I have spent a lot more time in the mental hospital than I have in jail. Upon wondering why I came to a few solid conclusions. First, my goal isn�t to work � sell pot, etc� It�s to get high so, ideally, I spend the majority of my time running around all whacked out, paranoid, tweaking, thinking everyone is out to get me, and basically adding to my stress level. Up to a certain point, I can handle the various delusions and hallucinations that come with the high. However, eventually I break under the pressure. Once, I checked myself into the mental hospital under the premise that nowhere was safe, and everyone around me was about to come kick my ass. Another time, a debt to a drug dealer drove me completely insane; I thought that aliens were coming, that the youth shelter was a spaceship about to blast off. I thought time had stopped, and I�m even told I was swimming on the floors. That time, I was mandated into the hospital once they saw the state I was in. Funny thing is, I didn�t start hearing voices until they put me on all of those weird psychotropic pills they have so much fun doing their guesswork with. Like the time before, I only got out because of a writ of habeas corpus. Strange, how the doctors would come up with any reason they could think of to keep me inside, citing such things as malnutrition, or the absurd notion that I wouldn�t have sufficient shelter living outdoors. My only conclusion is that they enjoyed studying and experimenting on me. I was always polite, so I guess I didn�t give them many problems to deal with. Maybe next time I should just be such an asshole they�ll push me out the door. If I could go back though, I wouldn�t change my time there. I think it taught me a lot about how modern psychology and pharmacology works, as well as gave me a serious challenge. I had to make up some bullshit about how I wanted an indoor place to stay, since they weren�t having any of my �life outdoors is easy� talk. The second time around, I only used my right to refuse medication when I absolutely had to, since last time the doctors somehow had it revoked. I guess in the end I gave them some entertainment and education, and it gave me the same as to how I�m expected to act among the general populous. I guess it was my own damned fault for doing all the drugs in the first place, even the time when I was taken in by force. I don�t always get wacked halfway to Saturn.

More often, the high brings me to a place where I�m convinced that I�m being watched. Once I busted out with this spoken word poem about �the dark watchers�: phantasmal beings whose sole purpose is to watch and make me feel paranoid. I�ve also gotten Ideas about sneaky ninja cops, which doesn�t make any sense because the cops wouldn�t hang out in the bushes watching you, they�d just come up and bust you. However, Today, I was tweeking on the ground at this one favorite smoke spot of mine, and when I looked up, a cop had been standing over me for god knows how long. You�d think an indoor spot like a porto-let would solve this problem, but then all of a sudden I can hear people saying things like �he�s smoking crack in the bathroom dude�. Strangely, this happens even when there�s not even anyone around. Surprisingly enough, I actually enjoy the paranoia sometimes. That�s how I know the stuff is working, I guess. Plus it helps me be a little bit more careful.

One of my favorite, and quite possibly most insane drug-induced habits is the ground tweeking. Basically, every now and then I randomly find drugs on the ground. 2/3 of the time, it�s when I�m not even actively looking for it. However, almost every time I run out, I end up spending horrendous amounts of time scoping the ground, knowing full well that I could have smoked a gripload in the same amount of time had I only conceded to go back to the hustle. I guess there�s just a special thing about finding it. Like I get more enjoyment out of locating it than I do smoking it. And there have been occasions where I found ridiculously gigantic amounts. Once I saw a baggie with this stuff that looked like peanut butter or Chinese candy. I was sick of tweeking by then so I said screw it. Upon seeing a second one, I changed my mind and gave it a taste. Talkin about tongue numb as fuck, stuff tastes a little off but smoked great, and it was like a one-hundred-dollar chunk. Frigging ridiculous, man. That�s the type of thing that helps me laugh it off when people start telling me �Quit tweekin! Ain�t nothing down there man, get off the ground!� Recently there has been a �drought� of sorts, and, not surprisingly, there have been no ground scores to speak of. So much the better, though, since now I no longer spend copious amounts of time looking.

I already made a good amount of money today, though by today I mean like since three in the morning. I guess there�s also something a little crazy about spending the first twenty I get when what I really want to do is hold onto it until I have forty for some crystal. I mean that stuff lasts so much longer! Sometimes I wonder what the hell I�m doing, messing with a drug that only has a good buzz for about five minutes, followed by a jitter for an hour. There is the advantage of sleep, however; sometimes I just don�t want to be awake for mad days.

I have a serious belief that pot keeps me sane. I�ve gotten mad depressed from smoking way too often, but without it, I have so much energy that I can only sleep one night out of three. I�ve always got hellof motivations and ideas, though. I guess a lot of it is that it does a lot to cancel out the comedown from any of the harder drugs. Always helps with sleep, unless of course you just took some spun.

I guess a lot of my mental health issues are tied into the psycho actives I choose to subject myself to, as well as my lifestyle and resulting stress level. I don�t know what difference exactly the drugs make, though. I�ve never been too near to normal, at least I would like to think. Sanity really is subjective, anyways. Over time, the sane and the insane swap back and forth, so the alienation eventually equals out.