The Aftermath

Today's entry comes from another old writing I discovered when going through some tattered and torn notebooks I found at the back of my closet. This piece was written in the weeks following one of my last kicks. I like these old entries because they are so different from where I stand today, yet there is a vein that will always be the same...

"In this modern day of pills and prescriptions-it is a fact- drugs are all around. A little slip into the illegal, and what is the difference, anyway? Today, so many people smoke weed that it is commonplace and rarely ever a shocker. Go ahead- get some pharmies from the pusher- what is the stretch? These pills are legal pills anyway.
Next stretch-snorting cocaine or even heroin...it is not really all that different from an Oxycontin. The buzz feels exactly the same. Start with morphine-graduate to heroin. What is the stretch? Especially once you've copped a habit from the morphine- the leap to heroin is made out of necessity, eventually. When you need your medicine and your prescription has run out too soon, and heroin is all that is available...You are sick as a dog now, and you will do anything. What is the stretch?
Of course, this is not the case with me. Oh no, I tried heroin before I ever really messed around with pain pills other than a few Vicodin here and there. Oh no, not me...I was into the illegals. Maybe it was the thrill, maybe the image, maybe just the death sentence.
That was always a part of it for me- my morbid obsession with pain, suffering, and ultimately suicide. I knew that heroin was suicidal. I knew that the needle was definite suicide. There was never any doubt about that. At the time I began mainlining, I had already been a heroin addict for years...and there was a part of me wishing to die. This part of me that wanted to commit suicide lacked the conviction to push the razor blade deep enough into my wrists. But shooting heroin was a eventual death...slow and painless. Suicide by pleasure.
Since the day I began shooting heroin, I lived with the ever changing roller coaster ride of a needle habit. I have been high, I have been sick...really,really sick. And I have also been well. I have been on methadone. I have taken suboxone. I have been in and out of detox and rehab. Just recently, I kicked another minor heroin habit.
Don't plan on getting back on that nasty stuff...but, then again, I have said that before. Often, IT IS ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT. Desperate cravings rack my mind, body, and soul. The old obsession is sometimes all I can think about.
I wake up and go to work in the greasy little cheeseburger joint, lethargic and dragging. I cannot seem to move my ass fast enough. My mind starts wandering back down those same old and worn roads. Obsessing about the only thing that will make me feel better. Namely, I dream of methadone at this time. I know methadone is the only thing around this stupid little town. Heroin is so scarce and shitty here, and my mind wanders to what I can get. No use thinking about something I cannot obtain, then the obsession would be more like a dream.
I am over the worst of the withdrawals; my mind and body have somewhat returned to normal. I am sleeping through the night again, although I wake at the crack of dawn. I am working hard to pay back everything. I fucked shit up this time while I was strung out, but then that is part of it all, isn't it? Right now, the idea of getting high is not so appealing as I am about to be homeless.
Almost evicted, no where to go...Liam has disappeared again. The apartment is such a wreck I do not even want to start packing. The stench of old garbage, stale beer, and cats surround me. I know I do not have enough money for another apartment, and I do not want to go back to living in cheap hotels. But, still my mind wanders to the world of possible relief. After all..."all pleasure really is is relief."

It is hard to rewrite these writings without editing. I am amazed how my writing itself has improved since these old pieces. I am not sure if it is because my mind is so clear now, or that I just have a lot of practice under my belt. My writing has become not only more clear, but more refined.