Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Amor Estragado

Amor Estragado
 
"Eu preciso de uma ajudinha aqui ..." Gritei na esperança de que ele estivesse me escutando "Foda-se pra você. Levante-se."
Escutei-o se coçando antes de ele abrir os olhos.
Ele me perguntou: "Cara - por que agora?"
"Venha aqui pra segurar esse lado da minha perna pra mim, você pode?” Disse para ele.

Ele odeia essa merda. Ele odeia essa parte de mim. Ele estava em algum lugar distante enquanto eu estava sentada fritando. Eu havia usado um pouco de speed (metanfetamina) na noite passada. Estou sentada agora num tapete sujo de hotel usando um shorts estilo boxeador. Gosto de usar esses tipos de shorts porque fica mais fácil de me levantar quando eu estou com drogas guardadas naquele lugar. O novo ponto que escolhi para me injetar foi uma veia que serpenteia ao redor do meu joelho até a minha coxa. Estou com um problema enorme esta noite estou com uma baita infecção me matando exatamente nesse lugar. Preciso dele para segurar um dos lados da minha perna para que eu possa limpar a infecção. Dói pra caralho, eu não consigo fazer isso sozinha. Ainda mais fritando de speed como agora. Minha perna está tão inchada que eu estou tendo que arrastá-la como se fosse uma parte extra de um "Thriller" ou alguma criatura estranha.

De imediato, ele protesta "Tracey, eu não não quero fazer isso."
Como esses homens podem ser tão frangos em certos momentos . É até bom para eles não ter que ficar menstruados todo mês. Ou nunca. É como um show de horrores. Às vezes eu não tenho certeza se eu quero matá-lo ou transar com ele. Esse speed me deixa louca. Começo ouvindo coisas. Eu preciso cuidar da minha perna agora.

Minhas pernas são tão pequenas que ele consegue encaixar a mão debaixo do meu joelho e agarrar os dois lados. Eu sempre fui muita gordinha. Mas agora que estou tão magra, minha perna quase cabe nas mãos dele. Estou usando uma camiseta cavada sem sutiã, por que me preocupar. Eu não vejo meu peito seis meses desde que eu sai da cadeia. Eu deveria estar em liberdade condicional. A última vez que eu tinha visto o meu agente de condicional, eu os segurei o tempo suficiente durante a visita, então eu vomitei no meio do caminho um bloco abaixo do McDonald's. Eu sempre parecia me divertir me injetando em locais públicos e vomitando onde quer que eu estivesse sem me preocupar com as outras pessoas, por causa da heroína. Ou álcool e heroína. Ou álcool, comprimidos, heroína, crack, mais comprimidos, mais bebida, lanche e um maço de Debbie que é exatamente o combo básico de um viciado.

Ele mal consegue manter os olhos abertos até o pus e o sangue da minha perna bater no queixo dele. "Merdaaa", ele grita. Simmm, eu penso. Espremer um abcesso bem infecionado é como ter um orgasmo, isso se eu me lembrar como é ter um orgasmo nesse momento. Esta beleza de infecção é amarela, verde, e tem um pouco de sangue. Eu tenho sorte de espremer logo o miolo da infecção. Então, eu dou a ele alguns guardanapos para que limpe seu rosto.

Tento beijar a penugem em seu queixo. De repente, tenho um sentimento que eu não tive por um tempo. O que é esse sentimento - sim. Eu me lembro agora. Acho que * pode * ser tesão. Eu o agarro.

"Tracey, que merda." Ele não tem idéia do que diabos estava acontecendo. Estou tentando seduzir o meu namorado de quatro meses no chão de um quarto de hotel sujo com pus drenado da minha perna. Tem algum tipo de romance nisso. Então eu percebo que estou com uma puta dor para querer transar. Caramba. Esse sentimento se foi. Não que ele não pudesse ir de qualquer maneira, mas ainda assim, foi uma boa fantasia.

Enquanto eu fico sentada e me limpando, ele acena com a cabeça para trás. Como eu queria que tudo isso fosse apenas uma merda de um sonho. Este hotel, minha perna que está prestes a cair, o speed correndo nas minhas veias. É hora de fazer uma aterrissagem, ter um momento merecido de repouso e fingir que isso não é a minha vida.

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

The Overdose

There is some mold building on the windowpane. The streets are calling me back again. If I die in this room, will anyone know my name? Will I be toe tagged Jane Doe- DOA from an overdose. If I settle for a moment, will I slip into darkness. I washed down those pills with Old English. If I light a cigarette to wake myself up will I catch myself on fire on top of this mattress? There are holes in my socks, holes in my jeans. There is a hole in my heart as deep and as wide as the tears that fall on my shoes when I scream. Or at least I thought you heard me cry but it was just a lucid dream. 

