DOSE:

Heroin

BODY WEIGHT:

148 lb

So, to say the least, it has been a hell of a span. 12 years, give or take, I have spent the best of them addicted to drugs. But the most afflicting of them all, being heroin, among other opiates.

Opiates in general hit me in that spot, where you reminisce and that subtle burn rises up in your chest. Conversations involving the prospect of using, get my stomach in an uproar. I never know how to feel anymore. But, I always remember how exactly it was that I had come to realize the existence of such chemicals.

I wasn't much older than 14 or 15 when I had discovered hydrocodone. I had been abusing alcohol and mild hallucinogens since the age of 10. I was an early riser, much like the sun. But, I had never really felt at ease with my drug use until the day I had discovered all that was opiates. To say that it compelled me to change my life is an understatement. The moment I had stumbled upon the ever growing pull of opiates I had wanted nothing more than to live my life whole and happy within the addicts world.

Stealing the odd vicodin tablet or percocet from fathers and stepfathers who also abused them from time to time had become an art form to me. Sneaking into whichever room or hiding place that they stored such rare gems, I would get swollen with excitement.

'Just an hour or two,' I would tell myself. And upon coveting these pharmaceuticals I would do a dance and kick my heels. Never fully understanding their potential. The addiction I was facing was rising like a tidal wave and would soon wash me against the most abrasive of shores, I couldn't believe how quick they were to slap the sense out of me. Before I knew it, I was eating handfuls of percocet each night, washed down with rum. Not the most succulent of meals, but it sufficed.

When I was about 16, I had my first real experience with opiates. I had my first soft kiss from heroin.

Now, I had used everything in excess. I used to snort cocaine like it was oxygen. I would up-end bottles of vodka like it was the only thing that would bring me back to normality. Anybody else, or maybe not, would've realized that addiction had run rampant through my family and left no real survivors. I, on the other hand, had neglected such facts and refused to believe I was among the handful of people to really experience addiction in its unrelenting corporeal form.

I had taken the ride with a friend of mine to score some coke from the nearest 'inner city badland' which being Camden, NJ. We pulled up to the set to find that there was only heroin to be had. I had no real inclination of what heroin was. I knew it was in all of my favorite movies (Basketball Diaries, Pulp Fiction) in some form or another, but I really didn't know what it was. Had I known it was the parent of hydrocodone, oxycodone etc. I probably would've bought twice as much. But, I opted to cop two bags. I even recall the stamp on the bag as being 'Makiavelli.' Yet, I still had no understanding as to what I was getting myself into.

I got dropped off and descended the basement steps towards my room. I cut out about 1/4 of the bag, and I shook like a scared dog as I leaned over to huff that first line. I sat for maybe five minutes when it hit me like a warm blanket. I was in heaven.

My eyes slowly closed about half their usual spread. I couldn't believe what I was feeling. Not unlike the pills, I was warm, and my body, my whole body, was relaxing and I was sitting in comfort for the first time ever. It was everything I had wanted, amplified. The days following my first experience had elevated my usage. I immediately knew that it was the missing link in my hunt for the substance which satisfied me, and then some.

Moving on a few months, I had started robbing and burglarizing houses. I was pawning that which I had owned, and like the story goes, my family were slow targets to my addiction.

My first injection had been on a cold winter night. Sitting hunched up in a friends room, I slowly dumped a bag into a spoon, saturating the powder with about 40 units of water(an overkill sometimes) and started stirring. I didn't really feel the need to heat it, yet I did only out of instinct, having seen most mainstream movies use this method. I didn't even understand the use of cotton filters at this time, so I slowly pulled it up, and sat it in a glass with cold water to cool it. Then I handed it to a friend of mine, who tied me off and eventually hit home.

Intense. Bliss. I knew who I was, and I knew what made me who I was. Heroin.

Looking back at that experience, I still shake at the anticipation I felt. It's as if it was yesterday, yet it was almost seven years ago.

Since that day I have fought hard to stay whole. I have stolen, beaten, taken everything that I wanted. No remorse. I have been to inpatient rehab, two outpatients and a methadone clinic. Methadone was the worst decision. I was fine for a couple of months, than that burn started happening again. I wanted to get high. So, I quit the clinic and slowly felt that kick in the nuts that is methadone withdrawal, and started shooting heroin AND smoking crack. The crack was just a touch of finesse, seeing as how I never liked it until that day.

Months after my most recent relapse, I realize, that I may never truly be over my addiction. Staying clean is hard. It's like avoiding a prostitute with hundred dollar bills taped to you, as you walk through the ghetto.

Currently I am not addicted physically, but the mental kick still gets to me. I use on the occasion, but without money or instant contacts, I am at a loss. I haven't been to the city in a while. Friends are on methadone, other friends are dead, but it comes down to the fact that I still want to get high.

Maybe you should think twice. Or not, as I feel everybody comes into their own, whether or not other people advise them against it.

Exp Year: 2007	ExpID: 65013
Gender: Male
Age at time of experience: Not Given
Published: May 10, 2010	Views: 10,679
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Heroin (27) : Addiction & Habituation (10), Various (28)