Zardoz Commands you to KILL

I was using heroin for about a year before I had to tell anyone about it. I had a couple friends that knew something was up and I am sure my co-workers knew..but maybe not. I had also been hiding it from my live in boyfriend as well. It was a year after we moved in together that he found out. It doesn't really matter how he found out, but he did.

In my world when someone finds out about your drug adduction or already knows, they aren't usually going to be supportive because obviously, heroin is bad. So, I always had to start promising that I would get clean, that I wanted to get clean and all that. Going into treatment was not something I was considering, but I did not want to be dope sick every morning any more and I was in a place where my addiction was totally unmanageable. I had a job and all this other stuff to worry about and also didn't really know anything ABOUT detox/treatment (my sister had been to a few treatment centres for alcoholism but that is all I had been exposed to at that time). My first instinct when I was finally faced with admitting my addiction to heroin was to go on the methadone program. I had asked my friendly neighborhood dope seller what I should do and he suggested it. I had no idea how to even get on the program so I went to this place that was called "Commercial Heath Centre" (I include the name because they are fabulous and I love them).

The first time I went there it was closed for lunch. I was like, "what??". I mean, how can they close for lunch? If someone is an addict, their desire to get clean comes on quickly and then disappears even quicker. They may want help one minute and then the next, not at all. So, I was pretty put off by the closed for lunch sign.

The next day I called there and this guy Ron answered the phone. Ron, I love you. Ron, was amazing, I mean, he used to be an addict..like a "f*ck this, f*ck the world addict" - you know, the kind that every junkie can relate to*. I asked him how I could get on the program and he asked me, had I ever been to detox. I said no. He then informed me that I would be denied methadone until I had at least tried to detox since methadone is looked on as a last resort. He told me to go to a clinic and ask the doctor for something called "Clonidine", which was to help me with my heart rate, as detoxing makes your heart beat super fast. So, I did this. I took 5 days off of work and planned to detox at home. Of course, I had never even tried to kick before so I naively thought 5 days was enough.

I went to a walk in clinic and the doc was a total prick. I had seen this doctor once before when I went to him for the morning after pill and he wouldn't give it to me because it was against his religious beliefs. So, naturally, this is the doctor working when I go there in desperation, seeking help for my addiction. Ron had also told me to ask for Valium because sometimes doctors will give you that too. I told the doctor I was a heroin addict, that I needed help and could I get a 'script for Clonidine and Valium. No way, he says. His saying no to the Valium I sort of get, EXCEPT the thing was that I knew he wouldn't give me a 'script for the Vs BECAUSE I was an addict and he thought I was going to misuse them. I wasn't planning on it, I was really just trying to get clean. But, like most doctors that haven't been specially trained to deal with addicts he was an assh*le and treated me like I was garbage. I got the prescription for Clonidine and went and got it filled.

Up until this point I was very nervous, but still had faith in myself and the medical system. When I picked up the meds a few moments later, I was very put off by the fact that the Clonidine was only cost me thirteen (thats 13) dollars . If you know anything about pills, you know that the more expensive a medication is, the more powerful it is, etc. $13 didn't make me feel very much better about the journey I was about to embark on but still, I went ahead with my plan.

I went home to my apartment with no dope on me. My boyfriend searched my bag and found nothing. He totally did not trust me, for obvious reasons, number one being that I had been lying to him for a year about using heroin. I had also lied about what I did with my money, even going so far as to filing a false police report saying I had my wallet stolen when in actuality I had spent our $700 in rent money on drugs debts and drugs. I showed him where I kept my dope and he saw it was empty. As a user you find various ingenious ways to conceal your "stash". Personally I had what appeared to be a dental floss container that I could just click open and inside it I had my flap, my straw and a folded up piece of tinfoil (I was not shooting up then, though I had done it before). He searched everything in my bag and even searched the house and found nothing (he went so far as to open everyone of my CD cases to see if I had hidden some there). Now when I think back I think, "why the f*ck DIDN'T I hide something?". I didn't because I was going to try my best.

