Wednesday, September 30, 2015
I don't know if I was born an addict. I know my behaviors certainly molded me into one. That roller coaster of crippling depression briefly came to a screeching halt when I found opioids. There was my solution, my lover, and my best friend in one place. There was a time when I thought the real problem was simply not having an unlimited supply of drugs. When I came to San Francisco only to have unfettered access to them, I began a cycle of self destruction that was past my ability to rationally manage.
8 years of on and off homelessness
11 trips to jail
2 methadone clinic runs
Amphetamines for months on end
Attempt on my life
Yet here I am. There is a scene in "Black Tar Heroin" when I look out the window. I say outloud to no one
"Sometimes it makes me happy."
I kept chasing the sometimes.
The important thing is that I believed some day I would get off that shit. I believe some day I would give up everything I knew, everything I loved (my drugs). Just like you.
Some day, you will too.
Some day, you will send me a message "Tracey, I just wanted to let you know..."
I can't wait for that fucking message.
I will love you until I receive it.
I will do everything I can to keep you safe.
I will work to make the world a safer place for people like us.
Because you deserve it.
My book is coming out in March. A fucking book being sold in bookstores. I got my author page yesterday. I find it hard to look at. I was supposed to be dead ten times over. Here I am.
For all the people who doubt you, they doubted me too.
Let's prove them all wrong.
Saturday, September 26, 2015
Saturday, September 19, 2015
Work. Dope. Sleep.
Work. Dope. Sleep. Broke. Cry. Twitch. Whine. Ahhhhh. Nod.
School. Dope. Sleep.
School. Dope. Sleep.
School. Dope. Sleep. Beg. Borrow. Cry. Twitch. Shit. Ahhh. Nod.
Scam. Hustle. Scam. Hustle.
Tick Tick Tick.
Call. Wait. Call. Wait.
Sick. Sick. SICK!
No, I didn't lie to you.
Well, maybe, just a little.
Yes, I promise I will get clean.
Middle. Skim. Middle.
Another Day, another felony.
Some cheese, some tar, some scramble.
My life inside a plastic bag.
Valium. Vodka. Ramble.
My self esteem? I misplaced it.
My faith in God? I erased it.
I held my future in my hand.
I traded it to my man.
If I die in my sleep,
Promise you won't wake me.
If I have to live this way,
I pray the drugs will take me.
Tell my family that I loved them.
Tell my girl she will love again.
Tell my boyfriend that I am sorry.
As I fade into oblivion.
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
They didn’t fucking prevail.
It's 6am and all I can think about is scoring heroin...I'm not sure how I ended up in this situation, wait....that's a lie. I know exactly how this escalated to black tar. I followed that curious cat down the wrong alley, tripped, slipped and fell nose first into a pile of brown powder...well,fuck me....let's get this show on the road.
630 am "maybe he's awake, should I try calling?"
I mean, the sun is almost up and he MIGHT be up....That's the logic of an addict, I know damn well he won't be awake for at least 4 more hours..and that's still not likely, my call log is more like a continual spiral into drug craving madness.
745am While my cravings are completely mental, that voice in my head just won't shut the fuck up...That gorilla on my back weighs 800 lbs and he's a mean fucker when he doesn't get his way. He's a master manipulator and will speak to you smoother than a seasoned pimp mackin to a fresh bitch on the track. He's taken up residence on my left shoulder, like a belligerent squatter refusing to leave. At times he's calm and smooth and can give me all the right answers when I need to make excuses about my drug use and where all the money I've made is......but he's Bi-polar as a muthafucka. In a flash he can transform into the raving uncontrollable beast that brings me into the abyss of self destruction..
For the past 3 days he's been on a rampage, he knows my drug break is up...he was on a warpath until I tricked him back into his cage.
About 3 weeks ago I told my dealer to cut me off...this was after several scary black outs at home, my girlfriend definitely knew I was fucked up on something.... Xanax and heroin can throw you into a helluva stupor...if you are reading this you have either been in one or have seen someone in one. This is the walking zombie syndrome, when the nod takes over and you fall asleep standing up...mid speech...in the middle of the he meal..it doesn't matter, you will only know it's hit you when you snap out of it.
Like an extra in "the walking dead" your body is there but your mind and soul are ultimately gone
This is known as the "dope fiend lean " and it defies all logic of balance, some people will be full on touching their toes while nodding out while standing...others turn into bobblehead dolls and their heads just dangle about.
I was the walking dead...slamming into walls, almost crashing through the shower doors and shattering them in the bathroom. .. I snapped a chair in half after collapsing into it...it was pretty scary that she saw and heard me like that. If she catches me I'll lose her...there's no coming back from "oh yeah by the way I got a small problem, it's heroin but I promise to stop"
Knowing damn well I wouldnt...
