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Requiem for Addiction ORIGIN COLUMNIST | Tommy Rosen O


n the night that I almost died from smoking crack, there was no conscious understanding of what


was happening in my mind or body. I was reduced to a state of depravity such that my only goal was to never “come down.” I had also smoked pot - a lot of it - that day. Once you start smoking cocaine however, you no longer feel the effects of pot so it loses its importance quickly. Not the case with cigarettes, however. Cocaine and cigarettes really enjoy each other’s company. When I did coke, I smoked weird, strong cigarettes – Export A’s (The Blue Ones), Marlboro Reds, occasionally, Camel Straights and of course,


Clove Cigarettes - anything that packed a punch. I hated weak cigarettes and if I did not feel them when they went in, they were too weak.


The moment would come on that particular night when I COULD NO LONGER GET A FULL BREATH. Strangely, I was embarrassed and did not want anyone to notice that something was wrong. I was possibly dying, but was too concerned about what people would think of me to ask for help. “Maybe it will pass.” I played it cool for a moment, closed my eyes and waited, but the feeling worsened to where I could no longer get much of a breath at all. I walked quickly out of the room beginning to panic while gasping and thinking, “Ok, this is it. Call 911. It all ends tonight.” I leaned over with my hands on my knees like a football player who has had the wind knocked out of him and tried to breathe. Very slowly, my body and its God-given impulse to survive sent out the right drugs through my bloodstream to dilate my bronchial tubes and save my life. The moment of panic passed and I would survive that night of horror.


I wish I could tell you that the madness ended there. Unfortunately, I still had more “fieldwork” ahead of me, but the day would eventually come where I would wake up and realize I had no next move. I had run out of drugs and alcohol. I had no girlfriend to take care of me. I had no money and no connections left. I could not imagine what to do, so I called up my father, who I had


10 OriginMagazine.com September/October 2011


“The day would eventually come where I would wake up and realize I had no next move.”


relied upon for care and affection. I told him basically everything I could except for the truth. Then suddenly, he just came out with it, “You’re on drugs. I know you’re on drugs! Aren’t you?” I said, “Yes, Dad. I am.” He told me that I was going to have to go to rehab. I replied harshly that I would not go.


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