Needle in My Arm

I woke up one day with a needle in my arm. How I got here? I still ask that question. My biggest fear was becoming a junkie with no way out except the escape from the rush of dope. I woke in the morning feeling like death. There was no way to get out of bed unless my boyfriend filled a needle. Dope wasn’t my only addiction. Stealing anything that wasn’t bolted down and driving to the city to beg the man behind the counter at the bodega to buy it off me. If he did, my next move? Calling the best dealer I knew. The process seemed like an eternity. I would sit in the passenger seat waiting for the dope guy to come to the window. My whole body felt like worms rushing through my veins. My muscles so tight, I could be broken in two like the snap of a twig. My boyfriend always did it first. He said because if it was bad he would be the one to got out. “Bull shit”, he just wanted the first high. I knew it too. It took him so long to get the cotton to mix with the water then to smash the dope so it didn’t clog the needle. At this point he was so high, I would have to keep slapping his face to wake up. Once it was done he had to find the vein. If he missed I was out of luck unless I started the whole process over again. When he did get it, my worms instantly turned into a rush of ignorant bliss. This was my heaven, except there was no angel by my side.

Every addict has their rock bottom. Mine was the day my boyfriend lay on the ground turning blue and seizing. I rushed to call 911, while my whole world lay dying within feet from me. She said she needed me to stay on the phone to wait for the ambulance. I knew he didn’t have enough time; he would be dead before that. I knew what I had to do. I dropped the phone and banged on his chest, and began CPR. Two breaths fifteen compressions, nothing! Again, and again! He woke as fast as he went down.

He is now in prison. I did my detox more than once and my intensive outpatient programs, and by the grace of God I have about eight months clean. I hate heroin. It was once my best friend, the only thing that loved me unconditionally. Now it is my worst enemy. I wouldn’t say I’m healed. I have moments like any other addict. I know one thing for sure; I don’t want to be the one with a needle in my arm turning blue. I still get angry everyday, trying to find my escape from myself. I’m trying to learn who I am, and to love what I am. I am an addict, but now I am more than that. I am a sober addict.

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