"THE ANTICIPATION ON PLEASURE OR PAIN IS ALWAYS GREATER THAN THE REALITY OF IT"
As I sit here thinking that the high I'm chasing is some fantastic orgasmic feeling of pure euphoria, it's not...and it hasn't been for a long time. I use alone so the social aspect is gone, and having to hide the habit and the high is getting to be too much. How the fuck am I supposed to enjoy myself when I have to hide it?
The answer....a drug vacation day. I put in an order for 5 grams of black tar, knowing that the chances are slim of this happening the way I am planning it. Called in sick to work to score heroin and get high....Yeah I'm sick alright..sick in the fucking head. One day this whole shit show will be exposed to the world and they will know my secret. While I clean up nice and can play chameleon on most situations to blend in, I'm sure everyone I know has caught me in a nod once...and I've been able to blame my insomnia for most of it.
See, I've battled insomnia ever since my last long term relationship...and it was with that bitch Crystal. See, before brown sugar was my sweetener of choice I dabbled into the world of high grade stimulants. Beautiful shards of all shapes and sizes were crushed and sniffed or smoked. My girlfriend at the time liked it, and I was trying to play it cool and party with her even though it wasn't my thing.
See, the stint I served in the Amphetamine Penitentiary was during a different era, we didn't have the quality these tweekers have...our shit was just that, shit.
Crank was a filthy predecessor of crystal meth around the 90s, but it was what we had. Rose, Peanut butter, and others dirty white powders were the flavors available. We didn't have these magnificent shards of glass that looked like they were stolen from a chandelier...we had shit that tasted like it was made in a motel bathroom. You could see the pink from the benadryl they were using...sometimes the dope would still be wet. Leave a line of this stuff on a CD case too long and it would seemingly begin to eat away at the plastic ...and we happily snorted this shit by the boatload with no concern.
I didn't enjoy smokin meth because it never really got me high like everyone said...until one day. I was renting a room in these shitty apartments by the freeway, most are occupied by section 8'ers or dopefiends...I ended up with a section 8 dopefiend, such a winning combo
I was green to crystal meth and the glass pipe wasn't my specialty, she would fire it up and tell me when to hit it...and after a few hits I got the hit that changed my life.
"Whoa....so THAT is what everyone is talking about!!!!" as I feel a tingle just flow through my body like a low voltage electric buzz...we smoked more and fucked like rabbits until the next day. I was selling crystal at the time and had around an ounce or so usually with me at any time....until I broke the commandment of "never eating high on your own supply"
Little did she know I was barely sleeping 3 hours a night after that, and was smokin my way into meth psychosis. I was able to hide it well enough, but what happened was just more of us using together. She wasn't hooked but liked to party...so I played along. While we'd get high on the weekend together...
"First me and Crystal on saw each other on the weekends,
But now Im hiding my tweekin
and seeking her out everyday in between em"
And that's how I ended up on meth for about a year or so.
I sit here at Ocean Beach and watch the waves roll in and outt... pop another xanax to hopefully calm the beast....and wait.
I picked up some good weed from the club to try and calm King Kong down for awhile. They called the stuff Gorilla Glue,ho fitting,hopefully it will do the trick... the names of weed nowadays is pretty interesting...hopefully this glue will keep my mind stuck on something other than heroin.
As I smoke my joint and watch the waves flow, I feel the warmth of the sun on my face and for a split second I forget all about dope and just enjoy the view..the weed elevates my mood for the moment and I'm at piece...
I look down at the halfway burned joint and mumble to myself "this shit is the bomb" I drift off into a dreamy haze with the sound of the ocean and seagulls. For a brief moment I forget about heroin and fall into the comfortable bliss of the xanax and weed...it's such a beautiful day, I remember so many good times here. My car engine still running, I pass out and let time fly.....worry free
And then the beast jolts me from my slumber....fuck, did I miss his call? How long have I been asleep....? FUCK!
It's now 1130 am....is he awake yet? By my logic it should be a decent time to try and call someone...or maybe not? I dialed his number and listen.....one ring....2 rings, 3 rings..
The 4th ring means he not answering and inside I pray he answers.
"YEAH...what's up? "
Why does he bother asking this?
You know what the fuck is up, I need to get high because I sure the fuck didn't call to say good morning, make small talk, and discuss the weather.
"It's all good but you gotta wait until around 3 to get it"
A four hour wait for heroin feels like 12 hours in my mind, but what can I do? I make sure to remind him I need 5 grams, because he'll forget and only have 2 to spare. He sounds annoyed but at this point I don't give a fuck, I want my dope....
