79 and I am a drug survivor
Addict name Carlton. Everyday I feel important because all the things I survived I can’t forget I was blessed. From the times I picked my brain apart wondering how to get at least a hook, then I have find someone who was on the same mission. Many times the things I did to get to that point was survival with the addiction. I remember in the beginning the disease was real humble and made me believe I was in control of this life. Little did I know it always began giving away superman courage. Later I would be forced eat a piece of reality to. I’m talking about that reality where I’m running a house, where people come thru for what I learned later to be their safe haven. Little did I know I was suppose to pay attention to those who crossed my door ceil, because I would later become one of the participants who would look for a place to use and lay my head. Damn near resembling a rat with the attitude and features to define me was no longer the man I once was. I can’t blame no one for my transformation, because I focused on those who had less they raised my ego. All the while I was using them for their faults. Never once did I feel I should have been learning how to Run From Them. My insane thinking said, isn’t nothing wrong with them. I never understood the disease was mightier then me. The people I associated myself with were the evidence. How much information did I need to see I couldn’t even control a remote control car, so what made me think I had this disease on lock? My family values was exchanged to get many more, I felt I was learning how to survive. I was surviving alright only to constantly practice killing myself. I could do the job better then a nigga trying to break my brains out. In the beginning I was enjoying killing myself, until the day I felt dead inside I got that rude awakening.
I use to get mad at those who were more caught up then me. I mean I use to get mad at them, because I assume they didn’t have the control I thought I had. I can honestly say with people like me, who allowed their door to stay open; I made their will possible to survive. Especially, in the beginning I really didn’t want any of what u had, I really was amazed at how addicts made me seem more of a friend then my family made me feel accepted. I know now we will say, laugh, and do anything just to get one more and have a safe haven to put to use in. As time went a long I realized I must treat mother fucka a little different because they were off the hook. I guess I was getting drug sick (like home sick). I had left the caine along and had no desires I thought. I had sold my heart out and had the money, but with money come new intro opportunity to get high. It is something about everyone around u doing something and you don’t want to feel left out I guess. I sometimes wish I wasn’t talking about myself.
The House That Crack Built
Honestly, I was naïve those coming to my crack house showed me the game. I wasn’t afraid to get that gravy poured on your mash potatoes. They made me want to eat good. And this is just from people seeking a safe haven. Shit my house went from safe haven to Whore house. It always been one, I wouldn’t rent it out. After awhile I learned I had to wash my sheets and niggas wasn’t kicking out for the soap powder. Them mother fuckers thought they would continue to use me like they was living on the state property. I wasn’t about to take care of no grown scheming mother fucker thinking they built like that. I didn’t have a habit. I convinced myself and the disease co-signed it. .
After a short time of living by myself I finally start opening my door. Shit I could have my children and girl in the house most times, if the price was right and it had to be dead president, they could have my children room. I was greedy for the money then. I wasn’t a drug solider yet. In the beginning when I was rolling I had three houses. One for the misses, bitches, and drugs. The drug house I ran with my man, who was constantly schooling me. He was a season addict, in and out of the rooms like niggas do jail and he took the Tule ague from the stories he learned and taught me the B-More way. I was like a fresh pot of coffee off the stove (straight out of NY) and I was using the methods I had learned from the apple. I started out like a school boy I just wanted to be accepted and treated fair, so I lived by the example I wanted to be treated as. Most times people peeped that and were on their hook or crook, till they found out I was a gun slinging motherfucka, who would give CSI a fit when they had to investigate.
After awhile to come home with me u had to be willing to either be my road dawg, out to grind, hit when I order, and I was out of control and deadly. I was living a lot of false images of the world of Tell Lies To Your Vision aka Television. I remember watching New Jack City and that was too far above Baltimoreans heads I thought, but when I looked at it later on in life, my houses started to look like the crack house Flipper went looking for Gator in. No lights, a lot of using, cluttered, stink, and dirty. The sad part this fuckin disease gave me a moment of clarity when I would try to clean up as soon as company hit the door, so what they was crack heads. I would feel ashame and I would justify it. I would blame it on someone else. Sometimes I would prepare a person long before we got to my house telling them part truth never including me as part of the problem. That fucked disease knew neither one of us believe it or cared as long as we can get high there is all that matter. Most of us were use to no lights, the smell, no front door, rats, whatever came with the situation. But on the real side when I saw Belly, King of New York, and a few other movies instilled in my mind, you got it going on just like them. I ran with them negative teaching because I felt it was normal.
