Another Weekend Has Passed.

And nothing of much consequence occurred.

Well, almost nothing.

I had to laugh, because this is so crackhead. About 6 or 8 weeks ago I was ripped off by someone who was supposed to be getting me some crack. In some circles it would have been enough to get the shit kicked out of you. Actually, I have seen people beaten up for much less.

At the time I left an voice mail for this clown telling them to lose my number. I erased them from my phone's contact list as well. Good riddance, I thought as this person was just your typical, stereotypical crackhead type character and I was no longer comfortable with them in my house.

Yes, I broke one of my own rules about allowing crack smokers in my house.

Well, what was done was done and I thought I wouldn't hear from them again. At least part of me thought I wouldn't hear from them again. The crackhead in me knew that at some time in the future, when they needed money or something other from me they would call or show up.

Crackheads are so predictable.

So the phone rings and after answering this person says, "Hi! This is H_____, my guy from Ohio is in town and he has FIRE!" It was a call designed to plant a seed or strike a spark to get me on a roll. This is also a ploy used by some dealers to get some business going.

It's also a tried and true tactic of mainstream sales people to get sales.

To get action you have to make something happen. Create some excitement, generate some interest, catch a crackhead jonesing and let word of mouth do the rest. Merchandising, marketing and salesmanship cuts through all segments of society and all goods, whether they are illegal or not.

My response was "I'm broke for two more weeks." The call was terminated before I could flip my phone shut. I had to laugh, because the caller never even acknowledged the previous rip-off. To them it was like the past was forgotten because we have got fire today.

It also showed the desperation they felt, as the stuff, where ever it came from had to be good and they wanted to get more. They had no more money so they wanted me, or you or whoever had some cash to buy them more crack.

While the "beast" had some regrets that no money was available, I on the whole am happier today for that fact.

I think...

One other thing. I watched a movie online that shook me to the core. The movie's title is "Cracked Not Broken." It's what they might have called a trigger movie in one of the numerous rehabs I attended. The film is about young woman who was in the crack trap. She threw away her good job and white picket fence existence for this drug.

The film portrays a happy ending, with her being clean and normalcy restored to her life. The part of me that knows how that shit works doubts she is still clean.

I pray I'm wrong.

The part of the film that disturbed me was the fact that I knew that girl. Not that individual in particular, but that woman and the lifestyle she was pursuing in general. The hotel rooms, even in Toronto, were typical crack smoker's dens. I've partied with these women, gotten to know some pretty well and we have exchanged our little stories with each other.

After checking our cash, our stash of dope and all of our valuables, we've parted in most cases friends. There have been exceptions to that, but those instances have been a small percentage.

The other part of the film that disturbed me was her manner of ingestion. She was an IV crack user. Some of you are going, "Huh?" The fact is that there are some who go through the process of converting the crack back into cocaine so it can be injected.

Yes, I know the process, but it will not be described here.

Watching that movie and her poking and digging to find a good vein had my stomach in a knot. Not that I was triggered to use from that, but from having witnessed first hand that continual jabbing and stabbing to find a spot to get a hit dredged up memories I would rather have forgotten.

I have good veins and plan to keep it that way. That needle shit is too much work and creates too much damage. And all those tissues with all that blood is beyond unsanitary.

Just put the fuckin' rock on the pipe and hit it. Done!

If you want to see an example of the happy, carefree lives of crackheads just click the title to this post. It should be noted that Harm Reduction programs are alive and well in Toronto.

For me, that's not my life today and better is better.

Someone asked me...

Am I happy?

Most people know what to say right off of the get go. Of course they're happy, why shouldn't they be happy? They have all the comforts that life can provide and are surrounded by loved ones and friends. What's not to be happy about?

I didn't know what to say. There is no straight answer to that painfully simple question, at least for me. One reason is that I'm not so sure what happiness is anymore.

