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[uta-h3m-vcd-tbw]

#4

You can never see the full outcome of any decision until after the fact when there isn’t much you can do to change the course of the path you chose.  I had no idea how much my decisions would impact my life or the lives of others at the time.  I had no idea of the, “ripple effect,” I would create with such behavior.  I truly thought my actions were only hurting myself & that I was still going to come out all right in the end.  I have a timeline of events that have been stuck in my head since my earliest memories.  I would finish high school, go to college, get a job, a wife, have kids, & live as my dad does.  I keep these goals in my head to this day.  It’s my definition of success.  I am 37 years old now & have accomplished two of them.  

You would think an incident like cutting a finger off only to have it re-attached would slow me down some but things kept getting worse.  I still couldn’t see the decline yet.  I was prescribed a low level pain killer for the injury I had.  Maybe the surgeon could see I had issues with drugs & decided it was for the best.  My mother would give them to me every 6 hours but I would stash them behind the nightstand next to my bed until I had at least 3 so I could take them together for a good buzz.  I loved the warm feeling that started in my stomach inching it’s way through every fiber of my body.  That small buzz from the few pills I started with was like a seed being planted in the back of my mind.  It was more than a buzz it was an escape.  An escape from all the pressures & societal expectations.  From fear, disappointment, insecurity, & anything else that troubled me.  Like a bullet proof body suit stuffed with warm feathers that could block any threat, thought, or problem that was ailing me.  Smoking weed made the high even better.  I laid in my bed half sleeping/half awake in complete bliss.  As if I could navigate through my own dreams controlling the outcome.  Not knowing what, “nodding out,” actually was yet.  I stayed on this dosing pattern until the prescriptions & all the refills ran out.  Then I started strategizing on how to obtain more of this wonderful medication within hours of my last pill.  Having absolutely no clue as to why I wanted them so bad.  It didn’t matter to me...after all I got them from my doctor.  

I told students at school that did other drugs to check their medicine cabinets at home for a multitude of different pills.  I told students that didn't do drugs to check.  Sometimes I had to give them the generic names of each medication to be sure they were looking for the right ones.  I am sure I exposed many of my classmates to a world they were not ready or willing to step into without them or myself knowing it.  Kids were always bringing me medications to school or meeting me after school.  Sometimes they would charge me sometimes they would give them to me for free.  Everything in life is perfect until it isn’t.  

I went on for months before the well of pills I had been accessing dried up & it was as if they had just disappeared off the face of the earth.  Everyone I asked would tell me the same thing.  That they couldn’t get them anymore.  I had moved on from weaker pills to mid level pills to the strongest pills which seemed to be everywhere until they were no more.  I can remember this day like it happened last week.  I was sitting in a parking lot halfway to Detroit, with Josh, someone I had met in school who also was hooked on opietes.  We had called every number in our phone for what seemed to be 5 or 6 hours with no success.  We were like two seaman floating in the ocean stranded without a boat just waiting for someone to find us in the middle of nowhere.  There was no one else to call.  There was no where else to look.  It was warm out at the time, probably summer & it was later in the day...I remember how the sun looked through the windshield when the call came in from Big.  He told us he had something for us that would make us feel better but it wasn’t pills.  He explained it as a liquid that looked like Kool-Aide that you drank to feel better.  I had never heard of such a substance in all of my drug use.  He told us we had to get $80 & meet him at 8 Mile & Van Dyke about 20 minutes from the parking lot we were in.  We didn’t even ask what it was & Josh was pulling out of the parking lot as soon as he heard the excitement in my voice.  A sound any addict would recognize.  It’s the sound of relief.  

We were short $40 but Josh’s mom owned a decent sized insurance company that was on the way to meet Big so we stopped there to grab money out of his mom’s desk.  The office was closed & Josh always had the keys so it didn’t take very long.  We were pulling down the street Big told us to meet him on near 8 Mile within 30 minutes of him calling.  He instructed us to pull in a driveway roughly halfway down the street & come to the door.  The place was disgusting & smelled like someone had not opened a window in decades.  I couldn’t see much since we were only allowed in the doorway & all the windows were covered with newspapers but the house was fully furnished just very outdated.  There were two older men sitting on a couch watching old cowboy films & chain smoking cigarettes.  It was literally as if we stepped right into the 70′s.  Neither of them said anything the entire time we were there but I assumed one of them owned the house.  Big’s cousin from Macedonia was sitting next to him on a different couch but didn’t say anything either.  He had just flown in to stay in the US that summer but we hadn’t met yet.  It was like they were all frozen or under a spell that wouldn’t allow them to acknowledge us.  Big walked over handing me a small square bottle filled with a pink liquid & the label ripped off of it telling us to split it in half.  You think you have a decision at times like these but you really don’t.  When your backed up against a mental wall as strong as this one & someone tells you the only way out is to drink this liquid you do it....no matter the cost.  

I drank half of it & Josh finished the rest.  It didn’t taste that strong to me but it burned the back of my throat so I knew it had medicine in it.  I could instantly feel it was working it’s way through my body as my stomach started to warm up with a tingling sensation up my spine.  As we were making our way out of the house one of the older men I did not know leaned over & discreetly handed me a piece of paper.  I figured he didn’t want me reading it there so I stuck it in my pocket & we left.  Once we were in the car & away from the house I pulled out the piece of paper and read it out loud to Josh.  In blocky childlike writing it said: “They just gave you 20mg of Methadone diluted with water.  If you ever want the real thing call this number.”  With a phone number at the bottom, signed with the name, Bob.  

What you don’t realize is how far down the rabbit hole you fall with each step you take.  You’re literally constructing a mental dungeon/cage for yourself with each decision being another brick on one of it’s walls.  By the time you realize you’re caged the walls are too high to climb out of alone.  Maybe you can see it happening at the time maybe you can’t....maybe you just don’t care.  As addicts we’re constantly telling ourselves that we will deal with the problems later.  As I have said before, “later,” never comes.  It’s all one big blur of time mixed together.  Anything you do as an addict you do on a daily basis.  There is no tomorrow, no next week or next month.  Just the morning you wake up until the time you go to bed.  