If I die today, will I grip the table- gasping as I try to stay? 
Will I slip into the abyss while you sleep three feet away? 
I promised you that I would stop. Another lie, another day. 
An overdose, a life explored
Death is my comfort
My pain is now yours. 

Sunday, July 27, 2014

Black Tar Heroin DVD giveaway

I am giving away two DVDs of the movie. You cannot buy this anywhere. To enter, leave a comment on how this movie impacted your life. I will number the entries and have two picked at random. If you are concerned about privacy, create an account to respond to the posting because the posting will not be private. 

Monday, July 21, 2014

Tainted Love

"I can use a little help here ..." I scream in hopes he is listening "Fuck you and your nod. Get Up."
I hear him scratching before he opened his eyes.
He asks me "Dude- why now?"
"Just come here and hold the side of my leg, Okay?" I tell him.

He hates this shit. He hates this part of me. He was somewhere far off into a nod while I am sitting up tweaking. I did some speed last night. Now, I am sitting on the dirty hotel carpet stripped down to my boxer shorts. I wear boxers because it is easier to get up into my snatch when I have drugs stuffed in there. My new place to hit has been the vein than snakes around from my knee leading down to my thigh. There is one major problem tonight- I have a raging infection in there right now. I need him to hold one side of my leg so I can lance the center. It hurts so fucking bad, I can't do it on my own. ESPECIALLY since I am tweaking my ass off. My leg is so swollen, I am dragging my leg like an extra from "Thriller" or some creature feature.

He protests instantly "Tracey, I do not want to do this. "
Ugh, men can be such bitches some time. It is a good thing they don't get their period every month. Or ever. Like a freaking horror show. Some times I am not sure if I want to kill him or fuck him. Speed makes me crazy. I start hearing things and seeing things. I need to get this leg drained now.

My legs are so tiny he can fit his hand under my knee and grab both sides. I was always so chubby. Now here I am so skinny, he can almost fit my leg in his hands. I have on a wife beater with no bra because why bother. I haven't seen my breast since six months after the last time I got out of jail. I am supposed to be on probation. The last time I saw my probation officer, I kept it together long enough to make it through the visit then I puked all over the side of the steps of jail house at 850 Bryant. In fact, I puked half way down the block to Mc Donald's. I always seemed to enjoy shooting up in public places and puking where ever I needed to without concern for other people because- heroin. Or booze and heroin. Or booze, pills, heroin, crack, more pills, more booze, and a little debbie's snack cake which is truly the junkie dietary staple.

He can barely keep his eyes open until the puss and blood hits him on the chin.
"FUCCCCCCCKKKKKK" he screams.
yessssssssss, I think. Popping a decent sized abscess is like having an orgasm, if i can even remember what that feels like at the moment. This gem of an infection has yellow, green, and some blood. I get lucky and can immediately squeeze out the core. I hand him a few napkins to wipe his face.

I lean over to kiss the peach fuzz on his chin. Suddenly, I get a feeling I have not had for while. What is that feeling- yes. I remember now. I think I *might* be horny. I grab for him.

"Tracey what the fuck." he has no idea what the hell is going on. I am trying to seduce my boyfriend of four months on the floor of a dirty hotel room with puss draining out of my leg. That is some romance right here. I realize I am in too much god damned pain to fuck. Damn it. That feeling is gone. Not that he could do it anyway, but still, it was a nice fantasy.

As I sit there and clean myself up while he nods back out, I wish this was all a fucking dream. This hotel, my leg that is about to fall off, the speed coursing through my Veins. It is time to do my landing gear and get some much needed rest and pretend this is not my life.

Black Tar Heroin T-Shirts

I am going to do another round of Black Tar Heroin Shirts to raise money for harm reduction. Please email me at traceyh415@gmail.com if you are interested. The shirts will be done in a few weeks 

Friday, July 18, 2014

Looking for Guest Posters

Hey Readers- I am looking for some guest posters. If you are interested, email me traceyh415@gmail.com.

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

How did I get here?

            In August of 1990, my “husband” was released from prison. I use the term husband loosely, because the only husband I have ever known is the one I am with today. This person was both a parasite and a predator. I thought I was in love with him. I even gave up drinking for him. Six long months of no alcohol to prove I was loyal to him. The seeds of addiction had long been planted in me. I already was obsessed with things. This time, it would be him. I needed a spark, a catalyst to drive me into the spoon. He would soon provide me with both.

