April 4th 1998: Smack – Kanike

I have done the most terrible thing, probably the most appalling, despicable thing that I ever have or ever will do… at least this week. I spent the entire evening alone with Janice. That, of course is a good thing and usually, even now, I enjoy the time I spend with her. But today there’s a slight hitch, you see for the past few weeks, there hasn’t been a single day where I didn’t score and today, against all odds, have found myself without any gear. So here I am, I can feel slight feelings of withdrawals coming over me and there’s no way I can score because Janice doesn’t know I do smack. To make matters even worse, she stayed out tonight especially for me, even though she’s dead tired. So what am I supposed to do? I said “Fuck it, because I’m with Janice I won’t score and I’ll just handle my dope sickness. Besides they’re not that bad anyway?”

Less than an hour later, after trying to bide the time, make it go by faster, my thoughts evade everything else and focus on one and only one thing. I finally succumb to my cravings for heroin… I MUST SCORE! But I still have a dilemma here, I can’t just ditch Janice and I certainly can’t let her know that I do heroin. So I have only one option left. I casually “persuade” her to try smack. (God, I have no morals) I also tell her “I haven’t done it in ages” and “I just want to try it again, see what it’s like” Bullshit! With a reaction that comes off as both eagerness and reluctance, she agrees. Now, I really don’t want her to do it, cause she’s never tried it before and I don’t want her to like it too much. So we both make an agreement, a damn near blood oath, “We’ll only do it once together, then we won’t ever touch it again” More bullshit!

Scoring, as usual, was easy but having Janice along with me was a real added bonus. Whenever we came across some cops, all I had to do was hold her hand and any tincture of paranoia that I had about disintegrated. Plus, I made her stash the bag in her bra for extra protection. So, hand in hand, we walked out of ‘Tei’, like some sort of cute junkie couple. I only let Janice sniff a very tiny line, and I myself did the same.

Later, I confined myself to my bathroom sanctuary to fix by a means and amount which I found more suitable and acceptable. The amount that I gave her was definitely enough – she was very fucked. Whilst smacked, wearing only shorts and a tiny T-shirt, Janice started to scratch herself all over, focusing a lot on her more, shall we say ‘sexual’ areas such as her breasts, legs and crotch. With her constant rubbing and scratching, I got a hard-on like a metal fucking pole, a rarity these days due to the habit that I’ve accumulated. Later on, Janice started to become sick and extremely fucking moody, telling me to “go away” she was violently sick and yelling at me about every fucking little thing. I didn’t mind though, I understood because of the condition she was in, so I let it slide.

She passed out after about an hour-long toilet-hugging session. I used for the rest of the night and just watched Janice sleep, I was thinking of what kind of dreams she was having, what was her sub-conscious thinking in its heroin-fueled rest? That and I wrestled with the guilt of having made Janice use for my own narcotic need, I was consumed by this guilt but dismissed it, still, as much as I pushed it away, the shame came back. Why did I do it? Was it really because of my ‘hunger’ for dope or was it something more? Could it be this pent up idea that I have in my head? This dream, if you will, that dope will bring us closer together. Dope can be something we can share. Either that or I feel so fucking trapped in this goddamn drug addiction. I feel so alone, so isolated from everything that could possibly make sense that I have to drag someone down with me, someone who I supposedly care about nonetheless, just so I can feel a part of something even if it is only this. But of course, this brings up another question, quite an important one. Do I really care about her? Do I? If I really did care about her, then why in the name of all that is holy and pure, would I even think about making her do heroin? Heroin, this drug, if you can really even call it that, that has made me so full of shame and self-hatred that I cannot even bear to look at myself in the mirror anymore.

I called up Chris and talked to him for the rest of the night about the terrible thing that I had done… despicable!