I know a bit about what happiness isn't. It hits me straight between the eyes when a hit is taken. It's disguised as that initial rush from that first hit But at times it's that first hit that makes me feel a little bit closer to normal but really not happy. What the hell normal is really?

Once someone told me that normal was just a cycle on a washing machine.

So, am I happy?

Well to tell the truth, I've been a hell of a lot happier. But now thinking about those happy times is only a source of pain. Those happy times will never be regained. Too much time and neglect, mostly mine toward others has gone by the boards.

OK.

No more whining. At least not here. It was the pursuit of happiness that got me here. Happiness can't be pursued though, you just have to let it happen. If it's forced it's just a fleeting thing. Just out of reach and never fully achieved.

I guess I should be happy still being alive after the hell I've gone through. I should be happy there is a roof over my head, plenty of food for my belly and a few bucks in my pocket. I also should be happy that there are at least a few people who will talk to me as a person and not a piece of human refuge that so many associate with crackheads.

I mean, crackheads have feelings too...

And the beast?

The beast is never happy, even when it's fed, it's just wants more and more and more. So twenty bucks and a little snack to shut it's mouth for awhile. Not much of a snack, but it's quiet for now.

For a little while anyway.

Taking a Risk

This blog is a risk.

When I started blogging back in October, it was a way to get things off my chest. A way to vent my frustrations over the path that I had followed. The risk in that undertaking was choosing to make the blog public. Something inside me said that was the right thing to do.

Anybody and everybody could peek into this place and see what life was like for your typical low-down crackhead. Exposing myself, regardless of how anonymously it was accomplished, frightened me then and it still does today.

There were a few online friends who knew of this blog's existence and they encouraged me to continue. In many ways I'm glad I did. It has helped me take a look at myself in a way that never has been done before. It also helped me to be honest not only with whoever reads this, but also with myself.

It should be noted that those who were first made aware of the blog and offered encouragement knew me only as a screen name. We all are contributors to a closed, private email support group that has been very helpful to me. In some respects we all are in similar situations. Fighting to be abstinent or at the very least to practice some measure of harm reduction in our use.

Somehow the idea struck that this blog might be of some use to others besides myself. Whether that is true or not remains to be seen, but time will tell. In an effort to get the blog out there a bit more I took another risk.

I told people who knew the real me about this place. People who don't smoke crack or live in the margins of society. People who have seen my struggles and have had real face to face conversations with me. People who have witnessed my bouncing around from town to town in a dismal effort to escape the drugs, the dealers and the bill collectors.

People who I really like and they seem to really like me despite all my poor qualities. People who belong to social networking sites and would recommend this blog to their friends. These people also know my real name, address, phone number. They could also pick me out of a police lineup or identify my body.

What brought on this particular post about the risks I've taken and am going to take?

I read a writer's blog posted on the local newspaper. The author of that blog Lenore Skomal has instigated some thoughts in my remaining brain cells about things worthwhile. She elicits things that are more about what and who you are than about what you write. She also offers challenges.

Like taking a risk.

I know about taking risks. Every time that pipe is hit is a risk. While nothing is being said about this being any less frightening, the risks taken here are much healthier.

Click on the title to see what I mean.

Don't Trust!

I know it's been mentioned here before and will likely be mentioned again. This is the first rule, as in RULE #1 if you are going to be involved with crack in any way.

If someone smokes crack, don't trust them.

If someone sells crack, don't trust them.

I left Dallas, Texas about 6 months ago. I had a conversation with a crackhead friend on the phone last night. They were upset that I hadn't told them I was leaving. My reply was that no one I knew could be trusted. I stated that in a way that made it clear that I didn't even trust my friend in that regard.

I owed too many crack dealers money and those same dealers did business with my friend. To have revealed my plans to my fellow crackhead may have jeopardized my position. Perhaps jeopardized my position to the point of getting me shot.

I really didn't nor do I want to get shot.

So whether you smoke crack, sell crack or know someone who is in anyway engaged in some sort of activity involving crack, do not trust any of the above.

For real!