A Glimpse of the Street

I can’t get his innocent face out of my mind. Sitting outside the bar earlier...

“It’s been a bad day.”

“What made it bad?”

“No money... well, no drugs...” He went on to explain how needing heroin and alcohol was the worst feeling ever. “You can’t understand how miserable it is.”

“Yeah, we don’t really want to, but we’ve seen others there enough that we know it’s rough”

“Yeah...” This lead into a conversation about kicking alcohol and heroin.

“I nearly died last time... Remember when I got arrested? At the hospital they were holding me down and I was thrashing around.” He acted it out a little.

In his case prostitution does keep him from death, or brushes with it. Alcohol is the most deadly thing to kick. One percent of heroin addicts are able to kick per year... and that’s when they try. We encouraged him that that he could make it through. He’s already heard the “we’re here whenever you’re ready” spiel.

“I’m a completely different person when I’m sober... it’s weird... I don’t know who I am. But... well, I guess I don’t know who I am like this either.” It’s those words and his small, sweet face as he shrugged it off that I can’t get out of my head.

“That’s why I just lie to myself... Then it’s okay” He said with a laugh. Moments later... a dealer, a date... and he’s gone.

Not unusual really -- maybe some of the “kids” aren’t as blunt about it, or as obviously out-of-place on Polk Street, but the problems are mostly the same... ‘I don’t know who I am, but for the next few minutes I’m going to forget, to cope... I’ll become heroin, speed, alcohol, even pot... as long as I’m not me.’