The Skin-E

I believe I left off after my first attempt at going to a detox. Like I said, I signed myself out the same day after going in and told my girlfriend to pick me up and that I was discharged because they found Suboxone in my blood. She had called my father on the way to pick me up and he actually agreed to let me back in the house under the agreement that I would get clean using Suboxone at home while being held under lock and key. I was not allowed out of the house unless I was with KB, my girlfriend. Even with these restrictions, I still found a way around them to get to my precious heroin.

I was lying to everyone at this time. My dad & step-mother so they would not kick me out of the house, my girlfriend so she would continue to support my habit, and my mother so she would give me money when no one else would. I convinced my girlfriend somehow that I wasn’t using and that I was paying back drug dealers money that I had owed them from when I was using. This was anything but the truth though. I was still shooting up constantly, and I kept up this charade for 4 or 5 months before she caught on and I had no choice but to tell her that I was, in fact, using. She was devastated, of course, but she STILL did not leave me. That blows my mind when I think of it today. I think it was because I promised her that I would go to a detox and get clean as soon as I could find one to accept me.

I turned 21 somewhere around this time, and I was still using everyday and living at my father’s house. Then one night, we had an electrical fire that started in the attic. I awoke from my nod on the couch on the deck to see my dad and step-mom running around frantically and calling the fire department. I spent the night at my girlfriend’s house, and a few weeks later we moved into a temporary house less than a mile away from our home. The fire did not cause much damage, but the water damage was horrible. So horrible that it made living in the house impossible and we were forced to live in this temporary house for about 9 months. Well, I did not make it the whole 9 months. By the time we got there, my dad and step-mom started to notice money missing and were on to my habit again. My girlfriend had just about given up on me and we were at a very rough patch (like the rest of our relationship wasn’t just a big rough patch, but this was even worse than that) and I was on the look for a detox/rehab to go to. My parents told me I was either to find a detox to go to or I could not stay there any longer, and KB told me that she would not stay with me unless I did what my parents told me. So I was looking for a detox, barely. I basically just faked calling places for a few weeks just so I could keep using, and then, something horrible happened.

I was upstairs in my room and I just finished scraping my brick of heroin baggies (that’s 50 bags for the non-junkies) to get the remaining powder that is always left stuck to the inside of the wax-paper baggies. So I scraped them all, loaded up the brown liquid into my dull, over-used syringe, and by this time, my veins were pretty shot, so I was poking around in my arm trying to find a vein for a good 20 minutes. There was blood everywhere, and I must have looked like an absolute mess. Well, during this time, apparently my sister crept up the stairs to look for something and saw me, sitting on the bed with my belt tying my arm off, poking around with a needle trying to hit a vein. I did not even hear her though, but she went back downstairs and told my step-mom what she saw and now she crept upstairs to see if she could still catch me in the act. Just as I heard her, it was too late. I tried to take the needle out of my arm and the belt off but she saw me, and the only thing she said was “Why?” She wanted to know why I was doing this to myself. Why was I throwing my life away and becoming a slave to something so small yet so powerful, and I could not find an answer. I said something along the lines of “I’m fucking sick, and I need to get right!”

That’s when she gave me an ultimatum. I either go to an inpatient rehab for a few months or I hit the streets. I agreed that I couldn’t do this on my own and that I would go to a rehab. For once I finally picked up the phone and got into a program the very next day. My girlfriend and I were practically broke up at that time, but I begged her to supply me with enough money to get me through until tomorrow morning when I would be going to detox, and that is what happened. I picked up 5 bags and a dime of coke and got high for what was supposed to be my very last time.

I entered detox the very next day and got through most of the day before hitting withdrawals. I stayed in the detox for 3 days, and then they found me an aftercare program to go to. They failed to mention that this rehab program turned out to be a Christian based program and was more like a homeless shelter than any kind of rehab. Their idea of rehab was letting “God” take care of you. That just did not work for me. God would not get me clean, I knew that, but I still tried to tough it out. After I was in the program for two weeks, this little fucker by the name of, well, we shall call him Itch, came to the program. He was a 22 year old kid there for the same reason I was, smack, and he had no desire to get clean. Once you’re in the program for 30 days, you’re allowed out for 4 hours a night, and of course, I was allowed out before Itch was, so what do you think he asked me to do the first night I was allowed out? Yup, go score some dope and coke. I had no money, so I told them that but of course they told me that as long as I went they would take care of me. C’mon, about 30 days clean and do you really think I already had the willpower to say no? Fuck no! I went and got a bundle of dope and two dimes of coke. The coke turned out to be bunk but the dope was all I needed to start me itching for that feeling of supreme bliss again. The leaders of the program became instantly suspicious of our little clique and piss tested us but we cheated it and got away with it the first time.

So over the next few weeks at the program, I made using a thing to do on the weekends, but during the whole week that was all I could think about, so I knew I was in trouble once again already. I tried calling my father and telling him “Dad, listen, there’s people in here getting high, and I don’t know how long I can hold out for,” and do you wanna know what we told me? “Dave, this is what you’re going to have to deal with when you’re out in the real world, so no, you can’t come home.” I did not even want to come home for good either. I wanted to go home until I found another program to go to, but nope, that was not an option. That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard also. Sure, I have to deal with being tempted with drugs in the real world, but it will not be as close to me as it was in fucking rehab! The guy in the bunk to the left of me was shooting up for fuck’s sake! How was I supposed to resist? It wasn’t long before I broke curfew one night when I was out copping dope and could not produce a urine sample. They kicked me out at midnight and was basically told to fend for myself. That’s mighty Christian of them, isn’t it?

Well, that’s where I am going to leave you for now, but trust me when I say that this is not the end. The next period of my addiction was the absolute worst and most embarrassing, but I will write about it in a few short days.

Until then, this is Legz signing out.