I used my last bit that day, a Friday, before I got home and had nothing after about 5 o'clock. I fell into a sort of sleep. We had been up late because I was nervous and because we were watching movies. My ex had rented about 10 movies for me for the next few days to help me pass the time. This was the first time I watched Zardoz, and it ruled, by the way.

By the next morning the sickness was in full effect. We had already planned to get a bunch of weed to at least try to minimize my pain and anxiety on top of the Clonidine I had gotten. The weed seller wasn't going to be around until 5 though and so it was a loooooong day until then. I couldn't eat, could not pass time by sleeping, no rest at all (and actually, I have heard that some people could sleep each night until about 2 days into their detox off of heroin, but not me. I couldn't sleep as soon as I knew I was even going to try to kick). He tried to make me eat. He brilliantly gave me "Spirulina" mixed with yogurt and it made me puke. If you don't know what "Spirulina" is I am sure you can Google it and find out. It still makes me shudder when I think of it, but it also makes me laugh too because he tried it after I did and almost barfed. It was like the worst thing you could give to someone that is having a hard time eating.

Finally came the time to get the weed. He had to go somewhere in Chinatown and suggested I stayed home. I volunteered to go with him though, and told him I would try to score some Valium at Main and Hastings while he was getting the weed. I had had an ex bf that was an addict, years ago, and he told me that you can get anything there. It is an area known for drugs and all that. I was so naive though, it isn't like someone is always there selling pills. It is basically "rock (crack), down (heroin), and powder (cocaine)" that is sold there. I knew this deep down, that I most likely would not find any Vs but was also super desperate at this point (keep in mind I am not even 24 hrs into my detox yet). I had another ulterior motive. I had a stash of 10 loonies (one dollar coins) in my backpack that I had found night before. So while my bf was getting the weed, I was going to try to score Valium as well as down. Ten bucks won't buy you much but I was hurting bad.

He goes to get the weed and I go to score. I had to be quick because if he came back and saw me getting heroin he would spazz and probably knock me around for a bit once we got home, plus I had to ingest it before he came back. I had limited time. So, first I made my feeble attempt at acquiring the heroin. If you have ever tried to infiltrate an area like this you can imagine what I went through. These people can spot a mark from a mile away. I was so friggen paranoid that I was going to get busted by cops and my bf that the first person that mouthed the word "DOWN" to me, I went over to. I gave him the money and he gave me something that looked like crushed drywall. No matter, I snorted it anyways and it did nothing to alleviate my withdrawal symptoms.

I then went to get the Valium. I had a ten dollar budget for that. I had no idea how much it would cost but was hoping for a miracle. I went up to some little ogre and told him I wanted Valium and he took me inside a pub, asked me for the ten bucks, and said for me to wait there, at the entrance. He went in the washroom, came out, went over to this table of about 5 wasted drunks and then came back to me and gave me something wrapped in tissue. He said "hurry, hurry get outta here" like as if we were going to get busted or something and I swear to God he vanished into thin air. Once outside I looked inside the tissue and found some rocks that looked like stucco rocks from the outside of a house. Great, I wasn't overly shocked...I was more concerned at telling my bf that I had lost the money. We were in no way financially secure and plus he was prick.

As an aside, I will tell you that Main and Hastings is very intimidating if you are not familiar with it. Everyone tries to rip you off, they see everyone as an opportunity for getting money. Plus the ever present worry about the cops add to the stress. After being there a while you learn to not f*cking care, but in the beginning it is easy to get taken.

Back to the story: I walked across the street to where my bf had been waiting after he had gotten the weed and told him about the money I lost. He was upset but not overly so. He just made me feel like a worthless piece of sh*t and told me I was stupid as hell, the usual stuff.

We went back home and he put on a movie for me, I rolled a joint and smoked it. It made me totally freak out and my heart rate was through the roof (despite the Clonidine, which I don't even think it was anything more than a placebo..like the doctors tell you it slows your heart down but in actuality it doesn't, that is how effective it was) but..despite that, eventually I fell asleep for about ten minutes.

The night drug on and soon it was time for bed, for him anyways. I told him I was going to sleep in the other room since I knew I was going to be squirming like a son of a bitch and I would probably keep him awake.

