It's gonna sound crazy, but sometimes I miss being a junkie. Sometimes I fantasize that I have no responsibility. No accountability. Nobody expects anything from me and that I live in that comfortable haze of cigarette smoke with the low din of the TV in the background.
My biggest concern when I was a junkie was how to get money to get drugs. Everything else I needed I could steal. Cigs, food, haircolor, makeup, clothes, etc. Sometimes I could talk a nice mexican fellow out of a few bags of dope, but not often. That required cold hard cash. Hustling was not that hard for me, I was actually a really good criminal. I got caught very few times, statistically.
I knew it was just a matter of time before it all caught up to me and to be perfectly honest, I probably got out right at the tipping point. Thats a fucking miracle. Technically, I could be writing this from prison. But, I'm not. I'm in my nice, cozy apartment with my teenage son. Contemplating what we will have for dinner. Reflecting on my stressful day at my well paying corporate job.
As disgusting and hopeless as it was at the end, I do think about the high. The actual feeling when the shot of heroin you just did would finally reach wherever it was supposed to and wash over you like stepping into a hot bath. Aint nothin like it I'm tellin ya. The misery and devastation that accompany it keep me away. Thats the shit I'm too lazy for. Every once in a while I ask myself if my life is peaceful or boring. Its a pretty fine line, but either way, I'll take it.
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