As with everyone who's done or doing dope, there's always a last time. One last time to take a ride, one last time to see the beauty, one last time for eternal bliss...
My last time came as a surprise to even me.
After developing a steady habit for 4 and a half years, i had nothing else to live for. Not in a negative sense, more in a sense of time. Time; mine was all spent up. I was consumed - every waking minute of my life labored on the highs and lows of my heroin addiction. Did i have enough? Can i get more? How do i get the money? Where am i?
and most of all, the fuck you.
I started doing heroin for many reasons, but the bulk of them boiling down to me hating life. Life as a whole - hated every fucking bit of it. I hated me, i hated you, i hated school, i hated getting made fun of and beat up on, i hated my family, i hated people looking at me, i hated feelings...
and all i did was feel... i felt awkward, i felt stupid, i felt out of place, i felt lonely...i felt absolutely fucking miserable about myself, my surroundings, and my situation - and the only thing that would take that away seemed to be heroin. nothing mattered.
NOTHING
not the assholes at school, not how uncool i was, not the music i listened to, not my job, and certainly not my friends...no responsibility, no pressure, just sky.
nothing but blue sky, hot sun on my skin, a pack of camels, and a few bags of dope...nothing mattered.
Of course, there came a point where things weren't dissappearing anymore. no matter how much tar i smoked, or china white i packed up my nose, things started working their way under my skin...and i was miserable again. except now, i was miserable and incapacitated for 6 hours at a time. Dosed off under some park bench in the shade, or on the train to the end of the line. The obvious choice was suicide.
Turns out i was no good at that either. Slit wrists, bottle full of pills, somehow i'd always wake up in the hospital.
I came closer to dying from doing to much dope, and almost got my chance to kick God in the balls a couple of times i didn't even mean too.
So there came a last time. and i didn't even think it was going to be the last time, but as luck would have it, it was a tuesday. [tuesdays were my favorite day. i'd always manage to make a good score, eat a good meal, and find somewhere to sleep on tuesdays]
It was a hot sticky summer, and i remember this particular summer the city flooded with china white...which burnt like hell to shoot or smoke, so i was mostly snorting up thick rails of this synthetic shit every few hours.
We'd lay around all day in my friend T's basement cause it was 95 degrees outside, so we'd just wait for the sun to go down. Naturally, every 2 and a half or 3 hours, i'd slink upstairs to the bathroom and cut another rail on the dirtiest sink known to mankind - until around 8 o'clock at night.
Around 8 the scorching summer sun fell behind the houses, and the asphalt started cooling off in the july evening. We piled in to T's car and drove to the rich side of town to meet my then girlfriend of 3 weeks and her friends. She snuck out of her house and met us around the corner, T parked, and we jumped the fence onto the private golf course.
If you've never snuck onto a private golf course at night in the summer, you're missing out. The place is like a perfectly manicured dreamland of lakes, sand, thousands of lightning bugs, free water, and soft grass to lay on, have sex, and look at the stars.
So after our juvenile amusement with chasing lightning bugs, climbing trees, giggling and having sex wore off, we all wound up laying in and around one of the biggest sand traps near hole 5, staring empty at the sky.
I was laying near T, and my best friend was behind me with the girls still wandering around smoking weed.
It was really over in the blink of an eye, and to this day i do not know why i did it. But in a very heavy handed 4 or 5 seconds, i reached into my shoe [for years i stashed my shit under the soles of my shoes], opened the smokey tinted bag, and flicked it like a cigarette butt into the wind and watched it flip and tumble into the sand trap. gone.
i put my head down on my knees, T looked over at me with a puzzled "what the fuck?" look on his face, and my best friend behind me [noticing the weight of what i had just done] put his hand on my head, messing my hair around and said the exact words "i'm proud of you for that".
Realizing what i had just done, i layed back, closed my eyes, and with tears running down my face, felt my girlfriend lay her head in my lap, and pulled my hands to her chest.
Needless to say, i fought through wednesday on cigarettes and whiskey - again, baking in T's basement all afternoon, and Thursday morning, woke up sicker than i've ever been...and it only got worse for the rest of a fucking week.
Some people have given me various spiritual and religous reasons for why i tossed my last bag, frankly - i think it's a bunch of fucking bullshit. i ran out. i was dry, i was beat, i was exhausted, i weighed 85 fucking pounds...i was done.
God didn't throw that bag, i did.
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