I apologize for the wall of text but I woke up this morning still logged in, with a notification for a post I don't even remember writing. I obviously need to get this out or I am not going to make it through another day. Fuck OPSEC. I have nothing to live for anyway.
I got turned on to the darknet a few months ago and started looking into making an order. I took all the steps needed. Figured out Tor/Tails. Researched vendors. Bought a new laptop for using on public Wi-Fi. It was exciting times. I was about to make my first order for drugs, off the internet. What a time to be alive. What a great community. What a way to fight back against the oppressive machine that holds us all down. We were doing this. We were stoked.
LandedGypsie was our guy. Made the order. Everything went off without a hitch. No delays from the postal strike. No cops. Nothing. Just a package in the mail and the best night of my life. We got too high and couldn't even leave the house. But that was perfect. We just laid around. High as fuck. Talking about life. Laughing. Touching. Kissing. Fucking. We were one and we knew it. Nothing could ever separate us.
I thought we hit the jackpot. Never again would I have to worry about where we got our drugs, what we were getting or who we were getting it from. So I made a second order. What could go wrong?
The pack landed last Friday before I went to work. I left it sitting in the kitchen and headed out with an extra little spring in my step. It was gonna be another great night. I got a call from my girlfriend a couple hours before I was done. She was drunk. Very drunk. And found the pack. She was so excited. She kept telling me she couldn't wait. I told her I would be done soon and she promised me she'd see me soon and we were gonna party. "I love you." "I love you more." And that was it. That was the last time I ever spoke with her.
The rest is still just a blur. I had never seen a dead body before. Fuck, I still don't know if I have. All I knew is that, when I got home, she was on the kitchen floor and unresponsive. I shook her. Hard. So hard. I yelled. Screamed. Slapped her. Nothing. She was heavy. Like, fucking heavy. We had play fought plenty of times and I could lift her up no problem. But I could barely move her. I called an ambulance and started flipping the fuck out. Running around the house, cleaning up what I could, flushing drugs, hiding the packaging in the neighbour's garbage. All while yelling at her to just please fucking talk to me.
The ambulance showed up. The cops showed up. Questions started. "Who is she?" "How do you know her?" "What drugs have you done tonight?" "What time did you do the drugs?" and on and on. I hardly remember what I said to anyone. I just wanted to follow her to the hospital. But no one wanted me there. Her family showed up. They were pissed. With good reason. I had killed their daughter. I wasn't allowed to see her and the cops had a million more questions for me anyway. They weren't so bad the first night. But they got worse.
The whole last week has been a blur of the same. Everyday basically. Wake up. Remember the hell that I'm in. Look at messages from people that used to be close to me. Friends. Family. All gone now. All blaming me for what happened. Have you talked to the cops yet? Because you will. They find some reason to come around or haul you in. Every day. Today will be no different. Have you paced yet? You're probably gonna want to get on early start on that since there is no fucking way you can go in to work with this looming over you. Can't exactly tell your boss that you can't come in because you killed your girlfriend. You can make it to the end of the street to get beer man. You need to at least do that. Over and over and over. Everyday.
I admitted to the cops that I knew she had drugs. But I didn't know where she got them. I said she was the one who always bought them and I never asked where. They weren't buying it. They just kept asking about how long we had been using opiates. I kept telling them never. They would call me a liar. Ask me how long I'd been selling. Do we have needles? On and on. I eventually told them I flushed the drugs in a panic. They weren't happy. I will be doing some time for that for sure. I've cried a lot this week but the worst was fucking sobbing while they looked all over my body for needle marks and made one of their own to test my blood. They wanted MY blood because they had the toxicology report. It was heroin. Nothing in her system but heroin and alcohol. And they "will be seeing me soon enough when my results come back positive".
Her family won't talk to me. Except when they need to lash out and tell me what a terrible person I am for killing their daughter. My family won't talk to me. Except to tell me that "rehab is already paid for. All you have to do is say yes." Because obviously I'm a junkie. And a drug dealer. And a murderer.
Yesterday was the funeral. I was not welcome. The woman I loved, the woman I was going to spend the rest of my life with, is dead. Rotting in the ground and I never got to tell her how sorry I am. How much I loved her. How much it hurts to be here without her. I woke up in a puddle of puke this morning, so hungover I could barely see. On the kitchen floor. Where she was.
I keep wanting to write WALLS AND WALLS of angry text to LG. "Fuck you. You killed her! Not me!" He can claim all he wants that it wasn't his heroin, that she was a closet junkie, that he keeps records and KNOWS it wasn't a misship. But I know her, and I know she wasn't a junkie. I found her journal and everything was in it. Our plans for the future, every bitch that looked at her the wrong way at work, every time her "time of the month" started, even the time she cheated on me. All of it is in there and absolutely no mention of doing drugs without me.
But I know I'm just looking for someone to blame. Fuck, I've made her out to be the one to blame more times than I can count. Why didn't she listen to me? Why did she have to be so drunk? She'd still be alive if she didn't fuck around. But it was me. I made the order. I left it out. I killed her. I ended her life. And in doing so, ended mine. Now I'm just a sad man with nothing sobbing in a fucking Starbucks.
I have no job. No friends. No family. No hope. I'll be going to jail for sure. I can't afford a lawyer. And I somehow make too much for legal aid. No one will help me. I don't even think they should.
tl;dr There is a dark side to the darknet. It can ruin your life like it ruined mine. Be careful with what you're doing. It's not just your life on the line. One order can change everything.
This sounds a lot like the anti-drug stories LE used to tell when they visited my junior high to tell us how to be good productive citizens. Just saying.