Heroin addicts stories
Stories from a true heroin addict
What do you need to do when you can’t get a bag of heroin? Well, steal from your friends of course. One of many heroin addict stories from his new book, “What’s Left of Us”, Richie lets us into the mind of a heroin addict to know just how desperate addiction can be. In this part of the book, he’s visiting a friend and getting ready to steal some prescription medication from the bathroom until he can get the next fix. What’s crazy is that his friend’s wife is IN THE SHOWER! Check out What’s Left of Us for a well-written memoir of coming to terms with the demons that drive addiction.
Heroin addiction makes you do crazy things
The bathroom is the first place to visit. Every house has leftover pain medication. Nine times out of ten, somebody’s gotten hurt once and the doctor’s prescribed Percodan or even Tylenol with codeine. Sane people, most of them, follow the directions: take one every four hours for pain or as needed. In that case, there’s always some left over in the medicine cabinet. The pills are my only answer. They’ll calm the jones so I won’t do anything bad. They’ll save me, Beaver, and Inga until I get a bag of smack. I figure if Beaver is anything like my Dad, I have about twenty minutes before he turns back into a quiet, loving man again.
Stealing Percocet from your friends
I hear the shower running when I’m halfway down the corridor to the bathroom. The door to the bathroom is open. I have to take the chance. Inga sings softly but loud enough to cover my footsteps. I’m in luck; she has the water scolding hot. The steam is so thick it forms a large cloud that seems to swallow the solid glass door. I’m safe. I cannot see her so I know Inga won’t be able to see me.
The medicine closet over the sink doesn’t squeak. My eyes scan it quickly as Inga’s voice sounds like an angel’s behind me. If Beaver comes back, I’m dead. Shit, a hit. I slip a bottle of Percosets gingerly into my hand. I don’t bother risking shutting the door, just glide gracefully out into the corridor. There are six pills left out of twenty-four. Jackpot. I pour a glass of water at the kitchen sink, see Beaver heading out of the shed in his backyard, swallow all six, and hide the empty bottle behind a cookie jar on the counter.
“Richie!” Beaver begins fixing the screen back on the runners. “Still sitting in the kitchen?”
…for more pick up What’s Left of Us, a memoir of addiction.