I seriously writhed around all night. I remember getting up to use the washroom and I banged into walls, made tons of noise, I must have sounded like a buffalo when I was breathing. I was so weak. I remember thinking to myself that I was like a snake. If I slithered and wiggled while I was lying down then the "bugs" or whatever it was (sort of felt like bugs, I wasn't hallucinating) would be less active under my skin.

The next morning my boyfriend got out of bed and he asked me how I was...I was sweaty and my hair was manged big time from my restlessness and I told him how horrid and painful my night was. He then had the balls to tell me how awful HIS night had been..that his back had been hurting and blah blah blah. As if, this is sooo irritating to a person that is dope sick. People say they understand and all that but they really don't. I find it patronizing and very irritating when anyone that hasn't been "there" tells me "Oh, I understand" and tries to equivocate pain they may have felt at some point in their lives with the pain and discomfort of withdrawal. Their heart may be in the right place, but there is a difference between saying you understand and saying you understand that the person may be in pain, and with THAT you can sympathize. I don't care how many years you spent in university getting your degree in "counselling science", do NOT tell me (or tell "us") that you understand, because you don't. This is why previous drug use or any substance abuse should be a job requirement for anyone that works in a detox because I wasn't about to listen to anything coming from someone that hadn't been writhing around on the floor, pissing and puking on themselves for days.

After our initial good mornings..my bf was going to make himself breakfast. At this point I could not eat but also could not even look at the food or even smell it without getting nauseous. He cooked himself up some bacon. It was almost unbearable. In real life I like bacon but this particular day it was so overpowering and thick and just the aroma of cooking meat was vomitus.

I was hiding out in the bedroom with the door closed when he came to find me after he ate. I told him I had had enough, I was done, I had gone as far as I could go on my own. I was too dope sick and needed professional help. Then he surprised me by saying that he agreed. He said he hated seeing me like that and that he was worried that if I was already as sick as I was, he was not "qualified" to take care of me not knowing how bad it was going to get. (I honestly thought he was going to tell me how pathetic I was, that I obviously did not love him enough and I was a worthless pussy). We agreed that I needed to go score, not from Main and Hastings, but from a reputable dope dealer near where I worked in east van. I told my bf that I could not even take the bus, all I could do was get in a cab and have the dealer waiting, then I could get out of the taxi, buy the dope, get back in and come home. Cab drivers usually don't care and are used to people buying dope from the passenger side window of their car, if anything they may just ask you to get out and jump back in after.

I was prepared to go exactly how I was, in my scummy, sweaty, mangy state..no teeth brushing, no face washing, nothing. That is how it is when someone is sick, everything else comes after. First the wack, then life.

Anyways, bf called a cab and I went to score, after he combed my hair. Even the taxi ride hurt. I went then I came home, crawled up the stairs to my apt and did some dope. I had made to about a day and three eighths into detoxing from heroin.

In the grand scheme of things I was not overly ill, but when rating the levels of sickness...there really is no 1-10. Dope sick is dope sick. But if I had to rate it, I would say I was at about a 3. Remember the first time you did acid and you were wasted only an hour into it, and you think to yourself "I cant believe it has only been an hour...I can't believe that I am going to get higher"?? It is sort of like that, if that makes any sense. For me it was like that anyways. You know you are going to get sicker but you already feel so ill how can it possibly get worse? But it does.

The next day was a Monday and I was still reeling from my attempt but other than that things were basically back to normal. I went to the clinic on Tuesday, since they were closed on Mondays. I did my intake and then had to wait to see my doctor, Dr. Russell. I met with him, he asked me a lot of questions, including how much I was using each day (I was already prepared for this one, my dealer had told me to always say that you were using more than you actually were, because apparently they never prescribed you enough of the methadone to compensate). Then I had to wait three long days for my application to be approved by the Collegiate of Physicians (think that is what it is called). They could refuse you for various reasons, one of those reasons being if you had not attempted to get clean by detoxing or had not even tried to go to a detox centre. I did tell him I had tried to kick myself, and had failed. Looking back though, I see that I didn't even really need to even try to detox..I could have just SAID I tried. It wasn;t like he could look into it and find out that I was lying.

