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Showing posts from July, 2016

Sicker than Others.

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When I was just finishing middle school, I was very meticulous about my appearance. This was complicated as a fat girl. However, I had discovered in the pages of Seventeen magazine the joys of camouflage. This included spending hours on my nails. I would try all sorts of combinations of wet n wild eye liners, eye shadows, and Bonnie Bell lip smackers. I would spend my free time combing the malls for just the right outfit, the one that would make people like me. In the mean time, I always carried gum or candy in my purse so people would have a reason to talk to me.

It is hard to believe that it wasn't too much later than I was sleeping on a mattress that was pulled from the garbage. It was complimented by other scores. I had a recliner someone left for the trash man, a mirror left outside a retail place, and a trashcan that became my vomitorium. As I crawled deeper into the bottom of a spoon, I prayed there would be someone to love me at the other end. Would someone come and rescue…

I haven't been writing much this week.

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I am on a deadline to collect research for my naloxone program. Hoping to use it to get funding for it. 
I'm starting something new tonight. 
Here is a cat picture to cheer you up! 

Numb

I have said before that heroin probably saved my life. I still believe that. I know that doesn't make sense to the uniformed. How is it this substance that grabs the user by the throat and leads them around could possibly have a positive impact? Well, it was certainly true in my case. There comes the point in the life of a suicidal person where there are only sparse alternatives. For me, drugs were the very last one. The crippling depression I had experienced since I was an adolescent was pulling me under like a rip current. I no longer could paddle my way to the sandy beach. The more I tried, the more I felt the undertow. The cold blackness pulled at me until I felt as if I was walking around in life, merely gasping for air.

Heroin, for all the myriad of drawbacks, provided a brief salve for my mental wounds. I didn't go STRAIGHT to heroin, of course. I had to work my way around the other opioids first. Eventually, those had become less and less effective. Never the less, the…

Heroin- that bitch ain't real

I wish you could see the person I see
I wish you could feel the way I feel  I wish you could feel love again-

Heroin- that bitch ain't real.

A different clip from my appearance on Dr Oz

You can click here to see one or both clips

The Good Girl

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There was a time when I was the nerdy kid flipping through pages of my latest book. I would be sitting inside  laying my blanket on the vent of the air conditioner on a hot summer day eating Doritos and sipping on Mountain Dew. Summers in Ohio would get sweltering with the heat mixed in with the humidity. An occasional thunderstorm would roll in to water the grass, only to create a outdoor sauna in the morning. My hobbies included playing video games, drawing, and staying up all night to catch the latest R rated movie while my parents slumbered unaware in the next room.

I was the good girl. I didn't have teenage boys awkwardly fumbling between my legs or weed stashed in a hollowed out book in the closet. I wasn't oblivious to vices, I just wasn't interested in them. I had seen the sloppy way the people in my life moved and behaved after they ingested a substance. They smelled of desperation, the alcohol leaking out of their pores as they swatted mosquitoes next to tiki tor…

A video clip of me talking about getting of Opioids

You can watch here

Open letter to my readers.

Today's entry is directed at you. You as in the collective "you" that take the time out to read my blog stories. First of all, thank you. I started this blog a few years ago as an outlet for the memories that have haunted me over the years. The memory of the hooker with the colostomy bag, the 13 year old boy who used to turn tricks then cry as he begged people to inject him with the money he extracted from the pedophiles that picked him up. There was the opportunity to explain that Jake was a fully realized human being that I called my friend. There was the legacy of the lovers that passed through my life only to end up dead as a result of their drug use. Finally, I got a place to process all the traumas that occurred in those years while I lay slowly dying. The rape, the violence, and sense of despair that hung over my daily existence.

Over the course of publishing this blog, I ended up becoming friends with many of you, mostly young folk. I use the term "friends&q…