Heroin Addiction

Where to start? This past year has been, well an unexplainable year… But I’ll try my best to word it right. I’ll just start off talking about my first rehab. I was 17 last October and sent upstate Pennsylvania to this hell hole of an adolescent daycare (rehab) called Clearbrook. Here I learned how to eat a lot of food, watch ‘Touched by an Angel’ and how to sit in a gym for 10 hours a day. This place was a joke, I only ended up here because I was a pot head who was turning to oxys and crashed into a stopped car while i was doing 60 mph.. but that’s another story. They used scare tactics on us, saying that if we touched drugs ever again we would die, but honestly.. I knew there tricks. I got out after a month and went right back to smoking pot, I met this boy in the rehab who was a screamo vocalist with a warped tour band.. also a heroin addict. His name was Dan. He was my everything, my first boyfriend.. who unfortunately lived 2 hours away. I drove to him ever weekend, eventually we started using the heavier stuff again and i started selling in my area for him. Then out of nowhere he broke my heart… One day he just never spoke to me again. I never felt so much pain in my life… this darkness grew inside of me, as did the heroin. At this time i was only snorting a few bags a day.
Eventually i turned 18. I needed money to keep up with my habit so i auditioned to be a stripped… I got the job but never actually worked. No one in my family ever found out I did this, thank god. But my parents did find out how much I was using and sent me to my first adult rehab in Philadelphia called Mirmont. Here I met some of the most important people in my life. I can’t even explain how much this place had helped me to grow. Some days i just wanted to run away.. but other days weren’t so bad. I had eventually told my counselor about my eating disorder too, he seemed shocked. They weren’t equip to handle someone with a cross addicted personality.. kinda crazy since they deal with those types everyday After i got out of there i refused to go home because of family issues. So the rehab recommend i got to a halfway house in Levittown Pa. I stayed there for 2 months, went thru 5 recovery house and stayed with my grandfather for a few weeks in between to catch a break from the recovery madness. I kept getting kicked out of houses for breaking simple rules, like hanging out with the guys or being somewhere I wasn’t suppose to be. I never did use during the time I was here, but I sure as hell was acting like it. It was hard not to thou since everyone in these houses was so immature. Imagine a high school filled with a bunch of 20-45 years old… yeah. that was Ltown in a nutshell.
I went back home for about a week and relapsed after being clean for 3 months. I couldn’t stand being in my own skin when I was home because I hated my parents so much. No one can get under my skin like they do. I held so many resentments towards them for how they raised me, at that time I thought that I had turned out so shitty because they were raging alcoholics my entire childhood and that I was neglected in one way or another.. which I wasm but it was no excuse for hating them. Regardless of them having 5 or 6 years clean at this time, they were just as crazy and fucked up. Because of my hate for them, I called a boy that I had met from the last rehab, his name was Caesar. We had been planning to see each other for a while, I wasn’t exactly attracted to him at the time, but he was such a sweet guy to me. A few days after that phone call I just showed up at his door step and told him I had nowhere else to go (which was a lie, but I was going to kill myself if I stayed at home)… and he took me in. We were the same age and we both loved heroin. Before I had moved in with him, he had me convinced he was clean from everything… but surprise!… he lied. Caesar was shooting up at that time and using needles was still a very foreign idea to me. We started using together.. eventually I did what I thought was impossible, I started shooting heroin at 18 years old. It was the greatest thing I had ever felt… an unbelievable warmth that crept up on me like a shadow. I can still remember exactly how it was the first time too…. We were sitting in his garage and he put the needle in my arm and drew the blood back.. I was nervous. But once it set in, I stood up and held on to his shoulders so tight.. I probably looked shocked, the world was moving like there was an earth quake underneath only me. I don’t even know how to explain how amazing it was.
As time went on my parents still had no idea where I was and still hadn’t even tried to find me. My real home was in a very nice little neighborhood in the mid Pennsylvania… but somehow I ended up in the dope capitol of Pennsylvania… Philadelphia. I was still living with this boy who I thought I loved at the time, but hardly even knew. As time came and went my older brother took it in his own hands to locate me… at least he was worried about me, it showed me that someone in my family still cared. He called me one night and said if I didn’t agree to go back rehab the next day he would call the cops and have me arrested, I had a warrant out for my arrest at the time so I agreed to have him pick me up the next morning. I begged my boyfriend, Caesar, to take me to the city to get high one last time.. so he did, just like any junkie would have. We went down and i got my bundle, but he wanted crack so he could stay up and spend out last night together awake. So we stopped in a town on the way home called Upper Darby to meet one of his dealers. I was driving at the time because he was already fucked up on kolonpin and dope. I parked the car a block away and we walked to the house to go get the crack. I knew there was a cop van that was watching us so we stayed in the house until it was gone. When we came out I had the drugs on me in a safe spot because I knew cops were still watching. I started driving and not even 10 minuets later we were pulled over. I put the drugs up my.. you know where… and prayed to god they wouldn’t look there. We were both put in the holding cell for the night and in the morning i was sent over to the court house while Caesar was let free. I had to go to jail because I was the one who was driving and got the DUI. I was so mad he got to go and i had to go sit and rot. When i got to