It could be worse, I could be left to scouring the streets of the Tenderloin and taking my chances with strangers hopin for a friendly face....which is an endless roulette wheel of possible rip offs. I should be thankful that I have a direct phone number to the devil himself and he answers my calls for the most part.
How can so much emotion and joy be created by this small ball of black goop. This sticky tar has so much power to be just an inanimate object..once it touches you, there are thousands of unseen teeth that sink deep into your soul.
Heroin has no soul, but it can permeate yours and cause it to disintegrate rapidly and causes necrosis of the soul. When Im high, nothing matters...I am numb to the world and my mind is no longer racing with madness.
I enjoy the bliss off slipping in and out of a conscious reality and into my personal dreamland. In a nod..a single thought manifests into a detailed dream, each new nod takes me down another rabbit hole in my twisted mind. But the true bliss is the complete numbness to anxiety, worry, stress and fear..
It's funny how this can ease the pain on life in an instant. The most stressful day is instantly relieved once that double wrapped plastic package is secured. After 3 days of a drought and no connections, today felt like fucking Christmas and Junkie Jesus smiled upon me. 5 grams of tar and I'll get through another couple of days before the carousel begins again.
The cycle of addiction is hard to break when the monkey lives on your shoulder and is constantly whispering sweet nothings in your ear....life itself doesn't feel the same without hop and I hate that my peace of mind and happiness is routinely based on copping. I try and pass the time by reading stories on r/opiates to help me realized I could be in a much worse situation..
I could be using dirty toilet water to try and get a hit from old cottons, or I could be puking my guys out and I fully blown withdrawal shitting on myself in a SRO in the TL. I'm not trying to say my struggle is worse than anyone elses, because I know it isnt...but it is still a struggle for me mentally and controls me more than I would like it to..and this is just my story.
36 phonecalls in a single day to the same number are a clear sign of a problem, and I sit here and wonder how much of a dopefiend he sees me as. See, my dealer is also one of my best friends....while dope brought us together, we formed a bond and treat each other like real family..a twisted misfit bunch of dysfunctional addicts. We don't just meet up for transactions, we actually hang out and have a friendship..
This friendship of course gets rough when the main dope man aint around, he can't cop, meaning I can't either and it turns into phone tag and text relays.
Yeah, I could hit 16th or head over to the TL and try and cold cop....but I got a family, a job, and a lot to lose if I were to get busted. My boy Irish aka Big Rich was my sidekick in the L's, he knw every spot, every dealer and could get us some action within few blocks of browsing.. Rich died alone in an alley in the Central Valley during a relapse and overdosed. Xanax and Heroin killed my boy.
And that's the same combination in my system now.....I pray for the strength to break free from this. I've done it before, it can be done again.
Until that day comes, I'll live this life day by day....praying for the courage to face life without the need to escape reality, but to face it head first without a crutch.
There is something in life I have yet to discover that will mean more to me than getting high...I struggle daily to find and accept this, and pray for the epiphany that will save my life in the long run.
Until then I'm taking my spare change, tossing it into my pill bottle with some mannitol and a chunk of black tar and drift off into my personal land of peace....without worry, anxiety or the ability to give a fuck for a few moments of incoherent bliss...
May God grant me another day of life and allow me to wake up from my self inflicted euphoria....
Thank you for reading.....you are not alone..
Tuesday, September 15, 2015
Saturday, September 12, 2015
A man of odd circumstance,
A victim of ghetto demands.
Feed me money for style
And I'll let you trip for a while.
Insecure from the past,
How long can a good thing last?
No, no, no
Got to be mellow, y'all
Got to get mellow, now"
For a generous fee
Make your world what you want it to be
Got a woman I love desperately
Wanna give her somethin' better than me
Been told I can't be nuthin' else
Just a hustler in spite of myself
I know I can break it
This life just don't make it
Lord, Lord, yeah"
Gotta be mellow, y'all
Got to get mellow, now
Friday, September 11, 2015
When I was using drugs, the Sex Pistols reminded me there was "No Future". There was no future for a person like me. I hated the world. I hated the establishment. Most of all, I hated myself. I am not sure how I went from a loving, confident child to an anxious teen full of self- loathing. Incrementally, I changed into a person that was afraid of the world. I was afraid of my reactions. I got into drugs and alcohol because it was that or suicide. The solution later became my problem.
I survived the Era of AIDS, attempts on my life, 34 abscesses, living on the streets, overdoses, and other forms of violence. That chapter of my life ended in handcuffs. It started when I decided to turn my life around. I was twitching and sweating on a plastic mattress on the floor of the county jail. They gave me a plastic bag to collect my vomit. I wanted to put it over my head, to suffocate everything I was feeling- everything I knew I would feel if I quit drugs. I did it. I stayed clean ever since. 17 long years.
