I told my girlfriend, “ We can’t fight this anymore. We were surrounded by the constant presence of police, drug dealers, and thieves, and I knew we couldn’t survive much longer. By 2008, however, it seemed like the world was closing in on us. Because all that mattered was that next hit. Summers on these streets sapped my body down to 150 pounds of skin and bones.Īnd I didn’t care. In winter, we shivered in the rain, in summer - never bothering to eat or drink much - we withered, dehydrated from the heat. Every night, we lay down on filthy sidewalks that reeked of human waste and slept in a drug-induced coma with giant rats that crawled over us in the darkness. all the way to the bottom of the world.Įvery day we hustled for a few dollars and more drugs. My girlfriend and I ended up sleeping on the sidewalks of Skid Row outside Union Rescue Mission - we fell. Within a month, I smoked away every last penny I had. I finally moved to Los Angeles in 2006, where I had relatives who dealt crack. I saw all the big, bright lights and got a taste for the party life - marijuana, barbiturates, acid, speed, and PCP. I was 13 and tasted freedom for the first time. When she finally couldn’t take his abuse anymore, she left him and moved us to San Diego. My mother sheltered me from him - and the world - as best she could. Growing up in Louisiana, my father was a mean, abusive man. Sometimes it’s tragic what too much freedom can do to a child.
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