So today was interesting to say the least. I found out that someone whom I used to hang out with on an almost daily basis, and lately haven't been even talking to let alone hanging out with just overdosed for the second time this year.

During this overdose, this person was actually dead for about half a minute. Apparently the story goes like this:

It's hard when you are trying to get clean. It's worse when you chose an opiate to be your drug rather an an upper of some sort. Uppers always seem easier to kick (METH being a very HUGE exception to that rule).

From what I heard, his relapse started about two or three days ago. It's that same trip that everyone has, it's just that when you are addicted and your brain starts to play games with you.... you generally turn to something that will slow it down or shut it off so that you can get through the day without just going crazy.

It really is an obsession of the mind and an allergy of the body.

I guess he was doing really well until he started feeling this way. He called his family and some friends and nobody really had any time for him, or so he felt. He ended up using this as an excuse to use. So today he went to the H man's house and ended up shooting about 50 out of 80 units in his syringe (or so I am told).

Now I'm no doctor, but I'm guessing had he gone and done the entire 80 units (whatever that means) he probably would actually be dead now.

Now back to the story... so I guess he got his fix, and while still sitting in the chair at the dope mans house he began to feel the effects of his overdose. Being a somewhat smart guy, he decides that he needs to leave and seek out medical help.

He walks outside to his car, and upon reaching it he quickly realizes that driving would be a bad idea because he had no doubt that he would crash the car as soon as he blacked out. He looks around and remembers there is a fire station nearby.

He starts walking toward the fire station, now it's a race between his legs and the H in his blood. He barely makes in there, sees a fireman washing the firetruck. The fireman asks him what's wrong, he blurts out that he is overdosing on heroin and that he needs some "narcon" or something like that.

The next thing he remembers is waking up by vomiting all over himself.

Apparently right after he told the fireman what was going on, the H got him. He blacked out and fell flat on his face on the cement. Cut his forehead and busted his lip open. Since he told the firefighter what was going on, they shot him up with "narcon" and then hit him with the defibrillator paddles. No response.

I guess they did everything they could, and just as the fireman gave up and turned around, to pronounce him or whatever they do, the guy I know woke up and threw up all over himself. The firefighter had never seen it before. His heart had stopped and he was officially dead.

Now... just think if you had gone through that today. Makes those shitty problems you have seem a lot less serious, no?


-link

Labels: adventures in everett, jackassery, stupid fuckers, the pain of getting well, thoughts