Twenty years has felt like a lifetime that I have wasted. A wasted marriage, wasted jobs, wasted time, wasted money, just absolutely worthless in general. And somehow all of these idiots celebrate this year with reunions and a parade while they’re all secretly trying to decide who has the best life. Well let me tell you, I’m not playing that game.
To be honest, I don’t think it was the weed in high school that got me to this trainwreck today. I guess it certainly didn’t help but there were more than enough opportunities to “just say no” or “turn my life around.” It’s almost comical that a group of kids went around telling us how easy it is to say no when none of them had ever seen a joint. Those snitches were never invited to parties, let alone resisting the sinful temptations of drugs. So nah, I think it began to fall apart in college.
My gap years including smoking and getting any job I could at the time. It wasn’t a bad life. I was young enough to still hang around high school chicks but old enough to buy them liquor. Can you say perfect? But hey, the years go on and a little town wasn’t doing it for me. I headed out to a community college and took some business classes. I met a girl, got a desk job, and stopped smoking.
Got ya! Most of that never happened. I never went to college but did meet a girl at a 7/11 and married her. I did get a desk job at a Goodwill but never stopped smoking. This girl and I didn’t last long but lasted long enough to get married. She hated that my breath smelled all the time and I used our money for smokes. Sue me. I’m a modern day villain.
Things really went south after that. I’ve been divorced for eight years and everytime I smoke a cigarette I wonder if they were worth losing that kind of life. At the end of every smoke I forget the question I was asking myself in the first place. I’ve been getting into harder drugs the last six months. Mostly heroin. Especially heroin. It was never really a thing when I was eighteen but dealers are all about it.
Those drug-free kids back in high school would be gloating if they could see me now. A divorced addict whose mom even stopped visiting him three months ago because she can’t stop crying. I thought it was because I was always asking for money or if she had seen the needles I sometimes forgot to put away. But today I realized it was the way my thin arms look like they can break in the wind or my sunken cheekbones pierce my face. Surely the scabs set her off. Eighteen year old me would laugh at thirty-eight year old me.
He would call me pathetic.
I wonder if my graduating class will hear about a heroin overdose a few towns over. Do you think they’ll catch the name? Do you think they’ll remember me? I can’t imagine they’d have a sappy remembrance candlelight vigil for a dirty addict. I guess I’m going to lose their game.
Heroin is a very real danger that is making it’s way back into the hands of our families, friends, and even graduating classes. Learn more at www.wcprojectsuccess.com