I haven't read any articles. I haven't seen any footage. But I've heard that Dumb Dumb, Jr. was advocating for people to either inject or ingest bleach or disinfectants or something. Like, seriously? Really? Shoot bleach? Was that an actual suggestion? Log in and comment.
TL;DR: Don't do it. I've done it for you. It's miserable.
So this one time I was dope sick. All the heroin had run out of my body and I was starting to detox. Bad. Bad because I didn't have an action plan for how to get more. I didn't have the strength to go ho on Capp Street. It was too far anyway. Slog three or four blocks while dealing with the worst cold, the worst flu, the worst headache, and the runniest insides all at once in order to hop into the car of an unknown man and allow him to drive me to a secluded location for sex and a side of obstensibe death wasn't at the top of my list that day.
Besides, I was sick of being an addict. Sick of it, sick of it, sick of it, sick of it.
You know that one habit you have that invariably leads to, as the Big Book says, "pitiful and incomprehensible demoralization" every single time you do it? Okay, maybe every nine out of ten times and then the tenth time is what keeps you hooked. Oh, and the other nine too because you're chasing the feeling brought on by the tenth time. Which was really the first time.
You're chasing the feelings that you experienced the first time you did it. This doesn't have to be about drugs, although it often is. It can be the first time you tasted that thing and it lit up the most mind-blowing pleasure center in your brain, ran though your body like a fuse, and detonated a feeling of love in your chest so strongly that your eyes widened, your mind expanded, and you swore you were going to do it again. Yeah. It also released a shitload of little receptors that began multiplying at their moment of conception. At that orgasmic moment.
Then, after nuzzling, snuggling, bathing, wallowing, knocking, banging, clawing, and panicking your way toward that feeling for the next umpteen weeks months years decades, you finally hit that ultimate wall.
"ENOUGH!" you cry, often in agony and despair.
That's right.
This was that day for me.
In some lonely unknown hotel room surrounded by lonely unknown people. Nothing and noooooo-body. Nothing.
Nothing.
I'd had it.
I took the cap off of the bleach, poured about 50 cc into it, and drew it up.
I was going to rid myself of this disease once and for all. I was going to flush it out, chase it out, clean it out. I was going to be pristine and pure and when I walked out of that hotel room I was going to start a brand new life without that bonobo clinging beautifully to my bloody back. Weakened but strong, I resolved.
I located a vein, positioned the point, and stuck it in unceremoniously. Or maybe with great ceremony, I don't remember. It didn't matter because about ten seconds after I emptied the outfit of its bacteria-killing properties, I was hit with blinding white light and the feeling of molten steel racing through my body. Not the superhero feeling. Not the feeling of "my strength has increased tenfold and I am invincible muahahahahahahahhhh!!" It was the feeling of death coming at me on a bullet train, hitting me, briefly flying into the air then slamming onto the floor with a definitive thud. I had the thought that I could die from this, but it would have been better than living another day as a heroin addict and an underpaid prostitute.
It's really quite amazing how quickly blood circulates. If you've ever had an IV you know what I'm talking about. IVs are usually good, though.
I could feel my veins disintegrating from the assault of the bleach. Lights were painfully bright and sound was painfully loud. The sickness I felt only amplified. Some retching. Unprotected terror. This horrible feeling. Several eternal minutes. I have to fix this. I fell to the metaphorical floor.
When I arose, I headed straight to Capp Street.
