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Heroin’s first kiss

I write about my struggle with heroin often for a few reasons. 

For one, I need to remember where I came from. Two, I’ve learned that self healing through getting gut wrenchingly honest about my pain is the answer to get me through another day. And three, most days I have no idea what exactly I am feeling until I go back and read my own words. 

My father struggled with his own demons and heroin addiction, so growing up I always swore I would never touch the shit. That was disgusting, it made you a dirtbag junky, and I was going to be bigger and better than that. Ironic

See that’s the thing with addiction, it’s doesn’t matter how motivated you are as an individual, it doesn’t discriminate. I went to a private prep school, scored a very high score in my entrance test into the military and was given the opportunity to an amazing school and job in the military. I was going places. I decided against the college of my choice in up state New York to go serve my country selflessly. 

Funny how the selfless decision I made to dedicate my life to my country is the exact thing that turned me into an entitled, cocky, arrogant asshole I was after my enlistment. 

Anyone who follows my stories knows that after returning home from the military and losing my grandfather and soulmate, I turned to drugs and alcohol to ease the pain and fill the void I felt in my life without the military and love of my life. I had a really hard time transitioning back into society as a normal civilian. 

I’m Irish, Italian and raised in the North so my temper is ridiculous and you can catch these hands at the drop of a hat. Needless to say, my attitude sucks and I’m always in the defense because I needed to be to survive my current situations as a soldier and growing up in my neighborhood. Where I am from you don’t take any shit from anyone. If you are not from our neighborhood, you better get the fuck out or we will run you out. That’s how we lived. That’s all I knew, and it all seemed so normal to me. 

Heroin entered my life and truly was the kiss of death I has always been looking for. When I took my first shot the feeling was so unbelievable. 

I could actually sit with myself and feel peace. 

I could sleep, I could give two fucks if the rest of the world blew up around me cause I was nodded out in my lap probably burning a hole in my hoodie with a cigeratte in one hand as my body gave in to the neurotransmitters that slowed me down. Luckily they didn’t slow me down to death, which is the literal reason that opioids end up killing people, it slows your respiratory system to a halt.  

Heroin made me not give a fuck about anything. All my worries and problems, gone in one shot of brown substance. The only problem: I just needed more, more and more, and it consumed my every action, every thought and every motive throughout the day. Immediately I was hooked. In my eyes heroin was fucking heaven on earth packed in a little wax paper bag. 

If you are an addict like me, one bag is too many and a thousand is never enough, so I went from 0-100 real quick and I’m sure you can relate. Before I knew it, I was sitting alone in my room with track marks up and down my arms and begging someone to come over to hit me because I was shaking too bad to find a vein. 

Before I knew it, I was not showering for days on end. Before I knew it, I was stealing everything that wasn’t nailed down and if it was nailed down I was damn sure still trying my hardest to get it. Before I knew it, I lost all my morals and values. Before I knew it, I believed in nothing besides the dope man. Before I knew it, I was waking up sick every morning. Chills all down my body, sweating, sitting on the toilet with a garbage an in front of me cause any little movement I made I was making myself so sick. Legs cramping, mind racing, and all I had to do was get one more to feel that ease and comfort again. The kiss of the devil.

 Heroin took me to some places I never thought I’d go, in years prior I stood on a flight deck in my dress whites saluting Pearl Harbor from the great USS Nimitz. I’ve woken up in psych wards wondering how the fuck I got there. I’ve woken up in abandon apartments searching for a needle, not even caring who used it before me. I’ve woken up fully clothed in a freezing bathtub left for dead after an overdose. I’ve woke up in a flipped car dazed, confused and dope sick. I’ve woken up in rehab days later not even remembering walking into the place. 

I’ve woken up in jail but oddly enough that was never really that bad for me, I always felt peace in jail and some sort of freedom, which goes to show how sick I actually am that I feel the freest when I’m locked away in prison. Because at least in prison, I knew I could’t get my drug of choice, it wasn’t an option, out of site out of mind.

 Moral of the story is my first kiss with heroin was everything I ever could have imagined, but with my last kiss I lost it all. Material things, my marriage, my family, my friends, my sanity, my dignity, respect, career, relationships, money and self respect. My kiss with heroin was really just a complicated kiss with the devil that I’ve fought for years to get out of.