Heroin Withdrawal, Again

It’s early. It’s got to be somewhere close to 8

in the morning. The breeze and the sun haven’t

cancelled each other out yet, so it is a still kinda cold.

I didn’t sleep at all last night as I catch myself going

into day two of heroin of withdrawal. The body aches,

nausea, lack of appetite, I can deal with, but it is

the lack of sleep that eventually wears away all

of my strength and willpower to press forward.

I find myself sitting on a wooden pier in South Carolina

where I can gaze for miles and miles into the

Atlantic Ocean. So, I guess there are worse places

I could be trying to kick this habit, AGAIN, but even

paradise looks like hell when you haven’t slept and

have been thinking about that one shot that’ll make

everything better for the past two days.

The ironic thing about this whole situation is that four

months ago I was thousands of miles away sitting on

the north shore of Oahu gazing miles and miles into

the Pacific Ocean dealing with the same thing –

heroin withdrawal.

Six months prior to that, I was happily married,

a massive part of my children’s lives, and for the most

part, doing a damn good job of ‘keeping up with the Jones’.

Little did I know shit would hit the fan once again in my life

and addiction would once again become my entire

world and the downfall of my existence.

Before I continue, it is fatal to understand that addiction

and the shit it causes easily sums up the last 16 years

of my short life on this planet. And, when I say the shit

it causes, I’m talking about jails, institutions, overdoses,

theft, failure, climbing on the wagon and falling off to even

more devastating lows and bottoms.

The bottom I find myself resting in at this moment surely

isn’t my worst, but with a couple of bad decisions it can

easily become my lowest of lows. See, I typically judge

my bottoms on a material basis and a financial scale

of where I’ve been and where I am at. At this particular

moment I still have a vehicle to drive, a roof over my head,

somehow I still have a cell phone and a few people left

who are fighting for me, but I don’t have a single dollar to

my name and honestly have no idea where the next

one will come from.

As a matter of fact, just two days ago, I found myself

at that intersection of life where it just makes more

sense to throw in the towel than it does to go on

fighting even one more round. It really bothers me

that some people go their entire lives without ever tasting

gun oil or a belly full of pharmaceuticals.

Just two days ago I was ready to wrap my mouth around

the barrel and die like Hemingway or Hunter S., but without

the news coverage. Today I feel more positive. I feel like I

can crawl out of this hole and somehow manage to put a

life back together without wanting to blow my brains out

or throw in the towel.

I am not saying it is going to be easy because it never

is easy. I just have to live one more day. My children deserve

a father, even more so my children deserve a relationship

with a father who is not shooting dope and who has the

ability to be there for them. I swear to God if I didn’t have

two beautiful children I would have already pulled that slightly

resisting trigger!

Ahhh…day two of opiate withdrawal. They say that the first

48 to 72 hours of heroin withdrawal are the worst part of the

whole ordeal. In some cases I would have to agree, in others

I would have to disagree. This time around I’ve managed to

keep some food down and have only been suffering with minor

body aches and pains. As I said before, it is the lack of sleep

that’s killing me. I still have the rest of today, all of tonight,

and the majority of tomorrow until my ride leave this beach

house and drags me back to both my vehicle and the ability

to obtain heroin.

That’s when the real challenge begins. Right now I’m several

hours away from my car and the people that can get me my

drug of choice…black tar heroin. I could easily resort to petty

street hustles to get the cash and could be high in a matter of

hours if I only had my car. But, I am not going to do it. Hell,

90% of this fucking battle has got to be with the mental

obsession to pick up that needle and jam it into my arm. I

need to focus on the positive, focus on my writing, focus on

making myself eat, and focus on drinking lots of fluids.

I’ve only lost 20 pounds this time around and should be able

to put that back on in just a month if I stay clean. Hell, seven

pounds of that is probably water weight alone, so I need to

drink more water. I also have to keep writing. It keeps my mind

off the deep aches and pain and temporarily relieves that damn

mental obsession. Part of me keeps thinking about making

it back to my car tomorrow afternoon, while the other part of me

is screaming that I’ll be through the worst part of it. I’m torn, and

unfortunately I know which side of me usually wins!

I came to this beach house with my girlfriend, her sister, and her

sister’s boyfriend. Her father and stepmother have also been here

the whole time, and I’m quite sure that the only one who knows

I’m dope sick is my girlfriend because she’s dope sick, as well.

As horrible as it is to say, misery loves company so it puts my

mind at ease knowing that she’s going through the same hell

that I’m dealing with.

On the other hand, I’ve never had anyone to share the pain

of opiate withdrawal with, aside from some assholes in detox

that I knew I’d never see again. All of my exes were either

alcoholics, pill addicts, potheads, or just goody, goody girls

with no desire to ever take away the pains of reality.

This girlfriend is different, she understands the beauty of

drowning the most simple of realities in a syringe full of heroin.

And, this could be a massive problem in the long run if we’re

both not careful. See, I’m used to dealing with the voice on

my shoulder, but it’s a totally different ball game when it comes

to dealing with both the voice on my shoulder and her evil

voice on my other shoulder.

If I believed in prayer, I would say that now would be a good

time to start praying, but I don’t, so I guess I’ll just grab my

balls and make the best of today.

The sad thing about this situation is that I’m gonna miss the

beach tomorrow when we load up the car and hit the highway

headed home,. There’s a certain peaceful element that’s going

to vanish as the car doors shut and the sound of the crashing

waves diminishes into a memory. However, the real pain in leaving

rests in the fact that upon return I have to look for a job, find some

kind of outpatient treatment, deal with being completely broke,

and fight the ever so weakening desire to just say ‘fuck it’ and

get high all over again.

I guess you could say that I am having a moment of clarity. I am sick

and tired of being sick and tired and I’m ready, yet again, to admit

that left to my own thinking I’m nothing more than a disaster

waiting to happen. I know the grass is greener on the other side

and I want that grass. I want that way of life.

From this point forward, I vow to place all of my energy into a

better way of life, buckle down, and dedicate serious focus, again,

to my writing.

Damn, if it was only that easy… I’ve said those exact words at least

a dozen times before, got a taste of the good life, and end up right

back where I find myself today. Dope sick, broke, writing, and dying

for a better life, at least somewhat better. One that has less pain and

more success, less heartbreak and more appreciation.

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