That Time I had a Drug Problem

This is a painful memory.

I had a friend who was a little younger than me. We met because of a mutual physical attraction. That part did not last long, but we did manage to forge a friendship that lasted several years.

Along the way, he got into body building, the kind where you build your body to (what I consider obscene) levels of muscle that would be virtually impossible to achieve naturally. He had protein drinks for breakfast and lunch, each including a dozen raw eggs. He ate actual food for dinner, but mostly steaks and other proteins. He ate an insane amount of calories each day. (I don’t remember the actual amount he told me, but I do remember being shocked at how high the number was.)

I found out he was using steroids to bulk up. This is not good. I’ve always been against taking any drugs I don’t need (recreational or otherwise) and it really bothered me that he was injecting himself with (get ready) HORSE steroids, the kind you give to a horse. He would go down to Mexico and get them.

I pondered how to react to this revelation. He was a very close friend and I loved him and wanted him to be happy BUT drugs? Horse steroids? No.

We had a long, intense, very personal conversation about how much this bothered me. It scared me. I feared for his life and safety. We both cried. I don’t think he really understood the ramifications of his choices. He promised me he would stop.

Several months later, I went to his house. We spent time together. I left. I realized I had forgotten something so I went back to his house. I went in and there, on the coffee table, laid out neatly, was a huge syringe and vials of (what I assumed were) horse steroids. He realized he’d been caught in a lie. I turned to leave. He tried to stop me. I kept going, shattered by the betrayal. I wrote him a letter telling him that either the drugs stopped or our friendship stopped. It was too painful for me to see him treat his body so poorly with such potentially devastating consequences. (Not to mention the fact he lied to me.) It was time for him to make his choice.

He picked steroids over me.

Books I’m Reading

Am reading this.

Just finished reading this.

Books I’m Reading

Am reading this.

Just finished reading this.

Books I'm Reading

Am reading this.

Just finished reading this.

A Boy and his Books

As far back as I can remember, I've been a voracious reader. I was very sick as a child, with asthma, allergies and various other ailments that often kept me alone in my room. I would get nature books at the grocers, like Seashells of the World, a Golden Guide, for about a dollar. I would read Highlights at the doctor's office, and the backs of cereal boxes at home.

Some time in the late 1960s or early 1970s, I began to purchase books through my elementary school that were made available from Scholastic Book Services and their Scholastic Book Clubs. We would get a newspaper-like catalog that listed books we could buy, and a form with check boxes to order what we wanted. Always excited to get the new form, I raced home, made my selections and then begged my mother for enough money to get them (they were really inexpensive). I think my book budget was about a dollar -- which would net me four or five paperback books. Then, of course, the wait for a couple weeks until the box arrived in our classroom and the books were handed out. It was a happy time. I wish I could remember the names of all the books I got through school. There were dozens, perhaps even hundreds.

I have a vague recollection of only one specific book from that period: Life Under the Sea. I think the reason I remember that one is the dramatic cover illustration of a giant squid in a fight to the death with a sperm whale.