My Life: The Last Chapter Before the Beginning

I’m low.  Really low.  Nothing is making me happy.  Even the drugs I’m on don’t make me happy.

Across the street from me lives a young woman.  Her man is in jail and she has no car.  Being neighborly, I drive her to the store, to her appointments, and to her drug-dealer’s.  She smokes crack.  As soon as she gets a rock, she fires up.  I’ve smoked crystal meth.  Maybe I’ll try some crack. 

I’m glad I wasn’t in my truck.  As soon as I exhale my hit, I puke.  But I am also very high.  Together we smoke a rock.  Then get some more.  Now she wants to have sex.  She’s nasty.  I leave.

I don’t smoke crack for like two weeks.  Amazing.  All the drugs I’ve done in my life, and this is the first one that makes me feel dirty.

I’m still spending time with my buddy who sells G.H.B.  We run into this girl I know.  I’m not with anyone right now and we decide to go out.  Instead of hiding my life from her, I tell her how I live.

Basically, I’m a dude with 99 problems, I’ve got more baggage than any chick I’ve ever met, I’m a living nightmare.  But I have blonde hair, blue eyes and dimples.  I win.  Ever heard the devil wears Prada?  Hmmph!

Now I have a new girl, Nichole.

Nichole is very cute.  She really likes me and she knows I’m on drugs.  She thinks she can change me.  Right.  The only changes are me changing her.  First to go are all the piercings.  Beautiful girl, but she looks like she fell into a tackle box.

We get along great.  She rides the bike with me.  I’m happy, right?

Not really.  No - In fact – not at all.  The girl is good.  You were just fine sweetie.  My life sucked.  When you’re an addict on the level I was, nothing will make you happy.  Every day is in the search of the next high.  Good days come when you’re high.  Bad days come when you run out.  My body craved drugs.  If you’ve never been at this place in your life, you’re lucky.  I had certain drugs I preferred, but settled for others when those ran out.

I’m a walking time-bomb.  My time is running out.  I’ve got problems.  I’ve got legal problems.  They set a court date for me.  I’ll be ok.  …All the shit I’ve been through in my life?  This is just another hurdle.

I remember a very special visit from a very special someone.  My angel perhaps.  A woman who always hovered nearby, staying in the shadows, observing.  I met this woman when I was 18, and over the years she always checked in on me.

Two days before my court date she visited me.  It felt like a goodbye.  I assured her I would be ok.  In and out.  She said she didn’t think that was the truth.  I didn’t listen.

Today I sit in prison.  Things didn’t go like I had planned.  They went better than I could have planned.  I got what I needed.  Court-ordered rehab.  For the first time in ten years I am free from all drugs.  I remember cursing God that day.  Today I thank Him.

Sometimes we think we know what’s good for us.  I made one mistake after the next.  Just like many of my friends, I could have been one more life lost to drug abuse.

One more mother without a son.

I almost checked out, but it wasn’t my time.

Sitting her today, I have a vision.  I don’t want to lose any more of my friends.  If you’ve hit that pipe, snorted that line, swallowed that pill, or pushed that needle beneath your skin: I know you.

You have a friend.  Sitting right here talking to you is a man who’s been in your shoes, felt your pain, and wants to be your friend.  You can be free.  It’s there for you if you’ll reach out and grasp it.

No one can make you change.  You and only you can make that decision.  I’m always here to listen.  And if you try, you can get a hold of me.

For the rest of you, I write silly-ass stories.  Laughter is a wonderful medicine.  I’m making guys laugh back here too.  We’re all just taking one day at a time, but hey!  That’s really all you can do.

Stay tuned to see the end of the story.  I invite you to step aboard, just keep hands and feet inside the ride at all times.

Much Love.

Humbly yours,

M.S.

Military Shout-Outs from J.J.

"To the men and women who protect and serve our country:

I would like to personally thank you for putting your life on the line for people you don’t even know.  I put my life on the line for people I don’t know, but in a much different way.  …And they may wish they could take a bullet after reading my shit!  Before I get side-tracked, THANK YOU!

Thank you Noah for protecting and serving my sister.  You must be doing a good job because she is smitten J.  It’s been a very long time since I last saw you.  We were kids in a canoe race if I recall.  We will have to catch up in the future.  I really want to find out about the different water-boarding techniques.  You’ve got all those high-tech weapons.  We’ve got razor blades melted into toothbrush handles.  Keep safe doing what you do. 