Mornings are usually restless.  Days are either fast or slow, there is no middle.  Some days start slow & end fast while others start fast & end slow.  Some days are just slow.  This of course depends on how much drugs you can obtain & what you have to go through to get them.  There is such a strong bond between the two that they eventually become one in the same.  Finding the drugs becomes part of your high/ritual.  I did not care that I had graduated to yet a higher level of drug use than I was the day before.  I didn’t even think to factor it in.  It was all just feeding the same beast I had chained up inside me.  One pill was the same as the next so the Methadone was the same as the pills to me.  Just another drug.  By the end of the week both Josh & myself had secretly called Bob separately & bought a bottle of Methadone for ourselves without the other knowing.  I found out when picking up a bottle & Bob told me Josh just left.  We would come to know Bob pretty well over the next few years.     

I feel I should constantly remind any readers not to interpret this in the wrong manner.  I write these events as they happened & as I said in the beginning I would not, “sugar coat,” any of it as I feel it’s one of the main reasons I could never finish writing this.  I am deeply ashamed of the things I have done throughout my addiction & how things turned out for so many families.   There is not one ounce of me that is proud of what we did.  There is nothing glorious about living a life of no trust.  Not just no trust in other people but other people not trusting me, me not trusting myself.  Members of my own family, close childhood friends, store owners, cops, judges, ect will look down on you.  You will gain absolutely nothing by choosing to walk this path & will only have regrets & sorrow in the end.  It truly hurts when you notice your Aunt or Uncle watching you every time you use their bathroom during a holiday party even though they were smart enough to hide their medication before hand.  It doesn't feel good when people are hesitant to help you when truly in need it, or to lend you money, a tool, or anything of value.  You will live the rest of your life with constant reminders from those you love that you hurt them in a way that can never be fully repaired no matter how much you change.  The question of relapse will always be in the back of your mind as well as theirs.  

I am writing this because I feel I was ill informed of the dangers with using drugs, as well as their effects, both short & long term.  I don't want to make my readers curious as to where this lifestyle may lead them.  I want them to see the truth behind the facade other addicts will impress upon them.  I want them to know exactly what they are sacrificing even when they convince themselves they are just, “trying,” it.  We as a society have an addictive personality as a whole.  There truly is nobody this affliction can not infiltrate.  It will consume your entire life & everything you hold sacred.  In the two decades of drug use I can tell you one thing for absolute certain.  Reality is truly the best drug available to man....I was just never able to handle it.  Can you?  

[uta-h3m-vcd-tbw]

The Rabbit Hole

Looking back on where I began....I can see now that there really wasn’t a solid structure as far as keeping kids off drugs.  I mean I wen’t through the D.A.R.E. Program but what a joke.  Who is even thinking about drugs in 5th grade anyways?  I get the idea of trying to tackle the problem before it starts but if you tell a kid not to do something.....we all know they will want to do it that much more.  They were telling us about things we didn’t even know about yet so it actually made me wonder why.  What is so great about these substances that they need to push the message so hard?  Even then they just told you, “To Just Say NO,” if it actually happens but they never told us the truth behind it.  They didn’t tell us that we could lose over 20 of our closest childhood friends before we reach the age of 30 if you even made it that far.  They didn’t tell us about the nights you will sit up sweating, shaking, & vomiting from drug detoxing.  They didn’t tell us about how you will steal from friends/family & anyone else that gets in the way of your addiction.  I remember the first time I experienced detox I didn’t even know what it was.  A friend of mine called to hang out & I told him I was going to stay in...that I wasn’t feeling well.  He was a little more experienced than I was & asked if I had been taking a lot of pills lately....he went on to explain to me what detox was & all the fun stuff that comes with it after I was already hooked.  

It’s starts off so harmless.  As if it’s just a whisper.  You drink some booze, smoke some pot, drop some acid, pop some pills, try some coke, sniff some dope & by the time the needle is sitting in front of you....there isn’t even a hesitation.  No mental struggle whatsoever.  You had already been sick from other very powerful opietes like Oxycotin, Fetynal, & Morphine.  You already spent nights up sick & mornings laying in bed with dihaerria....bones aching.  I had more of a mental struggle with the pear pressures of smoking cannabis than I did with Heroin....truly.  The night before I first smoked weed I couldn’t sleep...feeling like I had a surgery in the morning.  Before I shot dope for the first time I just couldn’t wait for the guy to find a vein. 

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About six months after getting my first car, I was hired as a cook for a local restaurant that both my brothers had previously worked at.  I was told they were pretty laid back but had no idea to what extent.  The manager, Paul, looked like Mr. Bean, who always had a shirt & tie on but was a complete pothead.  He even smoked a joint with me during my interview.  The place was ran like shit but it’s what you would expect from a sub par restaurant in Metro Detroit.  Everyone was really cool & got along with each other.  I didn’t make a whole lot of money but I was keeping my parents off my back.  I enjoyed working there & actually looked forward to my shifts.  It was a high school job I wasn’t preparing for the bar exam or anything but in hindsight it probably wasn’t the best environment for someone like myself.  I was like this uncontrollable ball of destruction rolling down a steep hill ripping through everything in it’s path.  I don’t think I could have stopped if I wanted.  I had rooted myself so deep in the drug lifestyle, so fast that I wasn’t going to change....even if my parents up & moved us to another state I would have brought the destruction with me.  