the courthouse in the morning to hear my sentencing I still had all the drugs on me so went to the bathroom and put the dope and crack under this toilet cleaner holder, only because I didn’t have the heart to flush it. After that i saw the judge and he gave me a bail of 5,000$. I cried the entire time. I was sent to Delaware County prison for 9 nights and had to withdraw… it was the worst experience in my entire life. i was puking the entire time i was so dope sick. All I remember is laying on the cold concrete shaking uncontrollably and crying while the other girls told me to shut the fuck up. The saddest part was I was the youngest and only white girl in the i take cell that held 15 prisoners. Once i was moved to my unit I didn’t eat anything the entire time i was there. Even if I would have been able to keep it down… I wouldn’t have wanted to. And the temperature of the place… i dont even wanna think about how arctic cold it was and only have one wool blanket. I was put in a boat bed because there was no one beds open. For the first two weeks your there your considered being in the “hole”, that means your locked in your cell for 23 hours a day. I slept as much of the time away as i could… once i got a chance I called my parents whom i hadn’t spoken to in over 2 months to come bail me out… and surprisingly they said yes. When I was released the C.O’s put me on this tiny blue bus that smelled like death with 10 other people being released (most of them men). We drove for about a mile before we got the this parking lot of top of a hill where cars with families waited for there own personal criminal. I can still remember perfectly seeing my mother and father standing by there car as I ran as fast as I could to hug them, I never wanted to let them go. I had never seen my father cry until that night. My mom sat in the back seat while we drove and just held me tight saying everything was okay now. Not even an hour after they had picked me up, I was taken right back to the rehab that i was in not even 6 months ago. Mirmont.
This time in rehab was terrible, I felt so ashamed of what I had done because I was only 18. I couldn’t stand being there again and facing all the people who knew me from before. Plus, I was so fuckin pissed that when I finally got a hold of Caesar he told me that he didn’t even know I was in jail.. and the worst part of all, he was high as shit every time I called him and I was so jealous… so i left after 2 weeks. I made Caesar came and pick me up. I had to run off the property with all my belongings to meet him down the road because when he got out of the car at the main entrance doors to let me know he was there, a dope bag fell out and the staff that worked there saw it and had called the police on us. I got high with him for a week after that, we went back to the courthouse to see if the stuff I hid in the bathroom was still there… and holy shit, it was. We did it and then that night he took me back home.That was the last time I saw him. I sorta knew it would be, but we never said a word like it was going to be. We couldn’t handle each other anymore. We were too focused on getting high and there was no way we could ever love each other more then the drugs.
Once Caesar and I had separated, I was so broken hearted… even thou I realize now that what we had wasn’t love, at the time I thought it was the end of my world. I found new connects in my area for dope and I was using 3 times as much as I was with him. Everything of value that I owned was gone. Anything of value to my family had I sold. Electronics, gold, silver, clothes… u name it, I sold it. I’ll never be able to feel less disgusting about doing that, I dont even think I should be forgiven for what I took from them after all the things they had done for me. In a little over a month my habit had grown to a more then a bundle a day, depending. It got to the point where I couldn’t even get out of bed in the morning unless I had a work and a few bags. During this time my favorite person in the world was diagnosed with terminal cancer, my grandfather. I was so devastated, this was the man who took me in several times when i needed him and would have given me the world if i had asked.. but it was almost like I couldn’t feel the pain I should have because I was so self medicated. He was taken to the University Of Penn hospital in center city Philadelphia for chemo. My family would drive to see him at least twice a week and I would always tag along… and I’m sure you could have guessed why I did. That how fucked up my thinking was at the time. The greatest man in the my world was on his death bed and I only went to see him so I could get Philly dope which was way better then the shit i was getting at home. It hurts me to even think about it. He was moved to a nursing home back in his hometown, Newtown, PA. My parents had gone to see him multiple times a week while he was there because they knew his time was coming. I on the other hand only went to see him one time while he was there… and thank god i did… because not even 8 hours after I saw him… he … died. That night I was less then 15 minuets away from him staying at a guy friends house. I got a text from my sister in the morning that was very vague… it didn’t actually say what happened, but i just had a feeling it was him. before I even called anyone, I made Mike take me down 95 to cop. I never felt so much pain in my entire life, like my soul had turned black… I felt it but I couldn’t show it. I went home that night and two days after I decided enough was enough and I detoxed on my own for his funeral. I wasn’t going to look down at him with needle eyes. I can’t even begin to describe who this man was to me, he was the most influential and important person in life… and all I knew at that point was that he meant more then the heroin did to me. That was saying a lot then. I couldn’t handle feeling the way I did anymore without using. That night after the funeral I was right back at it.
