u/Salty-Cat6696

Took like 380 mg robotabs washed them down with 2 25 oz screwdrivers and a full bottle of kratom extract did that back at 3 pm or so now it is 11:32 pm and I cannot sleep for shit. Just feels like I should be awake.

Ok so I am the person who took 780 mg of robotabs last night.

What is wrong with you people?

No seriously, I used to always hear about how good the "afterglow" of this shit is and lemme tell ya, I would take the hangovers I get from a fifth of vodka over this shit any day. Alcohol hangovers never even give me headaches. This shit does every time.

And for everyone saying I would still be fucked at work, I am - but luckily I have a job that lets me not do jack shit all day. Well I call it a job but I don't really get paid. $500 here and there. I feel like I got 0 sleep. I will be going home and crashing today.

and for all you guys saying I would still be fucked at work, I used to power through 12 hour restaurant shifts while coming down off of meth after staying up on it all night, with no additional meth to get me through it. This is child's play. 😂

780 mg of dxm (robotabs) and 24 oz of screwdriver to wash it all down. I have work at 7 am. My grandfather shot himself on May 12. Wish me luck.

I'll actually be fine because I am a fat fuck (190 lbs, 5'6) I took 300 mg night before last and barely even felt it though I think I may have just been so incredibly stoned I didn't feel it. (High doses of thc have not been good for me lately keeps giving me actual panic attacks aka passing out while standing heart racing)

When I was between 19 and 20 I was taking like at least 500 mg of this shit for a year nightly (I was only 130 lbs at the time, also barely eating because I was severely bulimic. So I was RAWDOGGING those pills.) and looking back idk how tf I did it maybe it's just my liver giving up the ghost but I find I am oddly more sensitive to a lot of drugs now (Still disturbingly tolerant of alcohol all the way up till it switches and I lose any coherence whatsoever) ESPECIALLY weed. I used to just casually do dabs all day long, bong rips, edibles, all of that. I bought this vape and had a preroll before hitting it for a while and that shit gave me a full blown panic attack. As in: I passed out and had the cops called on me. An amount I probably used to go through two or three times just on a drive to work.

Marijuana is so much better for me physically but I function so poorly on it whereas I have never had anybody clock me going out in public after manhandling a fifth of vodka. Or after smoking literal meth. But marijuana? God, she's high again, somebody call probation. .

Edit 6:19 pm: This was dumb.

Edit 7:11 am: Well, I am at work.

Edit 7:30 am: Joke is on yall I work at a place where I get maybe one customer before 10 am I am absolutely thriving.

Man I may honestly just get a divorce before he gets out of prison because the thought of having to go back to pretending to be somebody I'm not to not get treated like actual fucking evil human garbage because I made the mistake of not being upfront about it all at first and "Waiting until I could trust him" because I was afraid of rejection and had felt loved for the first time in my life and then actually having my fears and anxieties confirmed is so depressing that I think I would rather not be alive. He's sober now (Obviously, he's in jail) but I will never forget the evil I saw in him. I had never encountered actual, genuine evil before. If he (unrealistically.) actually treats me better when he gets out I don't even know if it is fair to HIM to continue being with him because I don't believe I am capable of forgiving him because he has gotten me very close to being back into the same mindset that had me wanting to kill myself for years and mocked and belittled and used everything that got me out of that mindset to spin a narrative of me being a terrible person addicted to fentanyl in need of being saved by him. Apparently, he cured me of my nonexistant fentanyl addiction by giving me drugs (dmt) while in sober living. What was I supposed to say? Thank you so much? Examples being my job that was the first job I could ever tolerate for more than 6 months and actually liked (He so often used me having to go to work and actually work as a reason to believe I was cheating so much that I began to resent my job and everyone there, and eventually quit. While homeless.) treating me like trash for saying jail basically saved me because otherwise I would have continued drinking until my liver stopped being capable of repairing itself, being in sober living, having friends, having any kind of hobby. List of things I quit doing because something I had created or done was claimed to either be evidence of cheating or terrorism or threatened with legal action: Writing. Drawing. Playing video games (He sent a sims 4 mod to the dea. I once got in trouble for playing minecraft at my mother's house. This was before we were married and he had already began treating me like shit so I was under NO obligation to spend all my time with him. I saw him every day. I did not neglect him by spending a day at my mom's house.) Conlanging (Weird but not exactly illegal?) Reading (He didn't like the books I read) Reading the Bible (Do you worship God or GOD Guns-oil-drugs?) I mean fuck no wonder I used literal fucking meth with him he reduced my life down to getting high on fucking meth with him being just about all I could do without being in trouble for some shit he literally just made up because he seemed to have a problem with me being happy (And also, while I did use because I just liked the shit, there WAS also the constant awareness that if I didn't I would be accused of using with someone else instead. The number of times I tried to work up the nerve to shoot up again after he missed the second time on me because his reaction to me not wanting to was "It really hurts me that you'll do it with other people but don't trust me enough." is fucking deplorable. I fucking hate shooting up. I fucking hate using a needle.)

