Scholar🔜Crackhead

SCHOLAR➡️ADDICT

I graduated from an ivy league college in 1995. After graduation, I taught secondary school in Manhattan and worked on a master’s degree. I met people smoking something unfamiliar out of a glass tube during Christmas break, my second year of teaching. I had never see drugs before but I decided to try it because I wanted to be happy. I was an orphan and everything I had tried to fill the void in my life had failed. Another Christmas and I still had nothing but pity invites to share Christmas dinner with people who had families. I felt like I was wearing a sign on my back, like a kick me sign, that said “Loser.” I was tired of being such an obvious outcast in a world where everyone else was part of something bigger. If I pursued hanging out with the people I had met in a bar, I was not feeling sorry for myself. I was getting into the solution. Maybe all of us losers could form a community by being alone, together. Joining a group of drug users was a hail Mary play for companionship. It wasn’t about the drugs. The idea of trying drugs (wow!) was intriguing, but secondary to my true motive. Besides, in my book, there was no such thing as addiction. What do you mean, you can’t stop? Ridiculous.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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