It didn’t take long for things to spiral out of control after his death. My habit was getting so ridiculous and I started burning my regular dealers… which anyone with half a brain knows it fuckin stupid and dangerous. Because of that I had to start going thru this other one I didn’t know as well. The first time I got from one of the new guys i went thru a friend and got these bags called Spidermans. They were the best I ever had, the most potent. All I remember was doing only a three bag shot and then waking up with my father holding me in his arms crying… when I looked up past him there was cops and an ambulance team standing over me in my bedroom. I thought it was a dream. While i was unconscious my dad found me with my face to the ground and i was turning blue. He gave me CPR and then the ambulance arrived. I was so confused. I was taken to Lehigh Valley hospital where I was monitored for the day, I was sent home but they told me that if my dad had been 5 minuets later… I woulda been dead. Ever since Cesar left me my anorexia also kicked back up too… The hospital didn’t know about my eating disorder, but if you ask me I think that has a lot to do with why I went unconscious. Not even 2 hours after I was released from the hospital I was high again. At the time I thought it wasn’t a big deal… I didn’t even process the fact that I had died and that god had given me a second chance of living. You would think that after my grandfathers death I would stop for the sole fact that this was just too much for everyone else around me to handle… but i was under full siege at this point.
After that I couldn’t even look at anyone in my family. When I looked in there eyes all i could see was the pain and hurt I had caused them and the already agonizing pain of my Pop- Pops death. To them it was like I was possessed by something demonic. The only thing they wanted was to get there baby back from this monster. They had pushed so hard for me to go to rehab the day after the over dose happened, but I refused. My brother, Walter, was coming home from Afghanistan in a week and I only got to see him once a year. He had always been my best friend and my protector ever since I could remember. I kept thinking, what if it was the last time I would ever see him? I wouldn’t, couldn’t, take that chance. He could die at any moment over there with the job he has.
Once he was home, he had two weeks to spend with us but he barely did anyway.. all he wanted was cocaine. To his surprise, or should I say disgust, his baby sister (me) could get him anything illegal he could ever possibly want. He hated the fact that I would shoot up right in front of him because I was in his eyes, still his baby sister, but he didn’t care as long as he was ‘winning’. During his time home it seemed like his sole reason for being home had shifted from wanting to see the family, to needing coke. He had over $20,000 in his savings account, he had always trusted me in the past so he figured he could just give me his debit card and I would go retrieve the goodies. He obviously didn’t realize the monster I had become. Everyday that I would get him his fix for the two weeks he was here, I would take out an extra $300 for my own pleasures…. yes, everyday. I had never done so much heroin my life, the withdraw was unbearable, the high was gone and i was just running from the sickness. Once my brother was gone.. the funds were no more and I was completely fucked.
The day that he left I made my parents take me to White Deer Run to detox, I couldn’t bear being in that state of body and mind. Imagine, the worst flu of your life and bugs crawling and stinging you under your skin. I wanted to die. I thought I was going to die. The rehab itself was a shit hole to top it all off too. They made me wait an entire day to give me any Methadone. I was shitting, puking, and crying for almost 30 hours until I was given my first dose. I was so embarrassed and ashamed with myself i couldn’t even look in the mirror. So emancipated. I had lost at least 15 pounds in that 2 weeks. A shell of a human.
Once detoxing was done with, I was sent to the Livengrin Foundation in Bensalem, PA. I was still sick almost the entire time I was there but it was so good to not have to wake up in the morning and feel hopeless… to have exhaust myself by sticking a needle in my veins that were becoming non existent. That was the worst part of all, to feet like I couldn’t stop after all that had happened. I dont know if it was the rehab that opened my eyes or if it had just been my time to see the light, but I felt so different this time. The push to get clean was beginning to look clearer. Maybe it was the fact that the pain had become too much and I couldn’t take it anymore but I feel like that place gave me hope, made me feel like there was something more then just living to use and using to live. There was one day in particular in there that had opened my eyes the most. Christmas day. There had been aloud visiting that day and my father had told me one of the most unearthing things i had ever heard.. he told me that he had checked my brothers bank statement and that during those 2 weeks of hell, we (more like just me) had gone thru $4,000. I couldn’t believe it. I started trying to figure out if that was even possible… but it was true and i knew it. There was no running from the truth when its staring you in the face. It gave me realization which I think helped with my change in heart along with my grandfathers death… to have clean eyes and see the proof to the shit that you have done and didn’t want to believe. The last year had only gotten worse every time I went out, and how could I expect anything to be different if I kept on doing the same things i was doing before. Making the same decisions over and over again, expecting different results. Truly insane. I knew at that point that if I didn’t start getting real with myself… the only option left was death. I remember feeling like sometimes that it would have just been easier to roll over and give up. But I wasn’t about to give up without a fight.
Today… things are still really hard but I kinda have some hope. I know that I’m not just another junkie, that I can be and do whatever the fuck I want to. Its up to me, not anyone else to get clean. When they say its an inside job… they mean exactly that. I realized today that my addiction is more then just a problem, its embedded inside me and that I can chose to accept it and move on in my life and be able to grow from it… or I can deny reality and stay stuck in this self loathing, pity, and stay sick. Because guess what, it will always be waiting for me. My addiction is doing push ups outside, waiting for me. Its up to me to make the choice to learn from it or be torn apart by it.

