But Why?

There were times when ah, I swear, all I wanted to do was dive into the excess. And I mean, I wanted to dive right in, head first, and feel myself submerged in my own special bliss.
I can recall looking at the clock and counting the minutes. I would look at the time and negotiate the hours to make them move quicker.
One by one, the seconds would move me closer to a sensational plunge, which would alter my mind, and separate me from life and limb.

Yeah, sure, I got high.
But there was more to it than that.

After a while, I created a routine. I knew what I had to do so I to get what I needed to get. Nothing else really mattered. All I needed was that feeling of cognitive disconnection. I wanted to feel unattached, unhinged, set off and let go.
I wanted to be away from my mind and away from you or anyone else in this crazy, pain in the ass world. I wanted to find my own way into that semi-conscious state. You know the one, right? I wanted to be elsewhere, and like, yeah, all the little struggles just seem to melt away.
It’s easy too. it’s like slipping into a warm bath.

I wanted to feel like that cocoon-like sensation; the one that covered me in soft warm cloak. No one could touch me here. This is where I swore I belonged.
There was nothing wrong when I was in this place. Everything was dulled. All the corners were softened and all the sharp edges were softened. Nothing was too loud. No one was insulting me. I was fine to feel the calm rush, which pulsed through my bloodstream, and took over my mind. I love the way this had me drape down in a slow nod that rendered me weightless and numb.

I viewed this as my own personal mute button. I swore I could push this at any moment and silence the sounds I no longer wanted to hear.
The fear was gone. So was the pain. The anger was kind enough to subside. It felt so good that anything else was too distant to compare.

I never expected things would sink so deeply though. I just thought I would hover for  while; somewhat stable, yet somewhat high, euphoric enough to euthanize all the tiny aggravations but aware enough so that I could maintain and somehow, slip through the cracks without anyone noticing the symptoms.

No one ever talks about the downfalls. They say they do, but more accurately, most people talk about the high. They talk about the lift off. They talk about the switch between awareness and unobjectionable. They glorify the madness like it’s a cool disease. But hey, there is nothing cool about it.
There is nothing cool about being a gangster. There is nothing tough about serving time in jail or losing everything just because you refuse to conform. And hey, all those who claim to be rebels; all those who claim to be an undivided individual; get it strait, An individual of value would never offer themselves away for a fleeting high that ends so badly

We do not prey upon others for the fun of it. No. We prey upon others because the epidemic is contagious,
Suddenly, you’re miles away. Everything below you is unimportant. No one can touch you . . . and even if they could , you wouldn’t feel a thing

I swear, all I wanted to do was jump into the excess and wipe away the thinking, which never stopped. I wanted to wave goodbye to all the questions that swirled around in my head. I wanted a voice to say the things I could never speak. But more, I wanted a way to make sense of the pain and turn it away so that my pain would be lost and unnoticeable.

When it was time, it was lift off, and at that moment, everything became about the ritual. Everything was romantic.
This is the part that everyone talks about; whatever the vehicle is, whichever way someone chooses to travel, in the end, it all comes down to one common denominator: to wipe away the excess of guilt, erase the mind, and to feel one’s self suspended above atmosphere. In the end, all I wanted was to hover weightlessly on the dangle, and meander between the purgatory of life and an alternate existence.

This is the hype. This is what hooks the little kids. This is the face the devil shows best; it’s the one that tempts you.
Hell, the devil even warns you to stay away. But no one ever listens. In fact, all the warnings and all the awareness tactics; all the “Just say no,” rallies, campaigns and slogans and all the tragedies and statistics only do one thing. It keeps people coming back.

And this is why the first hit is always free. Everyone gives away a taste. That’s how they keep you coming back.
Once you feel it, you swear, this is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. All you want to do now is explore the horizon one more time so you can taste the sunshine and lay back in the bliss of an extraordinary high.

And once they have you, man, they have you good. That’s why no one runs away. That’s why people die. No one thinks about the hook. No one believes it will happen to them (until it does) and once it happens, it’s like a hole you’re in and the idea of ever getting out is just unthinkable.

Sometimes, I hear these kids brag about their use. I watch them laugh it off because (of course) they swear they know what they’re doing. I see people pull their scams and work their hustles. I sake my head sometimes. I shake my fist sometimes too.

And the parents?
Christ, I swear, half of them are almost as lost as their children. And where do their kids learn the tricks? Half the time, Mommy and Daddy have their own little habits, which, of course, are considered to be socially acceptable because their habit is totally and completely legal. Maybe it’s a bottle. Maybe it’s a pill. Maybe it’s an excuse like, “Oh, I just take this foe my sciatica pain.” and then hey, “I just take this so I can go to sleep. Otherwise, I would be a zombie all day.”


Sure, pal.
Whatever you say.

I remember leaning with my back against the wall of a deli called The Meadow Dairy. Anthony was next to me. He was nodding out with a string of saliva dangling from his bottom lip. His eyes were halfway closed. His mouth hung open as if it lacked the ability to close.

“I’m never doing this shit again,” said Anthony.
“Don’t bullshit yourself,” I told him.
“You and me will be back this same time tomorrow.”

Everyone is a rock star in the beginning. It becomes a thing to brag about. We romance it like a new love. And we trade ideas and talk about different spots to go pick up.
Everyone swears they know what they’re doing.
And even if someone hears about a place where they sold a few hot bags (hot meaning deadly, by the way) it only proves to make the spot more marketable. In the end, if you’re lucky, you find yourself in a hospital bed with someone standing over your bed and saying, “Welcome back.”

I used to do that.
I used to be deployed to emergency rooms when someone overdosed on heroin. Instead of reviving them and letting the patient return to their routine, we offered them an out. We offered them help to get into a program.

I stood over people that literally died. They had no fear. They didn’t care. Some were pissed off to be revived. Some were hesitant. Most just wanted to get back out so they could shove off one more time.
Sometimes, there was always that one person that was tired of the life.

I knew the odds were against me on most of my visits. But I don’t care about odds. I cared about the one person that would say yes. I cared about the one person that was looking to defy the odds.

I love to defy the odds.
I do this every day.

Come April 1st, 2019, that makes 10,227 days
or 1,461 wees
or 28 years.

Either way, I defy the odds.
I just want to see others get the same chance to do the same thing.

I received a mixture of news today.
Some was bad.
Some was good.
One person defied the odds
Another one proved them right


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