Jokes aside, you risk your lives and my hat is off to you.  Perhaps my bullshit can bring a smile to your faces.

To my brother-in-law, Oz, Much love to you man.  You have also managed to nail down one of my sisters.  My sisters are the most special ladies in my life.  I am blessed as their older brother to know they have stand-up men in their lives.  Also a big thanks to Oz for allowing Ester to make this thing happen.  You are the first on my list to get ink when I get out.  I mean that.  Love you, brother.

You have heard about my friend Paulie, who is also a service man.  Much love to you, your wife, and your family.

My older brother was also in the service.  His main ‘detail’ now consists of a wife and five troops.  He may sometimes feel like he’s in a battlefield!  Haha.  Sorry bro, just playing!  …I remember what huge families are like J

To all of our troops, men and women, hats off and Much Love,"

M.S.

My Life Part VI: The Overdose

My crash came late one evening.

I had been on my daily salad of various prescription meds.  My favorites, and Oxys and Roxys.  Today I head to the liquor store and end up drinking a bottle of Jack as well.

Let me mention, I have a roommate.  I’m buying this house, but I hate being alone so I have a woman move in with me.  …No, believe it or not, we were never involved.  …Could have been, but I know what happens then.  The rent starts coming late, and before long the only payment you receive is a piece of ass.  I get plenty of ass.  What I need is money.

That’s funny because I almost said I don’t pay for ass, but that would be a lie.  Men, in one way or another, you always pay for it.  Trust me!

I will tell you what happened to me.  However, much of it was told to me by the people who were there.

I parked sideways across my lawn.  My roommate was talking to a friend in my driveway.  I guess I needed more room to park.  I’m barely able to stand, so my roommate helps me to my room, at which time I lay down and stop breathing.  Foam starts coming out of my mouth.  She calls 9-1-1.

I hear walkie-talkies.  Everything is dark.  There is static.  The static begins to clear.  I hurt.  My throat is on fire.  It feels like someone is sitting on my chest.  Someone is sitting on my chest.  Why are you hurting me?  I don’t recognize anyone.  I hear the walkie-talkie again.  I focus.  The guy on my chest is a paramedic.  I’m strapped down to a flat board on my bedroom floor.  I can’t move.  I hurt.  I pass out.

The static again.  Then the voices.  I’m coming back.  The only thing I could say was, “Maria.”  I said, “Maria, please help me.  I need help.”  But Maria is long gone and so am I.

Lights.  The darkness is going away and the light is coming back.  I hear a voice.  I know that voice.  Where have I heard that voice?  Then I’m gone again.

“Michael.” 

I hear my name.  

“Michael, you’re going to be ok.” 

There’s that voice again.

“Mike, it’s Aaron.”

So that’s where I heard that voice.  It’s my little brother.  The sweetest voice says to me, “I’m right here, Mike, you’re going to be ok.”  My little brother is holding my hand.  He’s talking me back.  I’m going to be ok.  My little brother is with me.

The next time I wake up, I feel rested.  My brother is still right beside me.  He stayed by my side the whole time.  I am released and I leave the hospital with my brother.

Between my roommate and my brother, I find out what happened.

I passed out on my bed and my roommate called 9-1-1.  By the time the paramedics arrived, they had to shock me back with the paddles.  I would come around then they would lose me again.  They pumped my stomach right there on my floor.  That’s why my throat was so sore – the hose they shoved down my throat.  I came to during them pumping me, and threw the paramedics across the room.  That’s why one was sitting on my chest.  There was also one on each arm and one on each leg.

My brother showed up at the hospital.  He got a call and came to the emergency room.  We had a long talk the day I was released to him following my near-death experience.  I was 100% sober, and I was locked in his car.  Aaron took advantage of the situation.  My brother told me how much he loved me.  He explained to me that he didn’t come see me anymore because he couldn’t bear to see me killing myself.  It all made sense.  I was killing myself.  Right then and there I vowed to never mix pills and alcohol again.

My brother takes me home and I’m sober.  This will never do.  I grab a handful of pills and swallow.  Off and running again.

