You know, I thought about that last message for a long time, and either you are fairly young, or still very idealistic, or lack life experience, or some combination of the above. I don’t mean that as an insult. Merely an observation. I hope you’ll see why I don’t mean that as an insult by the end.
Morals are a funny thing. You see or hear about behaviors and think I’d never do that, or that would never happen to me. When in reality you should probably be telling yourself I hope I never have to do that, or I hope that never happens to me.
Now, I’m not going to admit to anything serious for obvious reasons. But I was a serious heroin addict for over 10 years. I can honestly say I maybe missed 20 days in those over 10 years. On average I did 4 bags at $15 a pop (so $60) a day. All with no job. I never was good at stealing. However believe it or not I’m fairly good at talking.
So, that got me thinking of the more heinous ways I supported my habit. Like, I used to be friends with this girl. She was my sister in law. Hell, she is still my sister in law. I’m still married to my second wife that isn’t my partner I live with and have kids with.
Anyway, we did dope together, and one day she came to me and says I’m pregnant, and I can’t hit my vein please help. So, I did. I injected a pregnant woman with heroin all through the 9 months she was pregnant. He baby was born addicted and I helped facilitate that. Mainly because she helped to support my habit.
Another way I used to support my habit was befriending my dope man. This didn’t pay off often, but it was just another thing that helped me get discounts and the occasional free bag.
It also paid big when they would reup from a new supplier. Because I as a trusted friend would get a call to come test the new dope and tell him if it’s good or not. Normally this went off without a hitch. But I have a fun story for that too.
It was my second wife’s birthday, and we had no money. So she tells me to call H and ask if he’ll give us some bags. I did and he says forget about money I’m going to tell you a place to come to. He gives me directions and tells me to bring my “tools” that meant our needles and I used the concave bottom of a coke can instead of a spoon and a piece of cigarette filter instead of cotton.
Now before I go any further I live in Birmingham, Al. My city is regularly on the top 5 most murders per capita.
We go to the place H told us to go to. It turned out to be a sketchy run down strip mall with no businesses in it. One of the retail spaces had blankets over the windows and I parked in front of that one.
Finally, someone waved us in. We walk in and there were like 8-10 large black men with visible guns.
I only mention race because when you walk into a situation that is tense as fuck and don’t look like everyone else. The tension gets turned up a bit. Not to mention that black drug dealers generally don’t trust white people because they think white people snitch more.
To paint you a picture of the scene we walked into. This “retail space” had a wet bar on the back wall where the register used to go. There were couches lining the walls. In between us and the bar are 2 pool tables. The pool table closest to me had a brand new rectangle shaped kilo brick of heroin on it. Still had the plastic wrap cut off but under it.
H comes over and tells us to have a seat. So, naturally we have a seat. We sat there being silent for what felt like an eternity. The whole while watching people come and go trying to sell stolen goods. There was one guy with big dread locks that was in charge. He was telling everyone what to do.
So, H finally gets some of that dope off the pool table and gives us some. We do it and it’s good. It’s real good and we say so. We go to leave but H said we have to stay for a while, because “white folks bring too much attention”. He said he’ll tell us when we can leave.
This other white couple shows up, and does some dope and start saying it wasn’t good while nodding out on the sofa. Typical junkie behavior.
But then this long haired greasy skinny zombie looking white dude shows up. H gives him some dope and the guy immediately overdoses. Hits the floor and turns blue. My wife starts freaking the fuck out. The other white couple are losing their fucking shit. The large men with guns are getting antsy.
I stand up and yell at my wife and the other couple to shut the fuck up and sit down. H and I grab this man overdosed on the floor. I grab his ankles and H grabbed his shoulders, and we laid him out on the pool table that wasn’t covered in dope. Meanwhile the man in charge yells at one of the armed men. He said “Go to the gas station and get 2 bags of ice. You been walking around here all day like you got rocks in your pants but I need you to hurry. Remember motherfucker I pay youSO FUCKING HURRY!!”
I’ve already decided that if it comes down to it. I will dump this man’s car and body in the woods somewhere if I get to live. The man with the ice returns, and H and I start stuffing ice in the overdose victims pants up his shirt in his god damn underwear. I am silently begging the void for this man to wake up.
While this is going on I’m watching his eyelids. I know from experience that is the first thing to move when people wake up. His color starts to come back. I see those eyelids twitch. I start slapping this man in the face I’m now yelling for this motherfucker to just WAKE THE FUCK UP!
