I find myself in my car passed out behind the wheel, luckily parked, an open 40 oz and empty bottle of seroquil beside me.
Let me back up – I came from the bar this morning, where I was so coked up my teeth were chattering – maybe it was less the coke and more nerves?
I had just walked out on my first day at the new job. I came into work late because I had been sitting outside my house with a "new friend" the past few hours, drinking beer, we'd done several rails last night after the bar closed in the kitchen, drinking until the sun came up.
I got to work, I couldn't handle it, I left, I drove to the bar.
But after a whiskey and coke and a beer I realized alcohol wasnt going to take it away for me. So I bought a 40 and left.
In my car was a bottle of prescription seroquil, a neuroleptic anti-psyhotic prescribed to me for anxiety – in a rehab of all places!
I take the rest of the bottle – only 3 25mg pills, a small number but combined with the booze and coke enough I figure to help me pass out.
I drive down the street chugging my 40 to make the effect hurry. Chug Chug Chug. . . Wave at the people. . . Fuck it, man, I start screaming at people and laughing. . . because I doin't really give a fuck what happens to me. Still too much of a chickenshit to kill myself, I'll just self destruct until the job is down.
On my street I get stuck behind the garbage truck. Blasting my radio, drinking my 40 which is now out of the paper bag. I'm almost to my house, what the fuck are they gonna do?
My head is definetly light. . .
I pass the truck at an intersection, the garbage men staring at me. . . . I really don't remember parking.
 . . . .
hours pass. . .
and I wake up, wet with urine? vomit? I don't know, behind the wheel of my car nonetheless, half a 40 oz beside me, a diet coke which is full in the passenger seat.
So I went inside.
Slept. A day goes by, and I'm up now. Dizzy. . . just ate ravenously.. . . . fucking miserable.
Someone else can deal with my mess. I don't give a fuck. Kick me out, take me home, do whatever. . . I know what I'm doing. I found a hook up, I know where to get some drugs, and the bar . . . oh the bar. . . I'm glad I'm a chick sometimes.


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