Sitting here in a Xanax haze, I’m randomly thinking of my most ‘extreme’ flirtations with heroin – because I’ve done it enough times that I have to categorize my junkie moments by “extreme” (see: having it shot into my fucking VEIN) and “not so extreme” (snorting little lines in my bed and drifting away dreamily like Dorothy in the poppies).
And I realize that, even though I don’t get hungry on dope, and would puke up anything I did eat – a lot of these heroin memories bizarrely involve food and/or restaurants. The time that EMO-REDNECK shot me up when I was 18 and somehow crazier than I am now, I tried to put something in my stomach to avoid the unavoidable nausea, and ate a few pretzels. Then hours later, as I still felt the heroin high melt through my body, I met his sister for dinner at Red Robin…. and felt, well, AMAZING. (I have never since experienced such a delicious burger, but no- Californians, I have never been to “In N Out”)
And the LAST time I did heroin – this past April or May (I honestly can’t remember) – I threw up five times, one of which was at my work desk in front of the Jimmy Johns delivery lady and my coworker (who both sweetly pretended not to notice). I grabbed the trash bag of my vomit and ran out of there like Usain Bolt, deposited it into the bathroom trash and then purged whatever heroin* toxins were still left in my body.
*OR Fentanyl , since the shit I had smoked off tin foil that morning was a bad fucking batch… and everything is a ‘bad batch’ these days… Remember- HEROIN CHIC IS NOW FENTANYL FINE