Category : Stories

Sub Category : YoungAdult

April 2009


I stood on the corner outside of my apartment complex and watched the silver Honda Civic drive away from me with Mickey in the passenger seat, his mom driving. I can’t blame her for getting sick of his drug addict antics. She had driven nearly across the entire state of Texas to get him, too. A true mama bear coming to claim her baby boy. 
           Mickey hadn’t left me high and dry though. He had got me cool with a few of the homeless kids on the drag who always knew where the dope was. Having him leave took off an immense weight off my back now I didn’t have to pay for him. It wasn’t just his dope but his food, as well, since whenever he had gotten paid, that money went straight to junk. 
           Mickey was a good kid, just had a nasty addiction. His addict ways had soon became mine. I’d be at the store looking at food because my appetite had come back, but I would compare the price of whatever it was to dope. Would I want to spend five dollars on this Hot Pocket or use it towards getting high. It always went to the dope. Everything did. 
           Now, I had connects all over town, so I’d never be without heroin. But I had a new problem coming up. 
           I had been waiting since I was eighteen to do this trip with my dad. He had promised my brother and I that he would take us to Las Vegas when we each turned twenty-one. I was already twenty-two so I had been dying to go. Except now, I was completely strung-out in heroin. My addiction was the worst it had been. When you relapse on anything, your tolerance will quickly go back to where you had left off, so I was doing more than twice as much as I did with Scarlett. I had to get clean so I could go on this bonding trip with my dad, who also was looking forward to it. 
           I had did my homework and read everything I could about coming off dope by yourself. I read books, internet articles, and watched movies to see what others did wrong. I wanted to make it as comfortable as I possibly could. 
           I gathered essentials like I was going to be living in a hole for a week, which I nearly was in my dirty apartment. Gatorade, soup, and vitamin water were stocked up. As well as any medicine that was over-the-counter, and nude magazines. I had also been collecting a variety of pills from different places for the past few weeks before our plane would leave. I came out with a bunch of Valium, Xanax, Hydrocodone, and two big morphine pills. I thought I was over-prepared because some people had done this without anything, cold turkey. 
           I was horribly wrong. 


           I had waited till the last few days before we left, to start the kick because I was convinced it only took three days to fully kick. Wrong. Those last few days were like episodes of “I Shouldn’t Be Alive,” on the Discovery Channel. 
          I decided I was going to kick on the couch, so I pushed in closer to the table and TV, with a bucket and trash bag next to me. Everything was in reaching distance except the fridge and toilet. 
          
Day One: 
          I had done my last shot of dope the night before so I could wake up and already have some time done. I tried to do as much as I could outside in the fresh air. I even sat in a Best Buy parking lot for a few hours with the windows down and letting the rays of sun penetrate the front shield to radiate my cold, pale skin. I was feeling the sickness but it had dissipated a little bit during the day. Sitting in the sun’s heat felt good. 
           I drove home once the light started to fade away. With the fading of the sun and rising of the night, came the end of any good feelings and the beginning what was to come. For “the night is dark and full of terrors,” as they say in A Game of Thrones. 
           I thought about drinking some Nyquil, but the thought of that green liquid fell all over my body making me nauseous, so I went with the pills instead. My legs were kicking my ass in pain, so I swallowed down a few Advil, as well. I had a few seasons of my favorite TV shows to binge watch, so I threw one of them on. Unfortunately, the DVD player was the only thing out of reach and I had lost the remote, so I had to get up to put it in then press play. 
           It wasn’t long before my eyes got heavy and I dozed off. 
           I awoke in a warm, sticky pool of sweat. The only light was coming from the TV screen playing the menu screen over and over. I immediately felt something in my stomach that wanted out. Warm, stinging liquid rushed out of me and into the trash bin I had made. One heave was all I managed to cough up. But I wished there was more. I couldn’t feel the pain when I was puking. It wasn’t so much the aching. It was a sickening pain. All I could think about was dope. 
           I took a Xanax and just laid there waiting, hoping that would ease the awful feelings. I was freezing, but was sweating so I took off the blanket, until a second later when I was cold again. The same thought was on a loop in my head, this will all go away with some dope. But it was midnight and I knew nobody would be selling. 
           The Xanax came to the rescue and eased my mind, allowing me to return to sleep. 
          
Day 2:
           The next morning, I was up early and couldn’t go back to sleep to save my life. I spent the entire night tossing, turning, and sweating. My skin is a desert, all rough and pasty. Liquid is pouring out of every orifice—my eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. I have something stewing in my stomach, I’m not sure if I have to puke or use the toilet. 
           I want to get off of this disgusting couch that is beginning to smell awful. I can’t make any moves like that because I’m afraid I’ll spew everywhere. My muscles and bones feel raw, throbbing nonstop. I take more Advil and one of the morphines. 
           I start thinking about all the dirty cottons I might have left on the ground somewhere. You can get them wet and squeeze out tiny drops of liquid dope if you’re lucky, so I always saved them. However if i knew if I did that, it meant back at square one. I was already what I thought was halfway through. 
           I thought of trying to eat, but then I felt it. I ran to the bathroom and threw up everywhere. It was violent and hurt. There went my Advil and morphine. But then I felt another rumble, but it wasn’t nausea. 
           Heroin makes you constipated, so when you’re off of it, everything that has built up tries to make a get away. It dehydrated you, as well, meaning, things don’t come out smoothly. It is very painful. By mid-afternoon, I’m sitting on the toilet puking while holding the trash bin in front of me, heaving into it. 
           The sickness comes in waves. I had just experienced some of the worst of it, but it died down. I was still restless, irritable, and couldn’t get comfortable. I was afraid if I took any more pills I’d puke them up. So I laid on the couch listening to the DVD menu play over and over and over. I started to nod in and out of sleep because I started to dream of the menu screen talking. But there was no way I could sleep. I shrugged it all off, to not think about it. I took a Valium. 
          There was another wave of Hell that night. I didn’t sleep a wink. I watched rerun after rerun of different TV shows like Everybody Loves Raymond and the King of Queens. I would be in pain, watching the shows, in tears because I wanted to be normal and have a family like they had. Depression was in full swing. I wanted my mom. 
           
Day 3:
           I don’t remember what happened or if I even fell asleep that night. What I remember was being on the phone asking him, since it was the third day, if I used, would I be alright it would I be back at square one?
          “Nah man, you should be good. I think,” he said. 
          “Are you sure man? I’m going on a trip tomorrow with my dad and I can’t be sick.” My voice was shaky. 
          He reassured me that I’d be okay. At that point, I didn’t care if he was right or wrong, but the second he said I’d be okay, I hung up and dialed Sammy, a drag-rat chick I knew. 
          I was defeated. I had given up. I couldn’t do it by myself, but I tried like hell to not think about it. I just thought of the delicious dope I was about to get that would make all the sickness go away. 
          I was already in the driver's seat of my car when she answered. I was in luck, she had just picked some up. I told her to save me three balloons. An half-hour later, I was high again.