Descent Into Madness – Part 2
“What the fvck?” or “More, More, More”
Before I begin, I want to share my email experience since writing the first part of my “Descent Into Madness”. For those who enjoy metrics and measures, 97% of those 87 emails have been supportive, kind, thoughtful and encourage me to “self indulge” with more blog posts that open my heart and share my real ‘slice of life’ experiences. Two percent (2%) have asked questions about my ‘recovery’; the “crawling from the grave” inquiries, which I will touch upon later.
I offer a sincere “thank you” to this 99%!
For the remaining 1% who asked “What the fvck?” or “Start writing about Satanism!” or my personal favorite “No one cares about this $hit. Write about Satin”.
I do not know much about “Satin” however, I offer a link……..Viel Glück, Schwachkopf.
“Dabble” - To work or involve oneself superficially or intermittently especially in a secondary activity or interest♦
Curiosity has killed more than the “cat” and while being inquisitive is a good trait for a person, it can also lead down a path of no return. I have cautioned readers concerning the dangers of dabbling with magic and dabbling with a drug (or several drugs) is no different. With each time, the User dances closer to the blade of a figurative knife; capable of ending the User’s life immediately. When there aren’t adverse effects resulting, the User “raises the ante” which, mathematically increases the chances of an adverse effect occurring. The higher the wager, the higher the chance of loosing and unfortunately, the more potent the “thrill” of cheating death. It is a cycle that once in motion, requires a clear mind, focused thought and strong willpower to break the chain…..very few are able to escape the claws of death.
Many people wonder how a person gets sucked into being a heroin addict.“Who in their right mind would stick a needle into their body filled with a substance of unverified ingredients and unknown origin? Some of this stuff is smuggled into the country in some’s ass, right?” Just like a sequence of events that cause a plane crash, the addicts sequence of events usually leads them to the symbolic “crash site” by elevating their drug dabbling over a period of time. I have never met a recovering addict who went straight to the needle; in fact, most started with the “innocent dabbling” which went horribly bad by attempting to recreate the same “good high” with an increasingly higher dose of their drug of choice.
Does this sound like someone you know? What about that joint on the weekend? After a few weekends, it does not feel the same; it does not have the same effect. It soon takes 3 or 4 of those joints to “get where you want to go”; one Hydrocodone (Acetaminophen) lacks the potency first enjoyed so two, then three, then……..; one beer could send you to “the party” but after a while, two six packs only provides bloating and an expanding waistline. When looking from this point of view, it is not hard to understand how reality slips away and madness makes logical sense. Do you think I am kidding?
She Was My Teacher and I, Her Student
My addiction happened exactly that way. I drank wine (Boone’s Farm - Country Kwencher), graduated to Jack Daniels then to Absinthe, began dabbling with Weed (which slowed me down too much), added prescription diet pills (supplied by one of the girls I was banging) to speed me up while hitting the Blow at college parties on the weekends. This worked relatively well for a while but as time passed, I became “bored” with the routine.
While a a party in Belle Chasse, Louisiana, I was working hard to get into a beautiful brunette’s panties when she asked if I wanted to leave the party and go to her apartment. I was ecstatic and we got into her Chevrolet Monte Carlo (it was the ’80s) and headed for New Orleans. She wanted to pick up some “stuff” on the way to her place so the party could continue. I had a hand-full of diet pills, a glass of JD and we shared a really big “bump” before we left the party so……..I was feeling fine!
We drove to a very nice neighborhood, pulled to the curb in front of a beautiful house with a gate across the driveway and brick wall surrounding the house and small yard. She told me to wait and she got out, walked to the call box by the gate and when the gate opened, she walked right in. A couple minutes later, the gate opened again and she appeared carrying a white paper bag. She got into the car and gave me the bag. I asked what was in the bag and she replied “Clean Rigs”. Not wanting to seem like a dumb ass, I nodded and smiled. We arrived at her place and she wasted no time working a ‘setup’; she used a bent spoon, put some powder in the spoon and added some water with the syringe.
Don’t Hurt Me, Please. I Trust You.