That was my first attempt at home made detox. One other time I tried to detox at "home" rather than a medical detox facility. Doesn't matter how many times there were between the first try and this next one, and to tell you the truth I can't even get things straight sometimes. Some happenings blur together and their correct chronological order is lost in the sands of time. I remember when I was a total speed freak and used to stay awake for like 7 days (I never went longer than that) and instead of feeling like it had been a whole 7 days, it sometimes felt like one super, super long day.

So this second time "we" had arranged for me to go to my sister's house in Delta to detox. I was not familiar with Delta, so I had no dope connection out there, plus they weren't planning on letting me go out much, much less letting me out with any money. My sis had been in treatment before as I mentioned and had detoxed off of alcohol more than once so she knew that I was going to be sick. I still did not know even how sick I was going to get, as I had only ever made it to day 2 and a half I think, and that time was by accident**.

To be continued....(this post was soooo long that I cut it into 2...)

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* It is like an elite club that you can belong to, like any support group I guess. It is easy to find a kindred spirit in a fellow addict. It is like having a radar...you can just tell when someone speaks the same language. Even now, years later, I still spot it and feel it with certain people.

**The time I made it to 2 and a half days I had gone to visit a friend of mine in Calgary and had thought I bought enough heroin for 5 days. I did not, like most junkies, I knew I had this larger than normal amount on me and blew through in record time, not even considering what I would do when I was faced with being out of dope. I ran out when I still had 2 whole days before I was to come home. I even had money, but could fine not dope in that city. No heroin, only crack. I Western Unioned some money to my dealer to have him courier dope out to me even though it was only going to get there about 6 hrs before I had to catch my flight. He did not even get the money from the Western Union place though because the guy there refused to deal with him due to my dope dealer calling him a "stupid f*cking' chink". I had to go get the $$ myself after I got back from Alberta. It was an awful 2 and a half days. I just drank a ton of vodka until I passed out and ended up puking on myself.

His car was the same color as my sclera, yellow.

I knew this guy, this young man..I think he was like 20 when I was about 27. Anyways, he was always cruising for chicks at night. I always noticed him because he drove this old corolla that was an almost florescent canary yellow and looked like it was done w/ house paint. You must be familiar with these sorts of paint jobs, the matte and totally lame kind... Anyways, this is why I noticed him. Of course, as a street worker it is sort of part of the job requirements to spot and remember vehicles, but his was easy.

I would see him out most nights going up and down the alleys, around and around the blocks of the stroll, obviously looking for someone. One time I guess he couldn't find his regular girl because he stopped to talk to me. We conversed, a deal was stuck, and I got in. He was funny though..he asked me all sorts of questions about what I would let HIM do to me. This does happen, guys wanted to pleasure the girl (which is kind of harsh because some girls are less than hygienic at the best of times - not to say I was like that. I had enough people I could count on for a shower and the Army and Navy is really good at selling things like underwear for like a dollar..so really there is no excuse for being nasty) - but more often then not, it is all about them, the buyers. This guy asking me if he could do stuff that wasn't degrading or anything, it wasn't like he wanted to piss on me or something (would you believe you that lots of guys pick up girls so the girl will pee on them? Even in them?), he just wanted to do various intimate things to me. I am not going to say what these things are but I am sure you can imagine.. think of the standard things a guy does to a girl when he wants to get her off (or hopes she will). I said sure..I will do those things..for money...and so I got in the car. Everything has it's price.

His name was All Yee. He was Chinese, but didn't really look it, he looked more half Italian and half Chinese and was sort of geeky as well as a little chubby. He was not at all creepy or anything like that, just lonely maybe. The type of guy that never really had girlfriends and suffer the consequences of society being so hung up on appearances. We hit it off right away and even after the transaction was completed we hung out for a while and talked.

A few nights later he was patrolling the 'hood again and spotted me in an alley. He pulled up to talk to me and me, not wanting him to feel obligated to pick me up for a date, I told him hi and that he can still go look for whoever else he wanted and if he decided that I was what he wanted, he could just come find me back in the alley. I did this sometimes..because as I have said, a million times, even though it is prostitution you still need good business sense, which includes "non-pressure sales". I also had an ulterior motive at this point which was my pocket full of dope that I was itching to get into, immediately. Of course, he came back. They always do...