Before the sloppiness in my house was ever prime, I was sloppy with leaving the paraphernalia around and not putting shit up unless I had company I didn’t trust. I remember a few houses I didn’t even have gas or electric, and I didn’t supply matches and candles. I lost that high a couple of that time. See some times people come expecting something and don’t have anything. So when I dismissed the idea of Freebie didn’t live here niggas knew come prepared. I didn’t care in the beginning, because I didn’t have any pit-bull nawing on my leg, my stomach wasn’t turning or tearing out the lining forcing shit to evacuate my body like it was kicked out. I had a weed habit that made me think I was smoking coke, I didn’t want to pay for shit, but my beer, weed, and contribute to a whore, when I didn’t get in touch with my old familiars. Sometimes I liked buying pussy from the money I got from other pussies. That is some sick shit; I was robbing Mary Jane just to fuck with Wendy. I remember, when someone came thru with a female penny (it was never no dimes), shining and shit, I had to put my two cent in her. And if this freak just had to be reminded (like run said in Krush Grove), who’s house this is? O I didn’t have a problem then. Plus most times I really felt like I was raping some of these bitches, because I had some thinking, if they didn’t give it up freely their might be dangerous tactics used to get this pussy. But I justified that shit as she getting the best of three worlds, two dicks, a high, and she safe from the outside world. In her mind Safe was questionable. I remember holding bitches hostage and when there were no more left I held them even longer. Hell some of them made themselves hostage, because they believe more was coming out and the only thing coming into the picture was sex. I can’t say I only ran the hell out of the crack house, but a whore house to.
One of my houses I think I lost on purpose because I knew I was wrong. I had the police looking at my boy, who rented me the top floor and he claimed he let the cops in to search around. They really wanted his ass, but the kicker was everything was there. If they would have just opened up a couple of doors and punch out a couple of walls they would have found the titanic for real. And then I had the nerve to arrange for my child and her mother to stay there. I know today that shit was bananas. I cleaned up, but what if those cops would have come while they were there. And I didn’t clean up thoroughly or wanted to. I just moved shit. Then I had almost or in my eyes came inches to catching a rape charge again. I believe in my heart, I didn’t take that pussy for two reasons, I couldn’t let my dick get that much control of me and I didn’t believe she was 18, but she was looking every bit of it. And she was scared to fuck with the drugs I had. Something said; let this bitch have her fun teasing. Plus she might have sent me to the clinic because she was complaining about burning when I started to just take that pussy. Oh no bitch u got to go. I had to hurry up and pack up shop because I feared this bitch going to the corner and tell them peoples I felt was looking at my house. They probably weren’t looking my addiction ripped my instincts off. I think I was paranoid then anything else. Real talk, the weed I was smoking then was too good. It was exotic already, meth, fluid, roach spray and some more shit back then.
My house had more volunteers then victims. When my disease progressed and the weed wasn’t boring me. I was getting these feelings I was smoking coke, I had to escape that feeling, because I didn’t touch crack yet. Hell I thought I could cheat on the weed with my old girl coke. Oh talk about leaping off the bridge in a body of concrete thinking it was water. I should have just submitted myself to the institution then, because I was well on my way. I got the feelings I was wanting and I also got the personality that came with it. At this point I had been avoiding people so my door wasn’t open as much again. I only dealt with certain people.
I must add some of what I wrote was in a couple of different houses, but one of them boys I ran into the ground after 4 years, of running it into the ground. I laugh when I see the building now they closed it down. My family didn’t like coming to see me and I was alright with that, because they might had ran into the wrong thing stopping by unannounced. One thing my tricks and addict friends loved it; because it was better then an abandominum.
