Descent Into Madness – Dedicated to Those Survivors of Heroin
Dedicated to heroin survivors worldwide………
I Begged Him to Kill Me
I did not do Rehab to quit…
Descent Into Madness – Dedicated to Those Survivors of Heroin
Dedicated to heroin survivors worldwide………
I Begged Him to Kill Me
I did not do Rehab to quit…
Pain REALLY Hurts
I did not do Rehab to quit heroin. The first “real Satanist” (Shark) I ever knew, a career EMT (Emergency Medical Technician), saved my life. I told him I wanted to get clean and he offered to take me to Rehab. I told him I did not want to go to Rehab and I promised him that I would quit but NO REHAB. I was homeless with no one to help me…….or so I thought.
He invited me to stay at his place for the detox. I’ll never forget his words as he locked his front door; “Bro, we have food, first aid supplies, an AED (automated external defibrillator) and all the time in the world. YOU are going to be well again.”
1. My first 12 hours was a breeze………..“I’ve got this shit kicked. If it was this fvcking easy, I would have quit a while ago!” What a cocky, dumb fvcker I was….;
2. The next 24 hours………………I would sincerely have cut my own throat to just ‘bleed out’. I hurt and ached everywhere (the flu part of the process);
3. The next 24 hours………Well let’s see……. I begged him to kill me, I offered to blow him, I offered him anything he wanted to do to me, I broke the mirror in the guest bathroom and drove a shard of glass into my wrist while twisting it, I kicked two holes in his living room wall and swore to “whatever fvcking god there might be” that I would kill Shark the first chance I got, since he would not let me leave to score. He broke my nose (deservedly so), I pulled out a handful of his thick black hair by the roots and I broke three of my own fingers in the craziness;
4. The next 8 hours……….With Shark holding me to sit on the toilet, I uncontrollably ‘shit’ while projectile vomiting into the bathtub next to the toilet. My bleached blond hair was a big matted mess. My guts cramped so badly, at times I would almost loose consciousness. I slept nude on the bathroom floor with a blanket Shark draped over me;
5. The next 8 hours……..Severe “Charley Horse” leg crams including feet and ankles. There was no way to lay, sit or stand that did not result in spasm after spasm. I wanted so much to die……….;
6. The next 12 hours………I was able to shower and then sat in a hot bath. The first sip of water I had in (circa) 4 days came back up as fast as it went down. I sat in my warm, vomit-filled bathwater while the smell of the bacon and eggs Shark was cooking made me vomit until there was no more greenish bile or liquid being produced. I dry-heaved until being able to stand up, let the bath water out and turn the shower on again.
7. The next 8 hours……….I was able to eat my first meal of dry toast. I can still remember how good it tasted and how happy I felt to just be alive.
Shark took care of me for the next few days. The first night he went back to work, I was so afraid my body would take off running to score while my mind screamed and begged to stop. For the next week or so, I only slept about 5 hours total. I experienced what I can only describe as Restless Leg Syndrome (although, once the week was over, I never experienced it again.
I may write a book someday to share this with those who might find it helpful so I will stop there.
I only want to add one last thing…………. Over the years before and after helping me get clean, Shark helped several others; men and woman. He never took advantage of anyone, used them while they were vulnerable, asked for anything in return or made anyone feel uncomfortable or ashamed for going through the process. He loved people, women, fast motorcycles and lived everyday like it was his last.
He gave me a new life, not just a life but a wonderful life and I will always be humbled when I think of his unselfishness. Every time I go to New Orleans, I visit him for an hour or so. He continues to inspire people even today and they give back to him when they can. Through an anonymous donation, Shark’s headstone was replaced two years ago with the inscription: “With thanks, we are no longer broken”.
Shark was killed in a vehicle collision in 1992 while driving home from work. The other driver crossed the centerline and hit Sharky head-on, killing both drivers instantly.
The other driver had trace amounts of heroin in his blood…………….
Descent Into Madness by Holy Satanas and Aleister Nacht – On Sale Soon
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 thatopen 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.
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?
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.
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.”
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.
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.
