I never tried heroin: coke and crack yes, by all routes of administration, but never that. Once you’ve gone so far down the rabbit hole, it’s go big or fuck off, right? Sure, I was curious about H (dog food, “her-on”) and I was miserable enough to contemplate giving it a shot (pun intended) but only on my way out: basically, I had reserved the best of the worst for last, if things got too heavy, my plan was to buy a stupid amount of the stuff and blast off one final time in Tuscawilla Park after nightfall, but otherwise, I feared that heroin would further exacerbate the myriad problems in my already crumbling life. If shooting and smoking crack was heavy, then heroin would have broken me for good.
That said, there were plenty of opportunities for me to have “sampled” it. Once, in a nicer-than-expected beachside hotel in Daytona Beach Shores, I had rented a room with my girlfriend and a girl named Katie. Katie’s boyfriend (who we later learned was actually her pimp) went by the name Jet, and Jet had a couple of oddball friends who I guess dealt drugs with him. So, I was shacked up in this hotel, shooting up while my girlfriend and Katie were out trying to procure more drugs. Jet and two of his miscreant business partners were in the room watching me. It was uncomfortable. I could feel them judging me, mocking me and looking down.
One of Jet’s associates began to speak. He asked me if I wanted to try some real good stuff. Skeptically, I asked him what he meant. Of course, he was talking about her-on (heroin). He told me he would give me some to try if I wanted. I thought about it for a moment. I didn’t like the way he smiled when he propositioned me; I detested his dark, leering eyes, his wry grin: I knew what he wanted, and what he wanted was a captive audience. Crack was addictive, sure, and it will make you crazy trying to come off, but heroin, once you’re in, you’re in or you’re puking and shitting your guts out, hot, cold, shaking, and miserable, simultaneously. For once in that awful period, I made a good call and told him no, that I was miserable enough.
My decision to decline was reaffirmed when he continued to press and persuade me. I was pretty fucked up, but this little shit was persistent. He thought he could take advantage of my weakened, fucked up, sleep-deprived state and grow his clientele, his little herd of addicts, who would do anything to keep from getting sick, and that angered me. I stood my ground and told him, again, “no”.
Eventually the bastard fucked off. To this day, it is a great point of pride to me that I was able to walk away from that scenario without descending deeper into the abyss of addiction. I saw myself as a beaten man, without hope and pleading for death, but in hindsight, I was stronger than I ought to have been in that moment, and in a few others as well. I knew that life wasn’t for me, and I never stopped aspiring and reaching for a solution, however weak my grasp seemed, I held fast and persevered. So, if you are suffering, and reading this now, do as I did and hold fast. You’re always stronger than you think.
As for the would-be dealer and his poisonous offerings, I hope he gets a taste of his own medicine, if he hasn’t already.
Towers of Rust 