“Why are you there?”
By Mike O.

At this point I was no longer the same man. I was desperate to do nearly anything it took to get my hands on more pills. One day, after suffering from terrifying withdrawals for hours, I got a phone call from a guy telling me he had a cheaper substitute than Oxy to get me well. Fifteen minutes later I was smoking heroin off of a piece of aluminum foil. I was horrified at the idea of where my life was headed. The next morning, sick again, I was on the phone the minute I woke up, asking the question that still rings loud in my head as though I just spoke it, “Do you have a clean needle?”

Since heroin had cemented its place as the object my life would orbit around, I couldn’t see past the current day or making sure I wouldn’t get sick. First, I began pawning things I had worked hard to acquire over the years. Then, when I ran out of things to pawn, I began selling the drug myself to somewhat stifle the thirst that never goes away. As a result, my apartment was raided at 10:30pm on a Sunday night and I was arrested after taking the wrap for all the heroin and paraphernalia found in the apartment. I had experienced what I thought to be horrible withdrawals before this night, but I never like what  I went through those first seven days in county jail. I had been in a jail cell a number of times prior for driving on a suspended license, but only for a matter of hours, rarely ever facing any serious discomfort prior to being bailed out.

County jail was nothing like Puyallup jail’s holding cell and I wasn’t getting bailed out this time. But of course my cop’s daughter girlfriend had never seen “Possession with the intent to deliver Heroin” as my charges either. I was stuck to lie in the bed I made. In my head heroin equaled prison time, and I was scared to death. I wasn’t dealing with a bad headache anymore; the smell of water swiftly prompted the need to empty the contents of my barren stomach. I’m certain I didn’t enjoy more than fifteen minutes of sleep for days as I got to listen to other criminals snore, fart, and withdrawal all around me. The blacks slammed dominoes on metal tables just feet away from me sending shockwaves through my already pounding head. I couldn’t sleep, eat, smile, cry, or stop puking and crapping. That was all before they took me to the hole.

When I was released from county jail twenty seven days later, I had high hopes of staying clean, getting a job and putting my life back together piece by piece. Consequently, that was all much easier said than done. I pushed Ashley, my girlfriend of three years through rehab and arrests, away in my need for “independence”. And then step by step I pissed it away again. Unable to live up to my own expectations, my life fell into a tail spin I couldn’t pull out of.

I had no money. My support system was befuddled with the choices I was making and soon enough I didn’t care what became of my life. When the ear splitting screams for heroin wouldn’t stop in my head, anything is a justifiable means to making it go away; even if for just a few seconds. I was in and out of the coffee stand in less than 20 seconds and I had the money to make the screaming stop. Little did I know, it was all about to get much worse. Four days later I was arrested. I sat there on my bunk reading the laundry list of charges waged against me and came to the realization I wasn’t going home or getting high anytime soon. Every mistake I had ever made while under the control of my addiction read like a table of contents to the story of crime and desperation: Identity theft (2 counts), theft in the first degree (2 counts), robbery in the first degree, residential burglary and unlawful possession of a controlled substance with the intent to deliver. What do I have to show for it all? I have this cause and effect essay documenting the toll opiates took on destroying my life and stealing away four years of my freedom.