Watercolour painting of Justin Booth who is a US poet, here is his story in his own words
I quickly made myself available after hearing about this artistic endeavor. I saw only after looking closer that the study of men and their ailments was then supposed to be tied to injuries sustained at work or something like that. I have some wear and tear on me, for sure, and while I did labor in the trades off and on for most of my life, I was not sure that the shape I am in could be related. As a carpenter and as a mason my body did hurt most of the time but I never really sustained an injury that could be blamed for the scars, the surgeries, the wheelchair I still have or the canes I use daily. If I am honest, even though I did work as a tree trimmer, a bartender and bouncer I was never Justin the carpenter or anything to most people. People who knew me mostly thought of me as Justin the drug addict and it is not employment for forty years it was my job. I am not here to tell that story but suffice it to say the lifestyle is not conducive to good health and a body well equipped for defending itself against injury. I used heroin for more than three decades, went to prison twice during that period and slept out for the last half dozen years of my active addiction.
I am no doctor and would not hazard a guess as too all the ways my now diminished state has been affected by this “occupation”. Even though I am now free of the worst of my substance abuse, it was not fast enough to save me a fair list of ailments. In the past year I have had three surgeries, two on my back and another repairing the hernia caused by the first. I cannot say how I broke my back but when I went to the emergency room doctors found staph infection near my brain and spine. I might have died from that alone but it caused me to live in delusion for a month or more, during the state of confusion I believed I worked undercover for the government and my girlfriend was a prostitute that while breaking my heart still needed my covert protection. A few years ago, I went to the Emergency Room and was having five bypasses and a heart valve repaired the next day.
These days I make a meager living telling the story of my ill-fated self-destructive adventures. The same stories my bones tell me. They remind me that with so little certainty in life it is best if lived fully and with panache.
