Just to give a little history my Pops and I never really got along. I honestly thought he would wake up in the morning, go pee, look himself in the mirror and say, “How can I mess this kid up a little more today?” I know that may sound harsh to some, but I truly believed it, this is why I I ran away from home as a child the first time when I was 14, stayed gone a few years, and only went back mainly to bury my younger brother Sean before I was gone again. Joining the Army was in a sense my way of showing Pops that I did have value and maybe deep inside I hoped he would tell me that he was proud of me. Have you ever seen that meme with the skeleton on the bench with something like, “Me just hanging out waiting for my sister to call”?   I think you get the picture, my Pops was not one to pat anyone on the back, but I’ve gotten past that. I was a big boy, E-4 in the United States Army, “hooah” and all that.

So, I thought I would just pull up at 6pm knowing that Pops would be home. You see, after he stopped drinking many years ago you could just about set your watch on what he was doing. He’s up getting ready to go to work, well it’s about 6:30 am. He’s sitting in his recliner telling everyone to be quiet, well its 6:00 pm and he’s watching the Nightly News, and Mom, well since three of my brothers had died, she’s at home most of the time. Come to think of it, she’s always been home taking care of us, what’s left of us anyway.  So 6:00 pm would be a good time, no wait… better make it 6:30 pm, I don’t want to interrupt the Nightly News.

I was heading that way after leaving my high school sweetie’s house, not that we went to high school together. She went to Jefferson High School and let’s just say I should have been going to Holmes High School. We met while we were both working at a burger joint during those years and the rest is history, and when I say history, I mean history. Not to get off on a rabbit trail, but when I left for the Army, I told her I was going to marry her, and your word is your word. See in the Army, the pay wasn’t really too good, and I was always looking for ways to make more money, so when I found out that if I lived off post, I would get a separate housing allowance…well, to live off post you had to be married. This gets even better. There was also this extra money I would get for food. Yep, I got married. Now the fact was that Judy, my new wife, had lived a very sheltered life with a dad who was a bean counter and a Hispanic mom who never worked a day in her life, which really wasn’t that shocking during that time in history. Judy always wanted to get away from San Antonio, and her mom, dad and her very annoying little brother. I know this may sound weird, but she had never been out of the city of San Antionio, Texas in 19 years – her whole life!  Once I took her to make out on the dam at Canyon Lake, 30 miles outside of San Antiono, but I think you get the picture. A match made in heaven, except it cost more for rent, electricity, water, sewer and cable – way more than what the Army was giving up.  You might be thinking well that’s a tough one, at least I had a wife to fulfill the wifely duties and all, but you would be wrong. Six weeks into the marriage and let’s just say Judy no longer thought that very annoying little brother was that big of a deal and she went back home to the beautiful city of San Antonio. I did notice my monthly food allowance seemed to last longer once she left.

Anyway, leaving her place and on my way to surprise my folks, you know I had a strange feeling, not really a feeling like I shouldn’t do this surprise visit, but more like maybe I should make a quick call just before I got there, you know to settle the waters a bit. I can already hear the old man, “Well it would have been nice to have a little heads up.” There goes Archie Bunker for the night. I did call, and boy am I glad I did. Mom was hysterically crying and it was hard to even understand what she was saying. My parents never really seemed to know real love, it really just seemed that they tolerated each other most of the time and I always wrote it off to my dad just being my dad, and the fact that they buried 3 children, and how does one even deal with that? I didn’t know it had gotten so bad. I had been gone probably close to 5 years and looking back I can’t remember where my youngest brother was, but I know he wasn’t there. Which was usually his thing, not being there. I’m sure it was mostly self-preservation, anyway, I was making out a little of what Mom was saying or really asking, demanding that I come quick and get all of the guns out of the house. Now she never really said exactly why, but I got it, it was like Sitting Bulls’ last stand and not knowing what tomorrow would bring. She had the sense to just get all the fire power out of the home. Giving it a quick thought, I was thinking well, this is a little weird. I mean I have always been the I’m not going to say black sheep, but my track record was not very good. At any rate, I showed up, and no Pops (good).

I started to round up the guns in the house, thinking it would be maybe a pistol and a shotgun. Nope, not even close. Two shotguns, four pistols, three rifles, a Derringer and enough ammunition to hold off Santa Anna’s army. It took me two hours to load everything up and remember, back then most pickups were just two doors with a single seat (bench style). There were no extended cabs or club cab styles. I had a little Nissan two- door, bench seat, pick-up truck. Everything of course had to go right where a passenger would have sat and then I was off.

You must remember this was the late 70’s and well the gun laws in Texas were nonexistent. I was 19 years old, had my Army fatigues on and yes, they were bloused up. That’s when I started to think “It’s ok to take these guns to Fort Sill Oklahoma, right? Wait, I’m going to cross a state line…” and then suddenly smash! I got hit head-on. I had only driven two blocks from the house I grew up in, with Army fatigues on, 10 firearms of various sorts, and enough ammunition to…well, you get the point. It turns out that the lady that ran head-on into my now smashed truck was drunk and I mean drunk. I’m thinking “Ok, well this is going to take the spotlight off my rolling gun safe, maybe.” I call the police and report the accident and being outside of the city limits just a bit, sometimes it’s a wait for the Sheriff to show up. Not this time. They must have been just around the corner. Well, you are not going to believe this. Even though it had been many years since I was, you know in the neighborhood where I had built a reputation of sorts, let’s just say the Sheriffs in the area knew who I was as a young teenager and sure enough it was Officer Deputy Billy, who was always mad. He doesn’t recognize me, but one look at my driver’s license and all I heard was “Kevin? The Kevin Hyland?” and you guessed it, he remembers me. This is not going to go well. All I could think of was “the Hyland curse,” but that’s a whole other blog. Believe me, when I say this, I was shocked when Officer Deputy Billy asked, “Kevin did you rob a gun show?” and my quick reply, “No sir, Mom was a little upset with my Pops and she just thought it was a good idea to remove the guns from the house” and then he stopped me. “Son, I have been to your house three times in the last 60 days. I think that’s probably the best idea I have heard all week. Look at you all grown up! I heard you went off to join the Army – another good idea! Let me get you an incident number and oh by the way, the old gal that hit you, well, she’s going to jail.”

I’m not going to say I was happy she was going to jail, but I was definitely happy that I wasn’t.