            I had completely abandoned the life I had known to be with this man. Left college, left my friends, my apartment for him.  I was so young, so impressionable. I had little experience with men. I had saved myself for my first serious boyfriend, which I did not have until I was nearly 18 years old. I had always been the fat one, the girl with glasses, the smart one. I had thought this man was different than the rest of them. I met him when I was on vacation. He gave me a feeling I had never had before in my life. He was dangerous. He had a tattoo on his neck, big rings on his fingers, and a way of talking that made me feel like I was the only one in the room.

            I should have seen the red flags but I was too young to realize a homeless man with a criminal record and a baby he was not taking care of man not be the best catch. He latched on to me. He needed ME but I never saw it. He needed me to take care of him because that was who he was- a user and a loser and a hustler and a player.

            “Are you going to eat that?” he asked me.
            I smiled and told him “yeah, I made it.”
            He shook his head “you are big enough” he told me “you don’t want to get any damn fatter”.
            I handed him my cheeseburger.
            Of course he was right. I don’t want to get any damn fatter.
           
             And he was right, I was stupid, despite the fact that I tested out of almost my whole first year of college. And maybe I was a little lazy, despite going to school and having a job. He was right about so many things and I was wrong, wrong.

            “No, you are fucking wrong”, he told me. Yes, I was always wrong.

            And then one day he hit me. He humiliated me and he hit me. He had my name tattooed on his neck. I did not understand. Did he love me, did he hate me?  I HAD to leave him. I had to get away from him. He had just gotten out of prison and spent up all my money on a tattoo business. (Thank God I at least got a bunch of shitty tattoos I had to spent thousands of dollars to get covered up. That relationship was the gift that kept on giving well into my 30’s).

            I went to “visit” a friend when I had a very strange conversation. It was if someone was talking but I was outside myself. I had left my body and someone was delivering this horrible news. YOU KNOW HE HAS BEEN SLEEPING WITH YOUR FRIEND WHILE YOUR WERE ASLEEP. I finally heard her talking but I could not take it all in. “….and by the way pass the drugs” went the rest of that story. I ended up homeless in Louisville, KY. I would go to the bar Discovery and find a place to stay for the night. I was too embarrassed to go home to my parent’s house with my tail tucked between my legs like the dog that had been beaten. It was true. I had the three inch long bruise to prove it.

            I can make an million excuses but I chose the drugs at that moment. That glorious feeling of knowing I truly did not care as the tears streamed down. I was a fat fucking failure and no one loved me, I could not even love myself. It was August of 1990. Three weeks completely charged the trajectory of my life.  Some of you were not even born yet, but my addiction rose to great prominence that day. It over took every element of my life. I went home to Cincinnati. I found a way to forget myself and I woke up seven years later. Every one makes up their own reasons and these were mine 


Tuesday, July 8, 2014

And if I died

If I would have died will a needle in my arm,
What would you have told my mother,
Would the world embrace my death,
And carry on as if I did not matter.

There are so many times I should have died:
I overdosed twice and yet I live
I was kidnapped and held hostage, and yet I live
I had a johntry to   murder me, yet I live
I was hit by a car crossing the street, yet I live
I tried to drown myself in the ocean, yet I live
I believe I have survived for a reason.

Some nights, I sneak into my kids' room. For some reason or another, they have all decided they want to sleep in the space that is not much larger than my last jail cell. I see their red cheeks and slightly sweaty faces. There is a piece of me in there. The best of me has been passed on to them. I see the innocence in their faces. I wonder was I like this? What was I like before the drugs, before the misery, before the mysteries that I unlocked with substances.

I could ramble on with a story about how I was molded into an addict. That would not be true to my story. That was a life I chose through a series of unfortunate decisions. I enjoyed my using for a few "good" years. I was thin for the first time in my life. I got attention. The drugs took away my desire for sex or love or friendship until I craved it intensely like a hot cinammon roll and a klonopin chaser. I felt as if I was in charge. I was free of society. i was free of restrictions. There was no one dictating my future. I held my destiny in the palm of my hand and knew exactly where to put it.

The freedom died when the habit crept in on me. I had a sad little story and tearful eyes. I was not free- I was completely dependant on this little thing to keep me happy. I was soooo smart I thought I could reason my way out of addiction. One night, under the street lamp. I was folding up all my belongings and carefully arrranging them in my shopping cart. I was living outside. I was a feral creature incapable of being trained without chemical treats. I told myself "one day, I am going to leave this all behind and go back to school". the thought was so absurd, I didn't even bother to say it outloud so the shadow people could laugh at me. And yet, I survived that night. And another, and another, and another until one day, that thought came true.

If you are enjoying getting high, I get that, I totally understand that but you may not be so lucky. I am one lucky woman. Be safe my friends. Be gentle with yourself. Make plans.

And if you survived that night and another and another, congrats to you my friend.

If I die tomorrow, my children will know my life is worth some thing. I am someone of merit. I love them and I love you all.