I didn’t learn anything.  My brother did begin to come by more and check up on me.  I tried to work harder at flying under the radar.  I know I’m a mess.  I remember picking Kimmy up and we would watch the dolphins swim in the river.  She was just as bad as me.  We would sit there and talk about our lives – how drugs would one day kill us, and how we needed to change.  Two addicts can’t help each other.  Every time I left her, we vowed to work on cleaning up.

I wish I could tell her I finally did.  I didn’t get that chance.

I continued using prescription meds.  Because I had a house payment, I was going to work.  After my O.D., things were off with my roommate.  I really scared her that day.  She spent more time away.  I needed some excitement in my life.  Let’s throw a motorcycle into the mix.  It’s been a few years since I had a motorcycle.  So I buy a bike.

Once again I’m riding.  It feels good.  Every week on Thursday, I meet up with a group and we hit bike night.  When I’m riding, I feel high.  I don’t feel the need to use.  The bike makes me happy.  What I don’t like is being by myself.  I’m starting to get over loose women.  …Meaningless sex with a chick I don’t care about isn’t fun anymore.  I want to have a companion.

On weekends I have all my friends come to my house.  I am a people-person and love to have people around.  Many of my friends rent or live in houses with no yards.  I have a big yard, and I put in a huge fire-pit.  We have great parties.  My brother even came by sometimes.  A couple of my good friends say they have a friend they want me to meet.  I agree.

Andi comes to the next party I have.  We are introduced.  Andi is beautiful.  I offer her a beer.  “No, thanks.”

Andrea doesn’t drink – wow!  That’s different.  Did I say Andi was beautiful?  Until this point, I’d been with strippers who were 20-27 or 28.  Very shallow girls, loud girls, drunk and drugged girls – annoying girls.  Andrea is none of the above.  She is 35, has her own place and is intelligent.

This party goes late into the night.  By 1:30 a.m., nearly everyone has left.  I’m not drunk – barely even drank that night.  The couple who introduced us was still there.  I cooked breakfast and we watched a movie.  My thoughts were: She doesn’t drink – wonderful.  She’s beautiful – even better.  …Now to run down the clock so she’ll stay the night with me.  

Well, she stayed the night, but I found out that she doesn’t drink and she doesn’t have sex.  Usually she would be thrown out of my castle – not Andi.  She can stay.  After she left the next day began the longest week in the history of Michael.  We had our next date on Saturday night.

I pick her up on my bike.  She likes my bike.  That’s a must. 

We have a blast, then get a movie and head back to my place.  I’m really into this girl.  She says she’ll stay the night, but not to get my hopes up.  The bottom line is that Andrea was warned that I was a player.  This woman was smart.  If she had slept with me the first night, I would have never called her again.  I’m not used to this.  It used to be either you put out or you get out.  I’m dealing with a woman here, and she has crawled inside my head.

During my time with Andi, my drug use was at a minimum.  I didn’t dare tell her I was a junkie.  I was on my best behavior.  Even during the week, between visits.

We made plans to hit the beach the next weekend.  My life was getting better.  I actually had food in my refrigerator.  I cooked and ate food.  After a day on the beach, we head home.  We had a wonderful day.  I was happy.

Over the next couple weeks my brother met her.  He liked her too.  She was a sweetheart.  My Dad came into town and said how nice she was.  I had a good thing.  She even got me to go to church with her.

Then the drugs came calling.  I’m not sure what the trigger was, but something happened.  I chose my drug.  Andrea even wanted to help.  She said she saw the good in me.  I came clean with her and told her I was a user.  Andi wanted to get me help, and I pushed her away.

Within a couple weeks I was at zero again.  All the good I had in my life, and I throw it away to drugs.  Every damn time.

Once again I’m lonely.  Just me and my drugs.

Copyright M.S. 2011

Guest Post by Ester Jean

Michael asked me quite a while ago if I would write a piece regarding the wedding he attended while detoxing from G.H.B.   I’m not sure if he really thought that request through, because I’m not about to write a fluff piece.   If you have never seen, been around, or lived with someone who is on drugs, it’s an experience.  …A junky, heartbreaking experience.  I don’t remember the details well, so I called my little sister, who was also there, and asked what she remembered.  She has retained many colorful details. 