I mean seriously, I have been trying to get back into at least drawing or reading or at least anything but just doomscrolling on my phone and it is now more difficult than when I originally began drinking. That was just a lack of motivation. Now it is because my body has been conditioned that I get in trouble, the house gets destroyed, and I potentially become homeless or lose my job if I do anything that takes my attention away from him for more than 10 minutes but HE'S NOT EVEN HERE FOR ME TO GIVE ATTENTION TO ANYMORE.

It was so bad it got to the point that when I couldn't take it anymore I would literally just lock myself in the bathroom and hide from him because I just wanted to be alone for 30 minutes, which would then turn into hours because I knew I would have to spend the rest of the day trying to explain myself, which made me want to just hide for as long as possible, which always got me in more trouble in the end. I would always get that "Where are you. What are you doing." text or call and my response was eventually always just to ignore him more because fuck it I am already in trouble for fucking being alive. It got to the point that I kind of hated being around him because I

A. Couldn't have a real conversation with him or show that I had any actual opinion on anything without being treated like I was either stupid or secretly evil.

B. It would end up being either us having sex (which could be extended to up to 3 hours at which point I would normally angrily tap out because I couldn't stand it anymore and it felt like he was dragging it on intentionally when I didn't even want to in the first place because we FUCKING HAD SEX YESTERDAY and was only doing it to avoid being accused of cheating- and then ofc he drags it on until I cannot fucking tolerate it without wanting to hurt him and now I just wasted hours of my life and will be treated like shit anyway.) or him getting mad because he tried to have sex with me and I didn't want to stop whatever it was I was doing instead which, when I was on meth, was typically writing in a journal, I could sit and do this for 5+ hours on meth. I basically was punished for being high on the drug I would also get punished for not being high on with him, because I reacted to it differently aka I don't become a nymphomaniac when I am high and actually have 0 interest or enjoyment in sex when I am high.

I haven't used meth since he went to jail (Around a month ago) and the more sober I get...the more terrified I become of going back to this hell. And it hurts because I am talking to him when he is sober and...it's like talking to the person I met again. The person I actually loved, before he began using a few months after leaving sober living. I do love him. I love him but I am even more afraid of him getting out and having to watch him die right in front of me again than I am of going through all that again. He was not abusive towards me before he began using again. But I don't know if I can believe it will last when he gets out, and I don't know if I believe I can ever forgive him. I was in such a good place in life, for the first time in my adult life when I met him, and it seemed like he hated me for it. I have become such a horrible person again but the healthy mindset I actually achieved at one point is what made me despicable in his eyes to the point that I now feel bad for it anytime I feel happiness. Happiness now makes me feel on the verge of disaster. Even if he stays sober after he gets out he would be better off with someone other than the shadow of a human being he has created.

So it all started with:

slaukrjirtkenvlaum: Drunk 

And obviously I wanted something shorter for such a simple word, right? So instead of just randomly shortening it, I realized:

No drunk person on this earth at any point in history of any culture has ever been capable of pronouncing /slayxɾʲɪɾθxənvlaym/

So why not just make the shorter, more common or informal term be my guess at the best attempt of a person with a bac of over .3 to pronounce it and the reinterpretation of it by people with their wits intact?