I started to be known around school as the kid who could get you anything or the kid that would do anything at anytime.  I literally didn’t have the ability to say, “no” to anything I was offered or challenged.  This encouraged the other students to share whatever drugs they could get their hands on with me, pushing me to take more & more or act out at school.  It was like kids were happy to give me drugs & I was happy to except them.  At first I thought I was just a source of entertainment to them but realized years later it was more like....”at least I’m not as bad off as he is.”  I was just walking through the halls at school one day just minding my own business, when a friend’s older brother slapped a piece of paper in the palm of my hand casually in passing.  I know it was fairly early in the day because it was before lunch...maybe around 10AM.  He looked back at me after the exchange to reveal how dilated his pupils were with a large grin on his face.  I already knew it was acid because of the person who gave it to me & the look he gave me.  His name was Jon & I was good friends with his younger brother Jim who was my age.  There wasn’t but a handful of kids in my class/age that could keep up with me & all the drugs I took but Jim was definitely one of them.  Jon & Jim were only a couple years apart & looked a lot alike....both always had a shaved head, wore a white tee shirt & baggy jeans every day of the week.  The weren’t poor or anything it was just there style.  They loved Tupac & any other West Coast rapper especially if he was underground or not well known.  They liked to download music & burn different mixtapes to sell around school.  Not exactly what you would expect from the sons of a police officer.  

As soon as I opened the piece of paper I noticed it wasn’t normal acid.  It was two separate hits that were shiny & glossy.  I later learned they were double dosed gel tabs but with my excessive behavior I instantly popped them both in my mouth without even thinking about what would happen or if I should wait until after school.  I didn’t care that I was scheduled to work later that day & remember thinking it would make the rest of the day fun.  The bell rang a few minutes later & I sat down in class.  I was lucky I was going to my english class or I’m sure I would have been expelled.  The teacher was an old hippy that would actually talk about LSD with some of us in class.  He was very informal & never had an actual lecture.  Instead he let us pick what writer we wanted to learn about & we spent our class time sitting on couches he had throughout the classroom, reading or talking quietly with each other....like a library.  Our teacher wanted the setting to be comfortable & wanted to create an environment unlike a typical classroom.  My first choice was William Blake, a romantic-era poet, that was considered a, “madman,” in his time who I found interesting but my search soon lead me to William Burrougs who I found even more intriguing.  I would always sit with a couple of fiends in the back of the room in a large blue couch that everyone wanted because it reclined.  It must have been 20 minutes after the bell rang when I started feeling the first wave of LSD hit me like a freight train.  Reality was shifting as it coursed it’s way through my body like a force of energy you don’t quite understand no matter how many times you’ve taken it.  I could feel the energy flowing down my spine & through my limbs before evaporating from my fingertips.  If I had to describe it I would say it’s like being able to actually see a feeling or feel a sight if that helps at all.  Like all of your 5 senses are moving together in a way you have never felt before.  Some acid will start slow while others come on fast...gradually increasing it’s effects until you are, “peaking,” before slowly coming down.  It’s something even an experienced LSD user would not be able to fully hide on a heavy dose & most of the time you can tell when someone is on it.  

I must have been acting out or being loud because my teacher calmly made his way over to my couch & asked me to speak with him in the hallway.  He wasn’t angry or upset in any way & almost had an excitement to him as he was asking me what I had taken.  I told him the truth & he simply told me I should probably call my mom to come pick me up from school.  He took me back in the classroom & let me use the phone to call home.  I wasn’t going to call my mom & tell her I took a bunch of acid at school so I pretended to instead.  After hanging up the phone I told him she was on her way so he wrote me a pass to leave classroom & meet her in the parking lot.  Once in the hallway I didn’t even go to my locker & made my way straight to my car.  The patterns on the carpet were slowly swirling & the walls were starting to breath.  I was stopped briefly by a parking guard that patrolled the lots looking for anyone skipping or trying to trespass into the school.  I handed him my pass while trying to keep my head down, he looked at it for a short time, & told me I could leave.  It was still fairly early so I didn’t know where else I could go except one of the guy’s house named Kris but everyone called him, “Big,” because of his very small frame but large personality.  Frank & the rest of the group would hang out there most of the time.  He was as crazy as I was if not worse.  His dad was never around but  Big knew who he was...his parents just divorced when he was really young & his dad wasn’t around much.  He never made it too far in school, not due to lack of knowledge, he just didn’t have anyone to drive him at home & was constantly in trouble with no repercussions.  He was actually the notorious name I learned of when I was a kid.  There was always crazy stories when I was really young about this kid who always got into trouble referred to as, “Big.”  I didn’t know his real name until I got older & how he got his moniker.  He was 100% Macedonian with most of his family still living there.  His grandparents came to the United States at some point but couldn’t speak any english whatsoever.  He lived with his mom but she worked at a bar & was never home which is why we always hung out at his house.  There was no rules at Big’s house & we could literally get away with anything.  His mother had zero control over him.  

Leaving school that day I don’t remember how I drove to Big’s but I do remember getting there.  He was always home during the day because he didn’t drive & everyone else was at school at least in the early days.  I pulled up to his house to find Mark’s truck already in the driveway since he didn’t go to school anymore either.  Frank & Mark had graduated a year earlier at this point but Frank was not there that day.  Hours passed like minutes & it wasn’t until I got a page from my mom that I realized how late it was.  There was no cell phones at the time at least not like everyone has them today.  I used Kris’ house phone to call my mom who asked if I planned on coming home to eat before I went to work when I was hit with another surprise after being reminded I was scheduled to work at 4:00PM.  It was already 3:30 PM.  As soon as I hung up I said goodbye to the guys & made my way to the restaurant.  I was probable a little passed my peak on acid but it was still hitting me pretty hard.  I smoked a little more weed in the locker room with another employee before punching in to try & calm down.  I don't know how long I was actually able to work that day.  I had no idea what was about to happen & the chain of events I was about to set in motion.  I am more than certain there would be more people alive today had I just called into work instead.  

