The Strange Politics of Addiction

Discussion in 'Real Life Stories' started by Vintendo56, Jun 1, 2009.

  1. Please! Ease up...I KNOW marijuana in and of itself is not addictive, unless somehow, despite all the evidence to the contrary, convinces themselves they're addicted. Then of course, they have psychomatically created a psychological addiction. And as I came to find out, in it's own way, psychological addiction is in some ways harder to beat than the good old fashoined ass-kicking opiates hand out when you suddenly decide you've had enough of having to raise more money than your average brain surgeon.

    After having gone through a 2-year minimum in-patient treatment program in Hawaii, I had been out four years, been totally clean and working hard physical construction jobs and was just starting my own business. Which was a far cry from the epic level of narcotic addiction I had been on during a 14 year run as a drugstore bandit. No guns, no threats, no physical contact at all. Just me and the building and it's alram system(s) I retired at 44-2 (beat one on appeal and did nine months on the last.

    About two months after I began my business in Hawaii, I was riding in the back seat of a 1969 Mercedes Sedan that had been restored to showroom quality. We were taking my girlfriend home from a friend's studio where I had laid down some bass tracks for a few songs. On the way out of the studio we chose the Mercedes rather than a '69 Beetle, and Thank God for that!!!

    A half-mile or so down the road, we went through an intersection with the light and on the other side of the freeway that passed over our heads was the off ramp with a drunken pick-up driver who ran his red light at at least 70 miles an hour and buried the front of his truck into the door post between the front and back seats. Right where I was sitting.

    I remember the lead songwriter's wife saying, "I think that guy's going to hit us," then I woke up eleven days later in the hospital. After I was released this paradigm hit me like a hammer: "just because you are cheerfully doing the right thing, doesn't mean life is now going to be good to you or even grant you survival!" I know on the surface that is so obvious it sounds stupid, but with my former lifestyle I had almost been killed a few times, but it was always from something I had caused...never just out of the blue, doing the right thing and POW!!! A miracle to have survived. That paradigm shift friggin near scared me into becoming Howard Hughes or something.

    I couldn't ride in a car much less drive one, and even walking, if a car came around a corner real fast or surprised me I panicked. Plus, I had refused all opoid narcotics cause it took me 14 years to get up the guts, then two more in a mothereffing tough rehab program to quit opiates and this wreck wasn't gonna be the reason I used to relapse. Then, one night a few weeks later a guy came to my house with an ounce of rocked-up coke. He explained that it did act as a painkiller when smoked and we both knew that it was only psychologically addicting. Hell, I had a strong enough psyche to become a staff member for a few months at a drug program only seven people out of a hundred even made it through much lessw worked there, so I'd be fine.

    Wrong.

    Well, right away I didn't hurt near as much, my confidence came back and I could be around cars and even ride in or drive them again. The bad part came about a year later when I had lost my business, lost my car and house, ran out of money altogether and was living homeless on the streets of Chinatown in Honolulu. There were four of us white boys that could live in Chinatown because for the most part Local Haoles were basically in the same prejudicial situation as blacks were (and still are, sadly enough) treated in the Deep South. THAT was an eye-opener in itself! I never did judge a man by his skin and to suddenly find myself the one being judged seriously woke me up.

    Anyway, I ended up hanging out with a professional shoplifting crew out of New York, who all stuck together and followed a large circuit. They happened to be in Hawaii, I happened to meet them, I had a massive crack habit and they knew how to make thousands a day. I became a crew member.

    A few months laer, I had split off on my own, and was running with a pimp called "Lil Smoke," because he was a black midget with a car that smoked like a mosquito fogger! That;s what I meant by stange politics. That car got me where I needed to go to get what I needed to get and hence, me and Smoke were tight!

    One night I ended up with eight leather sports team jackets that were about $8000 apiece! I could get $2700 the next morning, but this eensy-teensy psychological addiction had me convinced I couldn't wait till morning to get rid of at least one and "get well." So I went to a place called mayor Wright's Housing Projects. It is so dangerous they even have a ten-foot high chain link fence all the way around it with guards! So, genius that I am, I took a triple-X Chicago Bulls jacket and went through a semi-secret hole in the fencing to sell the coat.

    Needless to say, my alligator brain outran my parakeet butt, and all I ended up getting for the jacket was a four-inch long gash right through the nerve center in my writing hand, an eight-inch gash almost all the way around my forearm and a couple lumps on my temple that looked like somebody stuck a couple Robin's eggs under the skin. When I finally staggered back to the street, Smoke grabbed me and tossed me in the car saying we needed to go to the hospital! Oh, no. Nuh-uh. Not with deep ass knife wounds...they'd call the cops and if I didn't snitch I would be the one in jail!

    So, we went back to Smokes house, and I was amazed at the amount and quality of ladies living there...stunned in fact. Everyone thought I was nuts when I just washed the cuts, pulled the skin together, then wrapped Duct Tape around them. We still had a coat to sell before morning! I was promptly and permanently deemed crazy as a road lizard, we did get a $500 front till morning and everything went fine after that...at least till my next "emergency." But that's another story altogether.

    It was the strange politics of addiction that led an ex-junky from the mountains of Southwestern Washington into having a "stable" of beautiful women as friends whose midget pimp became one of my closest friends in one of the most notorious "Chinatown" areas in the world. Who'd a thunk it?

    Nine years I've been clean again, and I say "clean" because I do not consider our favorite herb to even be a "drug," in the sense of it being so addictive I would end up placing my life into a similar situation, robbing, hurting or stealing from anyone to get it, or compromising the integrity I have managed to re-build.

    Is marijuana a drug that ruins lives? Its an herb that saved mine.


     
  2. Crazy Story... but good story.

    Glad to hear you are off the bad stuff and on the herb.
     
  3. Wow, that's an amazing story.

    Glad to hear how Mary saved your life.

    Congrats on being clean! I could not imagine an addiction like that! :eek:


    + rep
     
  4. Great story. I'm glad your clean.

    +rep
     
  5. Hey, thanks everyone! Just started getting over that new "drug resistant" pneumonia. Didn't realize what I had till I couldn't breath. Ok now though, I think. I just wanted to thank you folks and to let you know I am grateful. +++ reps to all y'all.

    Well, that Zithromax is kickin in and consequently kickin my butt, so...I hear my bed calling loudly. Better eat too, or my cat will be bringing me "dinner," again!

    laters,

    V :wave:
     
  6. wow, thats an amazing story. Im glad you came out of it alive and well.
     
  7. I don't get it, so you steal for a living now and live with a pimp?
     
  8. He said he's been clean for 9 years, so unless he's a nutjob i doubt it...

    And OP, do you think certain people are biologically prone to be addicted to a substance or do you think it comes down to the enviroment and your mental condition?
     

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