So, this began our acquaintance. He lived in the core of china town, within walking distance of the red zone and when night came he would wait until his Mum went to bed and then would leave, get in the car and cruise.

Like I said he was sort of chubby and geeky. But as I was saying a few paragraphs before, you may think that all guys that pick up prostitutes are totally hurtin', disgusting individuals but that isn't so. I mean, of course there ARE men like that but lots of my previous "clients" were hot and lots of them are like Al. Sort of socially retarded in a sense...or maybe just unpopular back in high school, etc. So when he picked me up, we would hang out. It wasn't just money-sex-take me back. It was more like he wanted to hang out with me and understood that in order for me TO hang out, I would need certain provisions (dope). He wanted to do a date too, but it was sort of different. Maybe it is hard to imagine having someone that you have sex with and it really doesn't change anything between you, but if you have ever sold yourself for sex you would understand that you become desensitized and sex eventually has no meaning, ie. sex with strangers or whatever. To ME it was never really sexual, it was a job. And it seems that I still may be suffering the residuals of this personality "adaptation" that was necessary to do what I did.

Let's move on. Sorry, I get sidetracked with the details, I need to focus.

So, over time..Al developed a fixation on me, a big one. A lot of these guys are not used to women paying attention to them and they mistake what is happening (our working "relationship") for something that is other than business. He wasn't overly possessive (right away) and he knew I worked the street and would come find me some nights or I would call him super late..I would work, get my dope, and then we would go to Stanley Park. eventually we would both fall asleep in our seats. I just want to mention too though, I would often wake up early and get out to use the washroom and there would be crack all over my seat. If I was really tired, which I almost always was, I would load up my pipe with the intention of smoking it and then would do the nod and the piece would fall out of the pipe and me, totally unaware would find it in the morning, even after I had thought that I had smoked it all. It was awesome.

Sometimes, though, the pieces would drop on the floor or elsewhere and I wouldn't see them. So, on occasion I would be out of dope when I was with Al and he would pull out theses little chunks for me that I had dropped at some point and surprise me with them. It was almost romantic, like when I guy goes to the store to buy his girlfriend tampons. Well, maybe it was nothing like that, but it was sweet that he saved them for me for I was in need. Crack and jonesing isn't very romantic but one finds meaning in whatever situation..and this was one of those situations.

Al would sometimes let me sleep in his car on nights when he stayed home. Like I said, he lived right in the danger zone so it was convenient for me. It was sort of creepy though, he didn't have tinted windows and super late at night anyone could come up to the car and demand something or whatever, as if it was my vehicle. I didn't often sleep in his car but sometimes I was so f*cking tired that I couldn't even work, and even knowing that I would wake up with no dope and sick as f*ck, I had to crash.

So, this one night, I was in his car with no dope and sort of sketching out at how late it was and how unsafe I was in his car, but he had gotten me this cell phone (this was when he was getting a little too into me..at the time he worked at a cell phone store and used his 5 fingered discount to get the phone and the minutes on the phone) and so that was a minor comfort.

I started raiding and searching the car for anything dope-ish that I could get high from. All I could find was weed in his ashtray. Now, I hadn't smoked weed in a super long time but I used to be heavy into the ganja and knew my way around a joint. So, at a loss, I rolled one and smoked it. Then I was wasted. Not good wasted either. Weed can be fun but not when you are already paranoid and feel super vulnerable and all that.

A few minutes after the joint, who knows how long, my eyes started to play tricks on me. He lived in the projects of Chinatown and like most social housing, the main residences were set up around a courtyard. Al always parked his car on the side of the road, at the start of a path that led into the courtyard, which led him to his home. From the angle I was at in the car, I could see the path when it went down a few stairs and the columns on each side of the entrance. In between them it was black, as in absence of light. Black, but with a minimum amount of light from street lamps providing a small amount of shadow to be present.

