Kim

Last night I was working the highway, looking for dope or whatever else I could find. A car goes by me with a burned out headlight and I stop it. Kim is driving. Long story short, She is under suspension and has a loaded hypodermic full of what I think will probably be heroin in her purse. She was on her way to buy more heroin when I stopped her.

The story is not the stop. The story is Kim. She looks like your average 40 something lady. Problem is, Kim is 25. When we got back to the station I started to talk to her, and like most heroin addicts, she was very honest and forthcoming about her situation, maybe more than any other addict I have ever talked to.

Kim started using heroin when she was 15 years old. In her words “Before that, I was using Oxycontin. I was using Oxy before Oxy was cool.” Pills lost their magic and a friend gave her heroin. That was 10 years ago. Today she is up to twenty bags a day. That’s a lot of dope. It controls her life. Every waking moment of her life is spent figuring out where she can cop more heroin. I asked her if she has ever stolen anything to get heroin. She seemed proud of her answer.

“I’m not a bad person. I have never robbed nobody, I’ve never stole from my mom, and I never sold my ass.” she said.

She isn’t working because she can’t function like you and me. I asked her where she gets the money. Sugar daddies. She is friends with old guys and they give her money. I’m not sure that I believe she hasn’t sold herself, but she swears she hasn’t. While going through her purse I found that she had $200. That could be spent on detox. It could be spent on food. It could be spent on a lot of things. It will be spent on heroin.

Kim asked if she could call her mom. I asked her if her parents knew. “Oh yeah.” She said. “They know. They hate me.” I told her that it had to be killing them, watching her do this to herself. “Everyday” she said. “Their hearts are broken”

I asked her if heroin was more important than her family, not really prepared for the answer.

“Heroin is the most important thing in the world to me.” she said. “I love heroin. I would die for heroin and I will die from heroin.”

“I know I will die from it” she went on, “I don’t want to stop, I don’t want help, I’ll get high an hour after I get out of here.”

She called her mom and broke the news. I could hear her mom crying on the other end. “Mom, I need $3,500 to get out of jail, $350 if you use a bondsman.” She put her fingers to her lips, telling me to be quiet. “I have $100 if you could help me with the rest.” She needed to keep $100 to get high when she got out.

Kim’s hands are nothing but scars from shooting up. She uses her arms, her feet, her toes, her legs, her butt….anywhere. She has scars from infections and probably the worst track marks I have seen in a long time. I asked Kim if I could take a picture of her hands and tell her story. She was proud to let me do it. Almost like the track marks are a badge of honor. “I’m really proud of my arms.” She said. “Have you ever seen straighter tracks?”

Other than being an addict, Kim is a nice girl from a nice house in a nice neighborhood. I asked her if she had a crappy life growing up, hoping to convince myself that this could never happen to MY kids. She had a good life. Parents had money, paid attention to her, gave her what she wanted. “Watch your kids” she warned. “I was just like them”.

As I closed the cell door on her, she thanked me for treating her like a human being. “The cops in Cleveland stole my money.” she said. She told me that she’ll probably have heroin the next time she passes me. I told her I would arrest her again if I find it. “Both my headlights will be working next time” she said with a smile.

Kim is not her real name. I changed the name because her name is unique. While she doesn’t care, her parents might. I am sad for Kim. She is a shell of what could have been. Her parents had the same hopes, the same dreams that I have for my girls. Her parents never once thought this is how she would turn out.

“Watch your kids” she warned. “I was just like them.”

Scarier words have never been spoken.