Fair warning to the readers of my previous blog entry: this new entry will not be recovery-centered. If you are in recovery or feel a frank discussion of drug abuse will trigger you, please keep yourself safe and hit the BACK button...just looking out, friends!
Today I would like to discuss my recent fulfillment of a very personal lifetime goal. I'd like to write about what that fulfillment has meant to me over the years in my attempts to actualize this dream, what my current thoughts are on this new development, and finally I'd like to speculate on how this actualization will affect my life in both short- and long-term ways.
(I will do my best to keep this blog entry brief.)
* I was introduced to drugs at 11 years old thanks to Nancy Reagan's Just Say No! and D.A.R.E. programs--instead of distrusting narcotics, I like many other schoolchildren, fell head-over-heels in love with them, particularly heroin;
* I took my first opiate at 14--that same year I developed physical dependence and psychological addiction; I kicked cold-turkey a few times before entering high school;
* Over the next 10 years, I abused all manner of drugs I was able to score, including many rounds of opiate addiction/abstinence, but never finding my true love in heroin;
* By 25, I was heavily into an OxyContin addiction which landed me in rehab;
* I finally found heroin in rehab. I desperately wanted to IV the dope, but that wasn't feasible inside and so quickly learned how to smoke it;
* I continued to smoke heroin once released and for a short time afterwards;
* I decided to get clean and stay that way, and remained in recovery for just shy of a year, white-knuckling it through and always thinking obsessively about heroin;
* I relapsed with marijuana, painkillers, cocaine, and Adderall, still no luck finding heroin;
* 5 years passed with me always on the lookout and always coming up empty-handed;
* I experimented, started to abuse, then became very addicted to methamphetamine;
* This March, I found a new connect who, when asked, said he had a problem supplying heroin for ethical reasons, so I dropped the subject, only for him to text me at 3am one night two weeks ago letting me know he had it;
* Scored heroin that night for the first time in 6 years; quickly bought syringes and prepared to shoot up, which I have continued to do ever since at a couple times per day, for a couple of weeks so far.
Forgive the bullet-point narrative timeline--I wanted it as concise as possible.
So, here we are. The bullet points omit the emotional part of my story, with my deepest longing to try heroin intravenously just once (knowing full well that if I did it once I'd do it a million times), and with a desperation that bordered on the extreme. I had learned to idolize--even sanctify--IV heroin users for what I considered their arcane understanding of a rush I had only heard about but never experienced. I wanted that rush...bad...more than anything, more than any other drug or life experience. I wanted to feel that amazing--that soul-negating, ego-neutralizing emptiness that was both incredibly nullifying and pleasurable at the same time.
Do you have a better view now of the illusion (delusion?) to which I had willingly become victim?
Finding heroin--rather, being offered it unexpectedly--completely and permanently changed the game for me. I was terrified of overdosing as I had no one to sit with me in case things went south, so I took it way slower than I wanted to, but I survived the experimental no-rush, barely-felt-it stages until I hit that sweet spot--as I knew I eventually would.
I should rephrase my previous statement: it wasn't scoring the heroin that really changed the game for me, it was finally getting that rush I had been waiting for twenty years to experience that did it.
I won't bother going into the specifics of how it felt. There's no need: the fact that I am here attempting to come to grips with the rapid and unexpected fulfillment of my deepest secret desire is telling. I loved it as much as I thought I would, and I am more than a little scared of that love, for it is not real love but devotion at its most extreme.
I find myself thinking of these recent events with some measure of shock, as if I had won the lottery and was still pinching myself despite having the money in the bank. It doesn't feel real to me that I've quickly developed not only the skill in shooting heroin but a very strong urge to continue to do so--a compulsion perhaps even stronger than the one that drew me toward the drugs in the first place.
I feel foolish in admitting that I genuinely don't know what will happen to me in the near- and distant-future. I'd love to believe that I can keep this going; that my connect will be consistent and won't throw up ridiculous ethical roadblocks to make it harder for me to score, that I will remain healthy and well both physically and psychologically, and that I'll not rack up negative consequences from my use that could be minor (if I'm incredibly lucky) to catastrophic (if I'm not). I'm certain death is among those options as well. Don't get me wrong: I don't want to die, I have no desire to end my life, and I don't have a suppressed death-wish. I simply want to continue shooting meth in the morning (ah, I forgot to mention I've graduated to the spike with methamphetamine as well) and heroin in the evening; a perfectly balanced cycle of uppers-and-downers that just happens to be incredibly dangerous.
How is it possible that to fulfill my lifetime goal, I must risk the very life I have to fully actualize this dream?
Dear readers: I'm certain I sound insane. Or in deep denial. Or, I don't know, actually--I can't see it the way you can. If you'd like to discuss any part of what I've written, please feel free--even hit me with potshots at my intelligence if you must, but I welcome insightful posts that might help me to see the light, as I genuinely feel so estranged from rational thought right now...can anyone relate?