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Category contains 2 blog entries contributed to teamblogs

Posted by on in Drug Addiction

After posting wild-eyed Southern Boys I realized I had sort of left the story open ended. Melvin ended up doing time for attempted capital murder. He did a long stretch in TDC. Because he continued to kill even after he was incarcerated, it was speculated that he would never get out. However the wheels of Justice do grind although slowly and he is now a free man. Paula Patton continue on in a life of meth addiction ultimately leading to her incarceration after being on probation for meth in four counties. She is in jail today.

I wanted to take a minute to discuss the progression of Meth over the years. When I started out doing it in 1986 it was called P2P. It was a far superior high than the drugs that followed. During the P2P days it was much more economical than its antecedentes. A very small amount was all that was required for a several-day high. One in which the user with perfectly satisfied for several days before beginning to want more. Its lineage goes like this P2P followed by anhydrous ammonia followed by/or accompanied by red phosphorus followed by today's meth ice. Ice is like a meth addicts crack. It's got little in the way of staying power as compared to its predecessors, but its what is most readily available. But when injected it does have a significant rush. Different people are attracted to different things when it comes to drugs. Some people are all about the rush. They prefer to do drugs that have an immediate intoxicating effect. When shooting ice, the user gets what you would call a sort of blow in your lungs. Almost an immediate expansion of your lungs. Hopefully to be followed by what users term "leg". As I said different people are attracted to different types. Some people will shop around for the best rush, other people we'll hold out for something with a little bit of staying power. Those who hold out want to stay awake sometimes days at a time. Back in the anhydrous, red phosphorus days, it was not unusual to locate meth that would keep you awake. Nothing however could compare to the days of P2P. Before authorities bottlenecked the purchase of ephedrine or pseudoephedrine, person after person taught another person, the black magic of cooking it. To the point where meth cooks were quite common. Amateur chemists, we're cooking at ounces and pounds of Meth at a time in a clandestine labs everywhere. I can only speak in the past tense because I have limited knowledge on where they're cooking it today. What I hear from the people that I know they are still involved with meth manufacturing and delivery tell me most of it originates in Mexico.

The most important thing that I can tell you about meth, in any form is that it's highly illegal. Possession, distribution, manufacturing, any traffic or trading of it in any form, is punishable by incarceration in every state in the United States. There is no safe place, nor safe way to be associated with it at all. It's all harmful, poisonous, and life-threatening. It will steal your health, your teeth and your future, your hopes, your dreams. It will rob you of your family. It's like the Grim Reaper. It's so very hard to shake off this particular monkey.

If you've never tried it for God sake don't. If you've tried it and find yourself captive by it, never give up the fight to get off it. You've got to keep trying or you for sure will never beat it. You never know which time will be the last time. Whether you beat it or whether they bury you with it. It's not glamorous or exciting or fun. It is a life changer, for the worse. It should come accompanied by a skull and cross bones. In a lifetime of disastrous decisions the one I would change, more so than any other would be the day I picked up a needle and a spoonful of meth. 

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Posted by on in Drug Addiction