I’ll never forget the way she licked her lips while preparing the setup. She was a beautiful girl, about 20 years old and a body that was perfect. She could have had any man she wanted and I believe she could have excelled at anything; and she did excel in her chosen, Heroin. I saw her a couple years later; a strung out addict giving blow jobs for $5.00. She looked really bad; sickly. For those brave, horny shift workers on the docks, $10.00 and they could do anything to her that they pleased……anything. I heard weeks later that one of her Johns ripped up her vagina with the bent end of a crowbar on a ‘date’. She nearly bled-out before the “gentleman” dumped her 1/2 block from the emergency room entrance. Half dead, a good samaritan took her into the ER after stealing the $10.00 she had just earned.
I had seen heroin mixed and ‘cooked’ on TV however, she did not cook it at all……..no matches, no heating the spoon…..none of that. She introduced me to what would become my favorite method: the “Cold Shot”. She looked at me, her beautiful brown eyes almost black (dilated pupils) and she asked me “Do your own or you need help?” I had never done heroin but if she did it, it could not be that bad. Besides, I just wanted to get everything out of the way and get her in BED! I would have taken a spoonful of cyanide for an opportunity to put my face in her crotch!! With my brown eyes looking at her, as innocently as I possibly could, I asked her “Can you ‘do’ me? Don’t hurt me, please. I trust you.”
She set the rig on the coffee table and took off my shirt. She then pushed me backward and I laid down as she opened the fly of my black leather pants. She pulled my boots off and tossed each behind her; she got a good grip on the seat of my leather pants and with one fluid pulling-motion, I was rendered naked except for my necklaces and rings. My heart was almost jumping out of my chest and I said “Your turn….”. A second later, she straddled me, kissed me deeply and asked “Are you ready?” My tool was standing at full mass…..was I ready?????? I nodded in agreement.
She reached to her side and found the strap (rubber tourniquet), pulled me to a sitting position and sat beside me. She tied me off (tied the tourniquet around my arm), opened two alcohol swabs and meticulously cleaned the vein opposite my elbow. Looking back in retrospect, I should have ran like hell and never looked back but……I did not. I was beginning to sweat and she could see my anxiety level rapidly increasing. With the rig in her hand, she kissed my cheeck and asked “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” I figured there was no way I could disguise my fear and apprehension any longer so I nodded, indicating she was correct. She moved very close to my lips and whispered “I’m not going to hurt you”. She kissed my lips, smiled and while looking at my vein, she whispered “You will always remember me……….forever.”
My Heart May Stop
Can you remember the first time you had great sex?…not the backseat of a car, fumbling, fingering, cum in her panties and the “rubbering up ritual”………..but real, passionate, connecting, perfection when you both “explode concurrently in rapturous harmony” kind of sex? This is the only “near similar” experience I can think of to explain what happened when she ‘fixed’ me that night. There was a huge rush of pleasure……it is without comparison…….WITHOUT COMPARISON!!!!!
My heart felt like it would come through my breast bone. I thought I was dying and did not care! I was trying to fill me lungs with air but it seemed like the air was like glue; I could not move it in and out of my chest. I felt a surge of electricity rushing from my feet to my neck; this rush produced everything in my stomach as I projectile vomited across the coffee table. I heard her laugh and everything went black.
She Is Going To Kill Me
I awoke the next morning in her bathtub, fully clothed and dirt all over me; in my long ‘bleached blond” hair and my leather jacket looked like it had been dragged behind a car. MTV was playing the song below:
“All I know is that to me, You look like you’re havin’ fun, Open up your lovin’ arms Watch out, here I come
You spin me right round, baby Right round like a record, baby Right round round round”♦♦
She walked in as I sat up on the side of the tub and asked how I liked my eggs. I almost puked. It felt like a full strength hangover mixed with no sleep and the onset of the stomach flu…….hard to really explain. I told her I was not hungry and she asked if I needed to see “Chiva”. I though she was her roommate….I had no idea. I said “I feel like $hit and have no idea what happened last night.” She smiled and asked me to join her in the living room.
I sat next to her on the couch and there was a new rig on the coffee table; loaded and ready to go. I should have ran like hell but I, instead, laid her on the couch, ripped off her robe to reveal her perfect nude body. In the blink of an eye, I was deep inside her. She was smooth, soft with a “V-Cut” design. We spent the entire day having sex and doing drugs. I was in love but little did I know there were other “lovers” too and I would soon be just another crumb circling the drain; waiting my turn.