My rock bottom

Authors note;
This incident happened many years ago during a very dark time for me, and proved to be a pivot upon which my whole life turned around. I wrote it in the present tense simply as an exercise

Staring down at the needle, I hesitate before it enters my arm. For some reason the tourniquet around my bicep is driving me crazy and I just can’t do it. That damned rubber band seems to symbolize the filthy act I am about to perform and somehow makes it painfully obvious how low I am about to sink. Looking around the dark basement room of some stranger’s house, I am glad to be alone. Hell, I don’t even remember how I got here or who I came with. I’m not really sure where “here” is, actually, or how many days I have been awake in this dungeon like maze of 60’s era shag carpet and smoke filled rooms.

Setting the hypodermic needle full of meth to the side, I pull the .38 snub nosed revolver I have been carrying around out of my waistband, and put the barrel in my mouth. The cold metal clinks against my front teeth as I bite down on the site. Oddly, the idea of closing my mouth around it repulses me, so I simply bite down like a man smoking a cigar. The thought of someone finding me with my lips wrapped around anything is, for some reason, more offensive than what is about to happen.

Now, do I point it up, or straight back? I think up will direct the bullet where it needs to go. With my right thumb I slowly pull the hammer back on my pistol and as I do, the details of the world around me suddenly begins to stand out. From the cold, vodka like taste of the gun in my mouth, to the unbelievably loud click of the hammer locking back that I'm sure can be heard for miles around, I am shocked at how my senses come vibrantly to life. Suddenly I can see the filthy stains on the carpet and drapes. I can hear the moaning of a couple upstairs fucking. I can feel the faint breeze gliding across my skin from a small oscillating fan across the room. And I can sense the barron, lifelessness of the room around me, as though everyone has decided to clear out and give me some privacy in my most intimate of moments. More than any other thing, I can feel the beating of my heart and the restriction of blood being caused by the tourniquet that I, like an idiot, didn't take off.

OK, now what? Just pull the trigger and fall right here? Maybe I should move to some place away from all the drug paraphernalia. I’d hate to have peoples last memories of me be the sight of my faceless body surrounded by all kinds of needles and spoons and shit….Come to think of it, I really should take this fucking rubber band off my arm..…I sure as Hell don’t want my last moments to be spent thinking about how I’ll be remembered as a junkie. SHIT!!!

Pulling the pistol from my mouth, and carefully dropping the hammer, I set it down. Working to untie the tourniquet I find myself cursing this stupid piece of rubber. Damn, I must have tied it wrong. Maybe I should have paid more attention when I was watching everyone else do it. Pulling the knife from my pocket I cut it loose and watch as it falls to the ground. God damned thing, if it wasn't for that 50 cent piece of crap I would be dead alread…….

Panic. Adrenaline rushes through me and my hands begin to shake. Running to the bathroom I barely make it before I throw up what little is in my stomach and then begin to dry heave. What the hell just happened and what was I just thinking?? Standing up I notice that my vision is still very sharp, as are the rest of my senses and I immediately make up my mind.

Fuck this, I’m done. Fuck these people, fuck this neighborhood and fuck these drugs. I’m out.