I'm taking some time to address a pet topic of mine in the drug world. Its families, namely ones with children, and by children I mean around 14 and younger. Both boys and girls who through no fault of their own, get dealt what I term a "shit hand". Parents either alcoholics or addicts. They frequently are without supervision becuse the parents or authority figures are passed out or completely gone to try to score dope, which upon arriving home will lock themselves away in a room to use up their score. Small children will knock incessantly crying, scared, and confused. They don't want to be locked away. I can remember my son in particular developed an unreasonable dislike of shut and locked doors. If you or someone you know is an addict of any sort, their/your children are victim of at least neglect, at most abuse. Children in addicts houses arent fed appropriately because some piece of shit traded away their food stamps for 50 cents on the dollar, now the children go hungry. We here in the wealthiest nation on the planet second only to the oil producing nations, and our children starve and go homeless. No shoes, no jackets. All because we just punish the addict rather than explore his/her motivation. Just incarcerate non violent individuals. The task forces grow rich with their seizures. They kick in doors with chidren in them often sleeping on the floor. I willingly signed over custody of my two children because I was a lousy parent, but I loved my babies enough to put them with my Mom and Dad who had successfully raised 3 of their 4 children to be good, functioning, successful members of society. During my years as a drug distributor I saw many horrors of selfish, cruel neglect. I know of a couple right now who have custody of her two kids. The way they are raising them is literally criminal. The mother hs taught her children to be distractions while she steals. Mom actually loaded a buggy full of groceries and told her 10yr old daughter to just push it out the door. Not surprisingly the child got caught. Thus the mother finally got caught herself. She has a court date coming up.  The night of the murder of an abusive boyfriend by his broken girlfriend, her 12 yr old son heard it all in an adjacent room. It's very simple, if you are an addict of almost any type; drug, alcohol, gambling, even a sex addict, you are almost certainly exposing your child/children to some truly negative behavior and exhibiting poor prioritizing. Yes I know you love your child, yes I realize its difficult raising children as an addict. But if your still making poor choices, spending money you dont have to stay high then you arent doing your kids any favors. And if you are staying high on your childrens government money then fucking shame on you. Thats not your own cozy little bankroll, thats blood mmoney. For you are killing their childhood as certainly as if you pulled a  .45 out and blew their head off. Scout around. Good parents are almost everywhere. There's someone who will do the job that you are selfishly failing at. If you truly love your children, give them a chance to be children. Someday they'll understand. Thank you for your time and patience during my rant. God bless you and give you strength.

