When you are in full-blown heroin addiction nothing matters except finding a way to get and use heroin. You don’t think about anyone else or anything else.
They say that most people will hit rock bottom. This is true but, every person has a different rock bottom. For some, it’s getting thrown out of your parent’s house. For others, it’s overdosing that first time and being brought back from the brink of death. Still, there are those who take it much further. Those who do the unthinkable. All of the Nevers and Not me are long gone.
I can remember my very first time in rehab. There were two people from the county jail there speaking. You need to know that I came to this rehab directly from that county jail. It was also my first time ever being incarcerated. They were telling me that I would be back in jail, that I wasn’t done. At the time, I didn’t believe them. I thought one county jail scare and then a trip to inpatient rehab would fix things.
All I can say is I wish. I hit rock bottom a long time ago. The thing is I never tried to get out. I fell deeper and deeper into the depths of hell. My own living hell that I was choosing to live in.
Heroin becomes your partner
It is something that will always reside in the back of your mind.
One little slip up will throw you straight back into the horrors of addiction. Each time is worse than the last. Detox is harder, more ferocious. You get sicker and sicker. It lasts longer.
One day you will question why you ever used in the first place. You try to think back to the first time you used heroin but, you can’t remember. People say you chase your first high for the rest of your life. Who remembers their first high? I sure as hell don’t and I remember everything.
Yes, I remember it all. Every moment, the happiness, the sadness, the emptiness, the torture, the sickness.
The endless crying because you don’t want to do this anymore.
In the middle of some filthy man on top of you grunting and groaning. As your laying their dope sick beneath him with tears coming out of your eyes, praying it will be over. All you want is to get the heroin in you to rid yourself of this torture, this pain, the withdrawal you are experiencing.
He climbs off of you and you turn your head vomiting all over the cockroach invested floor. He sits on the filthy mattress and hits his crack pipe. You grab the $50 off the bed and leave without looking back, without saying one word.
It’s the first thing in the morning. Your day is just beginning. You get a burst of energy as you run through the streets to meet your dealer.
As I think about all of this, tears well up in my eyes. Does anyone have any clue how often I experienced this? Always, there has never been a time where you want to trick with someone for money. It’s always the same. The only difference is sometimes you are dope sick and sometimes you’re not so it doesn’t seem as bad.
At this time, I have been a heroin addict for close to a decade. I never thought it would go this far.
Rehabs, halfway houses, jails, overdosing, over and over again. No family, no real friends. They are all gone. The original crew is all in state prison. I am all alone. Not at home. Not in any institution. In the big city by myself. Curled up under a bridge.
I’ve been here for about a month. The times of getting high with childhood friends, robbing, and stealing from people and houses. Ripping off drug dealers and having a car chase until they give up.
To think those were the good ole’ days. Now, it’s all me. I’ve burnt all my bridges, lost all I love. I’m homeless with nothing. I spend my days getting dope, that’s all. Under a bridge, you don’t have to share, worry about paying bills or rent. There are homeless shelters to shower at or at a john’s house.
Is this really what I want? Is this my life? It just got real. This isn’t a game any longer. I am going to die like this. Die a fucking junkie.
I woke up at 2 a.m. and had to pee. I sat on the toilet and gush. I felt a lot of liquid come out. It was more than having to pee. Being that I was 8 months pregnant, I knew what it was. My water just broke.
We lived in a room above a bar, my boyfriend and I. We were both heroin addicts. Thoughts started racing through my mind. I got to get to the hospital. I’m gonna be sick in a few hours. Oh my gosh, they are going to take my baby. I started freaking out.
I shook Dylan – trying to wake him up. “Dylan my water broke, get up”. He told me to lay back down. It was nothing.
So I laid down. Not a minute later I started having immense pains in my stomach. I stood up and more water gushed down my legs.
“Dylan Get Up”, I screamed.
He sat up, looked at the situation and went into panic mode.
He called the hospital, the nurse told me to come in. My sister came and got me and off we went.
Every few minutes the pains would come, each time sharper and sharper. I was in withdrawal now as well. Cold sweats and shaking just added to my discomfort.
As I arrived at the hospital, they took me right into labor and delivery. Within an hour, I had an epidural and was lying in bed. I was sick and sweating. The epidural was not working at all. I felt every little pain. I called the nurse and they redid the epidural.
Yes, my legs were numb but, that was it.
“Why hasn’t the pain stopped?” I asked. Yet, in my head, I knew why. I was sick. I needed heroin. This was going to be hell.
