So I am 5 days sober and had the urge to document my struggle. I wrote this in one sitting and never intended it to be this long. This was written on a notepad text document and is taken directly from there with no proofreading or editing. So I apologize for all grammatical spelling and other errors to those who choose to read.
For me it all started oh so innocently. I was 19 years old and out on my own for the first time. A cheap small apartment that was part of a duplex with my roomate. Who was then and is to this day my best friend. We both had minimum wage jobs to cover rent and electricty and all the weed we were smoking at that time. Everything just felt so normal and I felt so alive. Looking back now 10 years later and I do not even think I know what normal feels like anymore.
Neither of us were drinkers. I am not sure how he felt about it really but alchohol just never appealed to me. I mean maybe a beer or two occasionally but never really with the goal of getting hammered drunk. I did not enjoy the process, it just felt laboring to me like I had to work to get that 'not there' feeling that reefer provided with just a few tokes. Weekends were the only time I really partook in the stuff and that was only because everyone else was doing it and admittedly it did help loosen me up when trying to talk girls into sleeping with me. Our whole existence revolved around getting stoned and getting laid. It was a great time in my life. I was young and I was making my own way. The whole world was in front of me. I had decided to take a year off before starting college. It felt like a right of passage after high school before starting my journey into the 'real world'.
We regularly had friends over even on weekdays after work for smoke sessions. I had no extra money for cable and had no need for it. We would just sit around and contemplate the universe while Nirvana or Dr Dre or Pearl Jam provided the background noise. During one of these smoke sessions as a friend was leaving he asked if I could sell him a dime(10$ worth of weed) so he would have something for the next day. I agreed and stuffed a generous amount of my stash into one of those little tiny bags that you buy at your local headshops that I had lying around from a similar purchase I had made a few days ago. I went to hand him the small baggie but before he reached out he stopped and said "I do not have any cash on me". I thought for only a very short moment and told him not to worry about it he could get me back next time. He still did not reach for my outstretched hand that was offering him the reefer. "Or.." he said "we could trade" and he opened his hand and revealed a presicely cut half of a small blue-ish green pill that I would later affectionately refer to as hospital blues. "It is Oxycontin." he said if you want to try it just remove the coating and crush it up and snort it." I was somewhat familiar with snorting having tried cocaine once at a party. I remember him saying so vividly even today that I can still hear his voice saying the words "It will be the best ten dollars you ever spent."(This turned out to be maybe the most incredibly true and incredibly false statement anyone ever made to me.) He went on to explain he would usually get no less than 30$ for this little half of a pill no larger than a tictac and gave me a few further instructions on how to prepare the pill for snorting. He warned me to maybe not do all of it at once or it might make me nauseous which seemed exceedingly rediculous to me at the time for such a small thing. I mean I had obviously heard of Oxycontin as well as how strong and dangerous they were but I had also heard that marijuana would make me a chronic masterbator and a serial rapist so I didnt pay it much attention. I reluctantly agreed having no history of ever using any kind of opiate or even considering it. But he was a friend who regularly got me stoned and I wanted him to have the weed for the next day and he seemed to not want to owe me.
So later that evening everyone else had left and my roomate had passed out on the couch. I decided I was going to go ahead and follow the instructions he had given me for the pill. I had drank a few beers and smoked copious amount of weed already but I was not really tired so I figured at least it might help me sleep. I grabbed my hard cover copy of "The Dark Tower" which was frequently used as my surface for breaking up weed to roll joints or blunts and wiped off any residue with my t-shirt. I remember dipping my fingers in the cup of beer I was drinking to apply moisture to the blue green coating to remove it. After a little awkward fumbling I was finally able to remove the coating. I laid the tiny half of a pill on the book and pulled a lighter and a crisp 20$ bill from my pocket. I laid the twenty flat over this little thing and took the butt end of my lighter and smashed it. I then ran the smooth side of my lighter up and down the bill a few times as instructed. Grabbed a credit card from the table (incidentally a credit card that would soon be maxed out rather quickly as a direct result of these next few moments.) I took the card and scraped any residue that stuck to the 20$ bill back onto the book then I scraped all the powder into one pile. It seemed to still have peices that were sticking together I thought maybe from using to much moisture earlier to remove the coating so I began chopping at the pile with the edge of the card. That chop-chop-chop noise that a card or razorblade makes against a hard surface or glass that would later become in itself theraputic and part of a ritual.