Part of my job as a line cook was to prepare a large slab of meat the restaurant was known for.  You had to slice it in long thin strips with a very long sharp knife (about 12 inches), that was sharpened to a razor’s edge once a week if not more.  I don’t know what made me think this was a good idea to attempt cutting the beef at the time but nevertheless I did.  I picked up the beef knife with bare hands from it’s handle, waving it in the air like a sword above my head while laughing.  I remember someone was standing next to me that was encouraging my erratic behavior as I started plunging the large serrated knife into the gigantic slab of meat still laughing as the oily juices squirted out all over the table, the knife & my hand.  I kept stabbing the meat repeatedly until the blade eventually found bone in the center of the meat bringing it to a complete halt while my hand, covered in grease, maintained it’s firm grip making it’s way all the way down the 12 inch, razor sharp, blade.  Cutting so fast & clean through my flesh, tendons, & bone with little to no effort.  So fast in fact that I didn't even feel it happen & even started walking away when one of the employees staring yelling for me to stop.. pointing out my hand was squirting blood like a fountain.  I glanced down at my hand very briefly knowing it to be true finding my index finger hanging on by a thread of skin.  As soon as the image entered my head....my mind didn’t want to believe/except what I had done.  It’s hard to explain what happened next because my memory starting fading as I lost more & more blood.  The last thing I remember was Paul running from his office, grabbing me, & ushering me to the bathroom sink while another employee ran for the first aid kit.  One of the last things I heard was a girl yell for someone to call 911.  My vision started turning to black & white, my hearing was all but gone & I passed out.  

When I woke up I was strapped to a hospital bed with bright fluorescent lights blinding me.  I tried getting up to see if this was my imagination but a nurse put her hand on my forehead easing my head back down telling me to stay calm.  I could hear the hospital staff moving things around me, machines beeping, & my mothers voice coming from the hallway outside my room.  She came in to speak with me once she noticed I was conscious.  My dad must have been at work at the time.  She asked me what happened & what I had taken earlier that day.  She knew I experimented with drugs & she had worked in the medical field since she was 19 so I didn’t lie to her.  I told her about the acid & smoking weed before work.  I didn’t tell her it all started at school feeling that was all she needed to know.  She stood up, telling me she would be right back, & left the room to speak with the surgeon.  A few minutes later they both came into the operating room while the doctor explained to me that he was aware of what I had taken & that he could not perform the surgery at that time because of my condition.  He went on to explain that he was going to sew up my finger just enough so I wouldn’t bleed to death over the weekend after which I would come back on Monday with a clear head so they could finish putting/sewing my tendons back together & fix the rest of my hand.  I was told that they could not knock me out with a general anesthetic & instead could only numb my hand locally in fear of my heart stopping during the procedure.  I wasn’t given much of a choice because it was either that or lose my finger completely which I didn’t exactly want to do.  I cautiously agreed while a nurse came from behind my head to secure a rod wrapped in rubber inserting it in my mouth to bite down on for pain.  She placed a rubber stress ball in my other hand for me to squeeze.  My mother was also allowed to stay in the room by my side during the procedure....probably to keep me calm or prevent me from thrashing around.  My right arm with the injured hand was pulled snug with straps to an extended table next to my chair for the surgeon to work on.  

He started working on my hand without even telling me.  I think doctors do this sometimes because anticipating the pain intensifies it.  Sort of like when you bump your elbow & you rub it to feel better but in actuality rubbing it does nothing physical to ease pain & is more mental but either way it works.  It started as a tugging sensation but quickly turned into a sharp pain all the way up my arm & into my shoulder.  I bit down hard on the rubber bar in my mouth...the nurse still holding my head down so I couldn’t see what was happening to my hand.  At this point I no longer wanted to look up & only for the pain to stop.  I don’t have much memory after that either.  The next thing I knew I was being wheel chaired to my mom’s car & slept most of the way home & through the night.  

I was woken by my mother the following morning with my pain medicine.  After asking how I was feeling she calmly asked me to come downstairs to eat some food where I found my dad already waiting for me at the table.  This wasn’t the first time they had attempted to sit me down for a talk pertaining to my behavior & definitively wasn’t the last.  I did know they were taking this more serious than in the past because my dad stayed home from work that day to have this discussion.  The conversation was about as standard as it could be after you learn your child nearly dismembered three fingers while heavily inebriated on acid.  They asked how long I had been doing the hard drugs, where I was getting them, why I felt the need to do it, ect.  There was no anger from either of them nor was I punished for it.  It had nothing to do with any of the guys I was hanging around so they didn’t even make me change my friends not that I would have.  They just chalked it up to the crazy/wild thing kids do figuring it would eventually pass & were in now way being naive.  They had dealt with my older brothers doing the very same things & they weren’t drug addicts or screw ups in any way so I can see where they were coming from.  

Life went back to normal fairly quickly after my, “accident.”  Of course my job had me sign a non-disclosure agreement within days of the incident but I was too young to think or even care why.  I just liked they idea of getting paid without having to work for 6 months.  I didn’t realize how negligent they actually were & how I could have filed suit against them.  Maybe if my mom wasn’t so close lipped about our family affairs my lawyer would have found out what happened earlier.  It wasn’t until a caught another charge that he saw my hand in a sling & learned of what had happened.  He explained I was not only under age to use the knife, but also should have had a steel mesh glove available to me, as well as a guard above the handle to stop the hand from running down the blade like mine did.  There wasn’t much he could do at that point since I signed their documents agreeing not to suit them & had already been cashing their weekly checks for a couple months.  It wouldn’t be for another couple years where a confrontation between the police & my middle brother would get way out of control that I would learn just how much a settlement could have changed my life.  For good or bad I do not know.  I was unlike both my brothers.  Something my parents/family would learn in time realizing that this was not just a kid being wild/crazy but something else all together.  

