I have 2 kids. I have a little girl 5, and a boy, 3. When my habit got bad I left them with my mom. At least they would be fed and taken care of which is more than I can give them on the streets. All I’d have to do is show up and tell my mom that I’m ready to do rehab. Where the hell is that sandwich truck? I saw someone I knew (and suspected may know how to get some coke) and ran down to meet them. No luck finding any. It was not going to be a good night. I could tell already.

I saw people starting to gather near the street and I fell in line. Dinner must be rolling up. I guess it was nice of these people to do this but by then I was in such a bad mood I pretty much barked out an order.

“Two sandwiches, hot chocolate” I said tensely. “Oh, and do you have any blankets?”

Lucky me, they did so I got my food, drink and my warmth for the night. I didn’t eat that food, I inhaled it. In fact, I wished I had more. It was time to stake my claim for some real estate for the night.

I found a fairly secluded spot and wrapped up in the blanket. My head hurt and I knew it was going to get worse. I began mumbling to myself and I knew that the sweating would begin soon. At that moment, all I wanted was to shoot up. All I wanted was enough to give me a buzz for a few minutes. It was always “just one more” with me. I started trembling and I suspected it was more from lack of drugs than the cold.  How many times would I detox myself only to go right back to shooting up? Then I heard a familiar voice saying “Hey there, sweetie.  Looks like you could use a little help.” One more…just one more…