Sam Paul - Why I Committed Suicide

On one really depressing day she asked me for a hot-shot [3] A hot-shot is just the slang term used for a really strong dose (usually lethal) of Heroin (or anything) due to the quantity cooked up or a higher purity level. Most junkies die because of a change in the quality of their usual supply. If the quality gets worse, there’s no problem, just a lot of pissed off junkies, but if the purity gets better and someone uses the amount they usually use, it can be too much and kill them. This happens in NY a lot where the stuff from overseas varies in consistency. and I actually brought it to her, letting her put the dope into the tube herself and then I watched her beautiful face relax as she sank into that pleasant deep sleep that precludes respiratory failure and death. Her mom had left us alone and I cried as I watched her but I realized I still couldn’t let her go. Not like that. I rushed out to get the doctor and he gave her this stuff that immediately counteracted the morphine-base and woke her up. I didn’t even get in any trouble for giving the dope to her. Apparently patients on severe pain meds overdose a lot and they have the shit that saves their life readily available. Her mom was crying and kept saying thank you to me over and over since I had reacted quick enough to go get the doctor and technically saved her daughter’s life. This was the third time I watched Jenifer die, and she would have died if I hadn’t been so selfish. It’s all becoming too fucking much to handle. I can’t pretend to play God with her life anymore.

It’s gotten so bad at home now that I would stay at the hospital all the time if Mrs. Lansing hadn’t already reserved the option solely for herself and silently forbade it. I go to Narcotics Anonymous meetings just to get out of the house and I can usually meet some people who want to go and score afterwards. I want to quit and I want to die. If I quit I’m going to spend a lot more time actively pursuing the second option, so maybe this way of life is for the best right now.

I’m now working at Malibu, the race track just down the highway from my parent’s house with the putt-putt golf and video games. I work on the track, fixing cars and helping little kids put their seatbelts on and stuff. Nothing too hard, I was glad to find something to occupy a little time after the cooking gig went sour. It’s an easy job but I can tell that I am not destined to work here for very long. There are just too many problems and things going on around me for anything good to last.

Jenifer is progressing but still can’t fucking feel anything from the stomach on down and the mental shit between us is still not connecting like it used to. I don’t know what to do. She isn’t used to me being the most important person in her life anymore and it hurts deeply, but what can I do? I’m the one letting other people tell me how to behave around her and I’ve relinquished my responsibility to be there for her so it’s my own fucking fault. She wants to be with her mother and I understand that, but nobody ever had what we had together. God, I don’t want to lose her, I don’t mind the physical problems, just don’t take her away.

My brain is screaming inside my head to talk to anyone about what’s happening and nobody wants to hear any of it. It’s too gruesome, too real to think of someone they know involved in a tragedy.

I watch Jen in physical therapy and realize that there is just so much I am not a part of now, but I honestly want to learn but I still can’t quite come to grips with hurting her this bad and I’m still getting more and more suicidal every day. I come home and we still never talk about the accident. I’m already a dope head again and that makes me even more depressed. I’ve been subconsciously pushing my habit to the limits while I’m in Dallas, hoping for the worst (or best, depending on whose point of view you’re looking at).

The other morning I woke up in my little twin kiddie bed with a needle on the mattress after passing out with it still in my arm. I remember cooking up a huge amount the night before and slowly pushing in the plunger of the syringe in order to savor the sensation of my last thoughts on Earth. When I woke up, I was depressed to be alive and I finished what was still left in the syringe after flicking out the coagulated blood.

The state of Texas is dropping Jenifer’s theft conviction and wiping out her probation. I guess having to lie on your back for three months with tubes sticking out of your body qualifies a person for dismissal of a minor misdemeanor. It’s good news for her though. My probation is still in effect in Denton I guess, but the court date for the fucking watch I stole in Dallas keeps getting put off and looms over me.

Jenifer got to go home today and she came over to my parents’ house from the hospital, which means I probably got fired from Malibu. I had requested time off for the afternoon, but the assistant manager bitch wouldn’t let me go when it was time so I snuck out over the back fence and drove home. Sometimes you have to make a decision about what’s really important in life and I felt like this was one of those things. It was good to see Jen in her racing machine and we did the family formalities. My mother showed surprising grace and poise and had even sewn together a couple of things for Jen to take with her, like a hot pad for her lap. I guess her nursing experience clued her in to some things that most people forget about. When you can’t feel your legs it’s easy to set a hot pan or plate of food in your lap and get severe burns without ever feeling anything.

Jenifer’s still shy around me but more open to me than anyone else (besides her mom) so I still see there might be hope for us if she’ll have me. I don’t want to lose her over this but I’ve made things so bad for myself and I know they’ll only get worse. It might be best to drive her away before I fuck her life up even more.

I’ve started cashing in some of my parents savings bonds that I found in a box under their bed. There’s one local bank that cashes them if I go through the drive-thru and send my mom’s driver’s license through the tube. I plan on paying everything back. I have ideas in my head that could work, but when they catch me at this I’m going to be seriously fucked even if I do have the cash to pay them back.

Seeing Jenifer again made me feel as if there might be more to the rest of my life than trying to end it with this addiction but I’m hooked and back at the point where I can’t stop again. I don’t think Jenifer can really even believe what I say half the time anymore.

Malibu called just after Jenifer had left to let me know I was definitely fired. Even if I cared enough to go in and try to explain, I still don’t know if I could make them understand. Besides my sister, I don’t think anybody understands. Maybe not even her.

My parents found out about me cashing in some of their savings bond money when they were searching my car for drugs. They found one last bond in my backseat with my mom’s forged signature on it that the bitch at the bank wouldn’t cash for me.

I’m losing my grip and I’m using my malice against them to justify taking their dough. They’re rightfully pissed and I feel like shit about it. Things are BAD, bad around here.

Now the ‘rents come into my room at odd hours searching through my things while I’m half asleep. It makes me so mad I just sit in my bed with my hands around my legs and glare or laugh at them, usually sitting on my stash if I’ve got one. Except for my sister, none of them care about me or Jenifer because they’re too busy being obsessed with themselves…like I’m not.

I officially welcome all parents to the fucking 90’s and the wonderful world of drugs where no one is immune, especially your children. The first time I took a puff off a joint I realized that I had been lied to my entire life. Pot doesn’t lower sperm counts. Pot doesn’t give men breasts or make people jump off buildings America! My mom’s an alcoholic but she doesn’t drink? What’s really going on?