True Stories: This is a graphic Non-Fiction book. I wrote this to show others who have been in the drug life, street life, recovering or even trying to cope with abuse that there are ways to get past it. To get yourself back, your real self.
I spent two years on the streets and made my way back but I never truly healed until years later in a prison cell. This is my own true story.
TRUE: TRUE STORIES FROM A SMALL TOWN #3: LIFE IN A MINOR
By Dell Sweet
Original Material Copyright © 1976 – 1984 – 2009 – 2015 by Dell Sweet
PUBLISHED BY: Writerz.net
All rights reserved, domestic and foreign
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, electronic, print, scanner or any other means and, or distributed without the author’s permission, except those permissions that have been stated in this text. Permission is granted to use short sections of text in reviews or critiques in standard or electronic print. Permission is also granted to copy and use this text in any word amount, or in its entirety, for study, or a study aid in any state, county or privately run facility: Including state prisons, county jails, mental institutions, drug programs, sex offender programs, AA, NA, or any program where the aim is to share experience to promote healthy change and progress in men and women.
LEGAL
This is not a work of fiction. Names have been withheld and changed to keep the focus on the Addiction and the Addict, not the person or persons. The story is true.
One time a man picked me up on Broad street. We were driving toward the East side It was early night. Heavy traffic. I always carried a switchblade knife then, and even with that I was always afraid. This guy punched me out of the blue, and it was clear he meant to do something to me, so I opened the door and jumped out into traffic. I got my knife out, but he took off.
A second time, the time you are asking about, I think, I was high and drunk. It was winter. It was sleeting. Very cold. A man stopped. He was driving a cop car. I was out of the city by 490 or one of those interchanges. I wasn’t trying to work. I had a deal with myself. Never get in cars when you were high, never, for any reason. It was a creed to live by. Those people who weren’t around anymore? Some of them went for rides and didn’t come back. High? Walk to where you’re going. Better yet get your stuff and go some place and stay there. But when I got high I liked to walk.
It was speed, speed made me restless, nervous, I had to move around, walk. I’m not saying I remember the early evening, I don’t, but I remember how I was, and that’s the way I was. I also drank. I got high and then drank to temper the high. Just a kid who really had no idea what I was doing to myself. I had a lot of pain. I wanted to die. I spent most of my life like that. So, I don’t remember earlier that night, but I remember later. Later it was cold. Cold and freezing rain. Turned to slush along the road, I was cold, fingers numb, and I decided to break my rule. And so I got in a car thinking it was a cop who pulled me over.
I say cop car because the car was a big Plymouth, the kind the cops drove back then. You knew what the parking lights on the front of the car looked like., you watched for that pattern of lights in traffic at night. You got to know it well. This car was that kind of car.
I remember thinking, “Great, he’s a cop.” The same kind of radio spitting static and cop calls from under the dash where it was mounted, but he was not a cop.
He had a thermos of coffee and a cooler full of beer. It was hot in the car. He offered me a beer and I turned him down. He began to talk about going with him to his house. Telling me it would be okay. No pressure. I said no.
Later… How much later I don’t know, but later I came to. I think what happened is I got into the car and the heat put me to sleep, on top of the drugs and alcohol in my body the heat just killed me. Probably days of sleep deprivation too. I woke up and we were parked somewhere. I didn’t know where, but the guy was trying to rape me and tie me up. Would have killed me if I had not got my act together fast.
I kicked him. I punched him several times too. The point was to get away and I did.
Two Days later
(Counselor: You carried a knife and you didn’t use it on this guy? The man is trying to rape you, tie you up, maybe even kill you, and you didn’t use the knife?)
I wrote all of it out in one shot on April 10th. It’s hard to write. Very depressing. And I guess I was a little scared about it too. The things I write here can cause me problems. The fact is that I did stab him, I think. I was still drunk, still scared, but I was so panicked that when I got a hand free I went for him. After I had run away from him I realized the knife was in my hand and I put it away.
I had no idea where I was. It turned out I was close to Syracuse, like, two hundred miles away from Rochester. I found I was on route 81, at a turn around in between the southbound and northbound lanes. This one was wooded. It was sleeting still, I was cold, soaked. I walked through the woods because I thought that I saw that car, the parking light configuration many times. Like the guy had turned around and was searching for me. Eventually the storm got worse. Traffic was stopped in both lanes. I made my way to a diner off one of the exits and stayed there until morning. I called someone and they came and got me and took me back to Rochester.
Years later, in prison, I walked into the TV room. This was a medium. They have TV rooms that all the inmates share. It was toward the end of my bid. The TV was on, they had caught some serial killer. He had raped, tortured and killed dozens of young guys, and then buried them beneath the floorboards of his house. The face came up on the screen and it was him. I was positive it was him. The eyes were the same. The guy I remembered was thinner, but the eyes were same. There have been a few times since then that I have not been so sure he was the guy, but that makes me relive it in my head and I’m convinced all over again that it was him.
That guy made a serious impact on my life. Changed the way I acted towards people, trusted, everything.
by Dell Sweet
$4.99
In AA they say that addictions will take you to hospitals, Mental Institutions and Prisons. It’s true. They will. I have been in all of those places because of my addictions. But addictions are not responsible for the life I lead entirely, and certainly not responsible for the things I did. I may have used because I believe it solved problems, or to cover pain, but the decisions I made, I made because I wanted to make them. Because I chose to make them.
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addiction, streets, addiction and recovery, drugs and crime, addiction, memoirs, drugs, alcohol, addict, alcoholic, family, recovery, drugs, abuse, prostitiution, addiction, breaking addiction and mental illness,
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