Now granted I have been to prison more than once and the whole process is at best a learning experience, I’m not really sure I would go as far as to express a lot of rehabilitation. Yet like everything in life, it is an opportunity. Like most opportunities, you can get out of it based on what you put into it.

Going to prison has sure educated me in the whole process of understanding just what it is to be incarcerated. I myself being somewhat of a fast learner I didn’t need a 10 to 20-year sentence to understand the whole being locked up scenario.  Believe me, there are many who have spent many more years than me behind bars.

Being in California and I basically fell under the drug offender type sentencing which was famous for following a 16 / 2/ and 3 sentencing pattern. That means 1^st offense was 16 months, 2^nd offense was 2 years, and the third offense was 3 years. If there happened to be a 4^th offense, well they just encouraged you to run for public office.

All and all I had already done my 1^st offense of 16 months and while out on parole and still active in my addiction I was arrested for breaking into cars where I had found some knick-knacks and a gun.  The short version of the story would be along the lines of “a felon with a gun gets 5 years automatic,” I mean that is the law in most states. Not so fast.  Call it “Luck of the Irish” or “God Had His Hand on Me,” or maybe just my “Winning Day at the Lottery!” It seemed that the gun I stole out of a vehicle, which by the way was parked right outside of an establishment known for prostitution, just happened to belong to an off-duty police officer.

Now I am not jumping to conclusions, but neither was the city. They were not going to allow the press to get a hold of this little mishap and quietly decided not to charge me for the police officer’s gun I was in possession of. Granted, I had broken the law, so they felt the best-case scenario would be to violate my parole and return me to prison for a year.

Usually on a sentence in the California Department of Corrections in the 80’s you were given what they called 2 for 1, every one day of incarceration you received credit for 2 days. Granted there were some stipulations – you were required to brush your teeth, not talk back, and the big one, don’t kill anybody. Follow these few rules and you would qualify for the 2 for 1 statute. Except there were certain offenses that did not qualify and well, guns fell into that category.

Doing time was different for everyone with a big emphasis placed on keeping busy, which was called “doing your program.” This was different for everyone, yet generally meant to keep busy doing a repetitive daily schedule of events to occupy your time. Some did a lot of exercises and weight lifting, others were always playing cards, many read, and there were a few opportunities to hold some type of job where you worked to add to the running of the prison such as laundry, chow hall, library, cleaning, fighting forest fires, and well the list goes on. Usually, everyone fell into one or more of these areas filling their day staying busy doing time.

I found myself fighting forest fires, but not able to keep my mouth shut and my hands to myself I found myself in lockdown at the famous Folsom Prison in a 2-man cell with Albert. Albert was serving 3 life sentences for I’m going to guess murder, but he really wasn’t the talkative type especially when it came to his crimes. By the way, those who think Jonny Cash was also incarcerated at the famous Folsom Prison in Folsom, California would be wrong. He did perform for the guests at this fine facility at which time he requested overnight lodging in a holding cell and they obliged. That was almost 20 years before my time there, yet Albert told me all about it.  

Everyone did time differently but those of us who had a realistic understanding of when they were going to be released did some type of counting. Years, months, weeks and there were those who to me were not so smart, counted days. I myself used the milk carton method which prompted me to count weeks up until I saw my parole date on the milk carton. You know, the expiration date.  Every morning they would bring our trays to our cell with breakfast and there was always a very small carton of milk on each tray. Once I saw my release date as the expiration date on the milk carton, well it was time to prepare for going home. Maybe that was a little dramatic because I really didn’t have a home except for prison.  One thing for sure, I was going to be released and soon.

What goes through your mind when being released from prison? Of course, nowadays things are a bit different upon release as to how and where you go. Back then in California upon your release, you were driven to the bus station with a ticket to whatever town you were originally arrested in. I mean that makes sense right? You were given $100 when released and a promise to receive another $100 upon your first check-in with the parole department.

Now there was a large number of folks in prison who to a degree were somewhat really ok with being in prison as that is all they knew, they were comfortable in a sense, and often that was generationally a way of life. There was not a lot of responsibility, rent was cheap, utilities were free, and the chances of you starving to death were really minimal. This was not so much the case with me.  Granted I did have a lazy side to my thinking and found myself falling somewhat into that thought process “well as a backup plan there is always prison.”

This is my second departure from prison with somewhat of a pattern developing in my thinking, what is it that I am going to do? Running for a public office was always on the table, yet I didn’t quite qualify just yet. I mean being Irish and a bit shady what could go wrong? Not dwelling on that too much, I did feel changing my scenery or location might prove to be a benefit.  Where would I go, where would I work, how do I provide just the basics for myself, what about my addiction and love of the whole drug scene, which by the way only looks appealing standing on the outside looking in. It’s crazy how your mind works. I’ve been doing this so long, what’s going to be different this time, what are my resources, where would I go for help? I really didn’t have any supportive network or family set up. Let’s face it, who even cared?

I did. Really, it was important to me that I succeeded, became some positive element in society, but then reality kicked in. Doesn’t everyone leaving prison want to succeed to some degree and yet they continued to ride the whole revolving door policy of the judicial system? Not me, not this time, I have a bus to catch. Right now, it’s just putting one foot in front of the other and all I keep repeating to myself is “I’m not going back to visit Albert, I’m not going back to visit Albert, I’m not going back to visit Albert.”

Isn’t Everyone an Enabler?

I would say absolutely.  Yes, there are people who go to great strengths to ensure they are never in a position or a situation that may cause them to enable another human being for one reason or another. This may stem from them being standoffish, non-communicative, and even withdrawn from relationships, but upon sitting down to their computer or even their cell phone, they too become an enabler.

 I guess we should look at some real definitions before I get started:

Merriam/Webster ^[i] Enable Definition:

1.       To make (someone or something) able to do or to be something.

2.       To make (something) possible, practical, or easy.

3.       Technical: to cause (a feature or capability of a computer) to be active or available for use.

Without going too deep into the angles and levels of enabling, I honestly feel parenting and enabling go hand and hand. I would go so far as to say that we live in a world where we now find ourselves with change being an accelerated existence. Don’t get me wrong, I do believe change is part of the whole process and will always be part of the whole moving from today into tomorrow. Yet with that said, getting really honest and personal with myself as a parent allowing (enabling) my children to do certain things for selfish and even unhealthy reasons has to have a general effect on future change. A perfect example would be me as a parent laying or sitting my child down to watch TV, be it a movie, cartoon, or even as they grew older whatever it was they chose to watch, just to ensure that well honestly I could have some outlet knowing they were occupied to some degree and I was able to involve or use my time as I felt best for my personal agenda. You may be thinking to some degree this is very acceptable and you would be right, yet us as humans being more drawn to laziness as a human trait this can really allow this whole process to venture into a degree of becoming and/or teaching a very unhealthy pattern with some life-lasting consequences.  Granted, I’m aging myself as it was VHS movies, Disney Channel, and even some Christian-type cartoons at the time, what could go wrong?  Enabling like so many things in life falls directly into healthy and unhealthy levels sometimes all coming down to the old saying “everything in moderation.”  Which moving into today’s parenting and time has really taken a turn into the digital age and from where I stand there is a much greater risk and damage at a complete accelerated rate beyond anything we have ever seen.

