05/16/2019
Thank God were free
My dope dealer Boobie answers on the first ring, "What's up champ I'm on Guy Brewer, how much do you need?" I sit and pause for a moment. My nose is running, my stomach is churning, and my bones are aching for a bundle of he**in. The question hits me again? How much do I need? Here's what I need. I need one bundle of low-esteem. I need ten years of pain. I need to be so dishonest that I can no longer decipher the true from the false. I need to hate my life everyday. I need to dread the next day because I know tomorrow I'll be forced to do it all over again. I need to be degraded, and embarrassed. I need to spend everyday worrying about being dope sick and forget about what real life is. I need a decade worth of getting my mother's hopes up just to tear them down. I need 3,650 days of being estranged from my family. I need 28 failed treatment attempts. I need homelessness, and dereliction. I need to spend Christmas year after year in a train station. I need 7 overdoses and 7 emergency rooms to walk right out of. I need the stigma of addiction to make me settle in life. I need to be riddled with fear in every fiber of my being. I NEED TO LOSE EVERYTHING. Boobie pauses for a second and says, "Yeah champ I got that for you, it's 75 a bundle but it's fire today." I try to tell him I don't want it, but all that comes out my mouth is, "I'm on my way."