Boots

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Posted by on in Drug Addiction
  • My family and my psychiatrist are cautiously crossing their fingers at the change in personality this holiday season. They know that this timie of year virtually ALWAYS finds me in a drug induced fog sinking into a dreadful depression. With the tweaking of some different meds, I have actually made a playlist of holiday songs that I can be caught singing along with. It's been years since I had a needle hanging out of my body. It's true I have had far less money but neither do I have to drive with one or more felonies on me. How pleasant not to live in mortal fear of the area law enforcement. 
  • I thought I'd tell a couple of stories that took place around Christmas time. The first one took place while I'd had a job at an upscale retail store where I was the dock supervisor. During this entire time, unbeknownst to me, my husband, and father of my two children was selling meth behind my back. I knew we were still using, but thought we were paying for it. We lived in a rat infested frame house where the vermin were bigger than the cats in the neighborhood. Hand to God. You could walk outside and listen for a little bit and inevitably you would hear a scuffle in the trees overhead followed by a thud. Then you would see a disheveled feline shaking off the leaves and dirt as they stalked away. Every day. It was insane of us to subject our children to a house so infested by river rats that I couldn't put my 11 month old infant down on the floor without her getting eaten up by the fleas of the RATS, we had no inside pets. I also paid for daycare during this misadventure, which is altogether a different tale. 
  • So imagine a tattered blue and white 1 bedroom frame house. Overrun with huge rats and it's Christmas. I had gotten off work Christmas eve, picked up the babies and gone home. As evening rocked around bedtime came so I took my babies to the lone bedroom which held a king size waterbed and we three laid down. After a bit I began to hear shuffling in the living room. Voices grew louder and more excited, so loud in fact that I got up to see what the fuss was about.
  • In the dingy living room my husband and his brother, both spun off on meth, had the tired old couch up on its end and one had a .22cal rifle while the other one had an air rifle. Both were hopping up and down and taking turns taking aim at what I could only assume was a rat which shot out of the couch and promptly crawled up our "Charlie Brown" Christmas tree. The fight began again with great vigor as they flailed about at the pitiful cedar tree whacking away at the branches throwing balls and ornaments everywhere. They both saw me standing there in my pajamas at the same time. Each began to tell me loudly what had transpired. I sushed them both and just shook my head and closed the bedroom door. I got back into bed with my poor babies, pulled them close and wept. That was years and years ago, back when I still had tears to cry with and had hope for a better life. It would require a miracle and Santa was fresh out of miracles that year. 
  • I can't even say how many Christmases passed that found me alone trying to interpret directions for assembly of one toy or another, weeping and assailed with self loathing for dragging out what was a hopeless situation with the kids Daddy. I loved him as much as its possible to love another human being. We'd gotten addicted together, had two perfect children together, learned how to sell dope and not get caught together. I couldn't imagine life without him. Finally one fateful Thanksgiving day, after I'd been unable to reach him for three days, he answered. There was obviously someone else and there was. Barely 18 yrs old. Fresh in town from Houston where she'd just lost custody of a son, to my husband's 37 yrs old. Looking for his lost youth. She would never ask him the tough questions. Big eyed and stupid, but not so dense that she couldn't stroke his ego like I wouldn't do. I never was much of a game player in relationships. I felt it was beneath me, that I shouldn't have to. I always was utterly faithful in all my marriages. It was a pride thing. If I felt myself looking with more interest than was reasonable then I would tell my partner on my way out the door. I began my battle with drugs in the Spring of 1985. Big hair, questionable