Addiction is curious thing. Some can’t even begin to think how a person’s want for something can change into a need. How a need can spiral into an obsession. One may find it difficult to grasp what goes through the head of an addict while in pursuit of the fix. One cannot explain what makes a junkie, that is, until you become one.

As a boy, I took a trip to The City with my parents. Strolling downtown, my white eyes were witness to a phenomenon. I saw the freaks lined up down the sidewalk, waiting for their fix. They were all anxious, especially those at the front of the line. They must have been waiting around for hours, maybe even longer. Some had no money, I was sure. One young woman in particular asked us for cash, or extras. She mentioned something about extra.. was it ‘hits’? or was it “ticks" she had said? I wasn't sure. My overwhelmed ears couldn’t tell what it was she was looking for. It seemed like she was practically begging for entrance into this place, some kind of altered world.

My family was even offered that possibility of entrance by a stranger in a parka with a wad of cash in one hand and a strip of stubs in the other. This man got my attention, but my father guided me away from the peddler.

As I turned to look back, the row of people grew in depth and diversity: older men, who could have been an uncle or a teacher; young, scrappy teens smoking cigarettes, likely synchronizing the lies they were going to tell their parents about the activities of the night; well dressed college students with crew-cuts and brown bags surrounding large bottles; grubby hippies with their tie-dyes and dread locks; people speaking in foreign languages -- just people. Then there was the door.

I remember feeling a strange yet strong pulse from the other side of that door. That pulse was drawing me in. The farther away I was led from the building, the more my curiosity grew. Every time the door swung open, a wave of sound crashed onto the sidewalk. As it closed, a few people in the line were swept in by its tide.

Once I was far enough away, that scene had all but emptied from my head.
At that time, I had no idea what that scene was about. After school, like any other adventurous youth, I went out exploring with my friends and looking for cool rocks. But in time, it seemed as though a lot of the other kids went out looking for a different kind of rock -- a rock I did not yet know. One day after school, I noticed a connection between this rock and my experience in the city.

While waiting for my mom to pick me up, my friend Richie was talking about this other rock --about how heavy it was, and about how cool it was. That rock seemed like it was for adults because he mentioned girls, fast cars, and drugs while describing it. We were not supposed to know about these things according to moderate morals and our current curriculum.

When Richie’s mom’s car arrived, I felt that pulse again. As the passenger door opened, that familiar rumble escaped from the car. After he had gotten in, the door closed, and the sound muffled into a hum that was more felt than heard. I sat there at the edge of the sandy playground confused, but aware.

After that day I found that pulse everywhere. I began catching glimpses of its power and influence in the most common and familiar places: at my school, at the mall, my next door neighbor's house, and then on TV. I was beginning to understand what this other rock was all about. I would later, of course, realize I had not even begun to scratch the surface of this rock. Even in my naiveté, I could feel the pulse, but it didn’t yet feel like it was my pulse. I still felt left out. What was everyone getting that I wasn’t?

Soon after, I received my first personal dose of that rock. My aunt gave me a new cassette for my birthday. At last I had my own piece of this rock that I could do with whatever I wanted, although I didn't yet know how to put it to use. One day, I tried it.
There I was in my own bedroom with a borrowed tape player and Appetite For Destruction by Guns N’ Roses. There is an entire book to be written about that first experience. Let’s just say for now that it changed my life forever. That was the beginning of my addiction.

After a while I grew a tolerance for the stuff. Sometimes I needed something stronger, heavier, more intense. Other times I needed something to calm me down. I sought out and acquired those fixes. Music became a drug, and just like regular drugs there was a different prescription for each different mood. Some of it made me feel good. Some if it was scary. Some made me cry. Some of the stuff made me want to smash things. As I developed as an individual and music fan, I discovered how different types could render different effects. Soon I began mixing them, searching for the ultimate high.

It wasn’t long before I found myself on that same street, waiting out in the cold with large tour busses pumping exhaust into my lungs as if to prepare me for my journey. As I stood in line, a family strolled by. Turning around, a young boy’s white eyes locked on mine as if he recognized me. I couldn’t help but plainly stare back, as if I recognized him. It was a curious phenomenon, I thought, although the thought quickly passed as those doors swung open and I was swept in by the tide.

I had become one of them. My metamorphosis was complete. This once pure, naive child had progressed into a face in the sea of bobbling heads with a fist in the air, circling in a torrent. My hair grew long. I bought the t-shirts. I was first in line for the junk. There was no way to return from my newfound lifestyle back to my naive childhood. Brilliant hazes of multiple hues and florescent lights now filled my coloring book. Lyrics about love, death, and excess became my reading material. Guitar licks became my building blocks. I had leapt from the sandy playground of innocence and began swimming in the Technicolor ocean of song and dance.

I had to admit it. I was a music junkie.

******************** end of part 1

More from Kenny Kast:

Memoirs of a Junkie (Part 2)

Memoirs of a Junkie (Part 3)

The Snowball Effect