This Sweet and Bitter Pill…

called addiction..
how it changes all things, plans, outlooks, moods, loves, hates, times, laughter,
tears, faith, words, life & yes,
even death.


As much as it made me crazy not to do..I didn’t score last night..I waited until the last possible moment to call (a game I play to stay away from using), and last night, my luck was having none of it. No one called back..yes I paced..swore..watched the clock mercilessly..dialed & dialed the number a hundred plus times..berated myself for wanting..for waiting..but I did achieve what I set out to do..not score.

This morning bright and early..

I could hardy wait to wake up..sleeping just on this side of the unconscious..eyes popping open at the exact moment I knew the dealer of my chosen wares switched on his he prepares for yet another day of partnering in the silent & prolonged deaths caused by the disease of addiction.

I sit here with itchy fingers..the cell staring me eyes reflecting in its dark shiny plastic, daring me to wait again…to try & put it off go without again. Already thinking I’m not going to be able to abstain today..that’s for my defeatist attitude rears its taunting head…beating down & out any & all parts of me who dares to try. Like a ruthless lover who you crave way to much..opiates beckon me to call for them.

If I can get through this day and not cop..ha..well that’s a just ain’t happening.

Yes I could take a lot of methadone and wait it out, but the truth is I don’t want to…I really don’t. These stages we go through are mind boggling sometimes. I can resist for a long time and be doing perfectly fine for months on end with only juice (methadone), then I run into a pocket of time where all I want..crave..need and simply gots to just one more glorious, delicious ‘hug me all over and over and over again’ hit of my hero..heroin. The feeling is unparalleled..the warmth flooding every cell of my being…there is absolutely nothing else like it..not sex..not love..not music..not laughter..not anger..not thrills..not all of the senses combined..not all of the above together times one thousand.


There has to be more to it than it’s addictive’s as if the dope is an entity unto itself..finding its legs its life when it enters our bloodstream..some might liken this to a vampire..a sucker of the soul..and they would not be far off. Still I say..if it is so..well bite me bite me bite me & fucking bite me again.


I write this and I want to not write this..I spend most of my time fighting what I’ve written here with every fiber of my being..denying..saying I’m not shooting dope anymore..I’ve grown.

Bullshit.. if I’m being honest..if I am speaking truth..this is what comes out strong..this is what has walked beside me through it all..accompanied me to places no other would..through thick and thin..through times of everythingness and of nothingness..held me safe in its constant. This is really how I feel…heroin is my passion..and sadly or’s the only one I’ve ever found or needed.

I have no desire to be feed, to ‘do’ anything..

but go and score.

Shameful revelations of the self indeed..

Everything one does in life, even love, occurs in an express train racing toward death. To smoke opium is to get out of the train while it is still moving. It is to concern oneself with something other than life or death.
~Jean Cocteau~

1 Comment »

  1. jan Said:

    A totally intriguing read. I find myself getting so caught up in your thoughts and images, yet they are foreign to me.

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