When I was around 10 years old, a friend of my father's touched me in a way that was inappropriate. My father had these drinking buddies of his. They were men who were rough around the edges. My mother would not allow his friends over the house. I now have an understanding as to why. My father had a rough upbringing where he learned about pool sharks, carnies, and men with four fingers. When I was in jail, my father told me "all my friends are in the cemetery or the penitentiary". In the early years. I worshipped my father, despite his alcoholism. I always took it personally if he would go out on the weekend leave me behind. I am not sure how he made it home on drunken autopilot. I suppose he could have curbed some of his urges for the sake of the children but it seems unlikely. Maybe he became less and less functional over time.
I remember one time he took me to the office on a Saturday. He left me alone and bored in some one's cubicle. I began pulling open drawers when I discovered a treasure trove of Playboy magazines. I wondered why there were pictures of naked women in the desk in a place where I would have stashed some candy. I quickly closed the drawer when my father came back in the room. I never told anyone what I had seen.
Such was the case when the man put his hand down my shirt. The whole thing seemed so casual. My father had some business with this man that was being solved over a few beers. To keep me busy, the man had asked me to clean up his condominium a little. He was a confirmed bachelor, he told me. The place needed a woman's touch. I was eager to make a little bit of extra money I could use to augment my stuffed animal collection. I guess I was a little old for stuffed animals. I didn't have many friends so they were a great substitute. It was hard to make friends when I was fat and awkward. No one was ever allowed over our house. I was never sure why that was but my mother rarely accepted company. I wanted a new Snoopy or Woodstock or whatever I was collecting at the time. I tried my best to do a good job.
When it was time to leave, the man was very impressed by what I had to offer. I am not sure why a grown man would want to stick money down the shirt of a chubby freckle faced girl with stars in her eyes. I felt confused "aren't my boobs in there?" Why wouldn't he just hand me the money? Did my father see? I guess this isn't a big deal because the man didn't think it was an issue. Plus, I got my money. I felt strange about it later. I think he might have looked down my shirt and why did he stick his hand down there.
I never told anyone. It was perfectly okay, right? I was high on speed one high talking about everything and nothing at the same time. For whatever reason, I told my male friend about it. He put his arms around me. he told me I was safe. He told me that things like that were never going to happen to me again. He was wrong, of course. So many other things happened to me. I never connected this to anything. But when I thought about it, I always felt ashamed.
I don't know what I bought with the money. What was it- $10? Whatever it was, it ended a part of my childhood. I felt like men wanted to look at my boobs. I wanted to cover them up. I have slept with a bra on since then. All my life. I wanted to take a hot bath and rub my skin off. I never knew why- I just did.
I don't know why I chose heroin. Maybe heroin chose me. Heroin was the delicious blend of FUCK IT ALL that I needed to live. It set me free. It allowed me to forget all the things I wanted to get out of my fucking head for years. THANK YOU HEROIN. It gave me some peace. Heroin lied to me though. Heroin was a hungry monster. It wanted more and more and more of me. I gave it everything. I gave it everything for that feeling of love and fuck it and feeling like I was the best looking asexual creature in the universe. I have to give it to you heroin, you had me at hello.
I don't know why some people use drugs. I don't know why some people can use heroin or other opiates here and there and not get addicted (assholes. I hate you. Just kidding. So jealous. kisses.). Seriously though, long before there was the drugs, we were all just little kids trying to scrape enough money together to buy our toys. We are all the same. Our experiences seemed to point us off in a different trajectory
We are not the sum of our past. We are capable of loving and being loved. We deserve happiness. Find it my friends. Find your joy. WE deserve it.
I love you my friends. Tracey