Yet another bitch session about the fucked up existence of Steffon Haaby.
written 03 08 05

I have this feeling recently like my life is never going to improve. I am convinced wholeheartedly of this, and what�s worse is I know why this may be true. For the past long while I have been a drug addict, I have gone about in a heroin induced haze of life, like a ghost. When I was younger I was not really able to focus on anything and that made things difficult for me in later years, mostly now. I started taking drugs when i was fourteen and like most people I just moved up the ladder of substance abuse until eventually I was hooked and fucking up my life for real. Recently, i have started trying to get and stay clean, so that I can get my life going in the directions I want it to be going, but I seem to be lacking something.

In the winter of 2003, I made a decision top stop using and move with my best friend to Rochester, NY, so I could start learning how to get a job and possibly get into college. He made all these promises about sticking with me one hundred percent of the way even though he could have easily just gone back to his old house and get anything he wanted due to hometown advantage. I was excited to go on this trip, because he seemed totally devoted to helping me out by working at my slower pace. When we were on the train I told him that if he ditched our plan and went to live with his girlfriend, leaving me on the streets in the winter in upstate NY, I would probably find a way to get strung out and would never forgive him. He promised this would not happen. Needless to say, we got there, and within a week he was living with his girlfriend, where I was not welcome, due to the fact that I was being a little brat, and her roommates didn�t really want me around the house, because I hadn�t been clean long enough. I ended up in a men�s shelter that winter freezing during the day and not sleeping at night. Eventually I ran into a few dope fiends who told me where to find junk, and how much it cost. Within a couple of days I was doing whatever came to mind to get money, and acting junk sick to get dope. Somewhere near Valentines Day I got caught shooting up coke in the bathroom and was kicked out. It was still five degrees outside so I decided to play suicidal and get into the local nut ward for a while, till I figured out what to do with myself. While I was there I met a guy who told me I could live with him if I helped him to work on a house he owned. When I refused to have sex with him that ended, and I had to call upon my friend Rachel, to see if she cold arrange for me to get some couch space at the local drunk punk rocker house in Ithaca, NY.

While in Ithaca I managed to get my first real job as a dishwasher and couldn�t find any heroin at all which was good, till I met my good friend�s uncle who told me exactly where to go. Goodbye sobriety, goodbye paychecks. I was using as often as possible, and I think people were hip to it. Rachel, who by this point was my girlfriend, knew what was up and had seen me getting high. She didn�t tell anybody cause she cared enough not to get me beaten and ostracized. Eventually we got evicted from the house, so some respectable people could move in and clean it up. I had been shooting dope with whatever money I had left after rent, so I was pretty much broke by this point and didn�t have time to make enough money to find someplace to live, so I went back to Rochester to stay with Prescott in an attic he was paying for. I couldn�t get a job there because I wasn�t trying, and I ended up dragging Prescott back in to the fire of pot smoking and forty drinking, so he lost his ambition to make music or do anything productive. I was also using dope when I could get the chance, and eventually was kicked out of the house.

When I was asked to leave the place I had been staying I went to Detroit to see my other best friend, Rose. She was using so I used with her, and she got into some huge trouble and ended up without a job or home and went to jail. While she was in jail I was working at a movie theatre, but I had no place to stay. I was sleeping on a friend�s couch for a while and instead of giving them money I just bough a whole bunch of dope every time I got paid. I stole from work a few times, but I don�t think anybody caught on. I got fired anyway, though after going to jail for riding my skateboard illegally on my lunch break. I came back to SF after that and got back into the same old shit.

I was depressed homeless and strung out. I had discovered a blank check on the ground and used it to get a hotel room and a cell phone, and some dope. It was a matter of time before the rest of the cash ran out and I was back on the streets again. I thought I was going to use the $600 to get my life together, but that turned to a vicious failure. I was using the wrong phone number on all my job applications, so instead of me getting interviews, the employers got some angry Russian guy evidently. I soon discovered AA and NA meetings and got a sponsor, I got a job at my favorite bike shop, but I still had no place to stay. I found a place to stay with one of my coworkers and got fire for relapsing and for living with a coworker. Back on the streets. Got a girlfriend and ignored her for needles and crack pipes sold most of my stuff and ended up in jail. After the jail thing I finally got into a recovery program, which I have recently left after being there for 5 days. I am going to try
to get into outpatient recovery and therapy and hopefully gain the strength to finally go through with the twelve step process and with a recovery program. I hope I can get through this thing. I am tired of continuously fucking up my life�.