Chasing Seagulls











{April 30, 2009}   Overdose

This is a pretty gritty subject, and I will have to tell you one of the things that I am truly ashamed of, but it’s still one of the more interesting things that happened to me, and it’s all about the truth here, right?

Before I went to Mexico, I dated a guy named T. who shot up cocaine. I didn’t mention that I started doing it with him. I never got as bad as he was because I hated myself for doing it so much that I would try my best to keep him from doing it. I knew that if he did it, there was a good chance that I would do it, too. When it came to drug use, I usually did what everyone else was doing. The only drugs I haven’t tried are the ones I was never exposed to.

The first time I did it, he was at my apartment preparing everything. I was watching him and getting curious. When he asked me if I wanted to try it, I agreed. I made sure that he was only going to give me a little because I was scared of overdosing. When he gave me my dose, I laid back on the bed.  My mouth and nose was filled with the taste and smell of ether. The feeling was overpowering.  It was the most intense shit I had ever experienced. It was exhilarating and scary as fuck. Kind of like riding a roller coaster for the first time. I said, “Damn, T., how do you do this every day?” I started feeling nauseous and thought I was going to throw up. He said that was normal and that it would pass. Just to be safe, though, I went to the bathroom. The nausea passed and I sat down to pee. The sound of my pee in the toilet sounded metallic. In fact, everything sounded metallic, even the air. I was sitting on the toilet saying “Al-um-i-num” over and over.

I didn’t do it every time he did it, but I did it more often than I ever should have. Sticking a needle in your arm to get high is one of the stupidest things you could ever do, and I want anyone reading this to understand that I am not condoning it. If I can get across any message at all, it’s “Don’t do it!” The rest of this story will hopefully convince you of that.

One night at T.’s apartment, we were getting high. We went into the bathroom and turned on the shower to trip off the sound of the water. He gave me my dose while I was sitting on the edge of the bathtub. It was the biggest dose I ever got, and it made my ears ring. Whenever he would get a good hit, he would say, “That rang my bell,” so I told him, “I think I just got my bell rung.” It was scary and great and fucked up and I didn’t want another one like it.

Meanwhile, T. was having a problem hitting his vein. He had already registered blood in the syringe and when that happens, you can’t wait too long or the blood will clot and make it stick in the needle. He was getting frustrated and sticking the shit out of his arm and it was fucked up to watch it…so I prayed. This is probably the most fucked up prayer I’ve ever made, but I did it. I said, “God, please help him hit his vein. He’s killing his arms and I can’t watch it anymore.” And He listened.

The very next attempt T. made, he hit the vein. He hadn’t intended on taking the full dose, but I think in his frustration, he just didn’t notice. As soon as it hit him, I saw it in his face. I said, “Are you okay?” He said, “No.” I said, “Look at me.” And I started talking. I made sure he kept his eyes on my face and I just talked. I don’t remember what I said, but I was high as fuck, so talking wasn’t a problem. I could see the struggle he was going through on his face, just keeping his eyes open and aware. I kept talking to him until the peak of the high had passed and he said he would be alright. He told me if I hadn’t been there, if he had closed his eyes, he would’ve died. Due to the circumstances, I was glad I had been there.

He decided to quit after that. While he was at work one day, I cleaned his room. He had syringes, needles, matchbooks to sharpen the needles, bloody cotton, all kinds of shit scattered in his room. I threw everything away in homemade biohazard bottles. I rearranged his room and made everything clean and pretty. When he got home and saw it, he actually cried. Well, for T., that wasn’t unusual, but that’s another story.

I find it interesting that God answered my prayer the way that He did. Basically, He said, “Sure, I’ll help him out. But I’m going to teach him a lesson.” In my experience, that’s the way God does things.



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