She was a beautiful lady, smartly dressed and expensively adorned. Now, one can hardly bear to look at her, though a closer look still reveals her once glorious beauty. When I first met her, I was too intimidated to do anything. But Liz has an inviting personality and we soon got talking. I had been referred to her about a certain project. She offered me accommodation in her elegantly furnished home until the project could be completed successfully.

She had a good job. She earned quite a good amount, if the furnishings were anything to go by. Unique wall hangings and rare artwork made a delicate décor. Life in that house was nothing short of royalty.

Then one day she came home a little roughed up. Her hair was not in the usual beautiful bun and her jacket was all messed up. She was laughing strangely and bumbling about something I could not make out. She hardly ate a morsel.

She woke up the following day. She made herself up and went to work. I hardly got the chance to talk to her. That day, she returned home in a condition worse than that of the previous night. I was worried. I tried to enquire what was going on but passed out before she could tell me what was wrong. As I helped her out of her jacket I noticed them, recent piercings on her arms. I became alarmed.

I tried to raise the issue with, her but every time she found a way to evade the subject. The routine continued, with each day becoming worse than the previous. She started going to work late. It soon graduated to skipping work until it was total absenteeism. She was sacked. Whatever it was, it needed urgent attention.

She continued going out early in the morning and coming back late, all messed up. One day she came home earlier than usual. She told me that she had bought me a present. From her handbag, she removed a neat package. The clear package revealed a white substance, which she told me was heroin. She also produced two syringes, one meant for me. She then took a rubber glove and tied it around the upper part of her arm. That was more than I could bear to watch.

Soon, expensive artifacts started disappearing from their prominent locations. And each day, the once elegant house looked more and more like a shell. Most of the assets that once stood proudly in the great living room were no more as they had quickly been turned to heroin.

With nothing more to sell, no job and nothing more to lean on, and no prospects of getting a job, she was desperate. She desperately wanted her life back together. So, finally, she admitted to having wasted her life. We set off in search of the town therapist.