Drug addicts/People who use drugs are probably the last marginalized social category that it’s totally OK to treat like shit. There’s a movement to promote drug users’ humanity and advocate for our civil rights (things like safe injection sites, safe supply, ending the War on Drugs), which is still in its very early infancy; if you’re interested, a good place to start is looking up the Vancouver Area Network of Drug Users (VANDU), and its associated org, the Drug Users’ Liberation Front (DULF). “Harm reduction” is a keyword that’s heavily associated with our movement.
It’s a rare sight, a drug addict (in “active addiction”) speaking for themselves and for their community (yes, community). I’m not ashamed of my drug use. I have never scammed anyone for drugs. I have never stolen from anyone. And in contrast to how jaded this world leaves most of us who do dope in the shadows, I have met the closest friends and the most awesome people I’ve met in my entire life since I started doing drugs. I’m going to rehab soon (I guess), but I don’t intend to leave this world behind all the way. These are my friends. These are my people. o7
Anyways…
Yeah ask me anything. Some questions I may respectfully pass on because of reasons.
I’m calling the rehab place tomorrow, technically today, btw.
They love cartoons/animation. And stickers. And tiny spoons. Here’s a fucking drug dealer who’s been addicted to heroin since they were 18, who goes YAAAAAY when you bring them some cute little thing they like.
Also, all the things I miss about them are just so mundane. Sitting with them in their car, going grocery shopping. Part of why I started going nuts was because I hated how I didn’t get to see this person hardly ever. I didn’t need to see them every day, I just wished they were an organic part of my life, like if they still lived in the same neighborhood I do.
One of the things I love about them feels a little…wrong. Their life story, what I know of it anyways, is tragic but beautiful at the same time. I’ve never been so interested in someone, like that. I’ve cried thinking of what happened to them as a kid; they were “sent away” to a place for “troubled teens” when they were 16. I look at their old Facebook photos and I feel something I don’t know how to describe. I wish I knew them like anyone else in their life. All I have are a handful of memories that I hold tightly onto, like episodes of a show that was canceled too soon.
One time when we had only just met the last time we saw eachother, they invited me along on an errand and we parked in this empty parking lot at night because they wanted to do a shot. They showed me videos on YouTube instead. And then they fell asleep while “Welcome to the Internet” by Bo Burnham played on their phone. I always thought that meany they felt comfortable around me. I can’t remember exactly but I think later that night before I left they gave me a hug.
They abruptly decided to quit smoking meth one day, and it’s funny how their behavior changed. Before that, they were the one person I knew who did meth and wasn’t batshit crazy, but they still occasionally glitched and did something weird, like randomly saying something about being psychically linked to their cat, or casting a protection spell or something I can’t fucking remember on their truck.