#Drugs #LSD #Addiction #Emergency #Wild #BadTrip #RabbitHole #Heroin #Dependency #MyStory #1990′s #90′s #HighSchool

[uta-h3m-vcd-tbw]

Choosing The Wrong Path

Growing up in the 90′s you were a different breed all together.  Tupac & Death  Row were bursting on the scene & the news was constantly talking about John Gotti.  Everyone wanted to be a tough guy & would do just about anything to earn that reputation.  In my neighborhood....the crazier you were the more everyone respected you.  It seemed like everyday their was a fight at school or someone was having a run in with the cops.  They got to know my group pretty quick.  It didn't take me long to realize why Frank had the nicest car but never drove it.  He always needed someone to take him somewhere & with me living so close, eager to prove myself, we became close friends in no time.  I remember going over his house before I had a license & we didn’t have a blunt/cigar to roll our weed in so we had to drive to the store.  I was ready to jump in the car with the weed & everything before Frank stopped me saying to leave it behind reminding me we would be right back.  We didn’t even make it out of our neighborhood before getting pulled over.  It was like they were just sitting around the corner from his house waiting for us.  We didn't do anything to get pulled over...all it took was one of them to see Frank’s car & that was it.  The cops searched the car/us as always, checked for warrants & sent us on our way.  I was a few months from turning 16 & already had a, “learner’s permit,” to drive so they didn't even bring that up.  Maybe they figured they would let me go for another day.  Eventually as we got bolder & bolder it became a regular cat & mouse game.  In the beginning I was constantly in & out of jail for minor stuff.  My dad owned just under a 100 acres of hunting land up north he bought really cheap when he was young & a lawyer friend of his would represent me for free for access to the land until it became too much so he started asking for compensation.  At first it was one nights stays in jail for petty stuff that was kept off my record in exchange for passing a year of probation.  Sometimes I would violate but my lawyer was always able to keep me out of being sentenced to actual jail time.    

I still remember my first time going to jail.  Frank always sold a lot of weed to this mystery customer that I always drove him to but was never allowed to meet.  He never said his name only referring to him as, “B,” & the guy seemed to move around a lot cause we were always delivering to different places for a few months & then it would change.  Since Frank didn’t drive he would always call & ask me to drive him.  It wasn’t something new to me, we had done it several times...but I was never allowed out of the car.  I had just got my license & hadn’t even found a car yet so my mom would let me use hers for a few hours every now & again.  I got a call around 9PM on a rainy spring night from Frank asking me to pick him up.  School had just let out for the summer so I wasn’t doing anything at the time.  I pulled up to his house & gave the horn a couple honks.  He came crashing out the side door of his garage sending me an angry glare through the windshield obviously for the beeping.  I was also there to get some weed off him for myself as well but he told me we would take care of it when we got back.  We must have made it about a mile out of our neighborhood this time before pulling up to a stop light & noticing the police car slowly creeping out of a strip mall parking lot & getting right behind us. I had a, “knee jerk,” reaction to check my pockets for anything illegal I might have forgotten about but Frank grabbed my wrist while keeping his eyes in the mirror & whispering to keep calm.  You could’ve cut the tension with a knife.  The traffic light felt like it was red for ten minutes.  As soon as it turned green, I started to pull off but the cop immediately flicked on his lights signaling us to pull over.  

Frank slowly started stuffing the weed in his shoe & I told him to give me half of it.  I had older brothers who got possession charges before this & I knew anything over 28 grams was a felony that he couldn’t afford from already being on probation for an earlier possession charge.  He hesitated...giving me a look as if to ask me if I was sure.  I already knew he had an ounce split in two bags because we never hid our drugs in the car for a dog to sniff out.  Frank always insisted we keep everything in the open, usually on his lap, so we can throw it out the window if given the chance or put it on our person.  We always tried to drive with the least amount we possibly needed & not a seed more.  He never wanted anything left in the car knowing it would be the cops main focus. Why the bags were split in two I do not know.  I stuck my hand out further & he handed me one of the bags while stuffing the remainder in his shoe as I did the same.  Of course we did all of this in the span of mere seconds while we were turning into a subdivision & out of the cop’s spotlight that was fixated on the car.  You only get a 3-5 second window depending on how slow your driving to enact this maneuver as you turn or they will see you fidgeting if in view of their spotlight.  Hence why this must be done while turning & afterwards, don’t pull right over so they can walk ten feet back to pick up what you dropped or see it with a flashlight.  It’s also best to take whatever drugs you may be trying to ditch in this attempt out of their bag & throw them out separately so they don't shine or look like drugs since the police are looking for a shiny bag.  By law, in Michigan at least, your given 500 ft before it’s considered, “fleeing.”  Slow yourself down so you can use each foot to your advantage.  

They walked right up & told us both to get out of the vehicle...even greeting Franco by name, never even asking for any of my info.  The male cop made a circular gesture with his finger motioning for us to turn around to be searched.  We both put our hands on the car & spread our legs.  You have to be confident in these moments & act as if you actually don’t have any drugs on you otherwise the cops will smell you panicking.  Another, female officer, was rummaging through the car.  I don’t even remember if she asked for permission.  The male cop started his search with Frank, patting him up & down, eventually getting to his shoes when Frank called the cop’s bluff...asking if he would like him to remove them in the rain.  He was told it wasn’t necessary & to sit on the curb while making his way to me.  I figured what isn’t broke don’t fix it so when he got towards my shoes I just said the same thing & he told me to remove my them!  He must have picked up on something in my voice.  A hesitation maybe....probably would have been better had I just kept my mouth shut. I took off my shoe, giving way for the bag to fall on the concrete & immediately heard the clinking of metal as he pull out his cuffs.  

