I was making little girls addicted to heroin mixed with fentanyl

I’m a white guy from middle to upper middle class background, college educated, this shouldn’t have been me.<br><br>I’m a drug addict, I’m currently sober 6 months today and grateful for that. I thought I would never get away from this life. I couldn’t sleep at night knowing what I had done, I knew I had to change, and I didn’t know if I could. <br><br>I had gone from snorting and smoking heroin, to shooting it, now shooting it mixed with fentanyl. I was so focused on it, I used to fill my syringes for the next two days and keep them in the fridge overnight just incase I woke up in the middle of the night and needed a shot. Two days worth of medicine in one syringe. <br><br>I started selling to my coworkers, then my friends, family friends’ kids, and then to random people I met on Facebook. I couldn’t control myself, I knew what I was doing but I had to feed my habit. I was making $400 a day and spending $200 of that on my own dope. <br><br>I really think this is where it hit me the hardest. Little white girls with their hair half shaved off coming to my house at 3am scared to death to buy heroin from me. They were 16, 17, 18, 19, 20 years old. I wasn’t their only dealer, but I was the cheapest. <br><br>I used to live in a 3 bedroom house, by myself, in a good neighborhood. My house was nice, it was like a college house, but my basement was disgusting. Dank, dirty, stained carpets, blankets all over the floor with dirty shots and random needles laying around. I’m pretty sure I was the only white guy in the area that had a trap in his basement. I had speakers playing hip hop in the basement, and the end of my couches covered in sheets. It was gross. <br><br>I was making good money, I had a good job working construction, and I was proud of where I lived. But the basement, it was where I did all my business. I’d meet buyers in parking lots or at my house, then I’d bring them in the basement to do the exchange. My basement became my living room, my safe haven. I’d meet girls on tinder and bring them down to my basement, they had no idea what they were in for. <br><br>I remember one night I had 5 or 6 people in my basement at once, all strangers except for one girl I was seeing. Some of them were only 18, the others were mid-twenties. I had white, Hispanic, African American, and Columbians in my basement. I was still relatively new to selling heroin, but I felt like a drug lord. <br><br>I had a couple of guns in my house, I kept them hidden just incase something went wrong. I’ve always been a big guy, but I’m not stupid. I knew that if I ever tried to fight a stranger in my house I would lose, so I kept a gun hidden under the couch. <br><br>I never thought I’d be able to stop selling dope, or even that I wanted to. I knew I had to stop, but I didn’t know how to escape. My drug use was getting worse, my mental health was deteriorating, and I was seeing myself ruin my life. I was living a double life, one where you’d think I was a normal guy. I had a good job, a nice house, and an awesome truck. Nobody knew how deep I was in. <br><br>I’d get so high I couldn’t even walk, I’d pass out on the bathroom floor and wake up hours later with no idea what time it was. My phone was always buzzing, and people were always showing up to my house unannounced. <br><br>Things took a turn one night when I was high as a kite. I ended up going to the emergency room because I thought I was having a stroke. I was having trouble breathing and my body hurt so bad I couldn’t move. It turned out I had a blood clot in one of my lungs from shooting heroin/fent through a dirty needle. <br><br>I spent a week in the hospital getting anticoagulants and pain management medicine. I was told not to do any drugs for a few months. I knew it was a wake up call, but I wasn’t ready. <br><br>I got my first tattoo of a snake on my left rib cage when I was released from the hospital. I thought it was a good idea at the time to go and get a tattoo with a blood clot in my lung. <br><br>I went back to work a month later, and back to selling drugs. I earned quadruple what I was making before. I started running with the wrong crowd, and they influenced me to do more drugs, Xanax, crystal meth, LSD, and more heroin. <br><br>I started using LSD before my shifts on the construction site. It was a terrible idea. I’d already go into work really high on heroin, then take a hit of acid and try to interact with hundreds of people. I remember one time when I was cutting metal and I couldn’t feel my hands. I looked up and saw my boss staring at me. The boss I was selling heroin to his niece. <br><br>I got into a few fights at work, and my boss started questioning my sobriety. He asked me to take a drug test, I refused, I knew I’d be fired so I quit. My mental health was terrible, I wasn’t sleeping, couldn’t eat, and I was extremely paranoid. I went on a few rounds of different antidepressants and nothing worked. I was a zombie, a heroin addict zombie. <br><br>One night I had a few buyers lined up, and a girl I was seeing came over. I used to have sex with her for heroin. She was a heroin addict, and I knew it. I’d do whatever I could to get more dope, even if it meant I had to fuck a heroin addict. <br><br>I had buyers in my basement, and a heroin addict in my bedroom. I got tired of sitting around in the basement, so I walked upstairs in my pajamas. Heroin addicts don’t care what you look like, they are there to cop dope. <br><br>I started cooking the dope, and my buyer asked if I really needed to get high right now. I said yeah, I haven’t been high in a few hours. I then proceeded to take my shirt off and shoot up heroin in front of her. <br><br>I mixed two days worth that night, 1ml, way too much for anyone. I knew what I was doing, I rolled my eyes and said oh well. I shot that shit in my arm and almost blacked out right away. I ran upstairs, laid in my bed, and couldn’t move. <br><br>I laid in my bed for 11 hours, I passed out at 3am and didn’t wake up until 4pm. I had 20 people calling and texting me, and buyers showing up to my house. I never thought I was gonna wake up, but I did. <br><br>The next day I had to cancel all my buyers, telling them I was too sick to meet up. I thought that would be the end of my selling days. But I ended up meeting multiple buyers that night. I couldn’t control myself, I was too deep in to stop. I knew I was gonna end up dead or in jail, but I couldn’t stop. <br><br>Things took a turn when I started to see how bad my life was. I was living in a dirty home, surrounded by dirty needles and dope residue on the counters. I had random people in my house at all times of the day, and I had hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of dope and guns in my house. <br><br>I was arrested, but not for the reasons you think. I was picked up for a warrant in a town that I’ve never been to. I have no idea why I was driving through that town, but I remember feeling so paranoid from the dope that night. I bet I drove through 5 towns that night that I had never been to. Cops pulled me over and took me in. <br><br>I ended up spending 17 days in county jail. I was so happy to be locked up. I didn’t have a phone, nobody knew where I was, and I couldn’t do drugs. It was the first time in months that I could sleep and wasn’t hungry. <br><br>I was released and picked up by my mother. She took me to my grandparents house which was a surprise. I thought she was taking me to my house, and she said I wasn’t allowed there. It was the best feeling I had in months, knowing I might be able to get my life back together. <br><br>I ended up getting sober, and stopping my selling days. I’d spend hours cleaning my house, and getting rid of dope and guns. I got a new job in the union, and I live with my grandparents now. <br><br>I moved out of my nice house, and sold my awesome truck. All of my enemies are gone, and I have a new outlook on life. I’m currently back in college, training to be a personal trainer. Life couldn’t be better, and the feeling is amazing.