I initially wanted to discuss and offer some education on enabling especially how it related to addictions, but after many hours of research and reading you might just say I am a complete mess and that would be a complete understatement as I now see that this whole act of enabling is so deep and very complicated on many levels. I feel it safe to say that enabling in itself can be a form of addiction. I once read a statement on idswater.com about enabling that somewhat really rocked my whole action of processing what I once thought was enabling.  

“The enabler subconsciously uses the emergency situations created by the addiction to get noticed, feel important, and participate in the relationship. Just like the behavior of an alcoholic is changed by the addiction, so is the character of the enabler. Addiction creates enablers out of loving, well-meaning people.”

Yes, that is harsh, but with that and the whole loving and caring for one, we feel a responsibility for either a family member, a spouse, a coworker, or a close friend. How can we help stop their pain, help them to get help, fix this monstrous devastating cycle that’s killing them?

 I need answers.

I was sitting in a training session once where a visualization was presented by the facilitator expressing a situation where we were standing alongside someone we loved and cared for or felt some responsibility for. We were in a pool that was 4 feet deep on one end and 6 feet deep on the other.  The person we were with could not swim and was only 5 foot tall and we are at the end of the pool that was 6 foot deep. We had such a need or desire to ensure that they did not drown that every time it appeared that they might go under we injected ourselves helping them back to the surface. The lesson was that if we had not injected our life-saving measures, the person on their own may have learned to float or hold their breath while bouncing and reached a part of the pool where they could stand on the bottom and find that they were completely safe. This may be a very simple visualization, but it really gives a look into the whole process of enabling, one to a degree that; not only are we injecting ourselves into a problem, we on some level become part of the problem.

It is so hard to watch someone who is in pain and even endangering themselves, especially a person we feel some responsibility for or even love. There are so many steps and actions that we can take to help, but stopping their pain or altering their pain may not be the best course of action.  Every situation is different.  We must know where our control starts and stops. This is one of the hardest things to grasp. We are all enablers to some degree or another and the stigma of negativity that may go along with such a title is flawed.  With a support base, education, and a greater understanding of your role there can be a healthy level of enabling.

Please watch for my next blog on tools and actions to better help an addict.

^[i]https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/enable

Bambi, Bambi, Bambi. Where is she? Well, I knew there was a very good chance that I would never see my $50.00 or even good old Bambi for that matter, but I was so intrigued by this whole underground business. I mean just how big was this secret group of people that spent money on this drug and how often did they spend this money? What were the effects of taking this drug and where in the hell did this drug even come from? There were so many questions I had and so little knowledge with my focus mainly on the monetary aspect.  I did some research on this stuff called speed (Methamphetamine) to see if I could figure out what it was all about. Here’s what I learned:

“A scientist first developed amphetamine-type stimulants—including methamphetamine—as a manmade alternative to the ephedra plant. Ephedra is a type of shrub whose extract has been used in traditional Chinese medicine for over 5,000 years. In 1885, Nagai Nagayoshi—a Japanese chemist studying in Germany—identified the active chemical in ephedra, a stimulant called ephedrine. Methamphetamine was difficult to make until 1919 when another Japanese chemist—Akira Ogata—streamlined the process. He used phosphorus and iodine to reduce the ephedrine into a crystallized form, creating the world’s first crystal meth.” ^[1]

The whole Amphetamine craze really took off in the 1940s, especially during WWII where this drug was used and ultimately abused by pilots, seamen, and ground troops.  Kamikaze pilots used very large doses of the drug to help them in carrying out their task of crashing their airplanes in a hyped-up type of rage. As with every type of drug, people were not always following the recommended dosages or uses. Amphetamines were used for conditions like hyperactivity, congestion, depression, and breathing problems. People who used Amphetamines lost weight and this in turn caused another explosion of use and misuse. As the original patents expired a slew of small companies manufactured a very large amount of over-the-counter weight loss pills which caused the FDA to step in and start to regulate all amphetamines and their uses.

Eventually, a different chemical process resulted in a crystal form of Amphetamine known as Methamphetamine which produced a very quick and very extensive euphoric response when ingested.  Methamphetamine was widely used in the 1960s thru 1970s, especially by the flower-power-type hippies in the Haight-Ashbury area in California.  It was known as “the love drug.” By this time the Methamphetamine produced did not contain the plant Ephedra and was being made with chemicals being purchased on the open market.  It seemed everyone was getting into the production of Methamphetamine. The downside was that every chemical from battery acid to starting fluid that was being used to make Methamphetamine had skull bones somewhere on their labeling and these were all very harmful if ingested into the human body.

After a little research on the history of Methamphetamine, I wasn’t sure I was any better at understanding the drug but it sure had piqued my interest, to say the least. One thing I did know was that there was a crazy market for it out there and I was intrigued.

I don’t want to prolong this any longer.  Bambi did show up and not only did she show up, but she did exactly what she said she would do as far as returning my investment with interest. So, I took the next step and well maybe it was a jump, but Bambi and I became not only business associates but we also dipped into other associate-type levels, if you are following me. As time went on not only did Bambi move in with me, but she brought a few other girlfriends which were for a better understanding, field salespeople. I mean what a feeling of a kingdom in a sense and I was the leader to some degree as I was supplying most of the money to make the drug purchases and I was supplying the housing for the team, which by the way was really something especially for a young man in his early 20’s. Granted I was still working my regular job, but when I wasn’t it seemed to be a constant party atmosphere.  As you probably already guessed it, I too became a customer of my own product, be it at a very small level.  l really felt it was important to you know, to see what it was I was financing. Okay, okay. I know that’s BS as I was really wanting to be part of the party, as not only did Bambi use, but so did her “sales team.”