At that age, being your first time getting arrested, you are a little intimated to say the least.  Even so I looked at it as if I was earning merit stripes at Boyscouts.  He threw me in the back of a car where I watched them release Frank & a tow truck pulling in the lot for my mom’s car.  Eventually I was taken to the county jail, placed in the first holding cell while waiting to be booked & ready to, “dress out,” or change out of your street clothes.  Now typically this is only for people that can’t afford bail, at least where I am from.  If you can call someone to bail you out they don’t give you a, “change out,” because your not staying over night.  It was my first time so I didn’t even know this.  I had no idea I already had a bail set since it was a misdemeanor charge.  Luckily the cops were slow & lazy so it took about 12 hours to get changed out.  By this time Frank had made it home & was already on his way with Mark & bail money.  I wish I could say my first jail experience was this big learning experience but they were calling my name within a few hours & I never even picked up a phone.  I attempted to call my mom but it wouldn’t allow the call to go through.  I was, “processed out,” roughly two hours later, where I was able to physically walk into the parking to find Frank & Mark waiting with McDonalds, beer, & more weed.  

I was right when assuming that taking the charge for Frank would boost me up the social latter a bit.  I had been selling a lot of weed for him at school & felt it was time I was brought in on bigger things.  I knew the guys always had other illegal stuff going on but they never included me before.  I would catch them whispering about this & that from time to time, suddenly getting silent when I waked up, but I knew what was going on.  The first thing I was, “let in on,” was a substantial sized coke deal.  At least it wasn’t the average, “8 Ball,” or few grams that we normally sold to a couple school kids on a Friday night.  I was just sitting at home watching TV on a summer morning a few weeks after my arrest when I got the call from Franco to come pick him up & that he would explain everything when I got to his house.  I knew from his tone that this was it....my next big step up.  My dad had just bought me my first car, a 1989 Ford Probe GT, so I jumped up & drove to pick up Frank....arriving no more than ten minutes after the call.  He explained we were going to meet a family member of his that owner a car dealership in Auburn Hills about 40 minutes from his house.  I was told we were to go there & act as if we were just a regular customer looking to buy a truck.  It had to be a truck.  Before leaving Frank asked me if I was carrying anything that could get us arrested but I already knew not to do that.  We didn’t smoke any weed on the way or even listen to loud music.  We were both pretty quite other than him giving me directions & occasionally pointing out some of his favorite places to eat.  I still remember him showing me his most favored, Lelli’s Restaurant from the I-75 freeway before we pulled off by the Palace of Auburn Hills where the Pistons played during that time.  We made our way passed the downtown area & pulled into a used car lot.  Frank told me to not say anything & just follow his lead.  

We walked through the door & were greeted by a large Latino who was obviously an uncle or older cousin of his, asking us how he could help us.  Frank explained we were looking for a truck & wanted to see what they had.  The man pointed to the door & we headed back to the lot.  Even in the parking lot they kept up their act of salesmen & customer while I trailed a few feet behind.  He shoveled us towards a nice looking Ford truck & asked if we would like to test drive it while holding out the keys.  Frank told him yes while nodding his head at me to grab the keys & to get behind the wheel as he got in the passenger seat as always before driving off.  As soon as we got back on the freeway he told me to head to Detroit while opening the middle compartment & pulling out three stuffed large yellow envelopes, each containing money as well as directions/instructions.  We kept the same demeanor we had on the way there.  No music, no conversation, just directions he was feeding me from the piece of paper from the envelope.  We eventually ended up in one of Detroit’s less attractive neighborhoods, pulling into another car place, & directed by two young African American males to pull in one of their open garage bays.  Frank told me to stay in the car while he got out & started shaking hands with one of the guys.  The other one came to my window asking me to pop the hood of the truck so I did.  I couldn’t see what they were doing from inside the truck with the hood raised but I could feel they were doing something with the amount the truck rocked back & fourth.  There was a few other workers in the shop doing stuff to other cars that paid no attention to what we were doing.  I could still see Frank from the truck laughing & talking to one of them but couldn't hear a thing over all the power drills & workers yelling at each other.  After a few minutes he turned around & hopped back in the truck while the guy he was talking to open the bay door so we could pull out.  The other man slammed the hood shut & jogged behind us using his arms to guide us out of the bay.  I never saw Frank get anything only hand them money so I was a little confused as to what we actually did & didn’t even know I was speeding until he yelled for me to slow down.  Then it was back to the silence as we made our way back up I-75 to drop the truck back off from it’s, “test drive.” 

When we got back to the original car dealership the man that was so eager to greet us was nowhere to be found.  Frank didn’t seem concerned...he didn’t even attempt to look for him.  He simply told me to park the truck towards the back of the lot & to pull my car up to the entrance of the building while he ran in to give another salesmen the keys.  He came right back out, jumped back in my car, directing me to head back home.  Once we were back on the freeway this time he pulled out a different envelope stuffed with a little less cash than the previous ones, opened it up, pulled out $300, & gave it to me.  I didn’t ask any questions & just thanked him for the money.  

This became a regular thing for us for the remainder of the summer & into the school year.  I was previously on the football team but when it came time to sign up for my sophomore year I just decided not to.  It was the first year I didn’t play sports in over a decade & I didn’t even think twice about it.  I could tell the closer I got to the guys the more my previous self deteriorated.  I was starting to actually hang out with them & not just be a driver/dealer.  I got to know each one of them pretty well except this mysterious, “B,” character I always heard about but never actually met.  I did eventually learned we had been picking up cocaine in Detroit & that it was for B himself after making several deliveries straight to him directly after a pickup.  They had a box installed inside the engine compartment of the truck we used where they put the cocaine each time for our drive back.  I still hadn’t actually seen the box or just how much cocaine we were buying each time just that they were getting it out of the engine compartment after returning & before the delivery.  Why this didn’t happen on our first trip was never made aware to me I just assumed Frank didn’t want me connecting all the dots yet.  