Here I am, wasted on the mad cheeba, staring at the space between the columns, thinking I see something..thinking I don't, and then finally realizing that I was, in fact, looking at something but because it was so dark, my eyes had taken a while to adjust.

What I saw was the shadow or silhouette of a man, at the bottom step, wearing what appeared to be a trench coat with a hat on his head. He was about 20 ft from me. I could see from his movements and his silhouette that he was jerking off like crazy. Jerking off and staring right at me.

It was one of the scariest things that happened to be down there. May sound weird considering my job was all about sex and money and men, but those times I was consciously consenting to what was going to take place, it's a totally different thing when you have no idea you are being watched. On top of that, it isn't really a normal thing for a guy to go out late at night and spot a girl in a car and then whip out his piece and start going for sh*t masturbation style. Maybe you understand what I saying, maybe you don't, but it was scary. If some guy is going to be doing this..who knows what else he was up for. All that was separating us was a few feet and the glass in car window. I was terrified. I panicked and even though Al had asked me to be casual in the car and not attract attention (since he lived there and his neighbors new his car) I opened the door (I was in passenger seat), screamed at this guy, telling him to "F*CK OFF" while honking the horn at the same time. His response was "oh, sorry" and then he disappeared into the dark. He really did say that, that he was sorry. Weird, sorry as if he bumped into me on the sky train or something.

For some reason, things like this only happen right after you reach the point of being totally inebriated, never when you are just casually hanging out.

I was spazzing and ended up calling Al a million times on my cell phone, finally waking him up, then told him what happened and he eventually came outside to comfort a crying and terrified and even violated me. He then fell asleep in the driver's seat in his pajamas and everything. I can't remember if I even stayed in the car or took off.

I knew Al for quite a few months after this and then he disappeared. I was sort of worried for my own selfish reasons and also because he was my friend, in a sense. Then one random day after I had not seen him a couple of weeks, I checked my cell phone voice mail (from a pay phone my cell phone had disappeared by this point), and there was message from him. All it said was he would be away for awhile and that he had done something really stupid and couldn't get into the details.

About 3 months goes by and he shows up again..same guy but different car. He told me that he had been in jail ( he no prior convictions) because he had tried to rob a convenience store while under the influence of crystal meth. Al smoked the odd joint but was in no way a drug user. He claimed that he had smoked a joint that had been secretly laced with the crystal and then wigged out. He said he remembered being outside the store but that was it. He ended up being charged with robbery and with some charge related to possessing a firearm. But the thing is, he said the gun he had wasn't real, it was a squirt gun that he had painted with black spray paint on the sidewalk right outside the store. That was the worst part, I thought. Sure, robbery is bad but then not even having a real gun?? Come on, Al. It is like when people downtown get busted selling bunk dope. Even though the dope may be made of wax or just pure baking powder..they still get charged. Before this indecent he had gotten fired from his job at the cell shop for stealing. I had no idea until after the fact, that he had been fired, and I guess he was stealing money to keep me happy. That made me feel pretty bad, I knew I was having a bad influence on him but by then it was out of my hands.

One time when I still had my cell phone he called me 44 times in one hour because I was not picking up the phone. That is a little obsessive. After he got out of jail he started being a dope runner, driving around delivering for a dial a dope operation. Then I became just a junkie I guess, or my spell wore off, because things were different.

The last thing I remember about Al was when I met his mother. It was mid afternoon and I was having a shower when his Mum came home from work. Al was sort of afraid of his mum and often times I would hear her screaming at him in Chinese, through his cell phone, when we were hanging out.

Anyways, I was there, so was she, so after I got dressed Al had to introduce us. I shook her hand politely. Then went to gather my things and wait by the door. I could hear her and Al having at it and he kept telling her to speak in English. Then at one point he told her that I spoke Chinese and understood everything she was saying. Laugh. I already knew that his mum didn't like me but not that you would know it by the way she looked at me all sweet and sh*t.

Later, after we had left Al told me that what she had been saying to me, was that ever since she had shook my hand during our formal introduction, her arm had felt weird. She then said that she could feel poison creeping up her arm. I am not really too sure about the Chinese culture but Al said his mother had certain beliefs and superstitions.

She was very perceptive.