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A Complete Guide to Practical Numerology

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Zainurrahman

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“How quickly the dragon of addiction began to roar through Rayya’s blood—demanding what it always demands: more, more, more. Soon Rayya went from needing one morphine pill a day to two pills a day to three a day, to one pill every hour, to two pills every hour, to clusters of pills at a time—until, within a matter of a few weeks, she was yelling into the phone to her doctors, “This shit doesn’t fucking work on me! You gotta give me something stronger, or I swear to fucking God I will go out there on Fourteenth Street and find something stronger and shoot it right into my fucking veins—and don’t think I don’t know how!” So then they gave her methadone. And then they gave her fentanyl patches (“something stronger,” to be sure), which worked beautifully until they didn’t—until her addict’s brain became resistant to the powers of even this most formidable and dangerous of drugs. That’s when Rayya had the inspired idea to add a bit of cocaine to the mix, “to give me a little bump and help me stay awake”—and she bought her first gram of coke in nearly twenty years and put it right up her nose, to tremendous and obvious relief. Was that when she officially lost her sobriety and sanity? Or was it the next night—when she shot the remainder of the cocaine into her arm (“better than the nose, as always,” she said) and then chased it with a few morphine pills, then downed a handful of muscle relaxants just for good measure, and then informed me as she was nodding off into oblivion that “a hole just opened up through our bedroom ceiling and my ancestors are rolling in, four layers deep”? Was that the moment of relapse? Or had it started long before the cancer even appeared? Had she fallen off the wagon many years earlier, when she decided to start drinking and hide it from everyone? Or had she begun sliding back into addiction when she had stopped going to twelve-step meetings because she got annoyed with all those “rigid bitches” in the rooms, and because she didn’t want to work a program anymore? Or had her decline begun even before then, when she stopped letting people know how much emotional pain she was in, and decided to keep her suffering a secret from those who loved her? Or was it all of that combined? Does an avalanche happen suddenly, or does it begin with the first flake of snow that sticks to the edge of the mountain?”

LoveRelationshipsAddictionAddiction And RecoveryCodependencyLove AddictionSex And Love AddictionAddiction And Recovery QuotesSex And Love Addicts AnonymousSlaa
Book:All the Way to the River
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“She sipped the tonic. Her face puckered again. She gagged, covered her mouth and mumbled in disgust, "Oh my God!" "I said it tasted better, not great." Abby continued to force the sour tonic down in sips. She could taste a hint of vanilla but the potion left a bitter aftertaste that was similar to vinegar. Her stomach gurgled and burned. "Water," she coughed after her last sip of tonic. "No. You'll dilute it," Noel said firmly, relieving her of the glass. Smartly, she rebutted, "Isn't that what you're supposed to do after drinking poison? Or is it throw up?”

HumorPoisonOrdainedTonicDevon Ashley
Book:Ordained
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