In no way am I glorifying this sick ass behavior. And believe me it seems like fun until shit got ugly like them bowling shoes. I am only talking about me. U will wear what the house provides for you after you spin the table and start breaking in your own house. Wonder how the hell that happens? Me to. I guess once I started geeking, I told myself boy you gonna get one more. My heart wasn’t there yet with selling my own shit. I didn’t know who house was going to get victimized at that point. Without any sense of direction I was on the prowl. I winded up the fire escape on the side of MY building and finally in my OWN HOUSE. I was so gone that night I didn’t realize I had robbed the shit out it, til the next afternoon. And I was getting high their whole night and morning. You know I couldn’t call the police. They would have busted my ass. They only would have got my prints. That was an open and shut case. I did need a rocket scientist wit to realize I was out of control, because mine wasn’t working. Sometimes when I got my own product and called myself opening up shop I would push a couple of packages. After awhile I would literally throw everyone out, especially if they act like I was speaking carbolic. They were buying up the good shit to quick and weren’t sharing. WITH ME! I feared running out the good shit. My paranoid part of his disease kicked in, because the coke was off the radar. And I wasn’t going to chance getting burnt, jipped or locked up trying to cop. I look at this shit and I have to admit, if I didn’t know me, my thoughts after reading just this part: That Is a Wild Sick Mother Fucka who wrote that shit.
When I was gone, I was embarrassed to get high around people, because now Crack had held me hostage. I could be free harded with that. I seen what it did to OTHER PEOPLE and I didn’t want to be like them. I was a character all of my own. I was still addicted and never noticed I was another ingredient to the potluck. Anyhow, my new found love actuality said, people aren’t going to like you. So my dog became my get high partner. This mother fucker even wanted to watch my back when I went to cop. He knew when I came in from work we was getting high, because I was robbing people’s to pay the people on the corner. Every now and then the dog would suggest maybe we could get along with maybe a girl. After I held group conscious (me, myself, and I) we veto that shit. My girl at the time wasn’t about shit and she was on the shit. I can talk about her now because she was one of the landlords, occupants, and she soon evicted her damn self. Hell here I go kickin mother fuckas out because they wouldn’t share their crack with me. Before I throwing nigga out my house and I wasn’t even selling myself pipe dreams, so you can imagine how I was when they hired me for the pipe sucking position. Anyway my dog was my dawg. I use to get mad at him because he was greedy. All he wanted was the smoke and then he went somewhere and started geeking. Why I would get mad, because he wanted the smoke all the time and he would go out. And then I had to hold him and calm him down. The part that would trip me out when my girl was there I had to calm both of them down because they both was greedy and subject to go out at any time. I felt like the designate crack head, as long as I was holding and calming them down I wasn’t getting extremely high sometimes I was blowing my high.
When the end of running my own crack house, I found out whose house it was then. When I was lucky I was blessed because I didn’t get busted from living in them houses I thought was worst then mine. Hell they was on the same level they were places people gathered to get high, scheme on each other, sell their false dreams they couldn’t afford no more, hell I got tired of buying of course. I manage to wear my welcome out a lot of places. Of course since I wasn’t just sick but violent also most people really suggested, using a third party or straight up lie about something or another to get me to leave. It was a kind way of kicking me off. In their mind I understand now, any means possible to get this crazy crack head out my house without getting hurt. See I was considered dangerous and not just in my mind, because I did some shit to people. I was angry and they could read the writing on my face.
I am amazed I made it to this point and If I ever get me another house, I won’t dare put a welcome mat on my steps, plus I am locking my fucking door, because I know the first time I let a freak, addict, or family member in just to visit I am in trouble. It is just something about 4 walls that make me feel I must instill some type of drug between them. I don’t need no one to move in with me, because they seen a for rent sign in their head. Knowing they don’t know how to pay rent. I will be damn if I will allow them to be free willy on me. Next thing I know the rent man sending the sheriff to collect his rent or property. been there thru that. I can’t begin to learn everything about living clean, because as long as there are drugs in this world, I will always have to continued practicing recovery. I never want to get this program because it is fun living it.
