#thefinalstraw

I think it's time you heard my own grim fairy tale that I like to call  The Night the Refrigerator Mysteriously Defrosted.     It goes a little something like this.     I used to keep my dope in the freezer overnight, so it wouldn't melt in the sweltering, air-conditioner free zone I laughably called my apartment. I always had that brown, sticky shit there seems to be no shortage of in Los Angeles. I was managing a restaurant at the time and had to be at work at 6:00 in the morning. Since there was no chance of hitting up my dealer that early, I needed enough useful, unmelted dope for a decent wake up and to keep me well until my own personal happy hour, 3:00pm arrived and I could finally score for the evening. The freezer was my solution.     I had one of those half fridges, you know, that people have if they never cook and the only thing they need to keep cold is cheap beer and heroin. And a jar of mustard. Let's not forget the jar of mustard. God only knows what that was for. One night, for reasons I still don't understand, the refrigerator defrosted while I was sleeping.     Why did it defrost? Power failure? Demon possession? Owner incompetence?     I don't know. I finally put it down to real shitty luck and that black cloud of doom that seemed to follow me around everywhere I went and perceptibly darken every last aspect of my life.     Anyway, when I opened the freezer, all my beautiful dope...ALL MY DOPE...was just a light brown streak running through the water in the tray underneath. Needless to say, I freaked. What the living fuck was I gonna do? It occurred to me that maybe I could use my syringe to separate enough brown from clear to get myself well. "If I have to," I thought, "I'll just shoot the entire tray of water." But all the melted water made the tray so heavy that when I tried to pull it out, it broke and everything, water, dope and all, went crashing to the floor.     Now, it goes without saying but junkies aren't exactly the types to keep a nice, clean house. Thus, the cement floor my precious dope spilled onto was covered with about seven years worth of dust, dirt, grime, blood, shit and piss. Of course, this fact didn't stop me for even a second. I knew exactly what I had to do. I grabbed a nearby straw from a neglected, uneaten fast food run and proceeded to get down on my hands and knees and suck that delicious dope from my dust, dirt, grime, blood, shit and piss caked floor.     SSSSSSSHHHHHHHLLLLLLUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUPPPPPPPPP!!!!!     In the middle of my feast, I saw something out of the corner of my eye and turned to face my own reflection in the broken piece of mirror I had leaning against the wall. What I saw there was a ghost white, naked, 95 pound corpse, with track mark scars literally covering his arms and legs, eagerly slurping down the dregs of a disease ridden cesspool. With a plastic straw, no less.     Now, I'd like to tell you that the mirror shattered into a million pieces at the mere sight of me. That would be great for this story but it would just be...another...melodramatic lie. But you know what? Something shattered. Whether it was my pride. My dignity. My self respect. Or even my heart and soul, I couldn't say.     All I know for certain is this. The picture I had of myself...as decent...as intelligent...as honorable...as competent...as even marginally sane...shattered...then and there...once and for all...permanently and completely.

I think it’s time you heard my own grim fairy tale that I like to call “The Night the Refrigerator Mysteriously Defrosted.” It goes a little something like this. I used to keep my dope in the freezer overnight, so it wouldn’t melt in the sweltering, air-conditioner free zone I laughably called “my apartment.” I always had that brown, sticky shit there seems to be no shortage of in Los Angeles. I was managing a restaurant at the time and had to be at work at 6:00 in the morning. Since there was no chance of hitting up my dealer that early, I needed enough useful, unmelted dope for a decent wake up and to keep me well until my own personal happy hour, 3:00pm arrived and I could finally score for the evening. The freezer was my solution. I had one of those half fridges, you know, that people have if they never cook and the only thing they need to keep cold is cheap beer and heroin: and a jar of mustard. Let’s not forget the jar of mustard. God only knows what that was for. One night, for reasons I still don’t understand, the refrigerator defrosted while I was sleeping. Why did it defrost? Power failure? Demonic possession? Owner incompetence? I don’t know. Anyway, when I opened the freezer, all my beautiful dope…ALL MY DOPE…was just a light brown streak running through the water in the tray underneath. Needless to say, I freaked. What the living fuck was I gonna do? It occurred to me that maybe I could use my syringe to separate enough brown from clear to get myself well. “If I have to,” I thought, “I’ll just shoot the entire tray of water.” But all the melted water made the tray so heavy that when I tried to pull it out, it broke and everything, water, dope and all, went crashing to the floor. Now, it goes without saying but junkies aren’t exactly the types to keep a nice, clean house. Thus, the cement floor my precious dope spilled onto, was covered with about seven years worth of dust, dirt, grime, blood, shit and piss. Of course, this fact didn’t stop me for even a second. I knew exactly what I had to do. I grabbed a nearby straw from a neglected, uneaten fast food run and proceeded to get down on my hands and knees and suck that delicious dope from my dust, dirt, grime, blood, shit and piss caked floor. SSSSSSSHHHHHHHLLLLLLUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUPPPPPPPPP!!!!! In the middle of my feast, I saw something out of the corner of my eye and turned to face my own reflection, in the broken piece of mirror I had leaning against the wall. What I saw there was a ghost white, naked, 95 pound corpse, with track-mark scars literally covering his arms and legs, eagerly slurping down the dregs of a disease ridden cesspool. With a plastic straw, no less. Now, I’d like to tell you that the mirror shattered into a million pieces at the mere sight of me. That would be great for this story but it would just be…another…melodramatic lie. But you know what? Something shattered. Whether it was my pride. My dignity. My self respect. Or even my heart and soul, I couldn’t say. All I know for certain is this. The picture I had of myself…as decent…as intelligent…as honorable…as competent…as even marginally sane…shattered…then and there…once and for all…permanently and completely

Rehab Stories: The Final Straw