He opened his eyes then starts to close them again. Not on my watch. State slapping him again HARD. I have sweat rolling off my face. My high is blown. The opens his eyes again. I asked him a random question. He tries to answer it but it comes out nonsense.
Doesn’t matter he is alive. The point is though. I was absolutely going to use dumping his body as a bargaining chip for my own life.
If you had told me even 5 years earlier that I would have made that decision. I would have told you that you were full of shit. There could be arguments made for the “I had no choice” defense. My life was possibly on the line.
But the reality is that we ALWAYS have a choice. To paraphrase Bud from Kill Bill, and I’m paraphrasing because the original quote was racist. I don’t dodge guilt, and I don’t get out of paying my comeuppance. I did those things. I’m not proud of what I did, but when your back is against the wall you have to make a decision. I could have not shot my sister in law up while pregnant. Sure, she would have literally cried and begged me, and repeatedly stabbed herself until she just injected it into her skin probably causing an abscess. But that wasn’t the path I chose.
I’m clean now. I’m even off the methadone. I am 100% sober. I don’t even smoke cigarettes anymore.
I hope that you live a long and happy life where you never have to find out what you’d do if push came to shove. Because life is like that Mike Tyson quote. “Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.”
As a bit of redemption though. I got off dope and my best friend from the age of 6 died of an overdose when his son was only 3. His son was going to go into foster care and i became his legal guardian. That young man is now 12 years old. He makes me proud every single day. I love him with all of my heart. I know his dad would be proud too, and I tell him that every chance I get. I also work personally with the homeless in my area using my money.
All humans are capable of great love and terrible cruelty under the right circumstances. I genuinely hope you never have to find out what your made of.
I can see where you’re coming from now with your initial take on this whole confederate soldier situation. You’re putting yourself into the shoes of a scared shitless kid who would do anything to make it out of a horrible situation still breathing, even if that meant staying in the army and facing battle lines of Union soldiers. But I think your past trauma is causing you to misinterpret the historical situation that existed. I mean, just think about the logistics of this for a minute. People could and did desert the Confederate army all the time. Granted, if they were caught, they’d be shot or hung, but it happened a lot. In between battles, hundreds of soldiers would just disappear into the woods and go to ground. Over the course of a long campaign, that’s a lot of chances to change your fate.
I understand that because of your life experiences, you have a lot of empathy for the people who were not the direct beneficiaries of slavery, but defended it nonetheless because you see scared, idiot kids who are too afraid to rock the boat. But the thing is, you’ll find that in every war. The Confederate cause is no better than the Nazi cause, or the cause of the Khmer Rouge. People will often perform acts of evil to save themselves, or because they think they have no better choice, but that doesn’t absolve the evil they did. Those soldiers buried in that cemetery may have gone on to do great things with their lives to try to erase the moral stain they left behind in their youth if they had lived through the civil war, but they didn’t. And as I said earlier, it’s not your potential for good or your intentions to do good that matter; it’s your actions. And their actions were to defend slavery.
If I could be so bold as to be an armchair psychologist, I’m guessing that you need to think that these people were better than I’m painting them to be because you need to believe that the shitty things you’ve done in your life don’t define who you are. I’m not going to sneer at that; that’s very understandable. And true. You are not now who you were then. You can’t go back and change who you were, but going forward, you have opportunities to help people. The last thing I’ll say on the subject is: while the story you shared is definitely on a different level than yelling at Karen in Accounting, it’s still a far cry from what the Confederates did. You were a junkie in thrall to an incredibly addictive drug. People routinely give up everything for it. It is the world. You got into some incredibly sketchy situations and you helped to ruin at least one life. Confederates ruined millions of lives. Intentionally. And not just the people living then, but all of the generations from those people to now feel the sting of what they did. They are in a whole different classification of evil.
You speculate that I’m young or lack life experience, and maybe that’s relatively true compared to you. I don’t know how old you are, but I’m in my 50s, and I’ve had my fair share of life experiences as well. It could just be that my, I guess, moral zealotry has never had occasion to be sufficiently blunted by what life has thrown at me. But I would say that it’s not that I see the world in black and white terms, which is something that several people have said to me; it’s more that I have a low opinion of people in general and that tints how I see interactions and events. The thing that gets me is that we’ve had philosophers telling us how to be better than we are for about as long as we were able to use abstract language, and we’re still just as awful now as we were then. I think that while times and technology change, people do not. Sure, we are highly adaptable, but every man’s a fortress, and inside that fortress, we haven’t changed at all.