Twenty-seven years ago today, I started over. I made a conscientious choice to live and never go back. To go back would (and will be) my death. I was broken and had no idea how to begin fixing myself. I had an encounter that changed my life, gave me the willpower to live and courage to accept whatever was to become of me. The black dreams consumed my mind and I will never forget the feeling of death looking over my shoulder. I sincerely hope no one reading this can relate to what I am going to describe. I do not wish to make anyone uncomfortable however, I want to indulge myself and peel a scab that, while no longer bleeding, is nonetheless sore.
Last year on this day, I wrote a simple blog entry: “Faith is the true evil. Blind, unquestioning faith in a religion or a cause has made men go to war, commit unspeakable acts of persecution and terrorism against other human beings.” I wanted to share what I am about to share with you but, I was just too afraid. Does that sound very Satanic; aren’t Satanists hardcore muthafvckers? That question took years for me to be able to answer; it took a long time to get comfortable in my skin…….MY skin; bruised, cut, bleeding and w o r t h l e s s. “Hey, I’m talking to you.” I can teach the ways of Satanism but I am going to give you something basic; something on a humanistic dream level. I’m reaching for your heart……. I’ll spare you all the morbid details in this post. I have often thought about writing a book as my “Hitchhike to Hell” experience but I never get past the thought of reliving those nightmares in iniquitous, vivid detail.
As intelligent as we think of ourselves, we simply remain primates intact, humans and chimpanzees can have a >98.5% similarity in DNA. Honestly, that statement is more an insult to chimpanzees than vice versa. We have needs, wants, desires and according to Abraham Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, we revert to our primordial existence rapidly when the rug is snatched from under our feet. I’m not going to over-analyze the psychology of how my life jumped the tracks; an event that left me spiraling defenselessly, unable to obviate the risks. I will say my childhood home life was tedious and draconian with feelings of unyielding abandonment. Even as I type these very words, I feel hives forming on my neck.
If I asked you to be my slave for the night, what would you say? Would the question ‘turn you off’ or make you think ‘less of me’? After all, this would be asked of you by a Satanist, Satanic Magus, coven member (leader)………..and those are my ‘good qualities’. Perhaps you have never seen a picture of me or maybe you have………….. Either way, I do not hold power over anyone who does not wish it or ask for it as their ‘pleasure’.
The tireless pursuit of the ownership of ‘flesh’ is more common than you may realize. For those who are drawn to Tumblr like a mouse to cheese, the end result is often the same….the trap is tripped and they are immobilized. The fetishes represented on Tumblr is not only for “shock value” for the housewife in Des Moines, Iowa; the images tighten a need, desire, necessity and sustainment. Consider the following. Can you relate to sections of my incongruous linear progression?
For some reason, addicts name their drug(s): Adela is now my succubus however, she shares the same name of my first real lover: Heroin. The first time I slid the needle under my skin, I went from Curiosity→Slavery. She took my breath away and from that moment forward, I lived to make her happy and I almost died to satisfy her.
In the ’80s, drugs were recreational and only hardcore, drug starved fvckers were shooting. Some naive folks tried to gain popularity by Chasing the Dragon but only the real “slaves” went to the extent of loading smack. Looking back in retrospect, I am lucky to be alive and extremely lucky to have dodged the bullet of HIV, AIDS, TB, Hepatitis, blood poisoning, overdose, and the list goes on and on…..those are the medical threats. New Orleans, Lower 9th, shooting gallery, white boy with a pocket full of cash……….people have died for a lot less.
If you have never tried H (and I hope you never do) she is a total lover. From the “prick” of her calling to her touch, she is, to the addict, a goddess who is sure to be properly worshipped. She is the tenderness of that virgin; the embrace of repeated orgasms, the release with no reserve; a tightrope with no safety net. When she asks, you answer and when she calls, YOU COME!! She laughs at the amusing lie adopted by the user and the “smoke and mirror” reality that addicts use to fool themselves into thinking “she belongs to them”: No, they belong to her!!!
I must end here for now. If anyone is interested, I will share more this weekend.
PS “Noraa…………Without sun, a precious flower that could be saved soon dies.”