"The Needle and the Damage Done"

I had been using heroin for about four weeks at that time, sniffing it, when I began shooting the drug intravenously. The few people in my life who had ever used that drug were becoming my new best friends. They initially respected my fear of needles, and sniffed it with me, but it didn't take long for them to tell me that they thought sniffing it was a waste of good dope, and that the only way to fully appreciate the drug was by shooting it. If I had been in my right mind, I would have told them that I wasn't interested...but I wasn't in my right mind...and just as I had lost my fear of heroin, I began to be curious about the needle. So one day, I decided to let one of them "shoot me up", since I was clueless about how to do that. The guy who did that my first time, was very good with needles, and there was none of the pain I had always associated with needles, from childhood visits to the doctor for shots. And the high from the drug when it was injected, rather than snorted, was unlike anything I had ever felt. It was as addictive as sex. I immediately lost all fear of the needle. I had this guy teach me what I needed to know, so I could do it myself, and once I knew how to,  my world instantly shrunk to my house... my "safe place" to do that, and if necessary, because of occasional guests I had, I'd just retreat to the bathroom in my house. I spent a lot of time in there. I discovered I liked shooting cocaine too, although that was scarier, because the rush was a lot more intense. Sometimes, I would spend hours just doing one shot after another. I often forgot about anything else I cared about, or places I was supposed to be. I was totally out of control, and I didn't care. The only thing I found myself willing to do was to go out to take care of whatever business I had to, to make the money I needed to get more. On the trips to New York, I'd plan stops at Rest Areas, so that I could get off...because waiting the two and a half hours it took to drive to the city and the safety of one of those lofts, before doing that, was beyond my ability. Sometimes I would stay in one of those lofts for weeks, without checking in with friends or family back in Conn. And when I finally did call ... I found that friends and family there were ready to call in the police to look for me because I had been completely out of touch for so long...and because it was so out of character for me. They thought something bad had happened to me. And something bad had happened to me, and continued to keep happening to me...but I just couldn't see it.