You know, I thought about that last message for a long time, and either you are fairly young, or still very idealistic, or lack life experience, or some combination of the above. I don’t mean that as an insult. Merely an observation. I hope you’ll see why I don’t mean that as an insult by the end.
Morals are a funny thing. You see or hear about behaviors and think I’d never do that, or that would never happen to me. When in reality you should probably be telling yourself I hope I never have to do that, or I hope that never happens to me.
Now, I’m not going to admit to anything serious for obvious reasons. But I was a serious heroin addict for over 10 years. I can honestly say I maybe missed 20 days in those over 10 years. On average I did 4 bags at $15 a pop (so $60) a day. All with no job. I never was good at stealing. However believe it or not I’m fairly good at talking.
So, that got me thinking of the more heinous ways I supported my habit. Like, I used to be friends with this girl. She was my sister in law. Hell, she is still my sister in law. I’m still married to my second wife that isn’t my partner I live with and have kids with.
Anyway, we did dope together, and one day she came to me and says I’m pregnant, and I can’t hit my vein please help. So, I did. I injected a pregnant woman with heroin all through the 9 months she was pregnant. He baby was born addicted and I helped facilitate that. Mainly because she helped to support my habit.
Another way I used to support my habit was befriending my dope man. This didn’t pay off often, but it was just another thing that helped me get discounts and the occasional free bag.
It also paid big when they would reup from a new supplier. Because I as a trusted friend would get a call to come test the new dope and tell him if it’s good or not. Normally this went off without a hitch. But I have a fun story for that too.
It was my second wife’s birthday, and we had no money. So she tells me to call H and ask if he’ll give us some bags. I did and he says forget about money I’m going to tell you a place to come to. He gives me directions and tells me to bring my “tools” that meant our needles and I used the concave bottom of a coke can instead of a spoon and a piece of cigarette filter instead of cotton.
Now before I go any further I live in Birmingham, Al. My city is regularly on the top 5 most murders per capita.
We go to the place H told us to go to. It turned out to be a sketchy run down strip mall with no businesses in it. One of the retail spaces had blankets over the windows and I parked in front of that one.
Finally, someone waved us in. We walk in and there were like 8-10 large black men with visible guns.
I only mention race because when you walk into a situation that is tense as fuck and don’t look like everyone else. The tension gets turned up a bit. Not to mention that black drug dealers generally don’t trust white people because they think white people snitch more.
To paint you a picture of the scene we walked into. This “retail space” had a wet bar on the back wall where the register used to go. There were couches lining the walls. In between us and the bar are 2 pool tables. The pool table closest to me had a brand new rectangle shaped kilo brick of heroin on it. Still had the plastic wrap cut off but under it.
H comes over and tells us to have a seat. So, naturally we have a seat. We sat there being silent for what felt like an eternity. The whole while watching people come and go trying to sell stolen goods. There was one guy with big dread locks that was in charge. He was telling everyone what to do.
So, H finally gets some of that dope off the pool table and gives us some. We do it and it’s good. It’s real good and we say so. We go to leave but H said we have to stay for a while, because “white folks bring too much attention”. He said he’ll tell us when we can leave.
This other white couple shows up, and does some dope and start saying it wasn’t good while nodding out on the sofa. Typical junkie behavior.
But then this long haired greasy skinny zombie looking white dude shows up. H gives him some dope and the guy immediately overdoses. Hits the floor and turns blue. My wife starts freaking the fuck out. The other white couple are losing their fucking shit. The large men with guns are getting antsy.
I stand up and yell at my wife and the other couple to shut the fuck up and sit down. H and I grab this man overdosed on the floor. I grab his ankles and H grabbed his shoulders, and we laid him out on the pool table that wasn’t covered in dope. Meanwhile the man in charge yells at one of the armed men. He said “Go to the gas station and get 2 bags of ice. You been walking around here all day like you got rocks in your pants but I need you to hurry. Remember motherfucker I pay youSO FUCKING HURRY!!”
I’ve already decided that if it comes down to it. I will dump this man’s car and body in the woods somewhere if I get to live. The man with the ice returns, and H and I start stuffing ice in the overdose victims pants up his shirt in his god damn underwear. I am silently begging the void for this man to wake up.
While this is going on I’m watching his eyelids. I know from experience that is the first thing to move when people wake up. His color starts to come back. I see those eyelids twitch. I start slapping this man in the face I’m now yelling for this motherfucker to just WAKE THE FUCK UP!
