Citation: Gryt. "Tasting Paradise.: An Experience with Heroin, Alcohol & Cannabis (exp20864)". Erowid.org. Jan 19, 2007. erowid.org/exp/20864
I had no idea I was ever going to take heroin, certainly not that night at a friend's birthday party in a rented hall. New friends in this new country that I'm inviting over this week-end for a taco fiesta in an attempt not to loose them after that horrible night.
Sleeping bag in one hand, bottle of rose wine in the other. I was ready to party. After being a big hit on the dance floor, as well as having a blast the time before, nothing hinted that I was about to try the most ill-reputated drug known to the general public.
About me. In short, I moved to another country across the Atlantic Ocean just to work the tides as an oyster farmer in these glorious 18 years of mine. I'm very open to existentialist experiences and ideas, so after trying hash for the first time, I became a miscellaneous recreational drug thrill seeker. LSD, mush, weed, more weed, mesc, nutmeg (try it once!), E and various inhalants make up the good times that are my post-boozehound youth (and probably my genetic make-up by now).
I've always leered away from drugs that are reputed to be addictive or just plain not worth it (try nutmeg once, I'm serious!). So speed, opiates and crack/cocaine were out of my dossier (and I'm terrified of needles).
So I was at a friend's birthday party having a genuinely good time (on my 9th drink I'm guessing, and smoking cigs like hickory) when I see my friend's brother with his buddies tokin some bud. (I'd seen them a few times at the old pub, friendly chaps). I couldnít help but want to have a taste, so I joined in the discussion. Little time passed before I was handed the joint. I sucked in three huge open lung hauls (with the J a bit away from my lips to let _some_ air through). I noticed a somewhat pleasant metallic taste, but thought nothing of it.
As the thick smoke from my final exhalation gave way, the clearing fog produced an unsung chorus of open jawed wide eyes (yes it's possible). 'What's the matter, can't handle a little weed?'. No one laughed. I saw only concerned looks, and almost guilt from the person who had produced the J. I thought to myself 'This might not be bad, but it probably won't be good.' Rough French to English translation: 'Dude, we thought you knew. That shit is laced with heroin.'
In my mind, I wrestled myself to be calm. I thought about heroin being the one drug I swore I would never even be in the same room with, but what was done was done. I decided to play it cool and just enjoy it however I could.
The fact that I didn't feel anything (apart from the usual effect for weed and alcohol) relaxed me a bit. Maybe I was tougher than these guys, or maybe what they think is heroin is just scraps a dealer threw in to raise the price. Hell as far as I knew it couldn't be smoked, only injected or evaporated. So party on I did. I drank another beer. I was enjoying their company and we were having motivated conversations (don't ask me about em I can't remember). So when he rolled another one, I gladly took part in the consumption. Even if it was low grade weed and may have heroin in it, it was just for one night, and besides it tasked good. I had about two more alcoholic drinks. I even rolled another one with the roaches. Pretty well too, considering how drunk and stoned I was (and the fact that I couldn't roll a nice joint if my life depended on it).
What I can remember of what came next is a bit fleeting. I still had nothing of what I knew being on heroin was, but I wasn't very conscious. I remember arm wresting and beating everyone and feeling like a god. And quick flashes of people dancing. Admitting that these guys could drink and smoke me under the table. And suddenly I was alone.
I knew where I was, sitting right in my chair. I could tell only by my sense of balance that my head was resting against my arm. I figured I was in my favorite sleep-in-school position, urban sprawled legs and everything. Happy to have regained some bearings I decided open my eyes and have a peep at the world. Wow! It may have been dark in the hall but my shirt and legs emitted pure white light, as if the sun was bouncing off of fresh fallen Canadian snow on a dry, cloudless -33'C mid-morning.
It took some getting used too, but finally it was very soothing. I told myself that my shirt was actually dark green (as it was), so I concentrated until my eyesight came back to normal. Doing that felt like someone had walked into my room and ripped off my blankets; so quickly I 'got back into bed' without any trouble and felt safe again. Next I noticed how my hearing sounded as if I was under water. Just for trying's sake I listened until the voices and music were comprehensible again. Not as violent this time, but the noise was more of a chilly draft. So I shut the window.
I made it a point to tell myself that this is what it must be like to be on the nod. My thoughts were clear, and I felt warm, relaxed and safe. But instead of letting the trip take itís course, I decided to analyze the situation globally. It occurred to me that 12 drinks and some marijuana would make me very sick (since Iíve lost 30 lbs harvesting oysters, rough work). Yet I felt nothing, my stomach wasn't aching, I didn't need to pee. This got me a little worried. 12 drinks wouldn't kill me, but a ruptured bladder just might. I left my world just long enough to check that I was okay, I was.
So now I could understand why people did heroin. Put simply, it's for the bliss. I imagined being the poor, homeless Chinese man I saw do heroin in a documentary one time. I imagined heating some heroine on tinfoil and inhaling it to be completely free of pain, debt, fear, memories, self.
I told myself how I didn't deserve this drug. How I was a young, fortunate, healthy man. How I knew that chronic use of heroin would destroy me physically (and financially). I knew that I would never be so bad off to need it, unless I fell terminally ill or something. There are other, more recreational drugs for adding spice to dull lives. But heroin is to be left alone and respected. And finally I told myself that if I still didn't need to pee by now, it's that my liver got fed up with me and long ago told my stomach to stop letting anything through.
Effectively speaking, the second my buddy came by to see how I was hanging and slapped me on the back it all fell apart. I could only feel a warm stew creeping up my chest and slowly spewing out of my mouth onto the table. I had snapped out of it, but I was still quite drunk and somewhat stoned. They took me outside and laid me down on the gravel to get some air. I asked for water. They must have all partied pretty hard cause only half of what they poured landed near my mouth. Still, anything to clean my mouth of the vomit would make me feel better, and it did. I still didn't have it in me to move. So the cold winter air got to me fast and I started shivering. I could just feel them freak so I managed to reassure them that it was the cold, and that I felt better. I had to be assisted to the back entrance upon orders from the owner of the hall.
There I sat in a plastic lawn chair, regaining myself fairly quickly. I impressed my friends when I got up to take a leak (later they told be how it was like I stopped being sick and drunk for like 30 seconds just to go pee. I'm convinced it was the marijuana, gives me a strong mindset). When I recovered enough, they got my bed set up for me. I was dead tired; I can barely remember smelling my pillow before falling asleep.
I rose a bit dizzy the next morning. Still; feeling very ashamed. It was my fault pretty much. Though no one held it against me, I could tell I had some people worried (others annoyed). I decided to be less bitter with myself and to consider it a cherish-able experience rather than just getting smashed and being sick. Later that day I got the urges I usually do for my mandatory party smokes. I almost mistook them for a heroin urge.
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