I don’t remember the ride down, although I am sure it could fill up a whole blog because we had an 18-year-old, a 16-year-old, and a 9-year-old in one vehicle, plus Mom and Dad, and Dad is not and was never fond of 9- or 16- or 18-year olds.  Pure bliss! 

I hadn’t seen Michael in about two years, I think.  He moved out of the house when I was 11 or 12, so though I remember growing up with him, I didn’t know him very well.  I vaguely knew that he used drugs, but 75% of the people I knew at the time used drugs… just not hard drugs.  I had little exposure to people under the influence of hard drugs – meaning I was not surrounded by them when I was growing up - and I definitely knew nothing about GHB. 

We stayed in log cabins in the rolling hills of Indiana. 

Nothing seemed much out of the ordinary.  The younger three of us were excited to see our older brothers, who arrived separately, both with accompanying friends.  I had stayed with Mike a couple years earlier, and I knew he drank a bit, seemed to have bursts of energy, but was always patient with others and always ready to make everyone laugh.  He could steal a scene in any crowd just using humor.  By the time our little brother was old enough to remember much of anything, Michael had moved out of the house.  For Spud, the baby of the family, Michael was a kind of mysterious visitor to our house.  He would come up every couple of years, everyone was excited to see him, most of us felt we didn’t get to spend enough time with him, and then he was gone again.  Many of our family friends called Spud “Little Michael” because he looked so much like Michael had when he was a very little boy.  All of us looked forward to being together as a family.

I don’t remember how many days into the trip it was… I think it might have been right off the bat that Mike’s friend found his GHB and dumped it down the toilet.  He was pissed.  I asked her why he was so mad and she told me that he had brought GHB in a mouthwash container and she dumped it down the toilet.  She told me GHB is what is more commonly known as the date-rape drug (I needed a refresher course).  I remember thinking, ‘Why the hell would anybody want to use that shit?’

Seriously, why the hell?

We went to dinner: Mom and Dad, five of their children, and our brothers’ friends.  My sister remembered that we were seated and everyone was looking over the menus.  Mike was impatient because of the time it was taking, and offered the server some money to make things speed along.  He lit a cigarette in a non-smoking restaurant.  The server came over and told him he couldn’t smoke.  She was carrying a tray of glasses and he put the cigarette out in one of them and called her a bitch. 

Our dad is an intense personality.  He was rather obsessed with being in control of situations, and in this case, he was not in control of his adult son.  Somehow - both Grace and I forget how – Dad and Mike ended up going outside, and Mike was acting like he was going to fight Dad.  That part doesn’t surprise me, and might have little to do with Mike being on or coming down off drugs.  Mike and Dad hadn’t been able to live together years ago, and they were struggling to have a civil dinner together. 

I do remember walking out into the foyer of the restaurant, which probably looked like I was concerned, but really I would not want to miss it if Mike were really going to take a swing at Dad, or vice versa.  …And then I would have called the cops.

I don’t know what kind of conversation they had, but I remember Mike breaking down and crying.  Sobbing big fat, hot tears and talking to each of us through them.  I did not feel sorry for him.  I was pissed.  I am 100% sure that I haven’t discussed this with him before, and it’s the hesitancy I have in writing this post at all.

My little brother was 9 years old.  Many drug-users might think that 9 is a perfectly acceptable time for a child to learn about drugs.  I was not the drug-user in this situation, however, and I had no sympathy for Mike or the circumstances in which he found himself.  I should also mention that all of this was taking place within a month after I moved out of a house where I found out the hard way that my roommates were using crack.  I had seen how erratic and hurtful drug-users can be, and so my thoughts did not go to Michael needing to get off drugs, my thoughts went to my little brother, who didn’t need to see such a display.

Most people I know have struggled with addiction.  Unfortunately, this was not the first time my little brother had seen someone spiraling out of control on drugs, but it was the first time I knew about it.  Mike was crying and hugging our baby brother and confessing that he had a drug problem, and he was sorry he was acting like this, and he wanted to quit.  Spud was crying too.  I wanted to beat the piss out of Mike. 

I know this sounds heartless and awful, and maybe it was.

My sisters have called me their overprotective big brother because our own brothers left home early, and I wasn’t about to let anybody hurt my sisters.  I felt the same way about my baby brother.  …Like a Mama bear. 