music, leg warmers and spandex. I'll end my fight the day my journey on this small blue planet the day I breathe my last. Even now, clean and sober, it creeps into my dreams at night. While I can triumph over it when awake, it defeats me as I slumber. Although I am never able to actually successfully do a bump in my dreams. It's like chasing an orgasm in your sleep or with an inept partner like my 2nd and 4th husbands. "Just don't touch it, I'll take care of it." SMDH. Lol. Got off track there, beg your pardon. Hahaha. Gotta hang onto your sense of humor. I've always been able to laugh at myself, regardless of the pathos of some of my black days. Dark humor, yes. Between my 3rd and 4th husband's was the only truly good man that I'd ever have pursue me. He was 7 yrs celibate when we started dating. I was trying desperately to get clean and stay that way. He'd just come out of the youth mission field. He was finishing up his masters at a nearby Christian university where he was cast the lead in the school's competitive drama production. He played classical and Spanish guitar fluently, also spoke perfect Spanish, hailed from Alabama. He could also juggle, walk any distance on his hands and make any balloon animal known to man. He was also last but not least, oh so easy on the eyes and built like an athlete. He had a beautiful singing voice and a generous nature. He was living with my pastor when we met. I tried to wait til he asked me out, but he was so polite that I finally got my chance to ask him. Yes I was still struggling with addiction and yes I was still madly in love with my children's father, who was the quintessential bad boy. Motorcycle, leathers, long hair and as bad assed as any given situation demanded. I never knew him to lose any confrontation. Even when he was outnumbered. 
  • One evening my ex (3) showed up with some fire and needles while I was home alone. My parents had taken the children to Padre Island to visit my brother thus leaving me alone in the house. When Derrick showed up holding, I called Beau (the good guy) and cancelled our plans. Bad guys 1 Good guys 0.  We retreated to my parents room where we were doing dope and having sex. All my parents had on their windows was mini blinds. It was very easy to see throught them. While we were in the middle of doing a bump, I heard a rustling in the bushes as they scraped across the window. Immediately I jumped up and grabbed a robe quickly. Derrick asked what I was doing and I said that someone was in the bushes. He said Who cares, and kept on drawing up the meth. Then I heard a knock coming from the door in the garage. With a sinking feeling I ran to the door. I opened the door and as I had feared, Beau was standing in the garage. When I opened it he moved to come in til I placed my hand on his chest. His eyes were like fires and he was visibly shaken. I told him to leave and that I would call him in the morning. He reluctantly took a step backwards and as I frantically tried to get him to leave, he finally got my attention by saying "If you say that there's nothing going on, then I'll believe you and go." His remark caused me to pause. I could here Derrick loudly making threats which I knew weren't empty. My tender new fellow had no conception of the beating he was about to take, so I pushed and shoved him until he finally left. I faced the realization that we were worlds apart. I was a hard core junkie, he was a servant of God. I broke up with him but he persisted in pursuing me. He joined the Air Force reserves for more money so he could provide for me and my two babies. He wrote me long, loving letters and bought me roses weekly. Gradually he began to wear me down with his unconditional unselfish love. I finally unbent and embraced a clean Christian future. A few days after I'd agreed to marry him and follow him into the mission fields of Venezuela, I received a phone call from his commanding officer teling me that Beau and 3 other airmen had saved a very young girl who was being gang raped by a genuine gang. They saved the girl. Beau hd taken a hard blow to the head. Two dys lter he layed down before his Christian rock band practice, went to sleep and never woke up. Aneurysm. 
  • Thats all right now, I'm melancholy. Thanks for your time. Boots
Tagged in: 28 day
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Posted by on in Drug Addiction

