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Bluelighter
I think that name probably sounds a lot more epic than what my story actually is but i'll try and live up to it. I have a bachelor's degree in game and simulation programming, i come from a high class family, never had to work a day in my life and had a benz, the newest galaxy all the time, etc. I also used to shoot heroin every day. I don't know how someone like me ended up doing that but hey, heroin doesn't discriminate. Addiction doesn't either.
I started to use heroin when me and my best friend started hanging out with this 40 year old guy that lived in our town. He was also spoiled, even at forty. He was shooting heroin by the time we met him and I guess it was that he seemed to have everything in control and he didn't do shit or work, which is why we didn't have any qualms about snorting my first bag. From that first day us three were pretty inseparable. My friend immediately started shooting it while I stuck to snorting. I thought I was above all that shit because for the first six months I was not getting sick while these dumbasses shooting it would be complaining about being sick every morning. For six months it was a fun hobby. For the rest of it, it was like a full time job.
Eventually I obviously started to not feel so hot in the mornings. Waking up in the middle of the night for no apparent reason feeling restless and anxious. I actually still held out from shooting any heroin for a full year. But I started snorting more than one bag at a time. First 2, then 3, then 5. The obvious progression that takes place with any addiction although I didn't know this at the time. I remember thinking to myself near the beginning that if I ever had to use more than one bag to get high I would stop. Then it was if I ever needed 2...you know how it goes. I started hiding my addiction from most of my friends by now because I was honestly ashamed. My friend had started to rob houses with some other junkies he met and I also started to meet my own junkie "friends". It seems like when you start doing dope, all of a sudden everyone you meet just so happens to also do dope. And having a car isn't a bad thing in the world of heroin.
Soon I was the official taxi cab to and from the cop spot. At first it was one and two junkies, then more. The more came from the fact that my 40 year old running partner began to get clean. He started on methadone maintenance and was no longer taking anyone himself. I inherited his whole crew. Pretty soon I had more people calling me for rides offering me free drugs than I knew what to do with. I thought I was famous at the time. To be honest, a lot of people did know me in my area and I was very well known with the dealers because I brought SO many people that I was buying insane amounts of heroin. How could my tolerance not skyrocket from all these extra bags I was getting? This all went on for the next year. An arrest here and there, first for weed, then cocaine...I was getting on the police radar.
Fast forward to my last six months of use. I only ended up using a little over two years. I know not a huge run for a big dopefiend but I'm glad I got out when I still could. The last six months is when I really fell in fucking love. I was up to snorting 7 and 8 bags and not even getting high. I had one of the people I was taking shoot me up. God daaaamn. I'd been wasting so much heroin for so fucking long. I was a runaway freight train for the next six months but I wasn't the only one. My best friend was now in jail for armed robbery. My 40 year old was still clean and doing good. But there was no lack of junkies that needed rides. I started shooting everything I could at this point. Coke, molly, even processing the benzos I was getting for sleep into shootable form. It was so insane. I also started going to a doctor telling him I need help for my heroin addiction and began getting 60 8mg suboxone strips a month. Those go for a lot on the street. I was rolling in cash and heroin. I overdosed for my first time, abscesses, the whole nine yards. I was a full blown junkie.
Then I finally got popped for heroin. One of my normal friends bailed me out and I promised to not skip bail. The last week was a blur. I barely remember any of it. But I do remember one day taking 600mg of temazepam IV and blacking out. I assume I slept that night. But I woke up in a blackout too. I guess one of my junkies called me and needed a ride so I picked him up, copped, and then I shot up 5 bags at a red light. I was already blacked out since I still don't remember this but was told later but I guess I must have nodded out on top of it. I guess I finally snapped out of it after a few minutes and pressed the gas all the way and went straight into a barrier. My "friend" got out of the car. I had no one to help me, my car was completely totaled. So I called my dad.
