One day that changed who I am.
It was Christmas night, bitter cold.
He had nowhere to go, he gave his last 4 dollars for a fix, and he was freezing ,snot running down his nose.
The cold was bone chilling, but he could not leave, he needed that shot.
Hours passed and still he stood on the corner unwilling to believe he had been ripped off for the last of his money.
Finally he left, seeking the warmth of a boiler room infested by cockroaches and rats, he did not care.
Hunger struck, and he threw up, the sickness of heroin withdrawals were coming on fast, cold sweat ran down his frail body, he was 6ft 2 inches tall and weighed 147 pounds.
He dug in his pocket and found 20 cents, just enough for a subway ride, he left the comfort of his hovel and walked to the train station on 125th street.
Leaving the train station he walked to Manhattan general hospital, begging to be let in, after hours he was escorted upstairs to the junkie ward, given a dose of methadone , slowly the drug took away his sickness.
Soon he started thinking, what have I done, I spend money, stick dull needles in my arm and shoot poison into my veins just to feel “normal”, I need help he thought.
After two weeks in the hospital going through withdrawals he jumped the turnstile in the subway and headed for the Bronx, his goal was to get into Phoenix house.
He waited at the ferry landing freezing waiting to get on Hart Island, finally he did go there, 10 months later he had a better grip on things.
HE NEVER used heroin again.