The Journey of a Survivor

Crack is what just about ended it all—I almost let it steal my life. There is no greater pleasure than that first hit—calming, numbing—it hits your head like a tidal wave and the rest of the world just disappears. Instant euphoria—ultimate pleasure. For that brief moment everything is perfect. Too bad the perfection is so short lived—the rest of the night is spent chasing that high—feeling good but never quite “there.” Each hit I took would get bigger and bigger—trying to get back to that initial state of serenity. Sure, every hit felt good, but not like that first hit. At times I wondered if my heart could handle another big hit so soon—the longer I smoked, the more I smoked. There was no rationing and although I wondered if my heart was going to explode, I still took the next big hit. Ultimately, it no longer mattered—death was irrelevant—the only thing that mattered was getting high—getting back to the starting point.

One night I was in a crack house smoking with a few people. One lady had her kids with her—they were sleeping in a pile of clothes in the corner. Her face had sores and scabs all over it and yet I was sharing the pipe with her. I had one brief moment of clarity—right after I lit up I looked into her face—she was eagerly waiting for the pipe—I could see the hunger in her eyes. In that instant I knew I had to quit because I did not want to end up like her—a crack whore with a few kids and scabs all over my face.

That incident was enough to turn me around—I stayed clean for a couple years. But then, a friend offered me some coke and I snorted it. I figured it was okay because it was not crack. Soon, I was right back into the pit. I did not fall off the wagon, I dove off head first into the first crack house I could find. This run of crack got me into a few scrapes. I had guns held on me, my money stolen, one of my crack houses got busted and I was fingered as the nark. I knew going back to the same group of people was not an option and I had been sent home from work for being high. I was broke, defeated and about ready to lose my job. How I managed to keep my job so long was absolutely amazing. So, I decided, yet again I would have nothing to do with the crack. I packed all my shit, shut off my cell phone and moved across town.

When I moved, I started a whole new life. That was 6 years ago. I have not touched crack in 6 years. I still fantasize about it—I can close my eyes and almost feel that euphoria. If somebody handed me a pipe right now, I am not sure I could turn it down—no, I know I could not turn it down. So, the best thing for me to do is to stay away from it—I don’t go to that part of town and I don’t associate with people who smoke.

Not only had I screwed myself financially and at work, I was an emotional train wreck. The hardest part about quitting was the ensuing depression. So, I did what any good addict would do—I started drinking. Booze slowly took the place of the crack. In other parts of my blog I talk about the depression and alcoholism, so I won’t go into that. I’ll just end this blog by saying—if you have never smoked crack, don’t do it—its not worth it—you could lose everything. I just about lost myself.