Showing posts from April, 2016

Have you read "The Big Fix:Hope After Heroin"?

I am wondering how many of you out there have read the book so far? You can buy it  here Or  here

Fuck Fentanyl

Fentanyl used to provide visuals of cancer patients with patches or surgeries. Now, we are forced to wonder if every day run of the mill narcotics like Narcos are going to kill us. What the fuck is the world coming to when criminal organizations start killing off their revenue source i.e. the customers. Fentanyl makes users long for the days when the worst thing they thought they could catch was HIV. That condition is now serious but able to be managed. Fentanyl laced drugs bring death in a hurry. Two or three vials of naloxone may not be enough.    There isn't some universal message in this post. There isn't a story of hope. This post is an expression of my powerlessness. I see and hear of people dying nearly every day from an enemy I don't know how to combat- greed. Greedy motherfuckers making money off a drug that is now killing purposeful users off by accident. So fuck fentanyl, get naloxone, and use with some one who will do something. 

The More Things Change

As an opioid user, there is a distinct competitive advantage over the other drugs. Why? Opioids tell you the truth, if you chose to listen. Opioids let you know- hey bitch- you got issues- every single morning. Cocaine is a subtle drug in that you truly believe you have no issues. "hey, I didn't pick any up all week. I don't have a problem." Hmm, let me see. You were asleep for 2-3 of those and broke for the other two. And it isn't a week honey. You mean you didn't pick up coke from your last line late Monday morning to the first moment that direct deposit hit on Friday. It would have been sooner but the dealer doesn't want to give you a front. And no, they don't want to hold your laptop. They already have three. So- maybe you aren't "hooked" but clearly, there is some kind of issue?! Maybe? It is hard to penetrate that ego. Opioids, those are whole other animals. Their dependence comes with the gift of desperation. Before I even knew I

Dear Readers

 As I am approaching a million page views for this blog, I think about the people take the time out to read it. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for following my work. Thank you for pouring your hearts out in the comment section. I read them all. Love to you Tracey

The constant state of want

I haven't been around much for the past few weeks. I apologize for that my friends. On Friday of last week, I was in Woodstock New York speaking to a group of over 300 people about harm reduction, addiction, and recovery. It was an amazing feeling to be stopped all over the town by folk who had been touched in some way by addiction. I got a chance to meet the family of a young man names Ryan. He has died recently, a young man loved by many in a small community. Unfortunately, we all know a Ryan. There is no longer a place in this country that is not touched by opioid use and abuse. After vacationing a few days, I then traveled to Washington DC to do a panel on addiction and mental health. You can watch the video  here  if you are interested. One of the main points I wanted people to understand is that we are receiving NO input from users on what they feel needs to be done in this "crisis". We are mounting a large scale intervention without even valuing the voice of those

Panel I was on with Steven Okazaki sponsored by The Atlantic

watch  here

In Case you missed this piece for the New York Times Well

Here is the Link

Race to the Bottom

What happens when you stick a syringe in your neck? Do you go downwards or upwards? Do you hold your breath? How deep do I go? These I things I didn’t ask that day. I was out in a parking lot area a few blocks from where people would sneak off between two cars to “cook” and hopefully inject their drugs before someone called the police. Many mornings, I was too sick to even bother with the cute ritual of heating up the tar. I would simply add whatever contaminated water I had to white cap that attached to the back of a syringe. I would stir it forcefully with the plunger of my syringe. On a good day I *might* use a cotton to filter the wide variety of adulterants and bacteria. On a bad day, I would draw this up and jab it straight through my pants leg. Finding a vein was becoming an impossibility, a vague hope. One morning, I made what could have been a fatal mistake. This morning was like any other morning. I woke up covered in sweat that smelled like vinegar, cemented between two