There are going to be stories that I write which contain references to drugs. I don’t intend to glorify or exaggerate anything in these stories, merely to relate the way that it was. I want to make my views on this subject perfectly clear. What follows is only my experience and my opinion. As with all things from me, take what you want and leave the rest.
Think of it as my version of caveat emptor.
As I may have mentioned previously, I am a drug addict. Heroin was my drug of choice at the end, but in my time (say ages 15 to 31), I pretty much cycled through them all. Acid was probably my favorite, or at least the one that I recall most fondly.
I’m not going to go into great specifics at this moment, but suffice to say that my addiction nearly cost me everything – friends, family, jobs, relationships, material possessions, money, memories, self respect, health and, on several occasions, very nearly my life. The jury is still deliberating this last one.
I got clean on December 12, 2003.
Now, don’t worry. I’m not one of those people that found Jesus or became some religious nut. I’m not going to preach to you. I’m not going to try to save your soul. Your soul doesn’t concern me. I’m certainly not going to try to convince you not to do drugs.
I don’t even intend to imply that drugs are bad per se. I believe that, up to a certain point, drugs can actually be helpful in the correct context. For instance, I think that most people should drop acid at least once in their lives. I have had some wonderful and terrifying experiences on drugs. I wouldn’t discourage anyone from trying to experience these things themselves.
Also, I don’t mean to imply that everyone who does drugs is going to become an addict. Certainly not an addict like me. There are those people out there who can just have one drink, one joint, one pill, one line. I’ve even heard tell of people who can buy dope for a party two weeks away and then actually be able to save it until then! There are, in fact, people for whom moderation is not a foreign concept.
God I fucking hate those people.
The way that I, and most other addicts for that matter, look at it is that if one is good, then twenty must be better. One is never enough. Too much is never enough.
What is for certain is that I’m not one of those moderation people.
I won’t even waste my breath trying to discourage anyone because I know, from personal experience, the sheer futility of trying to talk someone into doing something that they do not want or aren’t ready to do. One of the few things in my life that I regret is all of the wasted breath of my friends and family over the years. Nothing they ever said made it through to me. Even their walking away from me, so as not to watch me destroy myself any longer, had no effect. Rehab didn’t make me want to stop. Jail didn’t either. Friends overdosing and dying didn’t make me want to stop. The only thing that made me want to stop, at the bitter end, was me.
So, if you’re not one of those lucky few cocksuckers that have inherent moderation, I exhort you to keep on. Push yourself. Steal, lie, sell yourself, do all of the drugs and all of the things that you said you’ll never do. Find new rock layers. Dig deeper. I have faith that there are bottoms out there that you can’t even imagine yet.
I encourage you to find them. Hit the wall and power through.
Likewise, if you’ve been clean a while and are thinking about going back out and trying to use successfully again, maybe you forgot how bad it really was – then I suggest that you try what my friend likes to call the “therapeutic relapse.” By all means, get back out there and remind yourself what it’s like to be empty, cold and alone.
Then, when you’ve finally had enough, if you live through it, you can come into the rooms of Narcotics Anonymous. The doors are always open there. The rooms are full of people who have lived your story. I might even be there. At least until I forget how bad it really was.