It didn’t take long before this whole venture was bringing in more money in a week than I could make selling insurance in a month. Well, as the manager of this enterprise, it was time to make a few big decisions. Should I quit my regular 8-5 job? My one-bedroom apartment now had 4 people living in it, should I find a bigger place? Not to mention it appeared we were stirring up a lot of onlookers, especially close neighbors what with all the traffic and late nights or should I say all nights? I was amazed at how long we could stay awake. Sometimes it was days before we would crash and we were definitely spending less and less money on food and more and more on alcohol. It was time to expand, so I quit my job and secured a four-bedroom home in an upscale neighborhood.  By this time, we had also expanded into about 8 pool hall establishments selling at least five nights a week at each location. I guess the hardest part of this whole venture was navigating all the different personalities and drama associated with mostly the team.

I had noticed that the amount of product (drug) which was being used within the home by those living there (the sales team) had really increased over the past few months. Also, I had made the leap from snorting the drug to now having Bambi inject me with the it, which was a whole other experience. To sit back and try to explain the effects of injecting speed into your veins would be next to impossible as the whole feeling, the rush was like something out of a storybook. It made you feel as though you could do anything and the pleasure triggers, well let’s just say I had figured out why it was labeled “the love drug” in the early 1960s.

There was another aspect to using speed that was not well known until the late ’70s.  Adderall was being prescribed for hyperactive children.  Yes, it was speed, but it had an opposite effect on hyperactive children and helped to calm them down.  Well, you guessed it – even though I was not labeled as having Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) when I was a child – back then it was just called “misbehaving” – I fell right smack in the spectrum of ADHD. So that really played into my using speed, as it helped me sort things out and get things into perspective, into their proper compartments in a sense. That was true to some degree, but as time went on that definitely went out the window, because as you know progression is not a positive word when one speaks of drug use and addiction.  

^[1] https://www.history.com/topics/crime/history-of-meth

How does a child move on after being so close to death? I would like to ask the same about an adult but I personally believe children are better at dealing with the traumas of life. I know that sounds weird but think about it – a child has fewer life experiences and life garbage that keeps them from muddying up the whole moving on process. So, moving on is what I did after my brother died.  Granted the whole expressing one’s feelings and talking through it was not something we were known for in the Hyland home. My Pops, well his method was out-of-sight-out-of-mind.  He expressed that we should neither mention nor even talk about Sean’s death and he went to great depths to ensure we stuck to the plan. Mother, well she was definitely a stuffer, at least until the build-up was beyond control and that whole scene was always emotionally explosive. So let’s just say I took a little bit of both methods and moved on.

Having a strong level of incompatibility with my father and a mindset where I had a better plan for life, it was not long after Sean’s death where I found myself doing life on my own. I was free styling in a sense.  I was still going to school but I had moved out and was renting a room downtown and working evenings and weekends at a burger joint. One day at school there were some Air Force recruiters who were selling oceanfront property in the Great State of Wyoming and hey in some back compartment of my mind I thought this would show my dad that I had value and was at least as good as him, right? See my Pops was not one to pat you on the back or even offer praises along the way. He was the complete opposite, even going as far as to say I would be dead or in prison by the age of 18.  Boy I showed him as I didn’t go to prison until I was 27, the first time anyway.  I learned later in life, much later when I was really analyzing my addiction that when a child is growing up and can never seem to gain the acceptance of a father or meet his expectations it can have a very large bearing on life moving forward and usually not in a good way.

Well, I didn’t make it into the Air Force as I failed the test by 1 point, but not all was lost as there were some very nice gentlemen who approached me as I was leaving the testing center. They wanted to offer me a job telling me “I can be all I can be,” whatever the hell that meant. I expressed to these very nice gentlemen that I had failed the test already at which time they said some fancy words which really meant their standards in the Army were a bit different from the Air Force and that they were also a tougher group. You know at some psychological level I felt that this could work as my Pops never had much good to say about the Army, so not finishing high school and going into the Army was what I did.

As I look over my life and all the different chapters I will say that my time in the military was groundbreaking. I not only learned a trade, but I learned about my own capabilities, teamwork, communication, leadership, organization, and most importantly how to navigate and live life. I have always said that my first big mistake in life was not staying in the military and I often wonder what my path would have been if that one decision was made differently. Money was a factor at this point in my life.  I wanted more, needed more, dreamed of more, and well I wasn’t going to reach these dreams staying in the military, at least that was how my mind at 21 worked. Well after three honorable years of military service, obtaining an insurance license, studying for my realtors’ license, failed marriage #1, and some new muscles, I was off to the free world of enterprise.  I went to work for a large well-known insurance company based in San Antonio selling and servicing life insurance to active and retired military. I wore a three-piece suit and worked at a desk from 8am to 5pm Monday thru Friday in the corporate world.  Now to find more money.

Being 22 years old, single, well-employed, and living in an upscale apartment on the country club golf course, what should I do in my spare time? Adventure! That’s what you do and so it began. I found myself venturing out into the young, single-life spots in the evenings, you know places that they now call sports bars but were actually upscale pool hall establishments in the early 80’s. I did not have any problem meeting people and blending in at that time and that has only gotten better as I age. I found myself out there thick into the scene when one evening I was asked by a young woman if I wanted to buy a dime of speed. A dime of speed? Not only did I not know much about speed but why would someone be selling 10 cents worth of anything?  And that small of an amount? Man, this must be some really good stuff. My curiosity was really percolating now as I asked where the price break was if bought more? Well, she politely said there was no price break, two was $20 and three was $30. Boom! I felt stupid.  A dime bag was not a dime, it was $10 but I had already shown interest, so yea let me get one. Now I was amazed at what a little bit of some white powder not only cost but what would it do and how does one do it? Buying the bag of speed with never really any intention of doing any I put it into my pocket and continued my night.

My mind was really working overtime in amazement that people would spend money on such a small amount of what seemed an insignificant thing to me. I had so many questions and where did this pretty young woman go? I had to know more as I thought I found the money.  Wait.  There she is.  Her name was Bambi, which I later found out was not her real name but a code name meant to keep her real identity a secret. I spent about an hour learning from Bambi and also trying to convince her I wasn’t some special agent working for whoever I guess the bad guys were.  Well after much convincing and a very interesting conversation it appeared Bambi and I were now in business together. I gave her $50 and she said to meet her back at the same pool hall in two days where she would return my investment plus an extra $25. I left and all I could think about was that scene in “Scarface” where Al Pacino says, “Say hello to my little friend.” Ok, Ok, Ok! I know what you are thinking.  Not only did that sound corny but you’re probably also thinking I would never see Bambi again much less my 50 bucks…see you on the next blog.

