I Feel Like I've Been Hit by a Train!
I feel that train a comin’
It’s comin’ round the bend
And I ain’t seen that sunshine, since I don’t know when . . .
—Johnny Cash
I met Michael Roberts at a San Francisco party in 1986. As soon as we saw each other, our eyes locked and we immediately gravitated toward one another; it was almost as though a force of nature pulled us together. I felt the earth move every time I was with him.
Later, I would come to realize now how narcissistic our initial attraction was; Michael and I looked eerily similar to one another; we were both tall, with the same round, vividly blue eyes and dark curly hair. Upon meeting us for the first time, many people commented that we looked like brother and sister—we were so similar in appearance.
Our most striking similarity, however, was not our appearance but our pervasive, deep-rooted, and destructive penchant for heroin. If I was wildly attracted to Michael based on appearances only, after learning he sold China White heroin, I fell head over heels in love with him. I brought him home from the party that first night, seducing him with Cristal champagne, high heels and fishnet stockings, and private erotic dances. After that first night together, we never spent another one apart.
I stopped working in the sex industry not long after meeting Michael; he could not stand the thought of another man touching me. He begged me to stop working, assuring me he would always take care of me. Every few days, Michael would give me a long, soulful kiss and leave me tangled in the sheets, while he tore off on his custom-built Harley Davidson. Within a day or two, I would hear the unmistakable, deafening roar of his Harley pull up and look out the apartment’s big bay windows to see Michael smiling up at me. Rushing downstairs to meet him, I would leap into his arms, wrapping my long legs around his waist; he would carry me upstairs and throw me onto the bed, tossing out baggies filled with heroin and cocaine, while showering me with hundred dollar bills. In those early days, it seemed the money and drugs would never end.
Within a very short amount of time, though, our habits grew to the point where Michael was having a hard time supporting them. He was still deadset against my working in the sex industry—so we were searching for a Plan B.
Before meeting Michael, I had been working in an upscale massage parlor in Berkeley. One night I was telling him how the house had been robbed once when I was working one night and as quickly as that, a plan began taking shape; we were going to rob the Berkeley whorehouse.
Heroin is an insidious drug; the first time I used it, I was immediately filled with the elusive warmth and security I had been searching for my entire life. I felt the arms of God wrapped around me as the golden warmth of the drug coursed through my veins. However, after that first experience, I was forever searching for that same feeling—it was never the same after. Like most junkies, I spent years chasing an illusion. It takes only a short while to develop an expensive and demanding dependency on heroin. Whereas the first time a person does a ‘dime bag’ (a ten-dollar bag), she/he will get high for anywhere from twelve to eighteen hours, as quickly as the next day, that same dime bag produces only a four hour high. Within three or four days, the effects of a dime bag are nearly nonexistent.
You always need more.
The sinister nature of the drug is that within only a few short weeks, almost everyone develops an insatiable hunger for heroin. Soon, you are not even getting high—you do it only to not feel sick. Heroin addiction and the inevitable withdrawal always become a terribly destructive merry-go-round and one that most people find nearly impossible to get off.
Michael and I were both hopelessly addicted to heroin the day we decided to rob the whorehouse. That morning, we spent the last of our cash, scoring enough dope to ‘get well.’ As the day wore on, the effects of the heroin wore off, until by nightfall, we were both in the debilitating throes of withdrawal. Needing to fortify our courage before heading over to Berkeley, Michael and I spent the early part of the evening slamming down shots of Wild Turkey and playing pool at a favorite neighborhood bar. By midnight, the alcohol had reinforced us with false bravado, while masking the worst of the withdrawal symptoms; we were ready to go rob the house. We hopped in the van that Michael had borrowed earlier that day and took off for the Bay Bridge.
But we never made it to Berkeley that night. Michael and I were hit by a train!
The exact events are cloudy because Michael and I were so trashed on Wild Turkey; however, I am quite sure that the Cal-Train was at least partly at fault for the crash. First, the cops arriving on the scene were so anxious to try to make us believe we hadn't been in the van at all when it was hit! (But look, officer—how'd all this glass get in my shirt pockets if I wasn't in the train?). I distinctly remember the impact. Second, even though it was obvious that Michael was wasted drunk, the cops did not arrest him—even after informing the lead police officer of the sexual acts he was planning to engage in with the cop's mother (I remember Michael telling the cop, “I’m gonna fuck your mama up the ass!” Now, most of the time, talk like that doesn't fly with the cops—even the more mellow San Francisco ones). The entire incident just did not make sense. The cops even gave Michael and I a ride home!
