A Day In Active Addiction

So, now I am a full-blown junkie. I have to pay to wake-up and pay to go to sleep. My works and my dope sit on my nightstand so I can shoot it before I get out of bed in the morning (if I’m lucky enough to have a wake-up). My day starts at about 7am. The demon inside me wakes me up with sweats, chills, nausea, sneezing and a runny nose. I look at the clock. Shit! It’s too early to call the dealer. Why did I do that last back at 1am when I was already high? See, sometimes my demon wakes me up in the middle of the night and tells me to shoot my wake-up. I hate when he does that! Fuck it! Let’s call the dealer. Maybe, he’s awake and waiting for me to call him. Fuck! No answer. Let’s call again. This goes on until he finally answers the phone an hour later. “Bitch, are you outta your mind? I told you not to call me this early.” “I’m sorry! I thought you’d be up. Can I meet you?” “Yeah, gimme an hour. I’ll call you back.” Click. Why is he doing this to me? Doesn’t he know I’m sick? An hour! I try to watch T.V. I can’t concentrate. I try to go back to sleep. I toss and turn in my sweat soaked covers. I try to eat something. I puke. I try to take a shower. The water feels like needles on my skin. It’s been half and hour. I call him back. “Where can I meet you?” “I told you an hour.” “Please, I need to see you now.” “Go to Mt. Caramel.” “Thank you!”

I throw on some slippers and run out the door. I drive as fast as I can to our designated meeting place, running stop signs and red lights. Why did I do this when I damn well know I’m just gonna wait and wait once I get there? I do it with the hopes that he could possibly be on time, because I think positive!

But, dealer time is slightly different from real time and even more different from junkie time. Dealer says 9:00, in real time that means 10:00 and the junkie is there at 8:30, anxiously waiting.

I get butterflies in my stomach every time I see a car the same color as his. Is that him? Nope. Maybe I should call him again. After all, it is 9:01. He said he'd be here at 9:00. I bite my fingernails and smoke a cigarette. It’s 9:05. I call him again. He answers. I’ll be there in three minutes. It’s always three minutes. I turn the radio up, get my water and works out, smoke another cigarette. I call again. No answer. Where is he? He said three minutes! Fuck him! I’m leaving! I go nowhere. Forty-five minutes later a white SUV pulls up beside my car. I think to myself, I bought him that SUV. I hand him five 20’s folded up in a little ball. Junkies think they are invisible. He passes me a bundle or so. I say or so, because many times it’s a bag or two short, but I’m too sick to care. When those bags of heroin are finally in my hand, it is the happiest moment in my life. It’s like normal people describe their wedding day or the birth of their child. For me happiness is the dope dealer arriving with my dope!

Of course, what I should do is drive home and shoot my dope or at least drive to a “safe” place to do it. Fuck that! I spend ¾ of a day, everyday, waiting. I stay in the exact parking space I was in when he gave me the dope. Again, I am invisible. I rip open 3 bags and fix them up right there. Hitting a vein gets harder for me each time. I pray that I can get a hit quickly this time. Yes! Got it on the first try! As I push the plunger, I can feel the sickness wash through my body and right out of my toes. My nose dries up. I stop sneezing. My legs are still. I can relax. All is good!

I drive home, nodding slightly. I feel invincible. When I get home, I shoot two more. Now, I can take a shower. There are only certain times I can shower.

See, here’s my dilemma:

If I’m dope sick, I can’t take a shower because it hurts. The water feels like bugs crawling on me. If I’m high, I can’t take a shower because it could kill my buzz. Personal hygiene or a good high? A good high wins every time! So, the only time I can shower is when I just copped, shot dope and have enough bags to shoot more after my shower and for the rest of the night. Needless to say, this situation doesn’t occur all that often, hence the scent of a junkie.

After my much needed shower, I can eat, do some laundry and clean my house a little. All these things are impossible if you’re sick or even if you’re waiting for more. When I’m waiting, I can’t see or hear anything but the dope dealer. I obsess about this. Why isn’t he answering? When is he going to call? Where is he? I wonder what kind he has? Did he call and I didn’t hear the phone? Should I call him back? Please phone, just ring! The waiting is excruciating for a junkie.

Anyways, for a few moments, I’m a functioning member of society. Then the phone rings. It’s one of my running partners. He needs a ride to cop. Here we go again!