Thoughts,  Writings

One more time…

Heroin is the Devil in chemical form.  The evilest of all devils.  There is no mercy, no respite, no relief.  Whether you believe the addict deserves this torment for the choices they made is on you.  I won’t debate it with anyone that hasn’t lived through it in some fashion.  I have held friends as they buried their children.  Held children as they buried a parent.  Heroin is not discriminatory.  Any race, culture, age, sex, any human will do just fine.  It drags humans down a path of allure with its calming, numbing results.  But the residue never leaves your soul.  “I won’t get hooked on just one time, just one more time, I just want to try it,” said almost every addict living, or most likely dead.  So people can judge, they just need to make sure they are prepared when their child’s best friend’s soccer mom OD’s from heroin because the doctor stopped prescribing her painkillers from her tummy tuck, so she hit up the corner dealer because heroin is cheaper.  Monetarily anyway.

My kid.  Just curious.  One time and done? Yeah right.  Two years, and eight months of a two hundred dollar a day addiction.  Till she told me.  Then the fight really began.  For her life.  For my life.  She is my heart.  I wasn’t about to let some silly white powder cooked and sucked into a syringe, slowly inserted into her veins take her from me.  Fuck you heroin!  You aren’t stronger than a mothers love.  You haven’t fought me for my daughter’s life.  This country red neck girl may look refined and put together but if I take these heels and earrings off, you better run, far and fast.  Throw at me what you will.  Knock me down and I will get back up because you aren’t taking my daughter.  Not while I can still breathe.

The fight of my life.  The fight of her life.  We won.  We won the battle at least.  The war rages eternal for my baby girl.  Every crisis we both freeze.  Will this be the thing that pushes her to it again.  There have been things.  There have been relapses.  Even after a year of being clean, heroin seeps into your brain like a vapor of gas.  Unseen.  Unheard.  Felt?  Yes, with every fiber of her being.  She feels everything now.  That’s the kicker.  Heroin is smart.  It calls to them and says, “You’re hurting?  I can fix that.  You’re scared?  I’ll be brave for you.  You’re angry?  I’ll help you cope. C’mon, just one more time…”  Every day heroin whispers to her.  Some days are better than others.  Those are the days we cherish.

Side effects and collateral damage? Holy fuck!  Beyond your earthly imagination.  The list is endless.  The worst of all is the thought that she has in her mind.  This constant nagging thought.  Every second of every day.  Not necessarily that numbness that heroin provides, while that is also always there.  It is that subliminal message that never fades away.  “You aren’t good enough.  You fucked up yourself, your family, your life.  You can’t do anything right.  You’ll never survive without me. You are useless.  You had everything and because you can’t live without me, you threw it all away with a needle and a spoon.  I own you.  I will always own you.  In your weakest and darkest moments I will be there like an old friend.  Offering support in the form of white powder.  Just this once.  You’ve kicked me before you can do again, just one more time, for old time sake…” 

Heroin.  The chemical form of the Devil himself.  Like an abusive lover. “I’ll beat you down so I can build you up and then I’ll beat you down again, further each time.  Each climb back to be a human will be more difficult than the last.  Each time, you will want me to hit you harder and harder.  You will beg me to leave no marks because then everyone will know.  Find a place no one can see.  You will walk around as if everything is fine and you will wear the mask I made for you.  You will smile.  You will show up at family gatherings and holidays.  You will learn to time our sessions together so you can perform as a human when you are in public.  But you aren’t human.  You’re a fucking addict.  You are addicted to me.  I own you.  I own you now and I always will.” 

Fuck you heroin.  Mama’s watching.  Every syllable of every word you throw at my kid, I have a rebuttal.  She isn’t useless.  She isn’t worthless.  She is amazing!  She is strong! She is powerful!  She kicked your ass, not once but twice.  No matter how many times you come at her she will see you coming.  She will tell me.  We will prepare for battle.  We will win.  You aren’t going to take her.  She is all I have.  She has value and she has so much to offer this world.  Keep throwing those people at her that take up your cause.  Those lovers that abuse her and threaten her.  I know it is you.  You send them into her life to help you break her down while you are working on some other poor human who is at the breaking point.  She sees these people you put in front of her and yes, it is familiar to her.  She feels you, and it is enticing.  That one lover that knocked her down to build her back up, again and again, and again.  Just like you did.  That same lover that told her she didn’t need to tell me everything, it would be taken care of.  Just like you did.  That same lover that offered alcohol as a substitute so she could take the edge off.  Just like you did.  You don’t fight fair.  Neither do we.  We kicked your ass, and we kicked that lover’s ass.  My kid is safe again.  One more time we fought.  One more time we won.

So go ahead heroin.  Bring it.  I am tired.  I am fucking exhausted.  I don’t sleep and I don’t eat.  I don’t breathe until I hear from her each and every fucking day.  But that’s OK.  You keep up your bullshit.  We see you.  We feel you.  We have won battles and we will continue to face you on any battlefield you pick.  These battles one at a time, this war is ours to win.  No matter how many times you come at us, we see you.  You can change form all you want.  We will still see you coming.  She and I turn to each other, lock arms and face you.  One more time.


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