When I was satisfied that I had gotten it to a fine enough powder to suck up my nose I split it into 3 lines. In retrospect not really knowing what I was doing I would not even say I cut them into lines. It was more like 3 tiny little piles. I rolled up the twenty dollar bill and quickly snorted the first one. It burned a little and tasted bitter and like chemicals (again a taste I would grow to love and crave.) I waited a few minutes and did not feel anything. My friend had told me that even snorting it would take a few minutes for the buzz to hit me. I thought to myself that I should probably wait but I went ahead and blew the 2nd pile anyways. Then almost immediately after that I began to feel it. I sat back in my dirty broke down thrift store recliner and it felt like it just washed over me. I even remember the song that was playing, it was a Nirvana cover of a David Bowie song "The Man Who Sold The World". I had never experienced a feeling like this. It felt like someone had wrapped me in a warm blanket of the finest silks the world had ever known. I sat there in that chair as the rush came and it felt like it was the most amazing feeling I would ever feel in my life. I had never felt more content, more worry free. For some reason I thought of those old ads or posters or whatever from I guess after WWII with the wife and 2 kids and the dog and the Husband still in his navy uniform freshly back from the war with the little white hat standing in front of their house with white picket fence. Maybe it was just because being from America that is what was sold as the height of happiness, of contentment. Again being a 19 yr old kid I have no idea why I thought about propaganda posters from WWII but it is and I thought this must be what those people felt like in that picture. I sat there for what seemed like a while but I really have no idea. I only moved to scratch these strange itches that I was almost happy to have because if felt so wonderful to scratch them. When it began to level off I did the 3rd pile and felt the rush all over again and I sat in that chair until the sun came up with what I am sure was a perpetual smile on my face. I, to this day, still wonder how I did not puke my guts out or even get any nausea whatsoever blowing 40 mg of oxy for my first experience with opiates. Looking back I wish that it had made me sick. I wish before I could do that 2nd pile it would have caused me to empty all the contents of my stomach so violently that I threw the rest of that thing away and cursed my friend for ever giving it to me and swore off all opiates forever. But it didnt... There was only the feeling of wonderful bliss for that entire night. Followed by a lifetime of the slavery of chasing that feeling again for the rest of my life.
After that night I was in love. I felt like I had met my soulmate only she didnt have cute dimples and wear mini-skirts. In fact she was not a she at all but a tiny little ball of compressed powder. And if 'she' were in fact a she. She would have turned out to be a jealous, smothering, all consuming, soul sucking succubus bitch. That demanded all my time and resources and possibly ruined my life. The old cliche that I used to laugh off like it was some line from some extreme ludicrous film like Reefer Madness that "You only have to try it once to become addicted." It was true. Not literally of course. I was not dependant on this substance physically. I did not yet need it. But, for me at least, there was no looking back after that. I wanted that feeling all the time and I never even stopped to consider any consequences. It even got bad right away. I already had a hook up in my friend who was their that night who had turned me on in the first place he had a script for 80's because he had some slipped disc in his back. I was spending every penny I made from that minimum wage job on those hospital blues. When the money ran out he was still there with a freebie until the next check came like the devil in a blue dress.
End part 1-----
For me it all started oh so innocently. I was 19 years old and out on my own for the first time. A cheap small apartment that was part of a duplex with my roomate. Who was then and is to this day my best friend. We both had minimum wage jobs to cover rent and electricty and all the weed we were smoking at that time. Everything just felt so normal and I felt so alive. Looking back now 10 years later and I do not even think I know what normal feels like anymore.
Neither of us were drinkers. I am not sure how he felt about it really but alchohol just never appealed to me. I mean maybe a beer or two occasionally but never really with the goal of getting hammered drunk. I did not enjoy the process, it just felt laboring to me like I had to work to get that 'not there' feeling that reefer provided with just a few tokes. Weekends were the only time I really partook in the stuff and that was only because everyone else was doing it and admittedly it did help loosen me up when trying to talk girls into sleeping with me. Our whole existence revolved around getting stoned and getting laid. It was a great time in my life. I was young and I was making my own way. The whole world was in front of me. I had decided to take a year off before starting college. It felt like a right of passage after high school before starting my journey into the 'real world'.
We regularly had friends over even on weekdays after work for smoke sessions. I had no extra money for cable and had no need for it. We would just sit around and contemplate the universe while Nirvana or Dr Dre or Pearl Jam provided the background noise. During one of these smoke sessions as a friend was leaving he asked if I could sell him a dime(10$ worth of weed) so he would have something for the next day. I agreed and stuffed a generous amount of my stash into one of those little tiny bags that you buy at your local headshops that I had lying around from a similar purchase I had made a few days ago. I went to hand him the small baggie but before he reached out he stopped and said "I do not have any cash on me". I thought for only a very short moment and told him not to worry about it he could get me back next time. He still did not reach for my outstretched hand that was offering him the reefer. "Or.." he said "we could trade" and he opened his hand and revealed a presicely cut half of a small blue-ish green pill that I would later affectionately refer to as hospital blues. "It is Oxycontin." he said if you want to try it just remove the coating and crush it up and snort it." I was somewhat familiar with snorting having tried cocaine once at a party. I remember him saying so vividly even today that I can still hear his voice saying the words "It will be the best ten dollars you ever spent."(This turned out to be maybe the most incredibly true and incredibly false statement anyone ever made to me.) He went on to explain he would usually get no less than 30$ for this little half of a pill no larger than a tictac and gave me a few further instructions on how to prepare the pill for snorting. He warned me to maybe not do all of it at once or it might make me nauseous which seemed exceedingly rediculous to me at the time for such a small thing. I mean I had obviously heard of Oxycontin as well as how strong and dangerous they were but I had also heard that marijuana would make me a chronic masterbator and a serial rapist so I didnt pay it much attention. I reluctantly agreed having no history of ever using any kind of opiate or even considering it. But he was a friend who regularly got me stoned and I wanted him to have the weed for the next day and he seemed to not want to owe me.