In the beginning when everything was still new it was a lot of fun.  We hustled hard all week to make as much money as possible by any means possible & would go to parties on weekends at whoever’s house was throwing it.  We were never turned away from a party, ever.  Probably because everyone knew we had all the drugs.  At the core of our group of friends you had about about 10 guys that all grew up in the same neighborhood called, “Valley Forge.”  Before High School we didn’t know much outside of the neighborhood because you never met anyone other than the kids from the trailer park across the street who we really only saw on the bike trails.  Our elementary & middle school where located in the rear of the subdivision & a small strip mall with a pizza place, 7/11 & arcade room in the front.  We had no reason to leave the neighborhood until you started High School or got a license.  Frank & a couple of the guys knew people in other schools & neighborhoods all over the greater Detroit area from hockey leagues from when they were younger, or skate parks they frequented.  My parents told me hockey was too expensive & would never drive me to any of the other skate parks because they were all located in Warren right next to Detroit.  Because of this we always had random people I had never met before coming to our neighborhood to hang out or meet with Frank for something.  

As more & more people came into my life I experimented with more & more drugs.  I recall my oldest brother telling me to stick to God’s green earth after finding out I smoked weed.  Basically telling me to stick to natural drugs like weed & mushrooms but I was already taking Ecstasy & Acid just about every week.  Even when we were just sitting around at someone’s house after school we would take, “Freeon Gas,” from the air conditioner & inhale it for a quick buzz.  I HIGHLY suggest not doing this as there is only two valves that release gas on an air conditioner...one being poisonous.  We would go to raves at warehouses in the city or after hours parties where they would fill the entire building with soap suds to your waist, smoke machines, black lights & strobe lights flashing in sync with the music.  All you could see was half naked woman & goofy characters dancing around with glow in the dark face paint & Nitrous balloons in their hands.  It was like I was invisible & that no harm could enter this mental, “bubble,” I was gradually creating.  There was no slowing me down.  I didn’t think about the future anymore & childhood dreams slowly faded away.  We only lived for what was going on that day...never thinking about tomorrow or the consequences.  I became angry with my parents for no reason at all.  I just saw them as this obstacle that was always between myself & getting high with my friends.  It wasn’t a secret I was smoking weed, they knew that much.  They just didn't know how fast things were starting to spiral out of control & I didn’t either.  I can’t imagine how much worry I actually put them through & it was only the beginning.  I had no idea how much my life was going to change for the worse nor how fast it could happen.  

Stay Tuned! 

[uta-h3m-vcd-tbw]

Who Am I?

I have attempted to dialogue the events in my life at least 100 times beforehand but probably more but could never bring myself to be completely honest.  Call this a personal inventory if you will.  I consider myself a better writer than most however when it comes to writing about myself my brain goes blank.  I know what I want to say, it’s just how do you go about telling anyone....”I am a Heroin addict.”  

I have read a couple books about other addicts & have watched countless documentaries, movies, & shows about addiction.  Always paying close attention to how the writer unfolds his/her story trying to translate it to my own with little success.  I eventually came to the conclusion that so much has happened in the two decades of drug use that there is no way fathomable to include everything...at least not in your standard literary fashion.  

A few days ago I stumbled across a new series on Netflix about a girl that liked to blog on Tumblr & suddenly I felt I may have an outlet to format this timeline of events.  Make no mistake about this...everything I write from this moment on is 100% true whether you choose to believe it or not.  Hell looking back....I don’t believe it sometimes & constantly find myself asking God why am I still here & why have so many perished before/besides me?  What makes me so special?

Most stories I read/watch about addiction are pretty generic.  It typically starts with someone who was injured & prescribed pain killers only to get cut off from the doctor & led down the dark & endless path of Heroin addiction.  They tell stories about the terrible things they did to maintain their habit & of loved ones they hurt along the way.  While I did horrible things as well, hurt & lost too many loved ones to addiction...this story is unlike any of the rest.  This is a story of addiction...obviously...but also one of organized crime, corruption, murder, extortion, jail/institutions, & love but mostly death.  

Every addiction specialist or rehab I have been to always had the same fault....they try to find some underlying reason as to why I started, “self medicating,” & attempt to address it.  I’ve had numerous heated arguments with councilors & doctors who insisted I was suppressing something deep down & may not even know it!  While I have heard of such instances to actually be the case I can very well tell you I am as normal as you are.  

I grew up in a child’s utopia in an upper-middle class suburb roughly 20 miles North of Detroit.  Think of the famous Tim Allen show, “Home Improvement.” Not only was I raised in Metro Detroit but I also come from a family of two parents, still married, & was the youngest of three boys.  I know most people’s perception of Detroit isn’t very high however in the 80′s & 90′s it was a great place to start a family.  Before the auto industry tanked most people skipped college to work on the assembly line at one of the, “Big Three,” (Ford, GM, or Chrysler) & lived comfortably.  My dad was a, “Safety Restraint Engineer,” for a subsidiary company with several patents still in use today!  We spent our days riding bikes through endless trails behind our house, building forts, playing back yard football, & camping in the backyard on warm summer nights.  My brothers & I were raised Catholic.  Went to Church every Sunday & Catechism on Thursday nights.  If I could change one thing about my childhood I wouldn’t.  It was that perfect!  My Father didn’t fail to raise a man...I failed to be the man he raised. 

When someone asks me why I started doing drugs I tell them because it was fun....simple as that.  I know it sounds cliche but it’s true, everyone was doing them.  My older brothers were way ahead of me, listening to Grateful Dead & dropping acid in middle school!  I just liked drugs a lot more than everyone else. My mother knew I had an addictive personality because I would take everything I did to the max & always looked for instant gratification.  I never wanted to wait/work for anything.  I think my brothers were aware of this as well because they would NEVER sell me pot in these early days.  They wouldn’t even talk to me about it.  So as far as being as normal as everyone else....maybe that one’s a stretch.  On the other hand I was years ahead of my classmates & understood how things worked much easier than the majority of my class.  

