Lying here on my bunk listening to the radio, I remember what it was like being a drug user on the outside. One of my favorite sayings used to be, “All things in moderation my ass! Nothing in moderation ever!” Yes, I was a fuck-up in the free world and I was proud of my addictive personality. No one could outdo me when it came to partying. If tonight’s chosen poison were to be V’s (Valium), and you did five blues? I’d do ten, chasing them down with a half pint of Jack Daniels. If it was trippin’ time and everyone at the party dropped a hit of windowpane I did two. Downs, booze, or LSD, I wasn’t about to let anyone get more fucked up that me. After all, I did have a reputation to uphold. Tore up from the floor up and hallucinating on acid, I’d earned my nickname as the “Tripper” and I wanted everyone to know I was wiped the hell out! Too drunk to fuck. And higher than giraffe pussy! That’s just the way it was.

I swear, I could take more v’s-than any man or woman alive! Did you know I once took twenty-five lOmg. Valiums in a single day? Don’t remember much of what happened of course. People told me some of the stupid shit I did when I woke up though. Anybody ever swallow any Demerol? Demerol is a strong ass pain killer that not just everyone can do. Hell, I used to eat lOOmg Demerol tablets like they were going out of style! And how about those Nembutal, Seconal and Tuinol? I did shitloads of them too. Amazingly enough, I’m still here. You see, I was what one might call an accomplished downer freak out there. I loved being in a semi-comatose state of mind, seeing and hearing everything around me but being unable to move. Quaaludes, dilaudid or xanax -none were new to me. If any drug dealer in town had them for sale, I knew who they were and where to find them. Looking back … I sometimes wonder. What in the hell was I thinking anyway? Know what I’m saying? And how is it that I survived that? If there is a God, what in the hell is my point and purpose. I could’ve and should’ve kicked the bucket long ago my friends.

Trashed, wasted and blown the fuck away were some of the adjectives one might use to describe me back in those days. When friends saw me stumbling from a party, They knew I had a pocketful of pills. “Hey! Let me get a couple of those Tripper!” Or, “Dude! Kick down with some of those ‘ludes man!” Many a morning I woke up on the carpet in someone’s living room floor when in reality all I wanted to be was back in my own bed at home enjoying the cold side of the pillow. That’s what it was like for me in the mid to late 70’s. Loaded like a freight train, flying like an aero-plane, feeling like a space brain one more time tonight! In a way, I wish I had a full length feature film of some of my antics back in those days. I’d donate it to the Betty Ford Clinic so they could show it to some of their patients as a reminder of someone they really didn’t want to be. T-totally out of it, I was the posterboy for Nancy Reagan’s “Just Say No” campaign for real! No one got more fucked up than me!

Live fast, die young and leave a good looking corpse. Did I really want it to be that way? At the time I thought I did. Three sheets in the wind on downs at the turn of every corner. Half the time I didn’t know where I was or where I’d been. Anyone remember placidyls? The 500’s were red and the 750’s were green. Pop a couple of those babies and I could fuck, fight or party better than any man alive! Or so I thought anyway. Just like that old black light poster from the 70’s “Stoned Again” with the little dude starting out normal with one hand holding up his chin. By the sixth frame my entire face had melted away! By the way ladies, I just thought I could fuck like a porn star when I was wasted like that. But in reality, I was more like a “One Pump Chump,” not a “Long Lasting Larry” according to my old ladies. “WTF?” I’d say. “Surely you must be mistaken because I know I was good!” “No honey, you weren’t. I even had to break out my vibrator after I realized you’d passed out in mid-stride.” Embarrassing. Simply and utterly embarrassing.

So apparently, my glory days as a drug user weren’t so glorious after all. From what I can tell, all I did was make a complete and total fool of myself everywhere I went. Oh sure, there were a few times when I tried to say no to drugs. But they just kept saying, “Yes! Yes! Yes! Come on Tripper! Do me, do me and let’s get stoned!” I mean, in that case, what’s a druggy to do? Right? Don’t get me wrong. Not trying to justify my past ignorance. Just remembering some of what it was like now having been clean and sober for some eight and a half years. I hear there’s some really good shit out there these days. Something called oxycontin that’s sweeping the nation in an epidemic proportion. Is that true? In closing, never was one to encourage others to or not to use drugs. But please, if you do use, try to do so in moderation and be responsible. Don’t do stupid shit that will cause you, or anyone else for that matter, to get hurt or in trouble. Enjoy your high without going to extremes like I did. Or better yet, just try not to get loaded at all. As my new motto is, it’s not if you get caught, it’s when my friends. Staying high a year, even 5 straight years, it’s not worth a hot 15. It’s not worth losing friends, family, loved ones dying, life moving on without you. Maybe Mrs. Regan wasn’t so wrong. Who knows. I’m Tripper! Better Days!

What is it in life I’m looking for that I can never seem to find?” Speaking to my love interest, I tell her I love her but I must go. “Be careful Trip-Call me when you get to wherever it is you’re going.”

Showering, I let the steaming hot water hit my face for as long as I can stand it in hopes my sinuses will clear. If only I can force myself to breathe again. I am desperate to shove more coke up my nose so I can stay awake and alert and feel alive. While shaving, I look at myself in the mirror and realize how totally trashed out I am. I really should stop but as long as I can ingest more blow, I will. There’s no stopping until my system absolutely shuts down on its own. I am Superman! A super hero who knows not rest nor defeat! I’m a big, strong man who breathes fire and can leap tall buildings with a single bound! I comb my hair, brush my teeth and take one last look at myself in the glass before going about my way. I don’t even say goodbye to Valerie. Instead, I mindlessly trod out into the early morning daylight and get more cocaine from the trunk of my car. I start my engine, snort more dope and drive away not knowing or caring where I’ll go. For the next three days I am oblivious to my surroundings. Finally, I wake up in a motel with a chemical hangover, shower, shave and start all over again.

Funny, but I remember that night like it were yesterday even though it was almost 25 years ago. Every once in a while a certain song or smell will cause déjà vu - a feeling that I’ve “already seen.” And, I’ll be right back in the fast lane drinking and drugging just like I used to be. Sometimes I can even taste the cocaine as I subconsciously smack my lips in remembrance. Then, I look down at the two cocaine demons tattooed on my arm, Ether and Oil; a con­stant reminder of the wicked drug of death that consumed my life for so many years. Even before the days of free-base, I was addicted to cocaine. I’ve probably snorted enough to amount to that found in a child’s sandbox. It’s a wonder I’m still alive. All I can say is, I’m glad those days are over. But I wish I’d quit experiencing these feelings of déjà vu because it’s hard on a guy that’s trying to rehabilitate. If you’ve done cocaine before but have quit, don’t do it ever again. And if you haven’t but get the sudden urge to try … don’t do it. It’s a dead-end street that could very well lead you to federal prison. I’m Tripper. Better Days!