He is 8 years younger than me, and I’ve felt a connection with him not much different than a mother to her child.  In my eyes, at that time, Mike was a grown man who definitely needed to get his shit together, but I didn’t think it was something a 9-year-old needed to see or have any part in.

On the way back from the restaurant, Mike said repeatedly that he wanted to go to an old fishing hole he used when he was a little boy, growing up in Indiana.  He was promised that we would take him there the next day, which Mom did, and I took our little brother swimming at the hotel where we were staying. 

I don’t think that Michael knows how angry I was at the time.  And I wasn’t an angel either.  After Mom and Dad took Phillip back to the hotel, once the wedding was over, I definitely got piss-drunk.  It was a long trip.  They were bad days.  And it definitely wasn’t the last time our baby brother saw any of us on drugs. 

Gracie reminded me on the phone that even though Mike was a wreck, he still intervened during yet another family squabble later on, standing up for Gracie and made sure she didn’t get hurt when she was threatened.

I know this isn’t a becoming portrayal of Michael, but I’m sure he knows already that it wasn’t a becoming time for him.

For me, it highlighted the ways he had changed.  I remembered him as someone humorous, someone who, even after he moved out of our family home, would pick me up from school when I was sick.  He, like many teenagers, was self-centered and did what he felt he needed to do for himself with little regard to how it affected others.  I did the same thing to my own younger siblings years later, without recognizing or remembering the ways it hurt when my older sister and brothers had went off on their own, leaving me behind.

I don’t write all this to cast a shadow on my brother.  I loved him then and I love him even more today.  If you’ve been reading the blog and haven’t left yet, I am guessing it’s because you have found something you can relate to.  Perhaps you have struggled with addiction, or know someone who has.  It’s not something you struggle with alone.  Families serve many purposes, and one of the most important purposes I know of is the service as a support group.  I didn’t follow up my anger with and concern for Michael by offering to be a support.  Just as he was selfish by using drugs, I was selfish by treating him in a way that said, ‘this is your responsibility.  You need to get your shit together.’

Worst, I said nothing.  I don’t remember telling Michael ever that his drug use upset me so much.  I left it alone.

If anybody has a right or a reason to talk with their loved-ones about drug use, it is their family.  Our family has been through many tumultuous times and major battles together.  We are seasoned battle buddies, even if we haven’t seen traditional warfare.  You’re not supposed to leave anyone behind.

Brother, I am so sorry you were left to your own devices.  I wish I had been a little more grown up and known how to offer help and support instead of turning my back on you and your struggles.

Thank you for forgiving me and loving me. 

Thank you for being mine.         

Guest Post by Scottie

“You have heard me talk about Scottie in previous stories and updates.  He is a big part of my life, and so are you, our readers.  I am proud at this time to introduce you to a man I feel honored to call my friend.  With no further delay, here is my friend Scottie….”

Mike – who you call J.J. – approached me a few days ago and asked that I write an introduction of sorts.  Ha!  As you may all know, on numerous occasions I’ve talked with Mike and sometimes I’ve had to make sure I let him know not to write about our interactions.  So much for that… cuz now he wants me to write.  …So here goes!

My name is Scott but Mike likes to call me Scottie.  We’re ok as far as prison goes, so I let it slide J  A lot of what Mike depicts in his writing is 100% accurate, so I need not go into what being cool with someone entails. 

Throughout my entire prison sentence I have never met someone as genuine and unique as my friend Mike.  I had made several promises to myself during this time in my life, and making friends – real friends – was not one of them.  As unfortunate as that may sound, this last year of my sentence I can truly say I’m glad to have met Mike and acquire his friendship.  Many of our talks can be considered comedic, but often they are also brotherly.  Back here it is dog-eat-dog, may the best man win and all that territorial B.S. you hear about on TV and read on J.J.  Very few (and when I say very few, I mean close to 1 in 1,000) ever click with one another in such a way as I feel Mike and I have.  I’ve known Mike for a handful of months, but it feels like I’ve known him longer.  We sleep approximately 3 beds from each other in a room full of 80 bunks, so it’s kinda hard to not know each other J

I’m sure by now you’re thinking this is a “puff” piece to make Mike sound like a great guy (Note: it cost Mike 3 Honey Buns, 2 Snickers and a bag of coffee for everything written thus far… thanks Mike).  The rest?  Well, the rest is free.

