Okay, so I’ve been trying to have someone review my book’s content but maybe I should just post a quick excerpt to speed up the process. My book is scheduled to drop early January so I don’t have too much time to waste! I really hope I receive honest feedback but also keep in mind these are all true events and all accurate representations of my life! Names have been altered of course including my own, so please sit back, relax, and try not to hate me after reading about what I’ve been through and what I’ve done throughout my addiction!!!
Chapter 1 : The Beginning Of The End
Where should I start? No seriously. The more I try to remember, the more I envision darkness. I don’t mean “darkness” figuratively I literally mean the color black. My years of drug use has made it so hard for me to remember my past that I can’t tell a story without a long pause and really working my brain so hard that I question if what I’m about to say even happened. Were these past few years just a long dream from a sleep I have yet to awaken from? Yeah I wish. Realistically, it would be better defined as a nightmare. I’m haunted by my decisions made from the very moment I took my first hit.
I’ve had an addictive personality ever since I was young and as far as I can remember. Having an addictive personality and having a dangerous curiosity for destruction and anarchy was a dangerous mix for me. Not only that, I’ve always had an inner sadness that whispered at me as I grew up. I never payed full attention until I finally did and realized that inner sadness had developed into full blown depression. Aside from that, when trying to remember my childhood , I recall growing up around abuse, fear and anger. From being forced to watch my father literally beat the earrings off my mother’s head, to experiencing his traumatic rage for myself. That fear inevitably evolved into an unbearable hatred that had influenced my decisions dramatically.
I recall my father being an addict himself, but unlike me, his addiction has always been alcohol which was eventually traded out for gambling. Maybe that’s what influenced me to developing that “addictive personality” I’m babbling on about. From abuse to surrounding myself with people who fit the criteria of a “negative influence” I slowly developed a life lasting addiction to the rush of doing shit I’m not supposed to.
My road to drug addiction is a tad different. Unlike the typical “my parent was a crackhead” story we all read, my story began not when I took my first Percocet, but when I decided I would try marijuana for the first time. Okay whatever, weed smokers all say the same thing, “you can’t get addicted to weed.” Which is true. There is a difference between mental dependence or “addiction” where you convince yourself that you “need” to smoke, take a hit, blow a rail, etc. and full blown physical addiction where you shit your pants, throw up anything you ate and prefer death over the hell of not having your drug of preference to even you out. You can become mentally dependent/addicted or physically addicted, sometimes both, is what I’m trying to say. So do me a favor and read back to those past few words again, “My road to drug addiction is a tad different” that’s the key in this below average attempt to begin illustrating how I became the addict I am today. In my case, smoking weed was 100% the “gateway drug” that developed an alter ego of myself. The epitome of pain itself. Better defined as my ”addictive personality.”
I’ve always been such a curious person, from early childhood to a quarter century of my life later. Although I’ve always had a curiosity for rebellion and self destruction, that curiosity didn’t begin killing this cat* until drugs and their euphoric affects were introduced. Whether it be almost every kid in high school bragging about smoking their first blunts to the occasional kid from the projects that started exploring their options when they were “twelve”. No, Im not exaggerating. Almost every project kid I met had already either smoked their first blunt, ate their first shroom or popped their first pill at that age. I kid you not. For some reason, if you grew up in the projects, it must have been some kind of “life of crime and poverty” initiation to get high at the tender age of “twelve”, at least that’s what they all made it seem like.
I wasn’t a “project kid” but the city I’m from is always defined as the “ghetto”. Yes it has beautiful neighborhoods, houses and the stereotypical Trump supporters that would lock their door if a person of color walks within 25 feet of their car. But even those same residents helped our city earn the nickname of a “hood”. Although we are technically named the “City of Champions”, Urbandictionary.com better describes us as “a very metropolitan area, resembling Detroit, with a crime rate to match.”