Sunday, June 22, 2014

A Legend in My Own Mind

I reached my hands into my purse and stuck my finger. A god damned uncapped syringe again! So frustrating. I suck the blood off my finger.

The fact that I even carry a purse is a complete farce. What is the contents? A old tampon I really don't need since I haven't had a period in eight months. There are four condoms, three regular kind and one oral sex kind. They say if tastes like mint but it tastes like tums. I'm not having sex anyway. I keep those in case some hooker needs them. I am always prepared to assist for a price. I got a travel sized bottle of bleach, six alcohol wipes, twenty bundled up syringes, and two food stamps. I will buy some five cent candy to break them when I need change for the pay phone. I also have napkins in case I have to go to the bathroom and wipe off some blood. This is lifestyles of the the rich and famous in reverse. I am poor and infamous.

I almost missed the exchange today. I took some plungers out of barrels to make it look like I have the full twenty. I drop them in the container quickly. The volunteer smiles at me.

"How many?" She says in her syrupy sweet, I never touched a drug in my life voice.
 I wonder what she thinks. Does she pity me? Did she have a brother who died of AIDS so she had to get involved? Is she draw to losers like me. Does she secretly go home and think to herself- THANK GOD I am not like THAT person. I could have been her. When I started using heroin, I was in college. I had a future full of such promise. I entered college with 42 out of 45 credits to test into my second year of college. What do you want to be, they asked me. I already knew I wanted to be a junkie. I just did not know what that meant.

I smiled faintly at her as I replied "Forty".

I wonder if she knew I was lying or if she just did not care. I must look like a pathetic creature. I am trying to get a box of syringes out of this place. I can sell a box for $50. Selling each individual syringe, I can get close to $200. There are plenty of needle exchanges but there are none between  two am and six am which is when I make all of my money. I went to school for business. Who knew I would be working as an entrepreneur in the streets. I gave up hooking awhile back. It was just too dangerous. After the guy tried to kidnap and rape me, I felt like it would be a good time to give up my corner. I also get paid as a freelance hit woman. Drug dealers contact me to hit up their girlfriends in the neck, boobs, or any exotic locale where they might still have a vein. It is dangerous work because if you fuck up, they will pay some crackhead some crumbs to fuck me up.

I was sitting in the classroom one day. They were teaching about the division of labor. Management has a unique obligation to keep the union out of the workplace. I am being trained to be everything I despise in this world. I slowly sink into my seat. I am so hungover from last night. I live in a University town. At twenty years old, it is easier to buy weed then to buy beer. I should never have mixed a vodka and cranberry juice with those vicodins. I need to leave-NOW.

As I rush to the bathroom, the irony is not lost of me. I was a student that was so full of promise. I barely make it to the toilet in time to puke. The cranberry juice makes my heaves vibrant. There is no food in there, not a drop. I stupidly arranged to live off campus so I could do my dirty deeds without an audience. Now I am both drinking myself to death and starving at the same time. If I wasn't so hung over, I would table surf at Taco Bell for left overs. I have no shame. I dry my face off with some paper towels- is this how bad it can get? Ha, I am just getting started.

In a few more months, I would be on my way to San Francisco, the trip that would change my life. Now, I just want to keep the world from spinning. In the course of a year, I would lose everything. My job, my apartment, my family, would be all gone. You didn't realize that did you? Did you think I was born a junkie. Sorry to say, I ended up that way. I stuck my arm out on a cold Cincinnati evening and the rest of was history. You may not see me now. Shuffling down the street with a purse full of broken syringes but I existed once. Now I just make my life up as I go along- a legend in my own mind.


6 comments:

  1. oh Tracey I wish I had it in me to tell my story like you, I like reading your pastTRUTH and Seeing Your Truth today

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. You should- even if you do it anonymously.

      Delete
  2. I love you lady. Honestly... I appreciate you and I see you and im glad I get to. Keep on doing your thing, it's much needed.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Where have you been? Hope you are well

      Delete
  3. Thank you...just thank you. I have spent the better part of my day reading your blog while fighting my sickness. As much as I would love to tell you I am done...I know that is not true. I am fixated on tomorrow afternoon when my brother gets his fentanyl patches changed. Defeated, but hopeful.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks for reading Megan. Feel free to email me if you have any questions

      Delete