I believed, because Stephanie told me and because I wanted to believe it, that she was clean - or mostly clean, with occasional relapses - for the last year of her life. The truth is that she tried to kick heroin only because she had no choice: she couldn't afford to keep up the habit, and she couldn't mask the drug use that was costing her cleaning jobs, and she knew it was going to kill her.
But yeah, the part about her drinking herself to death is true.
In her own words:
This brown Mexican is all right, it is actually opium oil though they call it heroin, it comes brown and sticky, cooks brown and sticky so even if you draw on the syringe you can hardly see the red of blood. White Persian is so much sweeter and never makes me sick, but where to find it? So instead the sticky brown goes into the deep dip of the spoon I cook it and draw through cotton, take the cotton out and throw the solution in again add cocaine, draw again. I'm doing this because I want to die, if not permanently then temporarily.
It's no longer a lesson for the sensual self, as it used to be ("educate the rational and the sensual") it's simply a means of throwing my mind outside my body. Life is sad.