I feel much stronger now, I was a mess when I wrote this. Back to square one, feeling like shit because I failed. But now I think of it differently, in a more positive way, in 5 years I fucked up only once, I think that’s a good way to think about it, it helps me anyway.
I might delete this … But for now it’s here .

“So yes, I fucked up, and big time. I remember in rehab I was told to watch out for the triggers that might make me want to use again. I am wrecking my brain to find what did it but I can’t, truth is in the last five years I don’t think there’s been a day when I haven’t thought about using, I just talked myself out of it. So what was different about that day?
As soon as I saw him at the bar I knew he was a user, my junkie sixth sense kicked in, he didn’t look like one, he looked clean in the way Italian guys always look, put together. You know their mother washes and irons their clothes, even the jeans; but I just knew, it’s something in the eyes. And then the craving started, I could smell it, I anticipated the ritual, the rush and the feeling of being wrapped up in cotton wool, not a fucking care in the world.
We talked for a while, he congratulated me on being clean for so long and of course told me all about how he was getting clean too, he gave me his phone number.
I managed to talk myself out of it, went home and then it was all I could think of: just this once, I am in a good place, just for the buzz, a little taste, I’ll smoke it it won’t be so bad – and of course that last thought immediately dismissed because don’t you remember how much better shooting up is?
I called him and met with him, almost wet in anticipation.
I brought him back to my place and walked past P, I couldn’t even look at him, went to my bedroom.
When I used I liked to set up the shot myself, I liked the ritual of it and I was always impatient, other people seemed to move in slow motion, but this time I let him do it as I watched.
He tells me he doesn’t have sex anymore, not in a long time, he likes to shoot up girls because it looks like they are cumming when the smack hits them, he asks me can he do it to me, I don’t give a shit I just want to get off already, stop talking and do it, if you get a kick out of it I couldn’t care less.
My first thought was this shit is good, and then I knew I fucked up, I made the typical mistake of over estimating my tolerance, I thought: so this is how I go. And all I could feel was acceptance, no fear. Everything went black until I woke up surrounded by paramedics and P standing over me crying. And I was pissed off that my high was ruined.
Even in the hospital while puking up I was thinking that the next time I would be careful, take less.
So now what?
I crave it so much, I still feel cheated out of my high. Did it scare me, am I scared now? Yes.
I tell myself I have good friends around me, friends that love me and want me to be well, I have good things in my life and in my future, I don’t want to fuck this up, I don’t want to go back to being an addict, smack and feeding the habit the only thing I can think of.
But it’s at night, when I am on my own that the cravings threaten to override my rational thinking.
I am not as strong as I thought I was.”