So I bring you:

Slaklflam /slaxlflam/: More informal term for drunk. 

Now, what if I applied this to all words that drunkards around the world would frequently attempt and fail to pronounce? Any and all types of alcohol, for example, bathroom, sleep, bed, phone, help, etc.

Idk I am bored and the unpronouncability that has resulted from attempting an isolating language with mostly monosyllabic morphemes and 0 stop consonants except for the g in /ɡ͡ʟ/ has amused me ɡreatly. All compound words sound like a drunken ɡerman tryinɡ to speak fake russian with a chinese accent.

He is in jail for a very long time now (not related to domestic violence, he never hit me. Only pinned me down when I would get drunk and violent.) And now I just feel...empty? And miss him. It's like...my life has immediately become so much more peaceful. I have time to draw. I can listen to music. I don't have to spend what little time I get alone wondering how long I get to be alone before "I'm mad" because "I did something" (Was usually anything over 10-20 minutes in a room without him.) I can cry without being asked what I did wrong to make me cry. And now I feel like I am doing something wrong by being happy. Whatever I am doing right now, there is something so wrong with it that I got accused of using fentanyl and cheating for it. I don't know what is wrong or why it is wrong all I do is fucking draw and doomscroll and read and work and play minecraft, just like before him, but yk, in my mind, I am up to my old tricks again, doing the exact same shit that got me in trouble the first time. I guess I just have to sit in a room and do nothing to not be a sick person. Everything about me is wrong. I don't know how to be normal. I don't know what I am doing that is so fucked up or people are doing to me but it must be happening again because I am happy. And the only thing that can make a woman happy is fucking other men for drugs. But I don't know who. How am I happy? This is not allowed. Everything I do or say or think will eventually be twisted into an admission of my guilt for things I don't even remember. Is somebody genuinely drugging me or was at one point? I sometimes wonder. One fucked up drug if true. How do they make me forget my memories and replace it with anything that lets me unwind after the day? I talk to him in jail and it's like I am speaking to HIM again, not the version meth gave me. I don't miss the man I saw the night of his arrest at all. I want him to stay dead. Forever. Anyway I wrote this.

Where do I begin?

Why?

Where is he?

Where am I?

Which one am I?

Help me to see

through my own eyes

brutal architect

of my demise

wander off

until I drop

out of life

and back on top

his chaos is what screamed my brain to sleep at night

how can I see the world

without him beside me

to tell me that I am blind?

how can I hear

when I am no longer deaf?

I miss the suffering

that I deserve

I need him to do it for me

I do it myself too well

the peace is undeserved

There is no justice

without my judge

Where do I begin?

Why?

Where is he?

Where am I?

Which one am I?

Help me to see

through my own eyes

brutal architect

of my demise

wander off

until I drop

out of life

and back on top

his chaos is what screamed my brain to sleep at night

how can I see the world

without him beside me

to tell me that I am blind?

how can I hear

when I am no longer deaf?

I miss the suffering

that I deserve

I need him to do it for me

I do it myself too well

the peace is undeserved

There is no justice

without my judge

All that has happened to me, it all began with when I was 22, and I got drunk, and tried to stab my mother with a pair of sewing scissors.

In jail, I told God, that if he let me out of this without seeing prison, I would never drink again. I told him I understood that if I did my time, I deserved it, but asked him to please let me out before the death of my mother, who has chronic kidney disease. She has since lost a kidney due to cancer, and her kidneys (Kidney, I guess) function at between 13 and 25 percent on any given day.

After 5 months in jail I was sentenced to a year in a sober living house.

I had to go to satop for 3 months to get my license back.

I thought I was paying for the consequences of my actions. But I was not. I was incapable of truly understanding what I had done to my family, and what I had put them through, no matter how much remorse I claimed to have. Even my 5 or 7 year backup, would not have done for me what God did for me.

