I am sitting back, cig in my hand as I let the feelings of satisfaction and well being wash over me. I have just done the last of my H and am enjoying it to the fullest.
Watching the blood run down my foot and between my toes has me hypnotized, making things in low in my stomach go tight and almost achy but in a good way. I love to see the evidence of what I've just done, the proof of my indulgence. Just like the moment when the blood first swirls into the needle; this after-time, after glow if you will is just as intoxicating.
I feel it , like a sexual caress, sliding down my skin and I am content. I am in love with the ritual surrounding my addiction. From the minute I start to prepare the shot to the moments after, when pulling the point from my skin I watch the blood well and run, I am enchanted.
I know I am not the only one, it is a common condition among hypes. The conditioned response we get when point meets flesh.....and penetrates. Just like doggies salivating at the ring of a bell our bodies start to hum with the feeling that all is as it should be, if only for a short while.
I remember scoffing at the very idea when my Dad mentioned it to me years ago. The thought that I was just as, if not more hooked on the needle than the dope seemed ridiculous, after all the poke was just a means to an end.....wasn't it?
I even tried to prove him wrong by snorting my next fix. I promptly sneezed and puked it all over the bathroom floor. It was as if my body would not let the dope enter my system by any other means. My body knows what it wants.
I'm sure that buried somewhere in the back of some dusty old psychology text there is a very precise and reasonable explanation for all of this. Something explaining why the act of penetration in all it's varied forms is capable of provoking a pseudo-sexual response even when sex is not remotely involved.
It's a kind of violation, this sharp little silver sliver invading my body but I invite the intrusion, over and over and over.....
I am incapable of saying no, even if it's my honest intention. The words dry up in my throat and then I realize that I never really wanted to say them anyway. The basest part of me has taken over, the part of me that only wants to feel and cares little for the consequences that might follow my selfish actions.
I look across the room and see little smears of red, tracing my path through the kitchen and out the back door and I am.........satisfied.