I worry about you all, my friends. I see you all as the lost generation. 126 people dying everyday for opioid overdoses. Is it more now? The number changes every day. 126 lives lost to these drugs. A family that is now torn apart. Friends spiraling into a tidal pool of grief. A community will lose it's greatest resource, a young person full of ideas.
I fear for you. I fear for your safety. Every day, another person dead. Some days, there are two that I know. What must you all be thinking? What are you feeling, knowing that could be you? How many lives have you lost?
How long will people sit around and watch people die before they decide enough is enough? I wonder if we will have a whole generation lost.
Tuesday, September 8, 2015
Monday, September 7, 2015
I shake my head.
"Ohhh you think that is too much information?" he asks me.
I roll my eyes.
He follows "how do you think I feel about think I feel about watching you dig for a vein a half inch from your pussy?"
I pull my hat down, pretending I am slightly embarrassed.
The truth is- when it comes to drugs I have no shame.
We met in the hall way of my hotel. I wasn't looking for anyone. I preferred to do my thing alone. A man tended to get in the way. A man was either lying in the bed crying about ho he was sick, in and out of jail, or trying to put restrictions on my use. The last one I dated only wanted me to use when he was around, as if I couldn't handle myself. The idea was ridiculous. Everything bad had happened to me in the first six months after I got to San Francisco.
Beaten up? Check.
Had someone try to kill me? Check.
Those things were long in the past. That was a whole year ago. I was in a different place now.
He had blue eyes, blond hair. He had a remarkably muscular body for someone who used drugs every day. He was around my height, I'm tall so that made him average height. He had a slightly chipped tooth in the front. He had overdosed on cocaine. He hit the nightstand during a seizure and chipped it. He was a speedballer and overall hustler of the highest order.
"What are you looking at?" he asked me as I passed him fixing by the stairway.
"Not much..." I told him as I sprinted toward my room.
"....wait..." he told me as he tried to register.
I stopped and asked him "for what asshole?"
He finished his business and took a look at my face.
"You are a FEISTY one," he told me. His face went bright fucking red from whatever he had just injected.
"Whatever..." I told him as I turned back towards my room.
I heard a gurgling sound. "I'm dying...." he told me as he grabbed his chest and fell on the floor.
UGH fuck. For a split second, I think about leaving. The good person in me takes over.
This tar in my bra in going to start melting in the cellophane if I don't take care of this soon.
I sprint back down the stairs to the landing where he is halfway lying on the floor.
As I reach down to check his pulse, I see I have been tricked
"...I'm dying to know your name..." he tell me.
I kick his leg. "Fucking asshole," I tell him.
He jumps up. "Well now that you know my name, what's yours?" he asks again.
A junkie fucking jerkoff. Great.
He didn't get my name that day but he found me. It turned out he was my upstairs neighbor. We used the same connection in the building if we needed at midnight shot. I had done too much speed without landing gear. I needed someone to hit me. Someone who knew what they fuck they were doing. He volunteered.
I should have never let his tweaking ass come anywhere near my arms but of course, I did. I was desperate. After that, we were a junkie couple of sorts.
My hustle was an intricate one that ate up most of my day. I was a middle man for various dealers. This one couldn't know I was working for that one. That one couldn't know I was working for this one. They all couldn't know I spent my own money on a completely different guy I had deliver a 1/2 mile from my hotel. These customers, these were people on the street. They had absolutely zero patience. They were rolling up with runny noses, looking for a place to shit if they couldn't get a hit in the next 30 minutes. They had no time to wait. Time and time again I would direct them to some crappy dealer, knowing the bags were short and stomped on. After I got my free bags, I would turn around and sell mine then take the money to my guy.
He was a smash and grab guy. He would walk miles and miles up and down the streets of San Francisco at night. He would hit the tourist district, the parking garages of the hotels. He would look for any high value item worth stealing. He would take a piece of platinum spark plug, throw it at the window, and have it silently shatter. From there, he would quitely take out the glass. He even popped the trunk in some cars. I have never, ever met such a brazen thief in my life.
"Don't you ever feel bad?" I would ask him.
"That is a complicated question," he would respond.
Yeah, so that means no, I thought to myself.
I was out all day. He was out all night. We would hang out right before the sun went down. I left when he would start carpet surfing. Or he would leave if it took me too long to get a hit. He told me it made him sad to see me like that. Such a beautiful girl with blood crusted all over like a fucking ghoul.
"Shouldn't we be fucking?" he asked me.
We laughed in unison. Such a preposterous idea. I curled up next to him in bed as he hit the light.