Monday
Tags: Recovery, Cocaine Addiction, Addiction, Crack, NYC

Trying to quit smoking crack for the first time.

I’ve been off heroin officially for over 3 years. It’s actually more like two and a half. My first couple months on methadone were spent fucking around with my friend Elvis. He would text me from the tiny chic apartment in Hell’s Kitchen that he was staying in while the owner was off at Summit Malibu (on Elvis’s recommendation; we were alumni) trying to quit the meth habit that caused him to host raw sex parties there.

i saw mason

what r u doing?

That was usually code for “please come help me shoot up”. It’s hard to turn down dope during your first few months on methadone. My clinic started me off at 30mg a day and went up 5mg a week until I hit 50mg. Then I had to ask to go up, max 5mg a week still. I could still feel the effects of heroin until I hit 65mg. That was my magic number. My last time shooting up I was with Elvis. I did a few bags and felt nothing. I stopped seeing him shortly after, as drug habit and his belief that he was a “Targeted Individual” was getting out of control. I stopped hitting up “mason”.

I did try to cop one more time when one of my favorite rappers came through and posted about needing help finding dog food. My long time dealer of four years, for the first time ever, did not respond to my texts. I informed the rapper via text that he wasn’t around, sorry. I never tried again.

So it’s been over three years. About six months ago, my not-partner decided to surprise me on my birthday with a bunch of drugs. I had mentioned that I did crack twice prior and enjoyed it. So we googled how to cook crack. He liked it a lot. He looked in my eyes and told me, “I’m thinking about starting a serious crack habit.” I was worried. But still weak. The drug was still great. And when we could no longer get our hands on coke, I was the one to mention that Washington Square Park was full of crack dealers. I was the one to suggest we go sit on a bench next to the tables full of dealers. The first guy to walk by chanting his offering, “Weed, weed…” was our first middle man. He was being followed around by a fucked up looking guy wearing scrubs. My not-partner followed him while I stayed on the bench with the scrubs guy. He was looking around on the ground picking up small pieces of white stuff and murmering to himself, “No way, right? No way…” Eventually a guy came walking through and everyone came running up to him. My not-partner told him that he had given the money to the middle man. The middle man started stuttering and the obvious dealer started threatening him. We ended up giving the dealer more money. It had started pouring. He handed us rocks in the rain, winking at me as he handed me an extra one.

At this point, it’s been quite a few months. When I walk up to the tables at Washington Square Park someone immediately comes up to me and tells me to follow them. I do, without question. Beside them I mumble the amount of money I have and trade me a couple plastic baggies full of tiny rocks. I thank them and tell them to stay safe and we go our separate ways. This shit has been happening at that corner since long before I even moved to New York, and it will continue there until the end of time. Sorry, yuppies. Arrest one and another shall take his place. The endless dance.

I received my stimulus check in the mail. It’s sitting on the same shelf my altar is on. I’m trying to harness it’s power before I cash it. lol No actually I’m trying to keep myself broke as possible so I can’t by crack. Technically I could spend as little as $10 to get a high, but I won’t bother for less than $30–40 worth. Unless I’m fiending. Then I’ll spend hours scraping out old baggies and trying to pull a drag off a dead blackened pipe. But instead I’ve just doubled my dosage of “Xanax”. They’re pressed pills, but they’re stronger than real Xanax. I’m on my last bottle of methadone and tomorrow is my last clinic day before Thanksgiving. I don’t have enough money on me to get more than a $20 bag so I won’t have to worry when I walk past the park on my way to the PATH train. But despite the fact I’m leaning over from the Xans and ‘done I still have that itch.

Man.

Fuck uppers.