I was shooting up when I heard a knock on my window. I don't know how it wasn't a cop...but it was my dad. I hadn't seen him in months. I locked my doors, shot up, and then opened the door and got ripped out of the car and taken home by my mom who was in the car while my dad waited for the police in my car. I remember getting to their house and finding my old gameboy color and playing pokemon red (of all things) and my dad finally got home. They both said I had to go to the hospital. I laughed and told them they must be kidding. I locked myself in my room and when I heard banging on my door and opened it again it was the police. I was forced into an ambulance and taken to a hospital where they claimed I had tried to kill myself and stuck me in a psych ward for a week. At that point I was still not getting clean. I was getting methadone at the hospital and I was all good.
When I got out I didn't have a car but I had syringes and lots of suboxone. I got home and shot subs for a week until my landlord came and told me I was getting evicted because my parents were no longer paying for my apartment. I was on the street and my parents told me the only way I was getting anything back was going to detox. If that's what it was going to take to get them off my back, fine. I packed my shit and stuck subs all in my pants and went to detox shooting subs every day. Until my syringe broke and I had to endure what was the most horrible experience of my life. They gave me klonopin but that was a fucking joke. Not only was I withdrawing all to hell but my mother informed me that unless I went to rehab I wasn't getting my life back. Fine. Rehab it was. By the time I got there I wasn't even in withdrawal anymore. But guess what...rehab actually changed my life.
I got there with the same attitude but pretty soon my brain started clearing from the haze. Rehab really did save my life. I mean I wasn't ready to say I was never doing drugs again like they wanted me to but I was done with heroin. Then my parents told me that if I wasn't going to say that I would never do drugs ever again I was still not getting anything back. I was actually not even mad. I finally understood they just wanted the best for me. So I went off to a sober house which is where I am now. It's not awesome or anything but I've been clean for four months and by clean I don't mean sober. I drink on weekends but fuck it, I'm not perfect. And the rest of my time I work full time at a great job that I found using my degree. I'm finally amassing money for the first time in my life and I'm not blowing it on feeling good. I actually feel good just because.
So I'm moving from here soon and getting an apartment with this girl I met in rehab who is also still clean and we're probably getting together. Life is pretty good right now, BL. All it took was clearing of my head of opiates and waking the fuck up. Sorry if this was way too long. I know I wouldn't be interested in anyone's story like this but all that matters is that I wanted to write out my experience and if it does happen to help anyone or inspire well that's cool too. Thanks guys
I started to use heroin when me and my best friend started hanging out with this 40 year old guy that lived in our town. He was also spoiled, even at forty. He was shooting heroin by the time we met him and I guess it was that he seemed to have everything in control and he didn't do shit or work, which is why we didn't have any qualms about snorting my first bag. From that first day us three were pretty inseparable. My friend immediately started shooting it while I stuck to snorting. I thought I was above all that shit because for the first six months I was not getting sick while these dumbasses shooting it would be complaining about being sick every morning. For six months it was a fun hobby. For the rest of it, it was like a full time job.
Eventually I obviously started to not feel so hot in the mornings. Waking up in the middle of the night for no apparent reason feeling restless and anxious. I actually still held out from shooting any heroin for a full year. But I started snorting more than one bag at a time. First 2, then 3, then 5. The obvious progression that takes place with any addiction although I didn't know this at the time. I remember thinking to myself near the beginning that if I ever had to use more than one bag to get high I would stop. Then it was if I ever needed 2...you know how it goes. I started hiding my addiction from most of my friends by now because I was honestly ashamed. My friend had started to rob houses with some other junkies he met and I also started to meet my own junkie "friends". It seems like when you start doing dope, all of a sudden everyone you meet just so happens to also do dope. And having a car isn't a bad thing in the world of heroin.
Soon I was the official taxi cab to and from the cop spot. At first it was one and two junkies, then more. The more came from the fact that my 40 year old running partner began to get clean. He started on methadone maintenance and was no longer taking anyone himself. I inherited his whole crew. Pretty soon I had more people calling me for rides offering me free drugs than I knew what to do with. I thought I was famous at the time. To be honest, a lot of people did know me in my area and I was very well known with the dealers because I brought SO many people that I was buying insane amounts of heroin. How could my tolerance not skyrocket from all these extra bags I was getting? This all went on for the next year. An arrest here and there, first for weed, then cocaine...I was getting on the police radar.