If I have learned anything in life I have learned to learn. The value in learning from my own mistakes, my own living, and my own experiences has proven to be priceless. Yet the other side of that coin is everyone else. I find it so valuable to learn from others with the mindset that not only can I learn from the brightest minds out there, but I can also gain so much knowledge from the normal or even weaker links in the chain. There is learning all around each and every one of us even in the simplest forms of our lives. For example, you can learn so much from others as you sit back and watch children as they navigate in today’s social settings, as you become part of an adult group working to solve a family emergency, as you witness a person in action as they are forced to be the solution to a human involved accident, or as you work closely with a spouse or coworker to reach a preset goal. There are daily situations where you can not only become more in tune with yourself as you act and stay committed to your own personal outcomes but you can also obtain a great amount of data from those all around you. Life is so full of education and the world is our classroom.  I don’t know if anyone else has said those exact words before but I take ownership moving forward.

I know that in everyday life we are subjected to so many different circumstances and to so many people, but so much time and energy is lost in not only playing defense in life but also in being so busy and overwhelmed just trying to survive and placing so much stock in getting to the next task, the next level, or the next bridge, circumstance, fire, desire, failure, mistake, accomplishment, relationship, or just the damn grocery store. With the way the world is how can we possibly slow down enough to learn more?

Over the past few years we lost so many people and yes, COVID was a part of that but there were many other causes to include old age, poor health, disease, accidents, and just natural causes. We have had the front seat to about 8 friends or family who we were close enough to, to allow us the blessing to have spent personal time with them during their last days. This in itself is an experience that can affect you in many ways. At first the significance may elude us, but the lessons and the things we can learn from one who knows the race is done is beyond value. I look back and feel it is so important to analyze, learn, and review each and every situation for possibly selfish motives but also for very important reasons such as to learn what it will be like, how does one cope, what is of importance at the end, how do those who are close deal with it, what transitions are going through the mind, and the list goes on. Just as it is in life I feel there is much to learn from death.

Granted as most know I am a work in progress as a Christian and really don’t have much fear in dying and personally feel this is the majority of the battle. To know that at my death the journey is set gives me such a feeling of warmth, love, and freedom from worry.  With that said and what I have personally found to be very amazing while spending time with those at the end of their earthly journey is that there is a common subject associated with each and every person, and with most of those close to those dying. Every person that I have spent time with in their final weeks and days all expressed the same concern. They have lived their life. They have worked, played, struggled, and loved with the cards they were dealt, but every one of them expressed that they wished they had spent more time or had more time to spend on relationships. Not one person stated that they needed to make more money, or wished they had bought a larger house, or that they had worked harder or even worked more hours. Not one person said to me that they wished they had voted Republican or Democrat instead or had played sports or even watched sports, not one person expressed the need to have more cars or even bigger faster cars for that matter, but each and every one of those dying expressed and usually more than once, that they wished they had spent more time with friends, enemies, children, brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, wives, husbands, coworkers, aunts, uncles, nephews, and even people they didn’t know. I had one person even tell me they just wanted to meet more people. Wow, if that doesn’t hit home.

I know for me personally this does hit home. Each of our family or friends who recently died struck a cord in me knowing that I too wished there was more time for a longer, better relationship with each and every one of them. We live in a world where we strive at doing life with little or no possible personal connection. It’s easier to text or to send an email and nowadays if someone knocks at my front door first thing I think is “Who’s bothering me,” or “Is it the police or someone I owe money to?” Now we are trending to a level of not even having to report to a work place so as to limit the chance of contaminating one another with COVID. We know we can shop and buy anything without ever leaving our couch at home.  We can buy a car, groceries, prescriptions, clothing, toilet paper, and even a house without leaving home.  I even saw a tank for sale the other day that could be delivered directly to you.

We can learn so much in life but I feel the caviar of life is taught in death. I will chose to eat and share life closer and more often with others as I love to learn from each and every one of them.

Returning to San Antonio is somewhat of a blur, but I’m not really sure why. I was worried to some degree of what was going to happen when I presented myself back home, and also worried about Sean’s condition. If you remember from the previous story it took me over two weeks to get to New York from Texas, but the return trip only took me four days.

Let me give you a little background information before I continue with the details of that trip.  My childhood was pretty much normal, as normal as a family element can be. There were five boys, two older than me and two who were younger than me.  My Pops was a very intelligent guy and in the Air Force where he retired after 25 years. He had a short temper and battled with alcohol which he did overcome later in life. My mother was a warrior in the early years, but towards the end of her life she was exhausted and showed some serious signs of paranoia. My brother Michael was born in 1955 and was the oldest. He deteriorated from about age 3 until his death at age 17 from Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy (DMD). Patrick was born in 1957 and was the second oldest.  He died in 1958 when he was 19 months old after he was accidently strangled by a Venetian blind cord. At that point I became the oldest living son. Sean followed after me.  He also had DMD which in time took his life at the age of 14. Tim was the baby and was an overall blessing to our mom until he reached his teens and decided to be like me when he came to that fork in the road and travel the bumpy one with no railing. Tim and I were perfectly healthy with no signs of any muscular disease whatsoever.

Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy is a form of muscular dystrophy. It worsens quickly. The condition most often affects boys due to the way the disease is inherited. The sons of women who are carriers of the disease (women with a defective gene, but no symptoms themselves) each have a 50% chance of having the disease. The daughters each have a 50% chance of being carriers. Very rarely, a female can be affected by the disease. There is no known cure for DMD. Treatment aims to control symptoms to improve quality of life. DMD leads to progressively worsening disability with death often occurring by age 25, typically from lung disorders.^[1]

Keep in mind that in the 1950s and 60’s there was very little known about DMD and what would be the outcome much less what to expect along the way.

So back to the trip.  I was now 16 years old and well let’s just say I had matured from my adventures and living in a different part of the country. I found myself camped out in the woods across the street from my parent’s home just looking for the inner strength to make an appearance. I was probably hoping I would be spotted to speed up the introduction but after 24 hours it was time.

Knock. Knock.  “Who’s there?” “It’s your boy, your handsome boy.” Well, that’s not exactly how this went but to my surprise there really wasn’t much along the lines of fireworks. My mother was very emotional with acceptance and love.  Pops … not so much, but he was being civil. He did allow me to stay with the understanding that I would be expected to help paint the exterior of the house to in a sense pay my way, oh yeah, and go to school.

