Everybody's Got a Drug Dealer on Speed Dial

If anyone ever told you that your drug dealers care about you, they are either delusional or lying out their ass. Drug dealers only care about one thing ($$$), and they will do anything and everything to get it. 

My dealer K likes to pretend that she cares. More than once she's sat me down and had the "I'm worried about your drug use" talk. Coincidentally (or not) these were the times when she really didn't have any dope to sell. When she's desperate for cash or when she's trying to raise funds for a trip, she doesn't say a word about how much I buy.    

I'd like to say that as a drug dealer myself, I am different. But sadly, I'm not. (Bravo to those of you that said, "Wait a minute, taking drugs and selling drugs do not mix." You are correct, but that's a whole 'nuther post in itself.) The reason why I am not different than all of the other dope men and women out there is not because I don't care; it's because I'm smart enough to know that you can't beat the game and you can't single-handedly change a junkie's mind. 

I am an addict, so I know damn well that if Suzy calls me up looking for some dope and I tell her no, she's just going to continue down her list until she finds someone that says yes. The person that says yes could be a reputable dealer, or they could be setting Suzy up. The drug world is not a nice one; she could get beat for her money, robbed at gunpoint, or something worse, none of which would happen if she gets her shit from me. So in a way, I am helping Suzy out by doing a legitimate deal with her. It's sort of like when you're 16 and your mom invites you to get drunk and watch Saturday Night Live with her because she would rather you experiment under her roof instead of out on the street.

Some of you are probably calling bullshit right about now, saying that I am just a cruel, heartless dealer who is making excuses for herself and trying to justify her actions. That, my friend, is where you're wrong. I know that what I do is illegal and according to most people, immoral. I am not trying to justify it in the least. I do not think that I should get a humanitarian award for doing hassle-free drug deals. To be completely honest, I think I should go to jail for doing them (if I ever get caught by the authorities). Fair is fair.

I am simply smart enough and experienced enough to know that if I deny Suzy access to drugs, chances are she's going to look for them elsewhere. Very few drug seekers will simply stop and say, "Hey, she doesn't have any dope today. This is a sign from the Universe! Perhaps I should quit!" As if. In reality they will curse under their breath and dial up the next dealer before I even have a chance to say goodbye. And even if I am their last resort for that moment, day, week, whatever...my telling them no is certainly not going to inspire them to become clean. They'll just tough it out until someone gets what they need. Trust me; been there, done that.   

I suppose I could vow to never sell drugs again and cling to the belief that little ol' me really can make a difference in a drug addict's life. On the flip side, I could amp up my business and play guardian angel, "saving" everyone from shoddy drug deals. Neither extreme makes much sense to me, so I think I'll stick to what I'm doing right now: simply going with the flow. 

Welcome to My Silly Life

This blog's title is pretty self-explanatory, so I really don't feel the need to create a long, rambling introductory post. Then again, it seems a bit harsh to just jump into the nitty gritty details, especially when broaching the subject of addiction.

I suppose a little background information never hurts. The whole thing started innocently enough when I was prescribed painkillers for a medical condition. (This condition can be very painful and currently does not have a cure, and because of my addiction now I must endure its symptoms without sufficient pain relief. Go me.) The gory details of exactly how I went from a legitimate pain patient to a raving junkie will be revealed in later posts. (After all, it's all about the journey, not the destination.) 

So, now you know that it all started at the doctor's office, not in some kid's mom's basement or out on the street. Does it really matter? No, not in the least. Addiction is addiction, period. I suppose I could sit here and try to blame my doctor for being so willing to hand out narcotics, but seriously, what else was he supposed to do? He had an intelligent, upstanding citizen before him that just wanted to be able to get out of bed and function each day. He supplied me with ample warnings about the addictive nature of the drugs. He monitored how much I was taking (to the best of his ability). When it was time, he set a weaning schedule and prescribed lower and lower amounts accordingly. It wasn't his fault that I blatantly ignored his advice and went behind his back to get more and more drugs. 

Out of all the horrible and regrettable things that I have done in the name of addiction, I have never, ever blamed anyone but myself. No one shoved the drugs down my throat. In fact, everyone else was three steps ahead of me and tried to warn me about the dangerous path I was heading down long before I could see it myself. Unfortunately I am one of those people who has to learn for myself instead of from others' mistakes.