About seven years ago I was in a relationship with a female and we both decided we wanted to get a dog. My niece had put her purebred boxer male with another pure female with plans to sell them. I let her know as soon as I found out what she had planned, that I wanted one. When the puppies came I had my hopes up and was ready to pick one out.
First I'd like to say happy holidays to all of my readers and a special thank you to those of you that donate to help fund future chapters.
I want to write a chapter to try to explain why I'm writing these entries. I don't want to glorify drugs in any way. There were times that I had a lot of fun, while I was using. But, once I was diagnosed as an addict, whether I knew it at the time or not, on the inside I was miserable. I was unable to do what I wanted to do. I had to do whatever the drugs allowed me to do. Let me explain what I mean.
Like I said, my parents knew I was into something. I think my dad was a little wiser to what I was actually doing than my mom was. Or maybe my mom just didn't want to admit that her baby boy was a heroin addict. So, my dad asked me what I wanted to do. I had heard about a methadone clinic that was in another state, about an hour and 10 minutes away from where I lived. I made a few calls and found out you had to pay $200 up front, and $11 per day to receive your daily dose of methadone.
"Getting myself into some real bad shit," was definitely an understatement. The trials and tribulations that were to come with the life that I had chosen to live, and the choices that I would choose to make, would be unimaginable to anything I had ever been through up to that point in my life.