Keenan had been asked a lot of questions in his day and had to qualify himself for a lot of things over the years... like when he applied for college, or for any job he'd had worth mentioning, and of course for various large purchases like cars or small loans. But for the first time in his life he had to prove that he went through enough hypodermic needles, that his drug use was beyond recreational. He had to qualify himself as a junkie in order to get somewhere. They didn't want his credit score or GPA, he couldn't manipulate them with words or impress them with his pedigree. That stopped working some years ago anyway. To anyone else, putting a needle in your arm once would have qualified you, but here, once wasn't enough. This was the last house on the block. People didn't come here unless they were completely out of options. They wanted to make sure he qualified.
Unlike every junkie he'd met, he couldn't say he was the product of his environment. He didn't grow up in the ghetto, near crack houses, watching his aunt turn tricks for smack. No one in his family used... or influenced him to live like this. His mom took acid one time in the 60's, and while he doesn't know this to be factual, he imagined his dad probably smoked pot at least once in Vietnam, but nothing that lands someone in a place like this. His relatives are all successful within the spheres of what they do. He wasn't beaten or abused sexually, emotionally, or verbally. Keenan always had what was needed and some of what he wanted. That's not to say his childhood was picturesque. His mother was a bitter divorce' who did the typical "let’s keep the kids away from dad thing." His father paid alimony and child support every month so her plan backfired by way of visitation rights. She quickly settled for talking trash and inadvertently planting negative thoughts in her children's minds about the only father they'd ever have, due to the scorn she held for the man who broke her heart. She was a religious fanatic, pushed God down their throats, and was an emotional wreck for many years.
For no particular reason he grew up feeling a sense of distance between himself and other kids. Every day after school, having successfully barricaded himself in his room, he would become immersed into the worlds created by Goodkind and Tolkien, drawing various mages and mounts, and playing D&D with his favorite giant stuffed dragon named Fire Crotch (a name given to him after an accidental fire related incident involving hair spray, a lighter, and the dragon's pelvic region). His pastimes didn't exactly lend themselves to popularity, nor did his freckled face, or out of style hand-me-down clothes. All that being said he still had no crutch to lean on, no solid excuse as to why he turned out the way he did. Even if he'd had Joan and Wally Cleaver for parents, or had lived the life of Zack Morris, he'd still be sitting in that chair qualifying himself. That much is sure.
When Keenan was around eleven he stayed the night at a friend’s house and found an issue of SWANK. He sat in the bathroom, simply because it was the only place to go without fear of someone walking in on him, for close to an hour looking at various women's junk. He had never masturbated and the thought of touching himself never crossed his mind, he just enjoyed looking at naked girls. After being satisfied at having a raging hard on for an extended period of time he figured it was probably best to put the mag away. He stood up and by complete accident brushed his little piece with the magazine as he set it on the counter. The next few seconds was the most amazing feeling he had ever experienced. It was better than Saturday morning cartoons, it was better than D&D, it was even better than listening to Dio. There was a bit of confusion as to exactly what happened but he knew he liked it and was gonna have to do it again! He tore a page out of the magazine, folded it up, and hid it in his Velcro Batman wallet. After school he'd rush home, go upstairs into the bathroom, unfold his secret stash of porn, and chase that feeling. Months of experimentation taught him that hand soap was ok but would leave him raw, dry, and walking funny. Conditioner was better and his sister's Bath and Body Works lotion was the SHIT! Masturbation was at the top of his fun list, beat out (no pun intended) only by actual sex once he lost his virginity. That was the extent of his compulsive behavior, until he started finding himself in these rehabs...
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