So later that evening everyone else had left and my roomate had passed out on the couch. I decided I was going to go ahead and follow the instructions he had given me for the pill. I had drank a few beers and smoked copious amount of weed already but I was not really tired so I figured at least it might help me sleep. I grabbed my hard cover copy of "The Dark Tower" which was frequently used as my surface for breaking up weed to roll joints or blunts and wiped off any residue with my t-shirt. I remember dipping my fingers in the cup of beer I was drinking to apply moisture to the blue green coating to remove it. After a little awkward fumbling I was finally able to remove the coating. I laid the tiny half of a pill on the book and pulled a lighter and a crisp 20$ bill from my pocket. I laid the twenty flat over this little thing and took the butt end of my lighter and smashed it. I then ran the smooth side of my lighter up and down the bill a few times as instructed. Grabbed a credit card from the table (incidentally a credit card that would soon be maxed out rather quickly as a direct result of these next few moments.) I took the card and scraped any residue that stuck to the 20$ bill back onto the book then I scraped all the powder into one pile. It seemed to still have peices that were sticking together I thought maybe from using to much moisture earlier to remove the coating so I began chopping at the pile with the edge of the card. That chop-chop-chop noise that a card or razorblade makes against a hard surface or glass that would later become in itself theraputic and part of a ritual.
When I was satisfied that I had gotten it to a fine enough powder to suck up my nose I split it into 3 lines. In retrospect not really knowing what I was doing I would not even say I cut them into lines. It was more like 3 tiny little piles. I rolled up the twenty dollar bill and quickly snorted the first one. It burned a little and tasted bitter and like chemicals (again a taste I would grow to love and crave.) I waited a few minutes and did not feel anything. My friend had told me that even snorting it would take a few minutes for the buzz to hit me. I thought to myself that I should probably wait but I went ahead and blew the 2nd pile anyways. Then almost immediately after that I began to feel it. I sat back in my dirty broke down thrift store recliner and it felt like it just washed over me. I even remember the song that was playing, it was a Nirvana cover of a David Bowie song "The Man Who Sold The World". I had never experienced a feeling like this. It felt like someone had wrapped me in a warm blanket of the finest silks the world had ever known. I sat there in that chair as the rush came and it felt like it was the most amazing feeling I would ever feel in my life. I had never felt more content, more worry free. For some reason I thought of those old ads or posters or whatever from I guess after WWII with the wife and 2 kids and the dog and the Husband still in his navy uniform freshly back from the war with the little white hat standing in front of their house with white picket fence. Maybe it was just because being from America that is what was sold as the height of happiness, of contentment. Again being a 19 yr old kid I have no idea why I thought about propaganda posters from WWII but it is and I thought this must be what those people felt like in that picture. I sat there for what seemed like a while but I really have no idea. I only moved to scratch these strange itches that I was almost happy to have because if felt so wonderful to scratch them. When it began to level off I did the 3rd pile and felt the rush all over again and I sat in that chair until the sun came up with what I am sure was a perpetual smile on my face. I, to this day, still wonder how I did not puke my guts out or even get any nausea whatsoever blowing 40 mg of oxy for my first experience with opiates. Looking back I wish that it had made me sick. I wish before I could do that 2nd pile it would have caused me to empty all the contents of my stomach so violently that I threw the rest of that thing away and cursed my friend for ever giving it to me and swore off all opiates forever. But it didnt... There was only the feeling of wonderful bliss for that entire night. Followed by a lifetime of the slavery of chasing that feeling again for the rest of my life.
After that night I was in love. I felt like I had met my soulmate only she didnt have cute dimples and wear mini-skirts. In fact she was not a she at all but a tiny little ball of compressed powder. And if 'she' were in fact a she. She would have turned out to be a jealous, smothering, all consuming, soul sucking succubus bitch. That demanded all my time and resources and possibly ruined my life. The old cliche that I used to laugh off like it was some line from some extreme ludicrous film like Reefer Madness that "You only have to try it once to become addicted." It was true. Not literally of course. I was not dependant on this substance physically. I did not yet need it. But, for me at least, there was no looking back after that. I wanted that feeling all the time and I never even stopped to consider any consequences. It even got bad right away. I already had a hook up in my friend who was their that night who had turned me on in the first place he had a script for 80's because he had some slipped disc in his back. I was spending every penny I made from that minimum wage job on those hospital blues. When the money ran out he was still there with a freebie until the next check came like the devil in a blue dress.
End part 1-----