Heroin Diaries
Heroin Diaries
Days 1-5: Detoxify your very blood. Go ahead, try it. Shiver and shake in cold sweat while the taint leaks from your every pore. You smell like a dying sewer rat and you don’t care; or maybe you just haven’t the strength to move. Can’t eat, can’t sleep. Just lay, toss and turn, learning to pity yourself like never before. Your own musk is enough to make you vomit. Maybe you knew, maybe not, but now it’s painfully clear; for as long as you’ve been dirty, your senses have become increasingly dulled, and now it’s all coming back in waves. Your skin tingles and your mind seems to recoil in horror as it rediscovers so much forgotten. You swim in a lake of regret, remembering who you once were, and what you’ve lost; as though your very soul has been torn asunder, and you’re left in this sounding storm, trembling in fear. How could you have known it would come to this? Dementia!
Days 6-20: A screaming spirit tugs hard and often from deep inside. A deep sense of loss; it’s hitting home hard now. Your best friend is gone. Forever? This is the ultimate test of self; id vs. ego. Will it be an eternal struggle or will it perish with time, like a healing wound? God is dead. Must be. No benevolent force could let this anguish survive. But do I deserve it? Oh yes. I am terrible and must be punished. I still can’t sleep - lay in bed with the one you hate most: yourself. You begin to remember your dreams, hopes, and aspirations, but even though your senses have returned, with your appetite and bowel regularity, you’re so overwhelmed with boredom and disenchantment that suicide is more appealing than ever. Any afterlife, heaven or hell, and even purgatory, would be preferable to this absolute constant torture. Or then, perhaps you are too far gone. Incorrigible. Your best friend turned worst enemy. Betrayal! But was that he, lurking just past that bend? Should we become reacquainted, we could be unstoppable. No! I have come too far for this. Indisputable terror suddenly gripping from deep within; is this what I have become? I am now a broken machine, constantly calculating the same variables, caught in an indefinite loop. How did harmless recreational fun turn into escapism and despicable addiction? At what point exactly did I become so weak? How long was that walk into shadow that stole my every respectable quality? And my how many miles shall I burn in the sun as I try to return? This long, lonely walk… and what of love? For now I feel only pain and longing. Will I ever find a partner that understands even a fraction of what I now feel? Am I doomed to forever search? I suppose the uncertainty is what keeps me here. When will this torture take me over? And what shall come of surrender… Caught in this undertow, and it’s getting too strong! I need support to bring me back to the surface. Just a helping hand, that’s all I need. Come all ye angels, and grant me respite from this nightmare… lest it becomes me, and I am lost forever. I remember innocence in a vague sort of way. How sweet it had been to live without knowing of this world’s capacity for hellish cruelty. Or is it so that the world is innocent and we humans are the only true carriers of such guilty, evil sin? I am my own victim with no one else to blame. Truly cursed; death must be so kind.
Relapse: The aperture of this lens closes and pinholes stare back from the mirror’s abyss. Just now, somehow, in these glass eyes I subtly glimpse my own capacity for desperation and the endless evil that might well have overwhelmed me. In this mirror stands not the self I knew from ages past; the self I had spent impassioned youth exploring. Must I burn again to understand this stranger’s image? To understand one’s enemy… We all grow and change with time, and it has always been a matter of observation for me to see that some stay so busy that they remain blind to their own development. I never thought I would be guilty of this. I never would have expected any of this, since if the youth in me had witnessed my journey objectively, I think he would have ended his life prematurely in reaction of disgust and repulsion. Normally, relapse is a part of recovery; all too often, the final step, leading to failure rather than success. I have already failed many times and each time have learned more and come closer. I believe it is a process to be respected in a very individual, subjective way. Where many have failed, I have already won - I have found the strength to keep trying. My refusal to surrender will be my eventual triumph and victory shall taste sweeter than ever. “I’ve failed my way to success”-Thomas Edison. Each try is a vital sea of probability with very poor gambling odds. I have come to believe that one’s own perspective does well to dictate the final outcome, however; for how well should one do when without hope, already resigned to failure? People always tell me that I have to do it for myself, in terms of motive, but they just don’t understand. Nothing dares compare to an addict’s immense self-loathing; we scum of the earth are not worth the help we so desperately seek. So then, at least in the beginning, it is sometimes better to rehabilitate for something or someone important; find humility and servitude, and thereby, purpose. Forced breath, forced movements; just go through the motions, hoping to again wear a genuine smile. Hoping these daunting memories will inexorably fade into unimportance. The corner store will become a place to shop again instead of that spot in the hood where shady exchanges were made. I’ll stop at Walgreens for a doctor’s prescription rather than shoot up in the bathroom. A woman walking home will be a fellow human being, rather than a potential victim. Smile and nod to her. Humanity. But what an ugly thing! These creatures all take what they have for granted. They don’t know their own capacity, and ire the nerve to judge me. Does my pain make me better? Do my burdens make me superhuman in some small way? I should pity them, not the reverse. Pathetic, arrogant humans. I am disgusted, and wonder why I should strive to be so flawed. It is easy to become so withdrawn and introverted when we’ve burdened the air itself to be thick and oppressive. I could just abscond to a sojourn into crisp, clear air, and die alone and at peace in that distant forest land. Would dying peacefully be preferable to living willfully?
