Wicked Addictions - The Game, The Drugs, The Lies!
 
The truth about one man's addictions and how they led him through rough times, fabulous times, hard times and experiences you won't believe.

I was standing in the front yard, coming off a long night of snorting meth and no sleep. Checking out the neighborhood, sipping on an ice cold corona I was wondering where the money would come from for my next one. I tried to figure out when and where I became so addicted to all of this shit. I mean it was just so damn wicked. All I wanted to do was quit all this and be like my longtime friend Bong. He grew up right next door to me, he was in the game and he was doing real damn well. He had just bought a new house out in Chino (which I hadn’t seen yet) and each time I saw him he was driving a different car. I think he had four different cars now. He was doing real good selling meth. Shit I had tried to get in the clique a few times but my damn addiction to the same shit that he was selling was keeping me out.

           I heard it coming before I even laid my eyes on it. The sound of the big knobby tires and the beat of Biggie’s “Mo Money Mo Problems” in the air, as it rounded the curve on Caroldale I saw it. Fuck it was one beautiful Tahoe. Dark metallic green, custom grille, polished aluminum rims, dark tinted windows and jacked up high in the air. As it got closer all I could see was this fool’s head sticking over the steering wheel, it was at that moment that I told myself it was time to stop putting the meth up my nose and get into the game.

As Bong pulled up and jumped out, leaving Biggie Smalls bumping on the system, the first words out of his mouth were “damn nigga damn”.   Bong called me over to check out the bomb ass Bud that he had brought back from his most recent trip to Hawaii and he wanted me to roll a few joints.  I, of course, obliged because I knew that one joint of that bud would help bring me down. 

While I was rolling the weed, Bong poured a couple glasses of Remy Martin and some Coke on the rocks.  I sparked the first joint and took a sip of my Remy as Bong went into the story of his most recent trip to Oahu and how he wishes I would get off the shit so I could go with him.  What really got me to think about it hard, while I was tokin' that joint, was the story of the twenty foot waves on the North Shore.  I don’t surf, but my love for the ocean really made me think.  I asked him if he was serious about taking me and he said, “Fuck yeah fool, we grew up together”.  So I made him a deal.  I told him that I would stop the shit, but that one day I wanted to live on the North Shore.  He said that there was one catch though; I would have to start off as a mule.  I asked, “What are the job duties of a mule?”

He told me that my first trip would consist of a dry run.  I had to learn what route to take once I arrived at Honolulu International. The thought got me excited enough to make the deal with him and stop using meth.  He told me that if I could stop using for two weeks he would take me on a run.  I asked him if I could still drink and smoke bud.  He said, “Fuck yeah!”  Sitting here now, I still try to figure out when and where I become so damn addicted to the Meth?  The crazy thing is I know my addiction started out with weed.  The weed lead to drink, the drink to coke and the coke led to the meth.  That night, Bong and I decided that to make sure I stayed clean I would stay at his house. 

And that is where this journey began.  

This excerpt is from Wicked Addictions.  Check back for more and information on how to order your copy.