"Piece of shit" the young woman blew a strand of hair out of her face and tried cranking the tired Caprice classic again. All the engine would do when she flipped the key to crank it was go.... Click. She laid her head on her hands on the steering wheel. Silently she sat back up and unbuckled her seatbelt then with a resigned sigh,  she opened her car door and stepped out.  Of all places to break down she would have to pick here where the closest familiar face was that of the most psychotic human that she had ever met. Melvin Schwartz was a killer. Dangerous, utterly without conscience. A genuine wild eyed Southern boy. With long blonde hair and snapping black eyes that blazed with madness. He used to be a Pentecostal preacher. At this moment, her car had chosen to lay down on her just a minutes walk away from his wrecking yard. Sighing with resignation, she got out of her traitorous automobile and locked it up. She walked to the nearest home and knocked on the door. A cautious looking housewife open the door. She asked to borrow her phone to make a call because her car was broken down. The suspicious lady let her in and she made her call. Afterward she thanked the lady. Then refusing the woman's offer of hospitality she made her exit and begin to walk to the wrecking yard. She got down to the property heavy laden with now dead automobiles. She walked up to the long since retired yellow school bus, which Melvin had turned into a makeshift office. As she neared she thought she heard voices emanating from the old bus, so she knocked on the door. The voices immediately stopped and she heard a scuffling inside. After a moment the door to the bus swung open. There stood Melvin looking suspiciously at the young woman. Upon recognizing her he smiled. " oh it's you. Come on In. " the young woman explained the situation and thrust herself on his mercy (that was non-existent). But Melvin had a grudging respect for her husband who was also a known no nonsense drug dealer. He invited her in and offered her a seat telling her she was more than welcome to wait for her husband here. He was animated today and almost jolly. Very out of character for him. In fact she had never seen him so cordial. A moment later he cocked his head to one side and told her to excuse him that he would be right back. He stepped out of the door and it seemed like in the same moment she heard a knock on the school bus door followed by "Police!! Open the door!! "  then without waiting for an answer, the school bus door swung open. The city police and the county officers piled up into the bus filling it up. They began firing questions at the young woman demanding that she produce Melvin. She stared at them in confusion. It seemed impossible that they would not have seen Melvin as he exited the bus. How could it be? She asked the officers "Didn't you see him? " they responded "no ma'am." After a moment's hesitation she replied "Well I can't help you I don't know where he is. I'm just waiting on my ride." "Where's the girl? " they demanded. Again she looked at them stupidly,  " what girl? " she asked. "The Patton girl. The one that he's holding hostage." Answered the officer. Suddenly as if in answer to the man's question she heard a noise from the back of the bus. "Who's back there? " an office shouted.  "Come on out with your hands where we can see them!" He was answered with silence. "You better come on out. If we have to drag you out it's gonna go worse for you!!" The cop continued to yell. Finally a single shaking hand appeared, followed by a second similar hand. Then a bone thin young girl with long, dark, wild hair gradually came into sight. The young woman with car problems couldn't contain a gasp. The skinny creature was barely recognizable as a person. Someone had obviously beaten her black and blue. Her scalp was bleeding where hunks of hair were missing. She was trembling so badly that she could barely stand. She hung her head down like a kicked cur. Her face was bleeding, and her swollen eyes gazed out flatly. Tear stains ran in rivers down her mistreated face from between wet lashes. The police officer asked the broken creature "So are you the Patton girl?" She nodded barely perceptible. The officer asked her "What happened this morning?" She mumbled but you couldn't understand what she was saying so he said "We got a report that he had tied up his mom and his dad and his kids and threatened to burn the house down over them after he got through kiling you. Is that correct?" she just stood there obviously terrified and not offering anything up anyway the information. The officer said "are you willing to sign a statement against him when we catch him? "  all she would do was shake her head violently in the negative he told her "You have to sign a statement in order for us to prosecute." again she shook her head violently no she would not be willing to. The officer looked at her and told the young woman "If she's not willing to sign a statement there's nothing more we can do to help her." He turned away, dismissing her, "Canvas the area. " he told the officers. They filed out of the bus. The young woman was left with the battered girl. "Paula?" The young woman tried out the name as the one that had recently been associated with Melvin. The girl hesitated, then nodded her head jerkily. "What happened? " the woman asked. After a moment the girl began to recount the morning's horrors. The police were correct it would seem. Melvin had indeed tied up his elderly parents and his young children and had promised to burn the house down over them when he finished killing Paula. Later on,  the young woman would learn that a neighbor had seen him dragging the weeping girl by the hair in the direction of the wrecking yard. Horrified the neighbor had called the authorities. The girl's story ended with "and he put the 12 gauge shotgun in my mouth then you knocked. " The young woman sat silently trying to absorb everything that she had just heard. After a moment she asked "So what now? " The skinny girl looked at her in confusion. "What do you mean? " she asked.  "What I mean is in just a few moments the police will be gone and I will be gone unless you do something about it you will be here to facing him alone. So what are you going to do" The girl suddenly looked terror-stricken. "What I'm talking about is Melvin making good on his promise once we're all gone." "What should I do?" she asked, her face chalk white "You should get out of here somehow." the young woman said. "I don't know, let me see. I need to talk to the police officer's." As if they'd been summoned the officers reappeared and said " Well there's no sign of him out here now" the young woman answered "Listen she needs to get out of here somehow but can you make it look like it's against her will ?" He thought for a moment. "We can arrest her and if he's watching he will see that she's going against her will in cuffs. After that we can take her to a women's shelter, where he won't know where she is or be able to contact her." "Yes let's do that." said the young woman. She turn to the skinny girl and said "Do you understand what we're talking about? " The skinny girl nodded slowly "Yes I think I do. "Is this acceptable to you? "The young woman continued pressing the thin, shaking waif. Then she answered "You're right I should get out of here. But he will kill me if he finds me." "Well hopefully that will never happen." Said the young woman. So the police put her in handcuffs and amidst great struggle they led her out into the wrecking yard and up to the police cars waiting at the top of the hill. The police all got into their respective cars and drove away. The young woman sat in silence inside the bus. Only the chirping of the birds could be heard outside. Suddenly as if blown by a great wind the door swung open and the long blonde haired young man burst into the room. " What did she say? What did she tell them?" he asked obviously agitated. "You know as much as I know." the young woman answered "The police asked her questions and she refused to answer. So they arrested her. Now I've got to go up to the car and wait on Derek." She gathered her belongings together and made her way around him and out into the bright sunlight. As she made her way up the hill toward her car she reflected on the crazy events of the day and how she hoped the skinny young girl could find some happiness after all this nightmare.