He opened his eyes then starts to close them again. Not on my watch. State slapping him again HARD. I have sweat rolling off my face. My high is blown. The opens his eyes again. I asked him a random question. He tries to answer it but it comes out nonsense.
Doesn’t matter he is alive. The point is though. I was absolutely going to use dumping his body as a bargaining chip for my own life.
If you had told me even 5 years earlier that I would have made that decision. I would have told you that you were full of shit. There could be arguments made for the “I had no choice” defense. My life was possibly on the line.
But the reality is that we ALWAYS have a choice. To paraphrase Bud from Kill Bill, and I’m paraphrasing because the original quote was racist. I don’t dodge guilt, and I don’t get out of paying my comeuppance. I did those things. I’m not proud of what I did, but when your back is against the wall you have to make a decision. I could have not shot my sister in law up while pregnant. Sure, she would have literally cried and begged me, and repeatedly stabbed herself until she just injected it into her skin probably causing an abscess. But that wasn’t the path I chose.
I’m clean now. I’m even off the methadone. I am 100% sober. I don’t even smoke cigarettes anymore.
I hope that you live a long and happy life where you never have to find out what you’d do if push came to shove. Because life is like that Mike Tyson quote. “Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.”
As a bit of redemption though. I got off dope and my best friend from the age of 6 died of an overdose when his son was only 3. His son was going to go into foster care and i became his legal guardian. That young man is now 12 years old. He makes me proud every single day. I love him with all of my heart. I know his dad would be proud too, and I tell him that every chance I get. I also work personally with the homeless in my area using my money.
All humans are capable of great love and terrible cruelty under the right circumstances. I genuinely hope you never have to find out what your made of.
I can see where you’re coming from now with your initial take on this whole confederate soldier situation. You’re putting yourself into the shoes of a scared shitless kid who would do anything to make it out of a horrible situation still breathing, even if that meant staying in the army and facing battle lines of Union soldiers. But I think your past trauma is causing you to misinterpret the historical situation that existed. I mean, just think about the logistics of this for a minute. People could and did desert the Confederate army all the time. Granted, if they were caught, they’d be shot or hung, but it happened a lot. In between battles, hundreds of soldiers would just disappear into the woods and go to ground. Over the course of a long campaign, that’s a lot of chances to change your fate.
I understand that because of your life experiences, you have a lot of empathy for the people who were not the direct beneficiaries of slavery, but defended it nonetheless because you see scared, idiot kids who are too afraid to rock the boat. But the thing is, you’ll find that in every war. The Confederate cause is no better than the Nazi cause, or the cause of the Khmer Rouge. People will often perform acts of evil to save themselves, or because they think they have no better choice, but that doesn’t absolve the evil they did. Those soldiers buried in that cemetery may have gone on to do great things with their lives to try to erase the moral stain they left behind in their youth if they had lived through the civil war, but they didn’t. And as I said earlier, it’s not your potential for good or your intentions to do good that matter; it’s your actions. And their actions were to defend slavery.
If I could be so bold as to be an armchair psychologist, I’m guessing that you need to think that these people were better than I’m painting them to be because you need to believe that the shitty things you’ve done in your life don’t define who you are. I’m not going to sneer at that; that’s very understandable. And true. You are not now who you were then. You can’t go back and change who you were, but going forward, you have opportunities to help people. The last thing I’ll say on the subject is: while the story you shared is definitely on a different level than yelling at Karen in Accounting, it’s still a far cry from what the Confederates did. You were a junkie in thrall to an incredibly addictive drug. People routinely give up everything for it. It is the world. You got into some incredibly sketchy situations and you helped to ruin at least one life. Confederates ruined millions of lives. Intentionally. And not just the people living then, but all of the generations from those people to now feel the sting of what they did. They are in a whole different classification of evil.
You speculate that I’m young or lack life experience, and maybe that’s relatively true compared to you. I don’t know how old you are, but I’m in my 50s, and I’ve had my fair share of life experiences as well. It could just be that my, I guess, moral zealotry has never had occasion to be sufficiently blunted by what life has thrown at me. But I would say that it’s not that I see the world in black and white terms, which is something that several people have said to me; it’s more that I have a low opinion of people in general and that tints how I see interactions and events. The thing that gets me is that we’ve had philosophers telling us how to be better than we are for about as long as we were able to use abstract language, and we’re still just as awful now as we were then. I think that while times and technology change, people do not. Sure, we are highly adaptable, but every man’s a fortress, and inside that fortress, we haven’t changed at all.