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 –
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
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.