Days 21-60: An overwhelming, unified thought overwhelms consciousness like a whirlwind; until this point, my every thought and motivation has been completely, utterly selfish! Decayed dendrites in an addict’s mind like cobwebs in an old attic. Gradually, I can feel it all coming back to life. Maybe I am not a sociopath after all. I am burdened differently now; not with so much self-loathing and pity, but immense drive. I had suffered before from the pressing thumb of guilt, but more for personal loss than from the feelings of others. Yes, I had done wrong and caused pain; but suddenly it matters. I am now granted the humility I had spoken of before; the task of making things right with my beloved family, who have all been so supportive. I must cut away that which still tempts and burdens me, lest I be lost and disappoint again. Surely I could not handle letting them down, not now. I have not yet earned the right to be master of such a choice. I have far to come. I was a better man in my adolescence than I am now. Shameful, but no matter. I will show them that I am possessed of an unusual wisdom now, and it shall see me through. Among all, I was once greatly respected, for both my insights and my accomplishments. It shall be so again! It’s worth it. And no regrets. The past is the vessel on which I shall arrive. Who I was to be remembered, and who I shall become… Is up to me now.
Above excerpt from novel on addiction by Robert Pruett (me).
Copyright © 2008 Robert Pruett. All Rights Reserved.
Days 1-5: Detoxify your very blood. Go ahead, try it. Shiver and shake in cold sweat while the taint leaks from your every pore. You smell like a dying sewer rat and you don’t care; or maybe you just haven’t the strength to move. Can’t eat, can’t sleep. Just lay, toss and turn, learning to pity yourself like never before. Your own musk is enough to make you vomit. Maybe you knew, maybe not, but now it’s painfully clear; for as long as you’ve been dirty, your senses have become increasingly dulled, and now it’s all coming back in waves. Your skin tingles and your mind seems to recoil in horror as it rediscovers so much forgotten. You swim in a lake of regret, remembering who you once were, and what you’ve lost; as though your very soul has been torn asunder, and you’re left in this sounding storm, trembling in fear. How could you have known it would come to this? Dementia!
Days 6-20: A screaming spirit tugs hard and often from deep inside. A deep sense of loss; it’s hitting home hard now. Your best friend is gone. Forever? This is the ultimate test of self; id vs. ego. Will it be an eternal struggle or will it perish with time, like a healing wound? God is dead. Must be. No benevolent force could let this anguish survive. But do I deserve it? Oh yes. I am terrible and must be punished. I still can’t sleep - lay in bed with the one you hate most: yourself. You begin to remember your dreams, hopes, and aspirations, but even though your senses have returned, with your appetite and bowel regularity, you’re so overwhelmed with boredom and disenchantment that suicide is more appealing than ever. Any afterlife, heaven or hell, and even purgatory, would be preferable to this absolute constant torture. Or then, perhaps you are too far gone. Incorrigible. Your best friend turned worst enemy. Betrayal! But was that he, lurking just past that bend? Should we become reacquainted, we could be unstoppable. No! I have come too far for this. Indisputable terror suddenly gripping from deep within; is this what I have become? I am now a broken machine, constantly calculating the same variables, caught in an indefinite loop. How did harmless recreational fun turn into escapism and despicable addiction? At what point exactly did I become so weak? How long was that walk into shadow that stole my every respectable quality? And my how many miles shall I burn in the sun as I try to return? This long, lonely walk… and what of love? For now I feel only pain and longing. Will I ever find a partner that understands even a fraction of what I now feel? Am I doomed to forever search? I suppose the uncertainty is what keeps me here. When will this torture take me over? And what shall come of surrender… Caught in this undertow, and it’s getting too strong! I need support to bring me back to the surface. Just a helping hand, that’s all I need. Come all ye angels, and grant me respite from this nightmare… lest it becomes me, and I am lost forever. I remember innocence in a vague sort of way. How sweet it had been to live without knowing of this world’s capacity for hellish cruelty. Or is it so that the world is innocent and we humans are the only true carriers of such guilty, evil sin? I am my own victim with no one else to blame. Truly cursed; death must be so kind.
