Listen Up!

Aww look at these kitties

I wasn’t 16 or 18 when I started to use I was 22 Everyone else had already been through What I was going through Looking at my reflection in a silver spoon The smell of vinegar and smoke haunt the room Try to cover it up with cheap perfume And you probably assume I ain’t got much to lose But, you’re wrong, I do And between me and you I got no excuse I could of chose booze Cigarettes too But what’d I choose? Heroin and oxys blue Killing myself over that sticky black goo

Reblog if you love getting spun.

Remembering hell.

Some days I miss it. How could I not? My relationship with heroin was more intense and intimate than any relationship I’ve ever had. I didn’t know what love was until heroin. I miss the routine. I miss rolling up to the ATM and withdrawing a large cash amount and then calling the DD and then driving somewhere in the ghetto. That drive was so fucking relaxing. I miss the overwhelming excitement of seeing him pull up and getting the bag in my hand. I miss driving home with everything being right in the world. I miss seeing my own blood fill up the syringe.

But there’s a lot of things I don’t miss. I don’t miss waking up shaking and sweating like a melting ice cube every morning. I don’t miss going to the ATM and having my bank account be 0.00 and then having to pull some wild shit to obtain money. I don’t miss not wanting to work because I’m sick as hell but needing to work because I desperately need money. I don’t miss the DD not answering and then losing my shit. I don’t miss sitting in my car for an hour waiting for him to show up. I don’t miss having to drive to super inconvenient places because he was too lazy to come closer and not having gas money bc if I spent any money on gas then I wouldn’t have money to get the dope. I don’t miss repeatedly stabbing myself with needles because all my veins are collapsed. I don’t miss hiding in the bathroom to repeatedly stab myself with needles while my mom was on the other side. I don’t miss thinking I hit a vein and then it slipping and missing the shot and my arm getting bubbles in it and not getting high and being pissed as fuck. I don’t miss getting shitty dope and not being able to cook it down well enough and not really getting high and getting super ripped off. I don’t miss the dope falling out of the spoon because I’m shaking too much and then being livid about it. I don’t miss being broke ALL the fucking time and taking $4 of quarters to the bank to cash because the DD doesn’t want quarters and $4 is sometimes the difference whether you get your bag or not. I don’t miss having to literally Uber to the ghetto and my Uber driver judging me hardcore and then getting stranded because the gas station I’m at is too ghetto for there to be a nearby Uber. I don’t miss having to constantly lie to my friends and family every single day. I don’t miss having to sleep on the deck because my mom won’t let me in the house. I don’t miss having to shoot up in the bathroom of home depot. I don’t miss resorting to biking to the ghetto in the blazing heat.

That life was the least sustainable of any life a person could possibly have. Some of the best days of my life I had with heroin, but I couldn’t have had those days without the worst days of my life. When my disease reminds me of the good days I have to remind myself that for every good day there was 10 bad days. This wasn’t fun. This was the closest thing to a living hell I could ever imagine.