I
was 17 and it was the summer of 1984. I was
eager and excited to visit my longtime childhood friend, Kimberly, in Northern
California. By now, smoking pot and
drinking beer were weekend occurrences with me and my suburbia Philly
friends.
Unbeknownst
to me, Kimmy and her boyfriend had been recreational with cocaine. I was ignorant of cocaine use and wasn’t
remotely interested in trying it. I was
scared of it. John Belushi had just died
from a cocaine overdose, and I saw Scarface. Tony Montana made cocaine very unattractive
to me. I’d rather stick to pot and
beer. As the three of us were sitting
around Ronnie’s kitchen table making screwdrivers, Ronnie mentioned to Kimmy
about leaving to get the stuff. I
wasn’t aware of what he was referring to.
When
Ronnie returned with the bindle of coke, I was so intrigued by the notorious
white powder that I could barely focus on my screwdriver. He started chopping it up with a razor blade
on the glass kitchen table and was moving it to and fro with a credit
card. Wow. This was real cocaine. The word danger
kept flashing before my eyes in neon lights.
I felt pressure to be cool and I wanted to fit in. I neglected the road block screaming DANGER DANGER pulsing in my head.
Ronnie
cut out two lines for Kimmy and him, and I felt left out. I was uncertain about even trying this drug.
People have heart attacks, overdose and die ingesting this stuff - why would I
want to even jeopardize my own existence?
Kimmy and Ronnie each snorted up their line and it looked weird to
me. I’ve never put anything up my nose before,
except my finger. Ronnie started
chopping out two more lines. I looked
over and pondered for a minute, should I try this? My hands were sweating and my heart was
racing. I felt fearless. “Hey Ronnie, cut one out for me. I may as
well try it.” This was the start of my
twenty-year love affair with cocaine.
By
the time I was 19, I was dating the local cocaine dealer. I knew him through friends and we partied
almost every night. I got to know how
his side lived—the blue collar drug addicted side. I enjoyed it immensely. Or did I just enjoy
the coke? Who could tell at this point? I became so addicted to the guy and his drugs
that I wouldn’t have cared if he looked like Weird Al Yankovich. From the first snort up my nose to the
immediate high and rush that accompanied that, along with a swig of my vodka
jungle juice and a drag from my cigarette – nothing ever compared. It got
me. To the core of my being this shit
got a hold of me. As soon as I drank
that first sip of my vodka drink, I needed to know when and where I’d be
getting my hit of blow from. My life
became a constant rush, experiencing blasts of adrenalin with him and his gang
of degenerates. I knew that my new crowd
wasn’t the type I would have invited over for Sunday dinner. It didn’t deter me, though, since I liked the
hectic pace and being in the center of the drug network. I felt that I was above these people, and
somehow it made me feel better being around them. I felt like we had what everyone wanted. I was the new IT girl of the group. My low
self esteem and self loathing made it quite easy for me to sequester myself
with people that were, outwardly, less than desirable. It made me feel like the new ice cream flavor
at Baskin-Robbins that people wanted to try.
Our
weekends started on Wednesdays, where we would go to the local watering hole
and I would shuffle into a cramped one stall bathroom, wipe down the back basin
of the toilet with one-ply tissue and dump out some blow. Customer number one would enter and I’d
swiftly push the coke into a line to feed myself and the frequent flyer of the
evening. It was an insidious life,
filled with contradictory highs and Spike Lee moments of Not Doing The Right Thing.
I knew being involved in a drug operation was unethical, but I really
couldn’t make myself care. Taking part
of this fast inner circle blinded me to any potential problems.
This
relationship crashed and burned within a year and within the next year or so, I
was dating another cocaine dealer. Dating your dealer made the best sense to
me. This way I always got what I
wanted. Granted, these relationships
were just as insidious as my drug addiction, but I didn’t care.
I
upheld this sordid lifestyle for many many years and later when I moved to
California, it only increased my usage as it was much easier to get. By the time I was 37, I was doing cocaine a
few times a week, as I needed to try and uphold some sort of a career. I considered myself a recreational user. Usually Thursday through Sunday was the
norm. Each time I used cocaine it worked
for me. It made me feel good, it made me
feel like I mattered - it made sense. I
loved the instant rush of snorting the line and having the drip down my throat
within seconds. BAM! That was it. My own A-Ha moment. I could stay up for hours drinking, snorting
and smoking with whomever person of the week there was. Playing poker, Yahtzee or just talking Shit
about Shit. It didn’t matter. I loved getting the bindle, chopping it up
and sifting out the lines into perfect matchsticks. I
loved the routine of it. I could start
tasting it minutes before I would even have it in my possession. It was all consuming; so much so that I would
bargain away anyone and anything at any cost.
I lost relationships, friendships, jobs, money – but mainly my
self-respect. All because I wanted what
I wanted. Most nights, I would barely
make it to bed and stroll into my office high with no sleep. I am amazed that I was able to maintain that routine
for as long as I did. The interesting thing though is that I only used cocaine
when I drank. Alcohol was my number one
drug of choice, then cocaine. I never
used it without alcohol. The combination
of alcohol and cocaine was perfect for me, as I could drink longer when I had
the depressant of alcohol and the stimulant of cocaine in me. It just completed me.
The
last time I did cocaine was a few weeks before I quit drinking. When I quit drinking, I quit cocaine. The ying and the yang were no longer. I had finally had enough of having enough. Being clean and sober was my new drug of
choice.