I met my husband in sober living.

My husband, after getting out, relapsed on methamphetamine. He began experiencing psychosis on a near daily basis. I was accused of everything under the sun. Cheating. Drug use of drugs I had never touched in my life. Drinking when I had truly been sober the whole sober living stint from alcohol. I met him when he was sober. I loved that sober version of him. I still love that version of him and I will for as long as I live. The way he would accuse me of things, fly off the handle for no real reason, was a parallel to the way I treated my own family in the months before my arrest. They watched my personality and who I was before vanish before their eyes until I was somebody they didn't recognize.

And this is exactly what happened to my husband. I enabled his meth use the exact same way my family enabled my alcohol use. I joined him. And I got to watch his suffering that I knew, at the end of the day, I was playing a part in. I told myself I deserved all of his abuse, because of what I had done to my family. I didn't. I never abused my family in that way, the way he did, with the level of manipulation that he did. Telling myself this was just another way for me to justify my own meth use at that time.

Near the end I found myself missing him even though he was right next to me. I knew it wasn't him. It did not feel like him speaking to me, but a person who had killed him and taken over his body and replaced him.

Now, I get to speak to him in jail. And I spoke to him and I realized it was actually the first time I had been able to speak to him in ages. I couldn't see his face, but it finally felt like I had HIM back. And it had to be this way. Just like with me, the only way I would have stopped, the only way my family would have ever gotten to see me as myself, as the person they loved, was through forced sobriety. This had to happen. And I am glad that it did. I may no longer be able to see his face, but jail has brought back somebody who I felt had died.

And knowing that I was not strong enough to help him, that I did not love him enough to put my foot down in some way, to stop the madness before this had to happen, it is exactly what my mother went through. She thought I would be mad at her when she first talked to me in jail. I wasn't. If only I had loved him enough to throw those drugs away one day sooner. There is such a sense of helplessness that occurs in the mind of an enabler like myself and like my mother...the knowledge or belief that even if we do put our foot down, they will always find some other way. That it will not stop the use, merely take them away from us. But on that day I had finally realized, the man I loved had already been taken away. If I put my foot down, threw the drugs away, I would not lose him...because I already had. And it was a day too late. I came back to the house ready to throw everything away and I met cops with a warrant for the whole property searching for a meth lab.

I showed them everything. They let me go. My husband went to jail for manufacture and distribution. I may never see him again. I can finally hear HIM on the end of that phone, I can finally feel like I am talking to him, and really...I miss him less now than I did when he was high right next to me. I get to talk to him at least. It never felt like I got to talk to him when he was high.

And now, I understand. I understand the pain of watching somebody disappear before your eyes, while their body is still moving and talking and suffering. The pain of watching somebody take themselves away from you again and again and again, realizing they need someone to rescue them but you don't know how because they will fight you tooth and nail to continue destroying themselves in front of you. And you ask yourself, "Why don't they love me enough to stay?" and "Why can't I love them enough to stop them?" and I guess, really, they don't love themselves enough to stay, and substances make people so selfish and they just can't see that even if they don't love this person-themselves- they are hellbent on getting away from, we do...and we just wish they would stay. Wish they would stop hurting themselves. Willingly. Again. And again. And again. Because they have so much hatred for what we love to pieces and, as an enabler, quite literally to death.

Thank you God, for making me understand. I could not properly recieve forgiveness for what I myself put my family through, I think. I never really felt forgiven because I could not possibly understand what I had been forgiven for. Now I know what I have been forgiven for. My soul is clean, because I understand. I hope one day my husband can forgive me for how much I enabled him, because I had to forgive my family for that. I know that at some point he will sit in that cell wondering why I let him do that to himself, why I sat there and would have watched him slowly kill himself if he had chosen to, because I have sat in a cell wondering the same thing. Thank you, God, for giving me the chance to understand what I have done, and not allowing it to go so far as the physical death of my husband in the process, and going so far as to let me talk to him with his mind back and intact again. I have been blessed abundantly, throughout all my life.