I consider myself to be a funny guy at worst – or at best, however you want to think of it.  Time can play really mean tricks on you mentally and physically, and sometimes I defend myself with laughter.  I’m the guy some people love to hate ‘cause I’m always smiling or hitting you with a one-liner.

This place royally sucks and it can get downright unbearable at times (especially at night – see Prison Nights).  Mike and I had a ‘serious talk’ about this and we both agreed after lights out it’s no longer about what’s around you as much as it’s about what’s in your mind. 

Today is St. Patrick’s Day as I’m writing this, so that leaves me with 179 days before I get to go home.  This makes me smile even more.  Now, Mike knows I’m leaving.  But what he doesn’t know (until he reads this, of course), is that it also saddens me.  If you’re family or friends of anyone in here, you will know where I’m coming from.  I’m leaving a great friend behind and that sucks.  I plan on following J.J. and keeping contact with Mike as time goes on and he’ll always be a friend. 

OK, I’m not smiling now… I’m a little teary-eyed. *Sniffle-sniffle.*  …Hope nobody saw that.  …VERY un-prison-like. 

Anyway, as a friend of Mike’s, allow me to say thank you to all of you who read his stuff, admire his artwork, and most importantly, giving him the outlet from this place he needs so much.  Believe it or not, you all make his time here more bearable.  …Especially that wonderful person ~A.~  You should see his face when his name is called for mail call and your name’s on the envelope …priceless cheese J

Well, so much for ‘my’ intro.  I think I talked about Mike more than anything.  Oh well, it’s his show, just glad to have been – and to continue to be – a minor role. 

Thanks, Mike, for all the talks, all the countless hours of entertainment, and most of all, thanks for the laughter.  Every comedian thrives on this and you’ve given me more than I could hope for in this place we call prison.

-Scottie <--- yuck!

Friends With Benefits

Ahhh… Friends with benefits.  Can it work?

Last week an old friend of mine wrote me.  In her letter, she asked me a question, and I quote:

“Mike, I’ve been on J.J. and read all your stories about strippers and fat chicks… we were never in a ‘relationship,’ but we’ve had some good times.  Could you tell me where I fit in?”

Thank you for your question.  After some thought, I’ve come to a conclusion.  Obviously where you ‘fit in’ was between my sheets.  Likewise, I seemed to ‘fit in’ somewhere also.  Jokes aside, our only ‘relationship’ was friendship.  There were also ‘benefits’ to that friendship.

Sometimes this works.  Other times it’s a disaster, and can ruin an otherwise good thing.  Bottom line: it depends completely on both people and their feelings.

Over my history, women have come and gone.  Even after they are ‘officially’ gone, they sometimes ‘unofficially’ come back.  One woman said to me as we broke up, “This is ok, as long as I can still come back when I need to.”  Perfect!

The problem is that sex activates emotions.  Before long you may be falling in love with your friend, and they might not share those feelings.  This may piss some people off, but I have a system.  It’s not fool-proof, but it’s worked fairly well for me.

First-time sex is awkward.  Drunk, drugged, or stone-sober, it’s usually not mind-blowing.  However, you are still in the ‘safe’ zone.  My system is simple:

One time, you’re ok.

Two times is golden.

Three times?  Problems begin.

Meaning: One romp in the hay – nobody’s falling in love over that – you got some good stuff.

Second time – you remember each other’s names.  It’s more comfortable, it’s probably going to be better than the first.  I’m a big fan of ‘second-time-sex.’  I’m also a big fan of bailing after the second time.

Shit hits the fan on time three.  Time one and two, you part ways.  By the third time, stuff gets left behind.

Allow me to explain.

First and second time you are still uncertain if there will be a follow-up.  The next morning you grab your shit and go.  This is what happens the third time: A bra is left behind.  You find an earring on your bathroom sink.  …Panties on your bedroom floor. 

This is no accident.  These are reasons to call you back and come back around.  See what you’ve started?

This happens to me for yet another reason.  Marking territory.  If a woman suspects you have other women, they leave messages for each other.  Have you seen Batman?  Gotham City shines the Bat-signal to call Batman.  Women leave shit – stuff for the other women to find.  This says, “Yeah, hi – I was here too.”

