But I used to be a heroin addict.
Before then, I used Oxycontin - crushed up and snorted - which was a great kick and very, very easy to fall in love with when you first try it.
The Oxycontin pill formula switch had ominous effect. In short, my pusher had no clients anymore and switched straight to heroin. Turned from kids snorting pills for highs into a shooting gallery almost overnight. The last "classic" Oxycontin I remember hearing about went for $160 a pill.
Like Scudo, I started with brown heroin. Snorting it also. And under the same delusion that somehow snorting it made me "not a heroin addict."
Nothing like the cognitive dissonance of a dozen middle-class white kids making their first casual acquaintances with heroin.
But drug has a noxious, subtle allure. One night, with only a few $20s in my pocket and the ATM just out of walking distance, I chased down a bit more rush. Someone showed me how to shoot it.
"You put the needle in your arm." Casually as ever. Like explaining how to pull a good espresso. "You're new to this so your veins are easy to find. Not like mine. When you pull back the plunger - like this," drawing blood, "you know you've found it." Had it done for me, because I was scared and couldn't hit.
I threw up a lot and felt better than uninitiated will ever comprehend.
Months passed. Then something started happening, something I hadn't dealt with before: People started dying. Kids who had futures started dying.
I won't bore you with the howls of addiction and disaster that followed, nor with my own personal triumph of escape. But I will leave with one point:
This article is spot-on; the elephant in the room for many a community of parents who can't stomach much longer watching more of their kids die.
Heroin is not just in the underbelly of the world anymore. We need to stop treating it like a pariah and start actually trying to fix it.