My Story, part one.

May 3rd, 2013 is a day that I will never be able to forget for the rest of my life. Thursday May 03, 2013 was the first day of my sober life without heroin.

It had been a long night, somewhat excited about the anticipation of the unknown, while concurrently consumed by fear of the same thing. I had picked up a pretty small sack for the day on Wednesday, barely enough to get me through. I had done my best to ration it, and use comfortably to get me through my last day. I guess since I had attempted so many times to "go out big" and smoke myself into oblivion, I had long since lost the necessity for this type of finale. Since the "going out" part of that equation never seemed to work out.

We had to be at the Detox by 9 am, I think my mom and dad planned to take me at 8am. I honestly dont even want to talk about the absolutely ridiculous amount of things I packed for detox. Looking at my bags, you would have thought I was heading for fashion week. The amount of clothes and shoes and hair extensions and makeup was a fucking joke, to say the least.

It goes to show how utterly clueless I was for what was in store for me...

I had to wake up much earlier than my usual time, in order to get ready. That statement in itself is ridiculous. Usual time? At this point in my addiction, there was no usual time for waking up. There was no usual time for anything, really. It was all dependent on if, and how much, drugs I had, if, or how, I needed to get the drugs. Some days I would be up by 11am. These were usually the days when I had a big sack. All heroin users know, that then I could awaken, smoke, and fall back asleep, and I would still have enough left to have an evening dose waiting for when I would awaken again. Maybe the goal by now was to never really be awake.

But on the days when I only had one dose left, I would try to sleep as much as possible, maybe five, six in the evening, so that I could awaken, smoke, and prepare to attain my next sac. That process of "attaining" is quite the story all of its own. We will keep it basic here for the sake of fluidity, but I had become a professional panhandler (yes, correct)

and this new activity consumed all of my evening and night hours.

Pitiful, incomprehensible, demoralization...

(At the time of writing this post, the writer has 46 months of continuous sobriety of all drugs and alcohol.)