Fast forward to my last six months of use. I only ended up using a little over two years. I know not a huge run for a big dopefiend but I'm glad I got out when I still could. The last six months is when I really fell in fucking love. I was up to snorting 7 and 8 bags and not even getting high. I had one of the people I was taking shoot me up. God daaaamn. I'd been wasting so much heroin for so fucking long. I was a runaway freight train for the next six months but I wasn't the only one. My best friend was now in jail for armed robbery. My 40 year old was still clean and doing good. But there was no lack of junkies that needed rides. I started shooting everything I could at this point. Coke, molly, even processing the benzos I was getting for sleep into shootable form. It was so insane. I also started going to a doctor telling him I need help for my heroin addiction and began getting 60 8mg suboxone strips a month. Those go for a lot on the street. I was rolling in cash and heroin. I overdosed for my first time, abscesses, the whole nine yards. I was a full blown junkie.
Then I finally got popped for heroin. One of my normal friends bailed me out and I promised to not skip bail. The last week was a blur. I barely remember any of it. But I do remember one day taking 600mg of temazepam IV and blacking out. I assume I slept that night. But I woke up in a blackout too. I guess one of my junkies called me and needed a ride so I picked him up, copped, and then I shot up 5 bags at a red light. I was already blacked out since I still don't remember this but was told later but I guess I must have nodded out on top of it. I guess I finally snapped out of it after a few minutes and pressed the gas all the way and went straight into a barrier. My "friend" got out of the car. I had no one to help me, my car was completely totaled. So I called my dad.
I was shooting up when I heard a knock on my window. I don't know how it wasn't a cop...but it was my dad. I hadn't seen him in months. I locked my doors, shot up, and then opened the door and got ripped out of the car and taken home by my mom who was in the car while my dad waited for the police in my car. I remember getting to their house and finding my old gameboy color and playing pokemon red (of all things) and my dad finally got home. They both said I had to go to the hospital. I laughed and told them they must be kidding. I locked myself in my room and when I heard banging on my door and opened it again it was the police. I was forced into an ambulance and taken to a hospital where they claimed I had tried to kill myself and stuck me in a psych ward for a week. At that point I was still not getting clean. I was getting methadone at the hospital and I was all good.
When I got out I didn't have a car but I had syringes and lots of suboxone. I got home and shot subs for a week until my landlord came and told me I was getting evicted because my parents were no longer paying for my apartment. I was on the street and my parents told me the only way I was getting anything back was going to detox. If that's what it was going to take to get them off my back, fine. I packed my shit and stuck subs all in my pants and went to detox shooting subs every day. Until my syringe broke and I had to endure what was the most horrible experience of my life. They gave me klonopin but that was a fucking joke. Not only was I withdrawing all to hell but my mother informed me that unless I went to rehab I wasn't getting my life back. Fine. Rehab it was. By the time I got there I wasn't even in withdrawal anymore. But guess what...rehab actually changed my life.
I got there with the same attitude but pretty soon my brain started clearing from the haze. Rehab really did save my life. I mean I wasn't ready to say I was never doing drugs again like they wanted me to but I was done with heroin. Then my parents told me that if I wasn't going to say that I would never do drugs ever again I was still not getting anything back. I was actually not even mad. I finally understood they just wanted the best for me. So I went off to a sober house which is where I am now. It's not awesome or anything but I've been clean for four months and by clean I don't mean sober. I drink on weekends but fuck it, I'm not perfect. And the rest of my time I work full time at a great job that I found using my degree. I'm finally amassing money for the first time in my life and I'm not blowing it on feeling good. I actually feel good just because.
So I'm moving from here soon and getting an apartment with this girl I met in rehab who is also still clean and we're probably getting together. Life is pretty good right now, BL. All it took was clearing of my head of opiates and waking the fuck up. Sorry if this was way too long. I know I wouldn't be interested in anyone's story like this but all that matters is that I wanted to write out my experience and if it does happen to help anyone or inspire well that's cool too. Thanks guys