Splashing cold water on my face the following morning—I wondered if that train might have just saved our lives. Would we have been gunned down at the scene if we had gone through with it? Or at the very least, armed robbery would have landed a severe prison sentence.
I did take advantage of being able to truthfully tell others that next morning, "I feel like I've been hit by a train!" However, it would be years before I appreciated how very lucky I was to have been hit by that train that night. It could very well be that this was yet another case of my guardian angels watching out for me when I was too foolish or self-destructive to take care of myself.
Peace,
Melinda
p.s. I apologize for not having a podcast for this entry; I am currently in Maine and I left my recording equipment in Boston. Sorry!
Categories: Drugs,Addiction,Heroin,Personal Stories,Sex Industry
Tags: withdrawal heroin addiction personal stories robbing whorehouses
you are amazing
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Thank you so much, Karima--and may I say, you are pretty amazing yourself. Every time I see those amazing naked sushi photos, I just . . . . . oh!
Melinda
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This story calls to mind the phrase "a charmed life". I'm so happy you are here to tell it and I'm looking forward to reading your book.
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Hi Timethief--Absolutely--in fact, that is one of my favorite sayings! "I have led a charmed life." And how true that is!
Melinda
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I've been reading your blog from the beginning to try to understand a portion of what you've gone through in your life. I skipped to this entry, as the title yelled at me to come read it.
I still have quite a number of entries to read, but I have to say ... you impress the fucking hell out of me!! (Sorry had to swear there to ensure the true emphasis of my statement came through.)
You and Cathy have soooooo much in common, it's actually scary in a way ... and she too impresses the fucking hell out of me! Life has thrown some rude curveballs at the two of you and you've both survived ... with the love of a great guy! (If I do say so myself!!)
I hope this find you guys decompressing in Maine.
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LOL, Rory! Your comment really made me smile. I have felt from the very beginning that Cathy and I shared a special bond. I feel that she senses that also. We share another thing in common, Rory--we both found wonderful men who give us the love that was missing for the early part of our lives.
Maine is truly wonderful--we are so blessed to have this place. I thank Les's mom Gladys every time we are up here--for having the vision to build this place at all!
Thanks so much for stopping by--
Melinda
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I really enjoyed this post. Your story is so cinematic! I can just visualize you with Michael as you describe each progression of your relationship. The way you describe the drug as the "warm arms of God" I could just feel the warm, golden comfort wrapping around me.
When you look back upon this relationship, do you wonder if the intensity of the relationship was further heightened by a subtle awareness of the drama of the situation? We grow to fit the characters and images we build of ourselves in our minds.
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Still--thank you so much for your kind words about my writing--that really means so much to me.
And your comment about building the intensity of Michael and my relationship is so insightful--that's absolutely what I felt. This was particularly true of being a junkie--I played the role to the hilt, once I realized I was addicted. I talk about this in my book--that once I knew I was addicted to heroin, my relationship with drugs forever changed. There was just no going back.
Melinda
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I want to say - thank goodness you were hit by a train and that you were okay.
Something must've been up with the cops and the train. Wouldn't it be wonderful to know what that was! Sounds like a scene from some weird surrealist movie, I'm thinking.
Of course, I'm sure you never saw it as a wake up call at the time, but I imagine it was the first of many. Just as I'm sure there were many more before you were finally able to break away from heroin.
And I tend to agree that your guardian angels were indeed looking out for you that night.
That sort of physical attraction you and Michael felt is just so impossible to resist. I understand how that is, although its been a quite a few years since I last experienced that!
Sounds like you two were soul mates of some kind and you certainly had your adventures together! Can't wait til I get the chance to read your book and find out more.
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I agree, Svasti--I honestly believe we could have both been shot--or arrested had we actually made it to Berkeley that night. What was I thinking! (I wasn't, obviously).
This was most definitely a wake up call--and if Michael and I had not been together, perhaps that would have been the catalyst I needed to finally get clean--but Michael and I were so bad for each other; we played off each other's most destructive qualities. When he wanted to get clean, I couldn't--and vice versa.
I thank my guardian angels all the time, Svasti! I honestly do.
Thanks so much for coming by--
Melinda
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Okay: heroin, robbing whorehouses, slamming down excessive amounts of wild turkey & telling cops you're gonna fuck their mamas in the ass=generally highly dangerous activities.
