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How Heroin Destroyed My Life

MISS Heroin

By Destiny WatsonPublished 6 years ago 4 min read
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Hello, MISS Heroin...

By reading the title I assume you think me doing Heroin destroyed my life? Or why do I capitalize the h in Heroin.

Let's start with introducing Heroin. It's a powder, it's white, it's a girl. I've always called her MISS Heroin; because she'll deceive you, she'll lie, she'll get you to steal and con your loved ones. Well, until they're dead; or find their way around MISS Heroin. Sadly my parents did not.

I was five, when my mother overdosed to MISS Heroin, on Ellsworth in Baltimore City. She was at a gallery shooting, a place all the Heroin Addicts would go to shoot up. A place where I sat in the car with my older brother, waiting for my mothers return. A place where I did not see her again after, well until her funeral that is. But I couldn't tell you one thing about her, or her scent, or her favorite color, or her eye color at that. But she was a model and absolutely stunning!

I bet you assume my mother was a fiend who was saturated in track marks. I bet when I tell you growing up that my mother never even touched a cigarette pack, unless it was covered in two t-shirts, you'll assume she didn't because she used Heroin.

Or if you hear the term MISS Heroin or Dope you all just assume my mother was a junkie. But how could that be if she was a victim of MISS Heroin for only a month until she passed? Do you blame the heart murmur that is on her death certificate? Or do you blame my father because he was a fictional Heroin user...

September 5th, 2002. My mother passed.

My father, an athletic, functioning Heroin addict. I assume you wonder how is that a thing. He worked his ass off, of course, but when a long day came to an end, MISS Heroin took her course and finessed my father into her ways.

My father was a Heroin user since he was 17. He wasn't a fan of weed, but MISS Heroin was his matchmaker.

That was until his passing which was on September 5th, 2009.

Yes, same days, different years...

I was 11, I didn't know very much about his using, but I do recall drawing a bunch of photos that had "don't end up like mommy" written by a 6-year-old...

As you can clearly see, Heroin destroyed my family. My parents didn't get to see me graduate or get married at the age of 20. They didn't get to see me get my license and pass my driver's test. They didn't see me go to college and express my passion for animals.

MISS Heroin took my father and mother. I never touched drugs growing up, but for the first time at the age of 20, I smoked pot and I hated myself for it. Each day MISS Heroin is taunting me. Like she is working her way up to convince me. Sometimes I look at it as a gateway to see my parents, not to stronger drugs, as stupid as that sounds.

Each day is a struggle to faintly remember my father's voice or scent. Each day. Each second. Each minute.

I blame you, MISS HERoin.

What is satisfyingly crazy is while I'd smoke weed, I would have intense dreams of my father and it was him, his touch — I'd feel it. It is as soothing and calming as the beach waves at low tide. Like having a warm blanket sweetly caress your whole body into complete fulfillment, or a soft kiss from a beautiful butterfly even.

His voice was my father's voice. I knew it! And in these dreams, I got to talk to my father, not like a regular dream. I got to say exactly what I wanted and how I wanted to.

Sometimes I feel like I get dreams from my father, because he knows as well as I do I shouldn't be smoking weed, because tables will turn and the only way to my parents besides natural cause of death will be a visit from MISS Heroin herself.

Do not let her rip you apart from your family and loved ones. I ask myself at least 400+ times a day, what is my purpose without my parents? They're the ones to hold me when a breakup from a high school boy crushes my heart, or to teach me how to tie my shoes and tuck me in at night.

I'd give my last breath to receive a kiss and hug from mommy and daddy. I'd sell my soul to MISS Heroin myself, as condescending as it may sound.

I don't understand how I get through life, how I get immune to not having my parents. A bit of hatred flows through my body, curdling my heart into a sick, twisted, numbing sensation that makes me have rage, causing flashbacks to holiday visits at the grave site or birthday celebrations through overrated memories.

I couldn't tell you what it's like to have parents, but I could tell you my grandparents did one hell of a job trying to raise me. Unfortunately, I feel like a disappointment myself, and not much could change this unless I heard it from my father, when I get high enough to hear it from him. It'll be a blessing. Until then, my struggles remain the same and my feelings for MISS Heroin remain the same.

Take care until we meet mom and dad. I hope it's sooner rather than later. We have a lot to catch up on. I don't want you both as strangers any longer.

Xoxoxo, forever yours.

parents
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