I don’t understand why pictures of a pile of shitty stamps get a bunch of reblogs and likes by teens romanticizing heroin.

Heroin is not cool. Heroin is not fun. It’s the end of the road when you’ve finished all other forms of chemical escapism and just want to live in a never-ending circle of problems.

I’m 29 years old. I’ve been shooting dope for 5+ years. Snorting for longer. How I can find a vein is beyond me. I don’t know why I’ve never OD’d. I used to think that was luck and I was bulletproof. That recently changed as I’ve been diagnosed with endocarditis (that’s fucking heart disease.) All of those times I used a needle more than once; all of the times I looked in at my mixture and said “Fuck it, this doesn’t look like it needs a filter” caught up with me. Enough bacteria finally got into my bloodstream that my immune system couldn’t do anything more and I am facing the inevitable fate of any long-term IV user: an early death. One would think this would motivate me to quit, but I’ve still been picking up with that “this is the ‘one last time’” mentality.

I used to think I could cover this habit up, but now I can see the mixture of sorrow, fear, and overall aversion in other people’s eyes when I don’t even verbally interact with them and try to do something nice like move my cart out of the way and shoot them an acknowledgment smile in the aisle of the grocery store. (And they just look at me like I used to look at bums begging for change on the street.)

When I started writing this blog, I was making six figures a year. Laughing at how I could get fucked up all day and enjoy the comfortable WASPy, self-sustaining life that my parents and everyone else expected of me after I finished college. That worked for all of a year before it went to shit.

I’ve blown so many second chances since then. It’s worse than it’s ever been now.

Now I’m back to lying about this and that to anyone with money and enough foolishness to listen and send me some. Yeah, sure, they’ll believe me. I’ve been to rehab 3 times so that means I’m a credible individual. There’s nothing fishy about asking Mom for $400 for a “car repair” 3 times in the same month.

I’m a fucking junkie and I don’t understand why so many naive kids here think doing dope is some sort of badge of honor. Like it validates their “pain” or some bullshit. Get therapy. Find someone to talk to. This is not a lifestyle you want.

I’ve tried to quit more times than I can count, but I always end up back where I started. I used to have track marks that were hidden, now they are so bad, to get rid of the scars I’d have to shell out several thousand in cosmetic procedures just to fade them lightly.

But, I guess I’m no different. I met a 60 year old heroin addict. He’d been using for the past 40 years (that’s not a typo.) His reasoning was that all dumb fucks die before 40 and that if he’s made it this far, he shouldn’t really stop. He has children and grandchildren that want nothing to do with him. He can’t even get a job as a crossing guard.

It’s sad, but I was also thinking as I walked away from our little exchange: I bet I could do dope for the rest of my life and do way better than crossing guard. Who am I kidding?

I would show pictures of my scars and tracks, but they are so unique and large, I’m afraid someone eventually would identify them (along with the accompanying tattoos nearby.) I’d explain my professional background and how I used to have such a promising future and good life, but it’d be too easy for someone to identify me and potentially ruin my life, if I ever get it back together, at a new job or in a new academic program.

There’s nothing fun, glamorous, romantic, cathartic, or interesting about your stupid posts of pictures of dope and you doing a little fucking balloon of BTH or you saying how “sad” it is that you just want to get high and it’s the best thing ever (no shit, moron, you don’t have to do it to know heroin feels amazing.) Just stop. You’re not interesting. No one feels bad for you but yourself and (maybe) me.

It used to be nice to come here and vent and hope that my brutal honesty about how shitty my life continually gets would at least be a cautionary tale to one person. Now, I just sit in amazement that a picture of some stamps of mediocre dope circulates amongst a small community of sad, lonely kids and there’s nothing I can do to help them. I’m not bragging when I post a picture like that. I’m showing you how pathetic it was that 30 little glassine bags was the only thing that made me happy.

I can’t rightly participate in this shitshow. Unless I feel super compelled to write anything again, I’m done here.

You people need serious help and I hope you get it before it’s too late and you end up like me - almost 30 with a heart disease old people get and wondering one second why you can’t be starting a family, buying a house, getting a promotion, getting married while all your friends do - and then a second later realizing that the reasons are obvious and you’ve just been running from something for decades, too afraid to face the emotional truth.

Tell someone if you are struggling. Get some help. Stop going on here and psychologically enabling yourself. You’re better than this.