June 10, 2000

I began using heroin at the age of eighteen. Much like anybody else--I had heros that had famous heroin habits (Jonny Thunders, Darby Crash, etc.), and when a friend took me to cop, and gave me some--I liked it. I was "home".

Unlike many others, though, I used alone. Strictly smoking and snorting, as the purity on the East Coast is much higher than Washington, where I am now. I hid in bathrooms, and did small amounts.

I took a family trip to the Village, NY, and found these long "droppers" that Burroughs had used in "Junky", and bought one, supplanting a needle into it stolen from a doctor's office. Anyway, I messed around with it, and hit a vein on accident. Whoa! what a rush. I continued snorting and smoking and was satisfied, only shooting occasionally.

Anyay, the next few years are a blur to me. I used for a year, was forced off for a year, due to my family; was on for three months here, treatment for two months. Seven months, etc. I moved to Seattle and looked until a Rolling Stone issue indicated where to cop heroin! I had been driving around all day, looking, and couldn't find it anywhere (I must thank them someday) until that article was right in front of me when I went to get gas!

I went to Capital Hill and tried, for the first time, tar heroin. It was so weak, that I started shooting immediately. I traveled to Europe with my mom a couple of months later--kicking secretly on the plane (or at work, school, etc. as I had always done). When we arrived in Amsterdam, I found a bar that had heroin on a menu in the back, and bought some. I used, and when I couldn't, I was a dysfunctional mess. But, through all this, I was alone.

I didn't date anymore, and still got into kickboxing, pre-med., etc. and did well--despite being a drone inside. I had heard of Methadone, and knew that it was the answer. My parents believed that it was a high, and even though I wasn't in contact with them after a while, I was forced to go to treatment seven more times. Later, I found out that counselers are to suggest MMT after failure in treatment. Instead, they gave me wrong phone numbers and stated how bad it was to my dad--who had to help me after I developed Hep C, due to no info on how easy it is to get. My family, friends--all gone, long gone.

I didn't go out, to please my dad, and finally, during a visit to my liver specialist and three years after I heard of methadone, he told my dad the truth about methadone--and that he couldn't treat me for my liver unless I was clean for six months. I was loaded at that doctor's appointment, and had a two gram-a-day habit. My father finally accepted MMT as my only hope. He even paid for my two hundred dollar entrance fee, and got me started.

I got rides every day, for the 100-mile-away clinic (one was closed down locally 12 years ago, due to the "not in my backyard" crap), and fought hard to stay clean, save all of the paperwork,etc. And while my family began to speak to me regularly, and I qualified for disability (which also arranged daily transport to the clinic), and money, and medical benefits. I had six months clean from heroin, for the first time in seven years. My life was flourishing, and my underdeveloped social skills led me to chase girls like crazy--still with disasterous results!

But another problem developed. The clinic counseler mistreated patients,and I was one of them. Letters to my attorney were sent, showing false negative UA's that I had the "clean" slips for. She destroyed my rapport with all of my liver doctors, and my liver got worse. Now I have liver and thyroid cancer.

After eight months, I tried to follow all of the rules and save all of the proof I would soon need. Finally, I was kicked off while I was very ill. Even though my dad, doctor, and I called to let them know I was too sick to make it, and I was getting methadone for pain now. I was kept away with security guards, while I waited for my staffing, and appointments. I filed a complaint, and the complaint agency was told something which, even now, prevents them from helping me. My dad was insulted infront of me, and I could say nothing. Security guards kept him away, also, while he drove me 100 miles to the clinic for appointments.

I met the owner, and because I had not used and saved all of my papers, I was led to believe that I was reinstated, as soon as I was well enough to make the trip regularly. He seemed like he was on my side, but didn't even mention why the doctor (at the clinic) made false accusations of committing illegal activity on the grounds--without saying what they were. This was absurd,a dn I let the other complaint agency know. My complaint is still in progress, and I'm filing a complaint with the department of health, and writing to local newspapers about what's going on.

Meanwhile, the staff doesn't keep their word, and won't give me anything in writing about being reinstated, even though I have a deferred prosecution with six months left at that clinic.

I wait, and make calls daily, as I am dying of Hep C. I get weaker, and fight every way I can-- the governor, the newspaper (who won't touch the subject), and all of the complaint agencies I can find. I hope that this never happens to anyone again.

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