Poor Johnny. I always could feel his pitiful plight. Not unlike to my own, but he was a bit older and further down the road.

It truth, Johnny never had to do anything. His father died when he was fairly young and he was virtually raised by his party buddies. Johnny was a trust fund baby, but you just can’t call a heroin addict spoiled rotten. I spent a good bit of time with him, when I was about 18 and he was 23. He was always interested in the martial arts I spent so much time doing and I would just hang out smokin’ a little pot, watching him do “China White”. I never had any interest in doing that. I knew how dangerous it was. He didn’t care and did a lot of heavy doses, hitting floor moaning himself into a stupor. I’d go out in his back yard and work out with the NunChuks. I could go 20 minutes straight at full speed….all the handstand push-ups and lots of exercise.

Johnny was in a terrible vicious circle. He’d do heroin for a number of months, get arrested and sent to Camarillo State Hospital for 6 months. While there, his trust fund would build up because he was paid monthly, so when he got out he had a bunch of cash available.  He’d buy a sports car and a bunch of heroin and do that over and over.  In some ways, one of the worst things I’ve ever seen.

At 25 he was finally getting sober, and he’d ask me, “what do I do now”.  I always told him, “exercise”.  That’s what I did all the time.  One night Johnny went home to his mom’s house and laid down on the couch and died.

The autopsy stated there was no sign of any drugs. I can only guess he had no fight left in him and he laid down and just died, hopeless.




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