more punching, and more often than not I would cry.  It was a miserable time.  I feel like an idiot for a lot of my actions. I hated myself. During the end of my drinking period I would bum cigarettes from my friends.  That turned in to me riding a bike at like nine in the morning to go get cigarettes while my mom was out with my grandma.  I kept it hidden for a couple of months, but my mom caught me lighting up when I got off of work one day.  She wasn’t mad or anything, just kind of disappointed I guess?  I don’t know, I knew she was fine with it when she bought me a pack.  Drinking started to take it’s toll.  Most night I drank, I drank to the point of vomit.  It happened way more than I would have liked.  My teeth are fucked because of this.  I didn’t take care of myself at this point in time.  I developed severe heartburn, I wonder how much of my esophagus was damaged by all of it, probably a lot.  At my friend’s annual birthday vacation I smoked weed for the first time.  After drinking I had become curious, considering the majority of the people I hung out with smoked pot.  It wasn’t necessarily love at first toke, but I did it here and there. Around this time I smoked salvia with my band.  It was weird, I think jazz music gave me a bad trip.  I sank into this dirt couch, and the drawings on the wally started to tower over me. Then it all stopped and I felt high as fuck.    It wasn’t until I had a group of my own little stoners that I really started enjoying it.  My bandmate and I have bonded and become better friends because of weed.  I love that lil guy.  We would gather in a garage, smoke, talk, listen to music, play videogames, dance, eat a lot of junkfood, a lot of talking.  I starting hanging out with this next character at his birthday party.  My drinking buddy and I went to some girl’s birthday party which happened to be at the same bar this guy was was having his.  I didn’t really know him, but he was pretty much all alone, which was sad, so I hung out with him mostly.  We met again at a show, the venue that gave us our first show was closing, I was paying my respects.  I had pounded a 40 while walking to the show, he was also hammered.  He kept telling me to live in his bones.  We started hanging out more because of that night.  I smoked salvia with this guy and my drinking buddy once.  My drinking buddy pissed his pants in this guy’s car.  It was hilarious.  Anyway, we both started seriously getting into pot at the same time, so our friendship took off.  Another reason we became so close is because my best friend joined the military and he was going to be gone for four months. I lost my drinking buddy and found a getting high buddy.  Countless days and night were spent high as balls with this guy.  He was living on his own at the time, and he was drinking a lot, he was also starting to get in to harder drugs.  I wasn’t looking for any of that, but I still hung out at his apartment. His apartment was filled with people all the time, always drinking or doing drugs.  Eventually it fell through and my friend moved back home. Which was a good thing, because the harder drugs stopped.  I was worried about that guy for a while, but my loving bosom and the fair lady Mary Jane calmed him down.  We were pretty much a heterosexual couple.  Wherever either of us went, the other followed.  He was, and still is the Han to my Chewie.  I don’t care how gay that sounds, I mean it.  We spent the entire summer high.  I’m not kidding, every single day we would meet up at some point.  I had a job that let me out around two or three o’clock in the morning, and he would get off around eleven or so, more often than not, he would just wait at my work until I got off, then we would spend the rest of the early morning house, getting high.  We would either drive around or just stay in my room.  This lead to us getting together on our days off and smoking a bunch and recording music.  My mom would be at work from three till nine-ish, My room was super smoky  those same hours.  I’m surprised I hid that from her for as long as I did.  Smoking pot has also brought me very close to my brother.  I’m almost positive if it wasn’t for weed I wouldn’t be living on my own with my brother, and about to be starting college.  Back to the story, When me and the other super duper high guy were hanging out I smoked everyday.  I smoked so much, because I didn’t really hate myself anymore when I was high.  The only downside, whenever I didn’t smoke weed for more that a week, I would be severely depressed.  That didn’t happen much though, I had the means, and I payed my bills, no harm, no foul.    I lost my job, there go the means, but the desire to get high all the time was still very strong.  Since I was unemployed I now had the task of feeding my grandma around thee or so.  She has diabetes, and if nobody keeps an eye on her, she would’t eat and she would die.  Not exactly a task a stoner wants, but family is family, so I knew I had to do it.  My mom paid me for it, which allowed me to continue smoking both pit and cigarettes.  There were a few times where I forgot to make sure my grandma ate and her blood sugar was dangerously low, but never any serious of hospitalization or anything. One day I walked in to her house to see that she had fallen and had been laying on the ground for hours.  I got her up, called my mom, and she told me to give her a pain pill.  I didn’t know why I did it, but I gave her one and took two.  This was the first drug I took for recreational use other that weed.  It took the edge off, I really liked it.  I then began taking some every week, never enough to be noticed, sine my grandma took them twice a day.  My friend was also in to painkillers, we traded a couple times.  That eventually faded away, partly to do with a friend finding out and yelling at me.  The only other drug I did, I did only once.  I’m not going to explain, since it is a long story on it’s own, but I did coke once.  I’m not going to lie, I liked it, but I’m smart enough to know, I would have been addicted if I had done it again, so I didn’t, and still haven’t.  As I mentioned earlier, I moved away from that area, five and a half hours away.  Since then, I have rarely had any heartburn,  I am not stressed, I am more calm, dare I even say I am happier.  I think I have finally stopped hating myself.  I live with my brother and his girlfriend now.  I have a job, and I am in the middle of the registration process of college.  I miss both my stoner friend, and drinking buddy terribly, but I have to do this, I need a fresh start.  I am still going to visit, and keep in touch.  I think I need to try harder with my drinking buddy, he has a lot on his plate, I haven’t talked to him in a while.  I feel like I needed to write this, and if you are still reading this, you know me a little better.  Hooray for putting your own life story on the internet wile avoiding specific names to avoid embarrassment or lawsuits.  I gotta cover my ass, lol.  After staying up way too late, and smoking way too many cigarettes, i say goodnight to you, Internet.

It’s probably unhealthy.