Relapse: The aperture of this lens closes and pinholes stare back from the mirror’s abyss. Just now, somehow, in these glass eyes I subtly glimpse my own capacity for desperation and the endless evil that might well have overwhelmed me. In this mirror stands not the self I knew from ages past; the self I had spent impassioned youth exploring. Must I burn again to understand this stranger’s image? To understand one’s enemy… We all grow and change with time, and it has always been a matter of observation for me to see that some stay so busy that they remain blind to their own development. I never thought I would be guilty of this. I never would have expected any of this, since if the youth in me had witnessed my journey objectively, I think he would have ended his life prematurely in reaction of disgust and repulsion. Normally, relapse is a part of recovery; all too often, the final step, leading to failure rather than success. I have already failed many times and each time have learned more and come closer. I believe it is a process to be respected in a very individual, subjective way. Where many have failed, I have already won - I have found the strength to keep trying. My refusal to surrender will be my eventual triumph and victory shall taste sweeter than ever. “I’ve failed my way to success”-Thomas Edison. Each try is a vital sea of probability with very poor gambling odds. I have come to believe that one’s own perspective does well to dictate the final outcome, however; for how well should one do when without hope, already resigned to failure? People always tell me that I have to do it for myself, in terms of motive, but they just don’t understand. Nothing dares compare to an addict’s immense self-loathing; we scum of the earth are not worth the help we so desperately seek. So then, at least in the beginning, it is sometimes better to rehabilitate for something or someone important; find humility and servitude, and thereby, purpose. Forced breath, forced movements; just go through the motions, hoping to again wear a genuine smile. Hoping these daunting memories will inexorably fade into unimportance. The corner store will become a place to shop again instead of that spot in the hood where shady exchanges were made. I’ll stop at Walgreens for a doctor’s prescription rather than shoot up in the bathroom. A woman walking home will be a fellow human being, rather than a potential victim. Smile and nod to her. Humanity. But what an ugly thing! These creatures all take what they have for granted. They don’t know their own capacity, and ire the nerve to judge me. Does my pain make me better? Do my burdens make me superhuman in some small way? I should pity them, not the reverse. Pathetic, arrogant humans. I am disgusted, and wonder why I should strive to be so flawed. It is easy to become so withdrawn and introverted when we’ve burdened the air itself to be thick and oppressive. I could just abscond to a sojourn into crisp, clear air, and die alone and at peace in that distant forest land. Would dying peacefully be preferable to living willfully?
Days 21-60: An overwhelming, unified thought overwhelms consciousness like a whirlwind; until this point, my every thought and motivation has been completely, utterly selfish! Decayed dendrites in an addict’s mind like cobwebs in an old attic. Gradually, I can feel it all coming back to life. Maybe I am not a sociopath after all. I am burdened differently now; not with so much self-loathing and pity, but immense drive. I had suffered before from the pressing thumb of guilt, but more for personal loss than from the feelings of others. Yes, I had done wrong and caused pain; but suddenly it matters. I am now granted the humility I had spoken of before; the task of making things right with my beloved family, who have all been so supportive. I must cut away that which still tempts and burdens me, lest I be lost and disappoint again. Surely I could not handle letting them down, not now. I have not yet earned the right to be master of such a choice. I have far to come. I was a better man in my adolescence than I am now. Shameful, but no matter. I will show them that I am possessed of an unusual wisdom now, and it shall see me through. Among all, I was once greatly respected, for both my insights and my accomplishments. It shall be so again! It’s worth it. And no regrets. The past is the vessel on which I shall arrive. Who I was to be remembered, and who I shall become… Is up to me now.
Above excerpt from novel on addiction by Robert Pruett (me).
Copyright © 2008 Robert Pruett. All Rights Reserved.