Wanted to make sure I wasn’t fed. He put a gun to my head and made me do a line before he would leave or do a deal with who I was doing work for. Had I been on my shit, I would’ve never ended up in a situation like that. I was depressed, but I wasn’t choosing death. That shit hit my body, and it was like, for the first time in months, I felt nothing. That shit was a different kind of freedom. My thoughts tortured me. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I lost, and one hit of that shit, and it all was wiped away. Numb. I took that shit as much as I could, and it wasn’t until I realized how much
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