Sean was battling pneumonia again and had lost an amazing amount of weight. He couldn’t have weighed more than 65 pounds and his body was showing all the signs of deterioration.  His spine was curved and his muscles were non-existent.  What I noticed the most was that he had lost his spunk, as he was always quick-witted and never afraid to say whatever happened to hit his lips way before thinking about what he was saying. I mean this is the same kid who once found himself in trouble with my Pops and he looked old Pops right in the eye and said “What you gonna do hit a cripple?”  His favorite saying was “You son of a bitch!” Remember, he was only 14 and I had been gone for almost a year, so this is all stuff I remember from his earlier years.

Sean had pneumonia many times before and always bounced back.  The lungs are another muscle and at the end of the day that is what muscular dystrophy attacks, all the muscles.  While many of our muscles are visible, the lungs and heart aren’t and so we tend to forget they are major affected muscles. The spring was always difficult with all the new growth and pollen which played a role in triggering allergies which would many times build yet again into pneumonia.

May 26^th was a Wednesday and Sean had a lot of congestion and had been having trouble breathing.  He was not doing well, so I had stayed home from school to help my mom as she was up most of the night with him. As the day progressed, he had more and more trouble breathing which prompted mom to load him up in the car and take him to the base hospital where we had been so many times in the past. As we traveled Sean slumped over into my lap and just cried which only made the congestion worse. Knowing that he needed to not constrict his breathing, I sat him back up but this only upset him and after he uttered a few choice words, I let him lie in my lap.  It was amazing to me that he seemed so comforted in that position. My mom asked how he was doing and I responded that he seemed to be doing better and was not making noises anymore and was probably sleeping. She pulled right up into the ambulance entrance and the nurses and doctor came out to the car reached in and asked how he was doing. Again, I said that I thought he was asleep. They listened to his chest with one of those stethoscopes and at that point the pace of the whole process went to a level that scared me as I had no idea what all the rush was for. They scooped Sean up and ran with him into the hospital. All I really remember is me sitting in the back seat of the car parked in the ambulance bay all alone for what seemed a very long time, car doors still open, not knowing what to do. At some point, someone from the hospital came out, moved the car to a parking spot and motioned me to get out as he closed the doors. Off we went to be with my mom and Sean. Well, it didn’t even hit me until they took me to my mom who was crying in a room by herself, not a medical room it was just a small office-type room, thinking why would my mom not be with Sean.

1. https://www.mountsinai.org/health-library/diseases-conditions/duchenne-muscular-dystrophy

“Well, you can stay here if you like!”

I had it all figured out right up until I found out that Grandma Hyland wasn’t at the address I had and there I was standing on a porch trying to explain to a very old, lonely woman who I was, where I had come from, and why I was there when she politely cut me off and said “Well you can stay here if you would like….” I felt like a deer in the headlights, but sleeping inside a house, and knowing this lady could cook, I mean all old ladies could cook right? This not only sounded really good, but it was also really my only option till I could figure out my next move……

What a beautiful area this was. It was Fall and I had never seen so many colors of leaves on the trees.  The little house was backed up to the base of a mountain, well at least being from Texas it appeared to be a mountain. This was definitely a good spot for a rest.

Right away this lady introduced herself as Mary and hustled me in showing me a room where I could stay and suggesting I get a shower. “I will cook some dinner,” she said.  Bingo! Bingo! Bingo! and I’m not talking Four Corner Bingo this is Blackout Bingo – a bed, a shower, a meal, warmth, and I bet she had a TV too. After getting showered and cleaned up I went back to my room to find my cleanest dirty clothes and well it was weird.  My backpack had been emptied and all my stuff was organized in small piles except for my clothes which Mary had decided to wash. She had laid out some old farmer blue jean overall thingy for me to wear. Ok.  I was still willing to play along at least until after I ate, but I thought “This ain’t normal, right?”

Well, dinner was amazing, but probably anything would have been good compared to what I had been eating.  Even to this day every time I eat meatloaf, I can float right back to old Mary’s house there at the base of some mountain in Pennsylvania. Mary had expressed how Grandma had moved out to a town called Batavia to be close to some friends of the family who were better suited to take care of her. All in all, it was nice to be indoors, warm and fed, but something felt off. I just thought it was weird how Mary never really inquired much about what I was doing, how old I was, or why I was out on my own. I mean the only thing she really offered up and it was because I asked was information about Grandma. Logic would have been more along the lines of trying to find out my story and at least snitching me out to my family, but that wasn’t possible as she had not yet inquired at all on any personal type information.

Next thing I know she announced it was bedtime and I was thinking “Hello, it’s not even 9 pm!” I lay in bed and played so many scenarios in my mind about how weird this was and wondered if this lady would creep around at night, was I replacing a lost child, and what would happen if she didn’t let me leave? Hey, wait a minute. This lady did not have a TV and I had never seen a car either! OK, I decided I was out of there in the morning because it just didn’t feel right. Needless to say, I looked forward to sleeping in a nice bed, but I didn’t sleep a wink and yes, she did creep around at night – I could hear her! Long story short, in the morning I gathered my now clean clothes and all my stuff, packed up and said thank you and off I went.

What an amazing feeling it was once I was back on the road. There was comfort in just being alone with my own thoughts as I tried to figure out where I was going next and then it occurred to me, “Hey, I have another grandma.” Erie, Pennsylvania to Buffalo, New York was just up the road so off I went with another plan.

Most of my memories of Grandma Ag were that she always lived in neat houses and usually big ones, well not this time. Knock, knock on her at best one bedroom apartment and there it was “Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Your Mom is worried sick! Where have you been and how did you get here?” I thought to myself “Well, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all,” and sure enough right off the bat Grandma says “You’re not staying here! You are going right back home. I’m calling your mom.” “Wait, wait, wait! I was just stopping by to say hi. I’m on my way to Batavia to stay with Grandma Hyland and I’m not going back home!” This slowed her down a bit. She suggested that I eat first and I was good with that. I knew she was in the other room making phone calls as I was thinking “Now what do I do?” Sure enough, Grandma comes back with sandwiches and chips and states “Ok, your mom says you need to call and she will get you back home somehow.” Well, this whole living on my own sure was complicated.  I eat, kiss my Grandma Ag and off I went. Maybe Grandmas weren’t the best plan.

Well, eventually I did arrive at my Grandma Hyland’s house in Batavia, New York and was welcomed with open arms.  Afterwards, things even reached a point of some normalcy.

