No Sympathy

I spent most of my high school years in what was considered, in my hometown, as part of the “rough crowd”. Hoodlums. We dressed poorly, we got arrested, we swore, we did drugs, we smoked cigarettes, and we traveled in packs. Some of my friends, at the time, dealt drugs. Some of them are in jail, and have been there for a while for dealing drugs. Some of them have gone through rehab. Some of them are dead–died from overdosing, or from getting drunk or high or both and going for a drive.

Now, I have somewhat mixed feelings about drug use and the legalization of drugs. I will freely admit that I’ve partaken in smoking pot before, and that I’ve tried a few other things, too. But among the few rules I had, and that most of my intelligent peers had, too, were these: 1. Know what you’re doing. 2. No cocaine, no crack, no heroin.

Why were these the rules? The first one existed because, if you didn’t know what you were about to smoke, you might not be smoking what you think. It sounds like common sense, but every couple of months some idiot would get messed up after smoking pot that was laced with something, or eating acid that was “supposed to be” a Percoset.

The second rule? You can smoke pot all day long, and not do too much damage to yourself, other than becoming an irredeemable asshat. Coke and heroin is what people did right before they messed their lives up. Overdoses, problems with drug dealers, getting arrested for serious things. That’s what happened to people who switched from grass to harder drugs.

From what I can saw, heroin, at least, works like this: a person tries it, and the high is uncomfortably huge. They are blown away. They resolve not to do it again. A month few months later, they do it again. They are blown away. They resolve not to do it more than once a month. So they do it on the first of the month. But then, it’s the first of the month, and a week later, it’s your birthday. So you do it twice that month. And twice the next month, ya know, for someone else’s birthday. And so you resolve not to do heroin more than once a week. More than once a day. More than twice a day. Oh, fuck it.

Heroin works slow in its addiction, but it works. Anyone who was dumb enough to do heroin in the first place, was dumb enough to get what’s coming to them.

The gentleman pictured above is Garrett Reid, the son of Philadelphia Eagles head coach Andy Reid. He has an addiction strong enough that 89 pills were found in his jail cell, as reported yesterday by KYW news in Philadelphia. How’d they get in there? The pills were “secreted from a body cavity”. That’s to say he transported the drugs anally.

I feel bad for the Reid family, but not so much for Garrett. This is a tough time. Garrett is a full grown adult. It’s not Andy’s responsibility or place to hold Garrett’s hand every day to make sure he stays out of trouble. The only person for Garrett to blame is himself. And that’s a damn shame.

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