 

So yes, I have had sex with a few of my friends – I just tend to close the door after the second time.  However, there are a couple exceptions.

For example, that person you dated and split up with.  You’ve both moved on with your lives.  There are new partners now.  Except from time to time you both slip away for some comfortable, mind-blowing sex with each other.  You only allow yourself to get caught up in the moment with each other.  There are no promises or deep conversation, just passionate sex.

There are ways to keep things simple.  That’s really the key to this.  When sleeping with a friend, I leave right after sex.  Don’t stay the night and wake up there the next morning.  Try not to cuddle – that too leads to problems.  Keep it about the sex.

You may be reading this, shaking your head, thinking, ‘This guy’s retarded.’  In some ways you would be right.  However, this guy has been with a couple different women (to be modest), and I have never been stalked, had my car keyed or my windows broken.   

To this day, I remain on good terms with nearly every woman I have ever been with, whether in a relationship or just casual sex.

I won’t lie.  I’ve been on both ends of the stick.  Feelings get involved.  It’s important to always treat someone else the same way you would want to be treated.

God, this sounds like Jerry Springer’s ‘final thoughts.’

Just take care of each other.  Look out for other’s feelings.

To the women I have shared ‘special’ moments with, thank you!

It’s been two years, six months, and five days since I last got laid – but who’s counting?

QUICK FACTS:

1.    Item strategically left behind.  Hair clips and scrunchies.

2.    My rules don’t apply to strippers.  They try to move in after time #1.  You’ll need to throw them out.

3.    Sex with women 30 and over can be good on the first time.  They know what they want and will tell you – on the first time.

4.    “Don’t worry about it – I’m on birth control…”  RUN!!!!!!!!!!

My Life Part V: Pills

"At this point in my life I’ve done nearly every drug out there.  Cocaine, acid, heroin, G.H.B., and even crystal meth for a while.

I’ve done pills before, but G.H.B. was really my drug of choice.  So I get the run-down on the pill gig.

First I have to get medical papers.  Since the pain clinic I will visit is already shady, they won’t really verify my paperwork.  Aside from being a 20-something drug addict, I am a perfectly healthy young man.  My paperwork, however, says I have a crushed disc and a grinding vertebra in my lower back.

My appointment is made.  The day comes and I go to the doctor.  I know full well this is serious shit I’m doing.  This is a federal offense.  They call me out of the waiting room and I head back to meet the doctor.  He takes my blood pressure, rubs his hand down my back going, “Mmm Hmm… yes, ok.  I see the problem.”

The problem is you’re full of shit doc.  He sits back down and says, “What do you need for your pain?”           

Are you serious?  …You’re going to ask me what I need?

So I tell him.  Let me get some soma for my muscles, and Xanax so I can sleep better.

He did it!  Gave me exactly what I asked for.  He started me off at 150 Roxicodone, 200 Soma and 90 Xanax bars.  Unbelievable!

These drugs cost about $200 to fill at the pharmacy.  I didn’t have insurance, and paid in cash.  The street value for those same drugs was about $2,000.  This is too easy.

Doctor shopping comes in when you go to more than one doctor and get prescriptions from them too.  The legal charges they can bring against you are very stiff.  I pushed my luck in this area a little.  However, a couple of people I knew got caught doing this, so I backed off. 

Always a thinker, I came up with other ways to beat the system.  …Like buying other people’s prescriptions from them.  They really watch the waiting rooms at these clinics.  They don’t want you talking to other customers for this very reason.  There are usually cameras in the waiting room and even in the parking lots.  So everyone meets up at the pharmacy.  For every problem there is a solution.  This is when I meet my friend Kimmy.

You have read about my friend Kim.  These same drugs and this lifestyle took Kim’s life in the end.  This is a warning about the dangers of this life.  I need to do this.  I know Kim would want me to.

I was introduced to Kimmy through a mutual friend.  We moved a lot of pills between the two of us, but we also developed a friendship.  You can read about this in Kim’s Memorial.

At this time, I began selling pills.  Many of the people I used to sell coke to were now using pills.  Quickly I built up a large group of people who bought pills.  The problem was, I began t use pills heavily myself.  In order to support my habit and still make money, I began to order pills online.  This is risky.  I already bought scripts from a couple other people when they got them.  The demand for these medications was huge.  Not just that, but it kept growing.  The first couple times someone would only buy ten or twenty pills.  Within three or four weeks, they were doubling their orders.  Right now the use of pills is finally being recognized as an epidemic.  Doctors are being busted for writing themselves prescriptions because they are addicted themselves.