Now as I had mentioned she was close to some folks who appeared to be overseeing her care and living arrangements. Granted this was done from a distance of eight miles to be exact. See the family looking out for Grams lived in Alexander, New York and that’s where I ended up living during the week.  I would go back and forth on the weekends to Grandma’s in Batavia. It appeared there was a consensus or concern that grandma would not be able to handle me, you know with that black fog that followed me around and all. Not that I was dangerous, but I was a bit unpredictable, at least that was my best guess.  With that Mr. and Mrs. Cavanaugh, Grandma’s caretakers, were up for a challenge. I mean what could go wrong? He was a retired Air Force Colonel and now worked as a cop at some base in Niagara Falls and Mrs. Cavanaugh, well you probably think I’m making this up but she worked at The Attica State Prison just down the road. Did I mention they had a son? Oh yeah, Marty.  He was a state champion swimmer working on a full-ride scholarship to Penn State and all he had to do was graduate from high school this year and of course, not get into any trouble. Back in Texas, we would have labeled old Marty as a goody-two-shoes type, a jock, maybe even a nerd.

All I can say is buckle up because this is going to get good. As it worked out, me being a country boy and cowboy from a big city in Texas elevated me to Rock Star status at least with the girls. You see this town was so small that to call it a one red light town would be a stretch and kindergarten to 12^th grade, you guessed it, was all in the same building. The graduating class from the previous year was a total of six students and the population in Alexander was at best 1900 people (lots of old church-going folks). Let’s just say it was my job to make sure Marty graduated and went to Penn State. Yup, I now have a purpose.

Another round where I had done something to upset my father which I had grown to realize may have been one of the easiest things I had been tasked with early in life. You know at that time in my life there was no way one could even make a smidgen of measurable effort to help me understand my Dad. It wasn’t until much later in life (30 years later) that I had some insight into what made my father tick. He was so very strict, hard, and able to flip to anger on a dime and did so often.  Not to pass the blame as I too had fallen into a pattern which I’m not going to say I was unmanageable, but I was unmanageable! I guess I had reached the last straw, one in which I could imagine no positive outcome; let’s just say I wasn’t going to stick around to see the end of the movie. I can’t even remember what it was that cast us into the knock-down pick your son up and throw him through the front screen door in his underwear scenario on that lovely morning. This may seem a little over the edge but you must remember that back in the early 70’s life as a child was very different than it is today.  Parents were more “hands-on” in a sense, if you get where I’m going with this. This may not have been too bad but what really changed it for me is we lived on a corner lot and our front yard was where all the high school kids were picked up and dropped off from the school bus. I would say some of them were my friends but at this point in my life I wasn’t really popular and granted I may have known a few of them, but calling them my friends well that was a stretch, but still here I was in my underwear very pissed and probably crying, laying on the ground in total view of, well…I think you get the picture.

It was 2:30 in the morning, I was 14 years old, I had $1.79 in my pocket, I had clothes on my back…let’s change my scenery. I was off to Pennsylvania where I had a grandmother who had recently lost her husband and well that sounded like a good spot for me. Oh, yea did I mention I lived in San Antonio, Texas at the time, which was only 1,567 miles away?  What could possibly go wrong? Again, I know I said this previously but in the early ’70s things were a bit different and a 14-year-old could really hitchhike from San Antonio, Texas to Erie, Pennsylvania and not raise some kind of red flag along the way. At the start I was thinking it would take me three to four days to get there, but I hadn’t really thought this out very well. I made it to the highway after walking about an hour with a plan of hitchhiking once there. The problem was that it was now about 4am and well there just wasn’t much traffic and of course, it was dark. Not to get discouraged but it was important that I get out of this general area (San Antonio) before the “warden released the bloodhounds.” So, I walked, and walked, and walked. As the sun started to come up, I knew I had walked at least 7 miles as I had made it to my high school and I was thinking “There is no way I can walk all the way to Pennsylvania,” and it happened…my first ride. A middle-aged woman pulled over and asked “Son are you ok?” “Oh yes ma’am, I’m just trying to get to my aunt’s house because my mom is at the hospital with my brother.”  As you can see a salesman was born.  “Ok come on, where does your aunt live?” “Just by the Mall at San Pedro Ave.  I should have told her in Erie, Pennsylvania but I guess I was off my game a bit.

Well, I bet by now you are wondering if I gave up, licked my wounds, and returned to my cell block pleading for mercy from old Pops. You would be wrong.  Granted I did not arrive in Erie in three to four days, even with a detour and being dropped off at New York University in New York City at 3am on a Saturday morning.  In fact, it took me almost two weeks to arrive at the address I had for my grandmother, where as I soon found out she no longer lived. This is where we will start the next blog – I will introduce you to the lady living at Grandma’s address.

You know in life everything is a lesson and to say I gained knowledge on this adventure would be a complete understatement. I mean you have to eat right and where does one with no or very little money find food while traveling on the road?  Well of course grabbing a candy bar here and there was always an option, not paying was the best option. Grocery stores were good as I could shoplift just about anything and I really learned that it didn’t take much and I was very grateful for even a little something. I also found out that at the rear of restaurants they were always throwing food out and it really wasn’t bad, you just had to sort a little. It was best to get noticed doing that because then out would come a loving soul with a fresh meal. I learned to get noticed, if you know what I mean.

As one can imagine I got to meet people from all walks of life, some I wish I had not met but for the most part they were generally very interesting and most definitely educational. For example, there was the college student driving you guessed it a VW Bus and yes, it even had a flower on it.  I rode with him for two days all the way to Tennessee. He smoked a lot of hand-rolled cigarettes and I learned that he had a stash of coins in his glove box which I helped myself to almost every time we stopped and he left the van. Then there was the lady who pulled over and as I opened her passenger door and jumped in, she politely pointed to a small bat in between the seats and asked me, which was really a statement, “We aren’t going to have any trouble are we?” “No”, I replied as she also showed me a small pistol that she had tucked into her door panel. Needless to say, I chose a shorter ride with her.

You know somewhere I was told that hanging out at the truck stops would be a good way to get rides and wow that really made sense to me at the time. But not so fast.  While I don’t want to give truckers a bad name, in my first experience traveling with one I ended up in a position that felt very unfamiliar and also very dangerous, a sick in your stomach-type dangerous as sexual advances were made going down the road at 70 mph and 10 feet off the ground and there I was, at best 100 pounds locked in a truck with a man who could be my dad’s age and all I can think is “Can this even be happening?” Well, let’s just say I really learned to pick my drivers going forward and I also stayed closer to the ground (as in cars) just in case I had to jump.