The whole time Dylan was on the phone texting the dope dealer to meet him near the hospital. He walked out of the room and went to cop.
A few hours later he returned. By this time, I was dying.
He was high and I was sick. Pure jealousy.
The next thing that happened is something that brings tears to my eyes to this day.
I snorted a bag of dope while laying in the hospital bed waiting to go into full-blown labor. I could have killed my child. A million things could have happened. I thank God to this day that nothing did.
He wouldn’t let me do anymore. It took the edge off for about 20 minutes, not anymore.
Finally, it was time. The baby was ready. I needed to push.
By this time, Dylan’s mother arrived. She was holding one of my legs while Dylan was supposed to be holding the other. He kept nodding out, getting evil glares from his mother, the doctor, the nurses.
After hours of horrible pain, the baby was born. My first-born child.
At that moment, the sickness went away. I was only worried about my baby. That gorgeous little baby boy.
Thankfully he was fine, he was healthy. He was in my arms. I thought I would never have to let go. No one told me otherwise. I thought it was all going to be alright.
Those thoughts were nothing more than a junkie’s irrational thinking.
I forgot to mention that as soon as the baby’s head came out of me. Dylan ran out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom to shoot up the remaining dope so, he wouldn’t have to share with me. Great man, right? He missed the birth of his son. He let the mother of his child face the hell that was to come alone.
Needless to say, Dylan didn’t stay at the hospital that night. He was kicked out when the doctors saw him sticking a syringe into the epidural bag trying to get the medicine. Loser, pure fucking loser.
The next day I sat in the room with my baby. Holding him, hugging him, kissing him. No longer sick, just happy to have him. My family was on the way to the hospital to take the baby and I home.
Ten minutes before we were due to leave. A woman came into the room and told me that my son would not be going with me. They were taking him. He was custody of the state.
My heart dropped. Instantly, tears started streaming from my eyes. My baby started crying. They took my baby from my room with me screaming, my baby screaming.
It was a Saturday, they wouldn’t let the family take him until Monday when the courts cleared his release from a foster mother.
My head was spinning. The pain was so great.
I quickly put on my clothes and shoes, as I fell because everything was such chaos. My mother came in, I quickly explained without even looking at her. I could hear her screaming at me as I walked out of the hospital room. Took the elevator, out the front doors.
There I was in the middle of the city. Dylan walked up. We left to go cop. The sickness came back. I wiped away my tears.
Wondering for a moment what was going to happen. Where was my baby going? Would I ever see him again?
The questions lingered. Yet, a new mission arrived. Cold copping on the streets.
What have I done? How could they? Not how could I?
This was the moment when it got bad, real bad.
At that time, I never thought it would it get worse, that it could get worse.
It did. This junkie would go on a warpath. A path of destruction.
Not caring who she hurt, who got in her way.
I lost my baby. I lost my heart. My soul. Hell, I lost my fucking mind. Nothing made sense.
I didn’t love Dylan.
I didn’t love myself.
I was in love with heroin, with the high.
Nothing could compare. Nothing could come close. It was over for me.
At that moment, I lost all hope. All hope of ever being clean, ever-living.
I longed for death. For someone to take the pain away.
But did I? Then why didn’t I just kill myself?
What was stopping me?
If I was going to die, I wanted to die high. Die without knowing.
In a heightened glory. Feeling happy and content. Worry free.
That was it. The end was coming for me.
I wasn’t hiding.
Chapter 1 – First Time For Everything
I don’t remember how I became a heroin addict or the exact moments that led me to my addiction. It was like any other heroin addiction.
You begin using pain pills and progressing to oxycontin, fentanyl, Dilaudid and other opiates. Soon enough, the pills became too expensive. You aren’t quite sure what addiction is.
The first time I was in withdrawal, I didn’t’ even know. I remember trying to sleep and I couldn’t. I was sick to my stomach, my lower back was aching something fierce, and my legs were restless. I was tossing and turning all night. Luckily, I would doze off here and there. This was all I experienced. I didn’t learn what dope sickness was until my first time in jail.
The first few days, I did nothing but sleep. I remember the girls asking me how I could sleep. Confused, I just agreed with them. They would talk about being dope sick, vomiting, feeling like they were going to die, and when they finally got that taste of heroin. It was unimaginable, the ultimate euphoria that took all the sickness away. A warm tingling rush starting in your chest and going to the tips of your extremities. One little bag of good dope could make it all go away.
Years later, that would become something I loved. No one likes being dope sick but, getting off of sick is a feeling that one can not describe.
to be continued…