I was seeing this first-hand.  The same people that used to take their pills orally are beginning to mainline them.  I began seeing needles at my friend’s houses.  A girl I hung out with had me hold her purse and there was a needle right at the top.

I knew this was fucked up, but I was using too, and addiction is a beast.

The advantage I found in dealing pills is that I had a prescription for the pills I sold.  When I was pulled over and searched, they would see my name on the pill bottles.  They really can’t do anything about it.  I could fly on planes, go anywhere I want and carry all these pills legally.

One of the things I did at this time was sending the strippers I knew into the clinics to get pills.  They would go in, get a prescription, and I would buy it from them.  …Or trade them coke or heroin.  These are the drugs I was on when I went up north to see my parents.  They were easier to hide.  Until you run out and withdraw.  That’s when I had Karen the stripper fly me up some more.

Pills became my new drug.  At one point I realized what a problem they were.  I was too ashamed to go to my family for help.  There were people around who would have helped, I just never reached out to take it.

Around this time, I heard about methadone clinics:  People who abused heroin or prescription medication could go into these clinics and be dosed with methadone.  This somehow neutralizes your system so you can’t get high off street or prescription drugs.  What the hell – sign me up.

So now I wake up every morning and head to the junkie clinic to get my daily dose of methadone.  …Which, ironically, is also a drug, and very addictive also. 

On the street, people on methadone are referred to as drone heads.  It’s about being hit by a tranquilizer.  What I end up doing is using methadone myself and selling pills to everyone else.  While I’m in line for my daily dose, I’m networking.  Meeting other people just like me.  They are also getting prescription meds – so I begin to buy theirs so I can turn around and re-sell them to my customers.

Nearly everyone in my life now is on drugs.  The people I hang out with are shooting pills and heroin, smoking crack and meth.  I’m really at the bottom right now.  What should happen?  My buddy who made and sold G.H.B. completes his prison sentence and is released.  He looks me up first thing and we begin to work together again.

Seems he had been doing some networking of his own while doing his prison sentence.

Soon after his release, he begins to make G’ again.  While doing time, he met some guys who grew hydroponic weed.  Now I’m back where I started.  Selling hydro, G.H.B. and pills.  All the bullshit starts again.  The parties, the women, crazy stuff.

I remember my mom wanted to see me.  She came and we spent like a week together.  I was living with a buddy at the time.  My mom came and stayed at our bachelor pad.  To this day, my mom still talks about that visit.  We had a stripper pole installed in the living room.  Our parties were off the chain.  When the strip club closed and the girls I knew got off work, they came to the house and danced some more.  Here I am, coming up on 30, and my bachelor buddy is still like 21 (You tried to hang, I’ll give you that).

Poor guy.  We worked together doing construction work.  I’ll never forget one morning I’m standing in the driveway, waiting for him to drive us to the office.  We had partied hard the night before and at 6:30 a.m. I’m still drunk.  My stomach starts flippin’ out on me.  I run to the side of the house and start puking on a bush.  I look up and about 10 feet away stands my buddy, doing the same thing.  We look at each other and can’t help but laugh, then puke some more.  That day sucked!

Once again, I have G around, and this just causes me to live life balls to the wall.  Now I’m mixing pills into the chemicals.

The fact I’ve lived this long surprises me.  I think at times I really felt indestructible.  My buddy that did time for G.H.B. came out of prison a huge guy.  We teamed up with another guy he met while down.  I think I saw it as my ticket to do whatever I wanted.  I’m a small dude, but everywhere I go I’ve got two huge bodyguards.  I become flat out obnoxious.  This turns out interesting.  There are a lot of girls who came around and liked this stuff.  Not nice girls like you want your Mom to meet, but the other kind.

I get my own place.  Even I can’t bear to drag my young bachelor friend through the shit I live every day.  My younger brother lives 20 minutes away and refuses to come by.  I’m high all the time.  There are women coming and going. The people who have known me for years and have seen me change beg me to get help.  I can still see their faces.  The people who loved me and I shut out.  I’m falling fast, headed for the crash."