Sleeping was usually the easiest part of the adventure.  I would just go off the road into a field or brush and sleep. To this day I can feel and picture waking up lying on my back in tall grass with such a peaceful feeling, except for that one time. Just like usual off I went to find a spot to sleep. Now, remember I was from Texas and I had made it to Ohio where it was now Fall and cold. I woke up because I felt wet and cold only to find that it had snowed and I mean good snow too.  Half my head was buried. Again, I adjusted.  I learned that cover was needed when sleeping outside in the Fall up north. Location, location, location!

Eventually I was offered a ride again this time with a college student saying “I’m going to the University of New York.  I can take you that far.” Well, that was cool.  I knew New York was close to Pennsylvania. Bad decision though, as yes New York may be close to Pennsylvania, but New York City was on the wrong end of the state! The next part is somewhat of a blur, but I do remember running from a very large guy in downtown New York City at 4am who wanted to know what I had in my backpack.  No, he did not catch me!  Now I don’t know if you ever tried to walk out of New York City on foot, I really had no idea where I should be going, but I did it and even rode a subway thingy.

What an adventure!  What I was thinking was that this was way better than school.  I mean where are you going to get the kind of education that I had received over the last two weeks?  Surely not any school I had ever been to. I had it all figured out right up until I found out that Grandma wasn’t at the address I had and there I was standing on a porch trying to explain to a very old, lonely woman who I was, where I had come from, and why I was there when she politely said “Well you can stay here if you would like….”

Stay tuned for the next part of the adventure!

As a disclaimer, this blog may stir up some thoughts and emotions that may prove uncomfortable.  My objective is not to glorify my behavior in any way, but to show you the complexity of the addict’s drive.  I am not sure of the exact date of the story I am about to tell you, but I do know this was post-prison, sometime in the early 90s.   

As I wake my mind starts to run through the daily checklist – money, drug availability, drug accessibility, and a plan on how to get enough money to at least acquire the drugs for today reaching hopefully just a level of normalcy. By normalcy I mean having enough heroin to fight off the morning sickness that typically occurs after eight hours of sleep.  Being addicted to heroin is such a powerful physical dependence that after it has run through your system you become “dope sick,” a sickness that has flu-type symptoms.  You have both cold and hot sweats, aches in your bones, a runny nose, fatigue – these are just a few of the physical symptoms, but there are also mental symptoms that are way beyond understanding or describing.  Every thought, every vision, every plan, every step is laser-focused on the one and only task at hand each day – to get more dope or at least to get level. You would think one would keep some of yesterday’s heroin to help fight off the dope sickness of the morning, but that in itself is another part of the sickness of addiction.

As I load up to venture out and execute today’s plan, I find my lucky pants. Well, I’m not sure about the level of luck but I do know the size is of great importance for today’s task.  I give the strategy great thought; especially as I run the scenarios through my mind like location, escape plan, familiarization of the floor plan, security, accessibility, and then much deeper thought on an emergency plan. 

I grab one of the kids and off we go. Wait.  A kid? Why would I need a kid (child)? Let me explain.  Today I will be building an inventory of Disney DVDs to then sell in order to obtain enough money to purchase the drugs that my whole world revolves around. In doing so I will make more than a few stops visiting the prime spots like Kmart, Wal-Mart, and other large grocery store chains.  Having knowledge of local laws I know it is important to keep the level of theft below a certain dollar amount to ensure that I can walk away with a written citation, if for some reason I am caught and the police become involved. As long as I am under that golden preset dollar amount, I shouldn’t go to jail.  This is why today’s plan requires numerous stops. This is where my kid is needed.  I know a normal person with a healthy reality could really have problems at this point with which I would totally agree today.  My behavior at that time though was as if there was only one objective and this alone altered my ability to see or even feel anything not related to meeting the addicts objective.

To further explain, upon entering each location it is important that I don’t have things like money, identification, cell phone, etc.  I always leave any bounty from the previous stops, including all the money which has been made along the way, any identification making my personal information easily obtainable, and of course the keys and cell phone all back in the car with the kid. This is the emergency plan I spoke of earlier – in the event I am caught and detained or even taken to the nearest police station for booking, all will not be lost as the child will then call their mother who is back in the room with the other children and could come to retrieve the car and any other loot which was stolen from the earlier stops – with the thinking that at least we would not be starting at zero and would possibly have the ability to post bail if needed.

After three successful stops I, I now enter the fourth location as I still need to increase the number of DVDs. With Disney movies running anywhere from $16.99 to $29.00 each, it is important to shoplift as many DVD’s that can be stashed in my lucky pants undetectable to store personnel and still stay under the golden pre-set dollar figure keeping the crime at the lowest level and exiting the store without getting caught. Again, I return to the car with another ten DVDs to add to the previous count of 36 with a grand total of 46 new Disney DVDs. You might be wondering who buys 46 DVDs and at what cost? Let me explain.

This whole process was one of the most lucrative scams that I had and I worked it sometimes three to four days a week, for extended periods of time and not always with a good outcome.

Moving on to Phase 2, I now set out to visit the vendor locations where I will sell the day’s loot. I have divided the city into four routes so as to not overload my customers with too many visits within a certain time frame. Today I will visit the north side locations or what I call the Upper Route. As I arrive at the first daycare not only was the daycare itself interested in buying four of the DVDs but they also had orders from parents which had left word that “when that DVD guy comes by, please get me 2.” Well after leaving the first stop I was off to an amazing start already selling nine DVDs at $10.00 each. At this rate I will not be able to hit all the daycare locations on this route. After hitting another seven daycares I only have two DVDs left and that’s a wrap. That’s $440.00 to make the day’s heroin purchase. Yes, that may seem like a large amount of money to spend on drugs, but when you are trying to support a full-blown addiction for two people, secure another hotel room for the night, and have money left to buy some food, there is a good chance I will return to do yet another DVD run later in the afternoon.

I tell you this story to try to show you the mindset of a drug addict and not to brag about or glorify my behavior in any way.  Addiction is powerful and in the throes of it a person will do things that they never would have done otherwise.  I am aware that in writing this blog some of you may become angry and with good cause, but most who know me now, know my character and my motives for moving forward.  It is my intention to give you an insight into the mind of an addict and the actions they will take in the depth of their addiction.