By the time I reached High School I was selling/smoking pot & hanging out with kids my age but it wasn’t long before I caught the attention of the older guys in the neighborhood.  I had already garnished a somewhat questionable reputation through my brothers by default & everyone knew my name from the paper route I had since I was roughly 12 years old.  At first they were intimidating & I hated whenever I had to deliver papers on one of their streets...praying they wouldn’t be outside playing basketball or something.  They always hung around the same two or three houses depending on who’s parents weren’t home that day.  If they saw me coming every one of them would stop what they were doing & aim their attention towards me.  All of them except one.  I knew his face & heard stories whispered about him in the hallways at school.  His name was Franco & he was not just the leader of their group...he was, “Head Fucking Hancho.”  You know the scene from mob movies where people from the neighborhood come to sit with the boss & ask him all kinds of favors in return for their loyalty?  That was Franco at age 15!  He had everyone’s respect....even that of my older brothers who looked up to nobody.  If you had a disagreement with Franco it didn’t go far.  I’ve seen him hit guys so hard they temporarily lost the ability to speak!  After a couple minutes of hazing from the guys he would shout from the porch telling them to leave me alone & they would scatter like roaches! 

These encounters would eventually lead up to my first drug deal.  Up until that point I had been stealing whatever I could from whichever brother wouldn’t notice at the time & smoking/selling it with & to my friends.  They eventually caught me & beat the living shit out of me.  I don’t think they were actually mad about the missing weed it was more about not stealing from your brother.  The same day I was caught stealing weed I planned on meeting several kids from school at a friends house & of course everyone was expecting me to bring the pot.  To this day I don’t know how I got the phone number or the guts to call it but I reached out to Franco’s best friend Mark.  I don’t really no why I chose him....any of the older guys could have found me weed.....but I knew Mark sold it regularly & to pretty much anyone.  There was no cell phones at this time so I had to call his house.  He wasn’t as angry as I expected & told me to wait 5 minutes before riding my bike towards his side of the neighborhood.  I did exactly as he instructed me to & before I could get to the end of my street he was pulling up in a dark green Ford Ranger...Frank was with him riding in the passenger seat.  Mark got out...threw my bike in the back of his truck telling me to hop in the backseat before getting back behind the wheel & pealing off.  The music was so loud I could barely understand the lyrics over the bass let alone what Frank & Mark were saying but it didn’t matter because they weren’t talking to me.  At the time I thought Mark must want to get out of the neighborhood before doing the deal but after getting to know him I learned...that was his, “thing”.  He loved to drive around, blaring music, & smoking weed with whoever was willing to tag along.  He hated driving alone & his truck was like his office.  Frank acted as if I wasn’t even there...holding a cool composure looking out the window while nodding his head to the music.  Eventually we pulled down a random street, where Mark turned down the music before pulling the truck over.  He turned around & asked me how much money I wanted to spend before opening a large grocery bag filled to the top with little, “dime bags,” or roughly a large gram of weed in each bag.  I don’t know if it was how he had them bagged up but it was more than I had ever seen in one place at the time & my brothers always had a lot.  I had a handful of crinkled five′s & one dollar bills I collected from my friends earlier in the day at school.  It came out to around $24.  I remember it was less than $25 because Mark insisted that an 8th cost $25 & that I was a dollar short.  I didn’t even know what an 8th was or how much it cost but didn't want to screw up my first deal so I pretended it was just an honest mistake & he threw three bags in my lap.  Franco asked where I was going & asked if I needed a ride which I humbly excepted.  

From that day on things changed little by little with every passing day.  I hung out less & less with the kids my age to be around Mark, Frank & the rest of the older guys.  They saw me as the kid who could sell a lot of weed since I already had that reputation from my classmates.  I saw them as a ticket to popularity.  In my mind it was an even trade.  My mother had an entirely different opinion.....constantly telling me I should be hanging around with my younger friends.  To me it was harmless....choosing to see it as normal for a kid my age.  I had no idea where this new found friendship would lead us.  I had no idea what I was getting myself into.  

As I was saying before....so much has happened since this day that I cannot even begin to piece it all together in a manner in which it flows conveniently into a timeline of events.  This is the beginning of my attempt & you will have to stick with me to learn more as I continue to publish.  I will warn you upfront that I will be changing some names, maybe even places or be vague as I am still getting death threats to this day & also don’t want to negatively impact any of the families that have already been ripped apart from unimaginable losses.  Lastly I am still weary about telling my story in it’s entirety.  I am sure those who are close to me will be able to figure out who I am since most of what I am going to tell you has never been a secret save one part.  I have never told ANYONE the FULL story other than my parents.  I feel it is the main reason I have struggled in all my attempts at telling/writing what actually happened.  Please understand that I take absolutely NO pride in the things I have done & only feel I need to document what I went through so maybe the next kid contemplating the path I chose....will rethink the decision.  I can tell you now their is no glory or honor in what we did & the end result was nothing but pain & suffering for our victims as well as ourselves.  I really hope nobody reads this the wrong way & that I am able to accurately portray the pain/anguish we caused so they realize how brainwashed we were & the impact you can have on others no matter how minor you think it is.  You have to stand up against what may seem to be the correct/hard decision at the time or even a harmless one that you know in your heart/gut is questionable & choose to do what you know to be right.  The definition of the word, “popular,” is; liked, admired, or enjoyed by many people or by a particular person or group.  The groups that are using/selling drugs are the minority & in the end you will find most are not truly your friend.  When I go on social media, looking back at all the kids I graduated with, I realize now that those who did well in school & actively participated were actually the, “cool kids.”  They are the ones posting pictures of new houses, nice cars & beautiful wives with blossoming families.  There is nothing cool about being alone & having nothing to show for the last two decades of your life but scars.  It is not romantic in any way shape or form.  You will not find comfort.  

Stay tuned for more to come!