I've never really been wholehearted about getting clean. I don't really want to. I feel forced to by the police, society at large, family, work. But I don't agree. I've tried for years now and the whole time, five years and some, it's like I'm biding my time. Knowing the whole time in the back of my mind that there was no way in fucking hell I'd never use dope again. It's like the whole time I was thinking, if I can just set things up so I can get high, if I can just get a job where no one will notice (I have that), if I can find a way to make enough money, whatever it may be, I guess I always planned to use again.
The only time I really feel normal is with H in my blood. I act like other people then, it's when I'm not high that I'm weird. My thoughts race so fast. As the mg of M-done drop, I can almost watch my own thoughts start to go faster and faster, my metabolism speeds up and I'm just on hyper drive and people are like what the fuck is your deal. When I'm high I'm calm and thoughtful and pleasant to be around. I know people think that's bullshit. Sure, I turn into a freak if I run out of money - that's the problem. The system is set up for us to go broke using unless we resort to criminal activity. That's fucked. It should be reasonably priced, regulated for purity and quality and sold as a prescription just like any other psychiatric drug. What makes Zoloft okay and not Heroin? Zoloft has been proven to cause withdrawals when people try to stop taking it, it changes the chemistry of your brain, regulates mood, calms you down, see the similarities??? I mean every time I go to rehab they try to send me home more drugged than when I came in. They have all sorts of depression pills, anxiety tabs, opiate replacement therapy, anything but what I want and what works until it runs out.
I only got clean to begin with because I got arrested and they were up my ass and I figured I would rather take M-done in relative freedom than do heroin in jail. But that's like choosing a punch in the stomach over a punch in the face.
I always drove to cop. Mikey was too lazy and didn't enjoy the whole chase as much as I do. I believe I'm as addicted to the rush of copping as I am to actually using dope. So I would drive over an hour almost every day to pick up enough H for me, Mike, and a few folks who kept us funded. This particular summer day was really sucky and I had finally convinced this kid J to give me $150 and I was going to go get whatever I could. Up where we live you can sell a bag you get in the city for $5 for $20. So it was worth it for me to take the risk driving because this kid basically expected nothing in return but like five bags. I ended up getting two bundles which is expensive but they were free for me.
As you left the city there was a 'scenic' pullover right off the highway where I would often stop and get high on the way home. If I was sick or if I wasn't. I wasn't sick this particular day but it was a sticky, hot summer day and I thought why not sit in the A/C and get high. So I booted three bags and was lolling around, eyes closed, all my shit laying out around me still. I cracked my eyes some time later, right before the two police got out of their cruiser we made eye contact and for that split second we were all just human. And then POW!! Before I had time to react they were on me. They didn't bother with the normal formalities of 'license and registration, please'. I barely had a moment to push the spoon out of sight, shove the remainder of the bags and my point in my underwear and they were pulling me out of the car. There was no point in pretense, we all knew what the deal was. I had deceived cops so many times before, walked away with my score. I really didn't want to give them my shit. But they had it out for me, they had let me go too many times because there was no female cop to search me, or we convinced them we hadn't picked up yet. I had this little blue dress on and it was really short, and my underwear was kind of loose, not at all what I should have been wearing for concealment purposes. Bags of dope were basically hanging out the sides of my underwear. They stopped short basically of reaching down and pulling it out themselves. There were two Mass. State Police and they were pushing at me, grabbing at my dress and squeezing my arms. I laughed as I reached down to pull the bags out, doing all I could to keep a few hidden as well as my needle, but there was really no place for anything to go at this point. All I cared about was that I had already shot up and was high enough to spend a few hours in jail.
The worst part of being kept in a holding cell, for me, is the time I have to sit there in my own head. I know that's the point, to get you to think about what you've done. But feeling no remorse, I find it cruel and unusual punishment to not offer a book or even a pamphlet to flip through.
The cops told me my bail would probably only be about $30. So I called my nicest dealer, he wasn't happy but said he would send someone to pick me up. And then I learned my bail had been set at $5000 and they didn't work with bail bondsmen. So I called Mike and someone called my Mom who came and bailed me out even though I told her not to because I knew she needed that money and what if I fucked up and she lost it. The police kept telling her she'd get the money back when we went to court. I told her it was a lie, you don't get it back until I complete the whole process, not just the court appearance. You know how first you show up and they basically just tell you when to come back? Well, you don't generally get your bail money back until after you come to court the last time because the idea is that you want the money back badly enough to show up and get it. I was shocked as shit my bail was so high, I never got in trouble for real drugs before, only weed and assault, and it was obviously personal use. They said they were trying to make an example out of me because they have such a problem with people from VT & NH coming down to the city to buy dope. It's not really the city, we just call it that, it's like a mini-city. But it's easy as heck to buy whatever you want there. But if you have green plates you may as well fly a banner out your window which reads 'Junkie'. Anyway, my Mom drove almost two hours to come get me and we stayed at the Northampton Hotel until next morning's courthouse rendezvous. She was obviously pissed and I kept nagging her to just give me twenty bucks and her keys and I'd be back in half an hour but she wouldn't. She gave me some Adivan which helped me sleep for a little bit. I wasn't really sick yet, it hadn't been more than six hours. I wasn't good, but I wasn't that bad either. I made it uncomfortably through the morning until after court at which nothing happened other than I was told when to come back and we managed to convince the judge to give my Mom back three grand so she only had two left on me, I felt a little better about that. But I knew no matter how much I wished I didn't have to, I would come back here and maybe get caught and lose that money. Different story for a different day, but I did go back, and I did get caught, and they let me go. But that's another tangent for later.
Anyway, by the time I finally got caught I was sort of ready to try Methadone. I had tried to get clean so many times with nothing, and we had done the Suboxone thing. In fact, we still had, like, containers full at that time. The place that prescribed them to us, HCRS in Brattleboro, at that time gave us, well they gave Mikey a month at a time but me only two weeks. I was pretty adamant that I would never stop smoking weed and they didn't like that. But we would take them for a few days until we got paid, then wait until we started to feel shitty and then use for a couple weeks until we were ready for a break and then do the whole thing over. So by the end, we had a small stash. So the court made a deal with me that if I stayed in Methadone treatment and did six months probation, then the charge wouldn't be accessible by a background check. I'm not really sure how that works, the cops all know it happened, so it's not like it's erased. I see it on my record when I've gotten copies of it since then. In VT, a lot of people represent themselves or something because when you go to court they give you a copy of your record and whoever else, if anyone, was involved in the incident. It's kind of crazy, actually. I've been arrested for stealing and they even put the names and addresses of the supermarket employees who made statement against me. What if I was some kind of crazed lunatic out for revenge and I went to their house and fucked them up? I bet it happens sometimes. Of course, the thought never crossed my mind. Anyway, the point is that when they tell you something won't be on your record, that may not mean what you think it means.
But, the end of this long, boring story is that I've been on methadone since then. Not exactly happily, but okay, good enough, and I don't have to worry about doing something illegal. I just hate cops, they terrify me actually. They have way too much power, and that's what has kept me miserably clean for all this time. I'm really beginning to reconsider my choice.