And I barely knew her name but it all happened just like that. True story. 

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Posted by on in Drug Addiction

He sat there, sweat pouring down his face and neck to drip off his jaw line, in a broken down, old, office chair, hunched forward, elbows on knees, then leans back and lifts the syringe up to see the needle in the best light looking for the bevel. Not that it makes any difference. The syringe will never again be the precision instrument it was created to be. Dulled by days of perpetual sticking, endless hours of puncturing human flesh. The needle should have been destroyed ages ago. However, the rules of supply and demand have been hung in hiatus and now the numbers on the plastic are almost completely rubbed off from repeated use. "Jaws" (a sarcastic moniker replacing Toothless, after he'd skitzed all his teeth out which were just rotted from the meth)exhales the deep breath he'd been holding unconsciously. The hours ago bump he'd done, designed to enhance a sexcipade, had worn off leaving him jonesing for another one as he impatiently tried to "hit" me with mine from hours before, turning it into a thick,  red,  clotty substance, which will just be twice as difficult to do as when it was first drawn up. The room that the couple has chosen for their tryst is as bleak and dismal as their future is. Walls wearing tired, bug stained, paint. Windows painted shut, save for the one that held a small, struggling a/c unit with no front cover that tried to overcome the stifling Texas heat. Jaws sat beside a desk/work station long since skitzed into holding a small tv/dvr player that eternally played one of his random porno dvr disc's. So long played that neither of us was even aware of it's presence,  tiresome audio with grating music and endless gasps and moans. It annoyed me with it's large human protrusions and mammoth steely breasts made of unyielding, hard, plastic. Like cartoon images, with inhuman proportions. I licked my chapped lips and felt my leg twitch, a side effect from one of my psych meds; involuntary spasms. Just one more thing that added to the difficulty of hitting me. Imagine,  hours after beginning, after several close encounters, you finally locate a vein that is willing to cooperate, you've checked it, (pulled back on the syringe plunger a few times to determine if you're "in"), you just begin to press in when "SNAP" the respective arm or leg suddenly jerks off the needle pulling the tip of the needle out just enough to throw off the success of the effort. FRUSTRATION!!! 

I lay on a sheetless, water stained, old double mattress that rested on a weary iron bed frame. It groaned and squeaked with my every movement. I was and had been naked for hours in the same place. As I waited on the resumption of the hunt for the illusive vein, I take a minute to look for myself ON myself, I'm told to "Get still and stay still! " by my torturer/deliverer. So I lay prone. Still to the best of my ability save for the occasional twitch of my extremities. I can feel him stick.....then he tells me "Ok, now, don't move." Jaws begins to press the plunger and disperse the mixture of meth and water into what he believes is a willing vessel. I wait on my "rush", which will cause my lungs to expand and then get a whoosh through them as the chemicals race through my vascular system. But instead comes a burning sensation at the point of insertion. Small at the onset,  but building to the point that it's very painful. So I quickly draw in my breath as a message to the person hitting me that something is amiss. I whisper "check". He checks and responds "I'm in. " and resumes his task.  But no,  I can tell that it's not right.  So I whimper and urge "check". He does, and replies "it's registering, what do you want me to do?" "Go slowly." I say tightly, knowing that it's not in but wanting so desperately to get off that I endure the unholy burning at the site. So it is that I end up with a new swollen, bruised, painful, knot. To accompany the already existing places AND I am robbed of my rush. I lay back already ready to do a new bump.  I sit up and say "Are we out now? Because I have a tiny bit left on my debit card in overdraft money. Maybe $18 or so. We could split one and maybe get off? " knowing that. 20 is not going to be enough for either of us much less both of us. I lay back down,  then sigh and begin to look for my clothes that I shed hours before. I stop and close my eyes in frustration, disappointment and although unjustified, anger. The room begins to flutter around me and......... I wake up wet with sweat. 

 

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