Getting hit by a train=generally more dangerous than all of the above put together (except maybe the cop thing).
What was it Neil Young said about what kills ya can save ya...or something?
Anyway, I'll forgive you for not including a podcast, since I'm one of those Barney Rubble-era bloggers who's still not sure what a podcast is, much less how to put one in a blog post...
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LOL, Jay--no one can ever say I haven't lived an eventful life! This was definitely one of the more colorful experiences though!
Melinda
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In a blog full of astonishing stories, this one just might be at the top. You could say it is the engine on this train of thought and memory.......
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Wow--so eloquent and beautiful--and so concise, Lydia. You are truly a marvel at words.
Melinda
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Really amazing and it's written so pure and honest! It sounds like you just wrote a scene out of a movie and this was a part of your life. Surreal! The train accident is really very freaky, especially since the cops just didn't believe that you were sitting in the car when it happened! You have been so lucky and I'm soo glad that in the end, how tough the ride through life has been for you...that you now can look back and think "I'm alive, I'm happy...I've survived"
Many thanks for sharing ^_^!
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JT, You know, few people have told me that there should be a movie of my life. And I think that it actually could be kind of interesting--but first things first. I need to make sure I don't get too far ahead of myself.
But the more money the book/whatever makes, the more people I can help with my foundation.
Thanks so much for stopping by!
Melinda
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the clarity of your hindsight is just amazing. I love how you can take your expereince then, what you've learned in the recovery process, and look at the whole thing as a complete picture now.
I've done some pretty crazy/stupid/dangerous/substance addled things in my life as well, and have always felt there was such a thing as a guardian angel, and that I had one.
What's the old line, "God watches out for fools and drunks.."
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Cozzie Laura,
Lol--I have said that same line many times myself, "God protected this foolish drunk (addict)." I'm glad you had your guardian angels working overtime also!
Thanks for stopping by--
Melinda
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There are ways to beat heroin addiction. Narconon Arrowhead has a 76% success rate with heroin addicts. The reason our rate is so high is because we don't substitute a drug with another drug.
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I'll have to check into your program and learn more about it. I think the most important thing for treatment is that it be comprehensive and long-term. A thirty days in-patient treatment program, regardless of what methods are used, are not going to permanently change most people's behavior. Addiction is never really the primary problem--it's always a symptom of a much bigger issue. To effectively treat addiction, you need to get to the root of the problem.
Melinda
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Melinda-Somewhere out there in the night there's another young woman about to be hit by a train. Let's hope she survives and finds her way home to freedom and happiness as you did.
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Amen to that, NP--amen to that! Would that I could take every struggling addict out there and try to pass along what I know. And actually--that's really what I am trying to do.
Thanks, as always, for stopping by Melindaville.
Melinda
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Whoa.. You should definitely write an autobiography!!!!!!
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And I am, my friend! Actually, it is now written--but still being edited. Thanks so much for stopping by!
Melinda
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It is better late than never right? I found your story very fascinating...romantic and heart-stopping. It is amazing that despite the destructive paths you both led during those times, you're still together and still touching the world with beautiful music and healing.
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Awwwww--thank you so much! Your words really brightened my day!
Melinda
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I love how you write! You really make me laugh...I swear...I can see the whole thing...2 stoned junkies gonna shoot up a brothel...It's really funny...and thank God/dess for that train! by the way, I completely understand the attraction...the seeing of oneself in another...only I saw it in a female friend in the'80's...we looked like sisters...both tall blonde, and wearing tight black leather...it was hysterical...we'd go out dancing together at clubs in the city a lot....tease and torment men..but we agreed we could never make love...because it would be just like having sex with ourselves...anyhow..so the question I am left with...whatever became of you and Michael? (Geez...we only do dumb stuff like that (the robbery scheme) when we are young, in love and loaded...but I really love how he tried to take care of you and did not want you to go back to working in the sex industry. It honestly sounds like there was love there between the 2 of you...more love than many of us get to experience in this lifetime...
peace...
Trish
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Ha ha ha ha ha, Every once in a while, you need to have a funny story (even one that is rather dark humor like this one)!
What became of Michael? Michael died of a heroin overdose in the early 1990's. In many ways, Michael's death allowed me to live because we were so destructive to each other, I doubt we would have ever stopped using if we had stayed together.
Thanks, as always, for stopping by--
Melinda
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