Description

As the sickness begins to set in, my heart begins to panic. At the first scratchy sign in my throat, I begin to get nervous about the impending doom. It is like my whole body is starting to get foggy, it is starting to feel really weird, and I am getting more and more anxious with each and every step.
I have been standing at this bus stop for at least an hour. I am standing at the corner of Louisa, right across from Markey's Bar. I pretend like I am waiting for the bus, but really I am waiting on dope. Every ten to fifteen minutes when a bus passes by, I casually walk off the corner, away from the stop so the bus driver will not think I am waiting for the bus. This does not help the anxiety, this standing on the corner for hours.
It should be any minute. If I was reliable enough to keep my prepaid cell phone on, I could just have him call me as he gets near the corner, and I could run out and meet him without hanging around waiting all the time. I would still be waiting, but at least it would be in the comfort of my own home! But, alas, I call the man from a payphone around the corner...and I wait on the corner for as long as it takes. Today, it has been a little more than an hour.
My stomach feels queasy, I think. Or is it just my mind, fearing withdrawal that is tricking me into being nauseous? Anxiously, I look towards the left because I know the man will most likely be coming from that direction. Ah-ha...I see a golden ray of light! It seems to be shining down on the sleek, black car...like rays fro heaven, my wait is over!
I hop in the front seat, clutching my cash in my hand. "I will take six of them, " I pant. I had over the crumpled and sweaty bills. He peels them apart to count them. One, two, three, four, five...they are all there. He reaches into a plastic baggie that is full of carefully folded tiny foils. There must be a hundred of them in there. He hands me six. I get out of the car, waving. My stomach and throat instantly feel better. I look down at the foils, and they do look fat!
I am finally, alone, in the bathroom. The door is locked, and I have a minute to breathe. I finally have a minute to relax, although I cannot relax as the symptoms of the sickness are creeping up. More slowly, strangely enough, since I felt the foils in my hands. Once I know I have the dope, the panic begins to subside.
I am anxious...

And just like always when I am anxious, I cannot find a vein. Or like when I am cold. Or like when I am dehydrated. Or like when I have been shooting too much coke. Or like much of the time now days. I poke, and I prod.
I know my veins so well. I know which ones are decent, and which ones need special coaxing. But , lately it seems like they are hiding. They go deeper and deeper inside me to evade the invasion. They are running scared from all the abuse. They are like an puppy that was kicked too many times, they just shy away from all contact now.
On my wrist, if I hold it straight up, and let the needle hang down towards the ground, I can hit that tiny, tiny vein. The needle, suspended upside down in the air just fills like a cup. In my forearm, there is a nice big thick one...but it is deep. If I can hit it, it spews like a water hose. And is I hit just a little to far on one side, my arm twitches and jumps slightly and hurts like hell, an electric hurt...like I have hit a nerve. On the underside of my forearm, a nice long one, running in a really tender spot. It hurts there if it is now just right.
I wonder, briefly...what am I doing to my body? And then the determination and the desperation was stepping down on me...I had to get this fucking shot. I needed it. As I look in my arm, needle tightly in my mouth as I bite down. I focus, like my life depended on it...and I guess, in a way, it did.
I did get it, after much poking and prodding. The invasion of it all. The constant intrusion to all parts of my body...my skin, my flesh, my veins, my blood, and let us not forget my mind. Constantly intruding on myself, the rush outweighs it all.
Sometimes I think, well...if I could just put down the needle, then I would get better. All the good parts would come back to it, like the days in the very beginning when it was all love and innocence. Sometimes, I would think...it is all really just the needle.
And it was the needle. Not because of the invasion as much as it was addiction to the needle. I mean, Let's face it...it is the ultimate rush. Certain combinations in certain places with certain moods, the rush is just fucking awesome. You get addicted to that rush, the rush that only comes from shooting intravenously.
That rush where your head really spins and hums with this orgasmic feeling of warmth throughout your entire body. It usually starts in the back of my neck, and then engulfs my head. My ears sometimes ring, and my entire brain is firing off in a thousand directions. So warm throughout my whole body, it almost feels as if I have just peed on myself. I reach down, casually, and check. Good, I am cool. There is no other rush like shooting heroin, or cocaine...but each for different reasons, and together they are awesome.
It was the ritual that came with the rush that only the needle provides. There is a certain amount of practice and dexterity that one has when they shoot up several times a day. There are certain parts, like the sweet smell of heroin and water cooking in the spoon, and the way coke just melts into it. And when you see the flash of blood, and your heart nearly skips a beat because it knows- YOU ARE COMING HOME.
It is all I know these days. It consumes my entire day. Everything that I do, is centered around dope. I do not get even a minutes freedom from this all consuming addiction. This all consuming hunt and search, for money and drugs. Money to do drugs, and drugs to do. What can I get into tonight? What combinations of ingredients can I mix up with a little water, and cook it up in a shot. How fucking high can I really get tonight? As fucking high as I can, that is for sure. Whatever it takes to get there, my friends.