Thursday, March 30, 2017

Junkie Boy.

There is nothing like a perfect junkie boy with perfect junkie collarbones feeding me perfect little lies. I look at him, with his pinned eyes. I know that everything will, in fact, not be alright. I want it to be very very wrong. There is something about the way you treat me. There is something about your swagger. The way you make me feel safe then pull that feeling away like a hot cooker. I feel for you. I feel with you. I melt into you while you drift away, dreaming of an endless pile of get well that will keep us together for ever. I love your bruises. I kiss your swollen knee, swollen from running from the security guard when you boosted us those pints of Ben and Jerry's. I would love for you to hold me, those arms cold and clammy. Maybe we can fuck today? Tomorrow? Next month after we get our checks. No, I haven't gotten my period yet but i know I'm not pregnant because I didn't let that trick come inside me. I've told you a hundred fucking times. We were both sick- remember.

Perfect junkie man, where are you? I've called to you so many times. Come tell me that you think I am beautiful. That we can make it together if we try. I will save some of my methadone for you if you will only walk through the door. Promise me you will never go until you leave me once more.

Chaos of the Sober Mind

Fuck this.
Fuck this.
Fuck this.
Fuck that.
FUCK IT.
Fuck you.
What the fuck.
Ugh. Fuck.

Please feel free to add to the list.

This is where my mind is at today. A swirling vessel of chaos.
I wish I had some insight as to why I end up back in this place so frequently.
I grew up in chaos.
It formed me into who I am.
I respond better in a crisis than happiness.
It just doesn't feel as good.

Saturday, March 25, 2017

Afraid

"I relapsed" the blue bubble passes across the screen.
"I'm afraid I might lose you"
At least I know you are alive to send this message. That is little consolation though. I had finally put two and two together. I am surprised that it took me so long. All the hits were there. The faint smell of alcohol. The long list of excuses of why you could not hang out. Unfortunately, my self esteem is so low at times I completely began to wonder what was wrong with ME.
"I know" I push send. I am a sentence too late.
I know, I knew, I don't know what to say.
"I am here for you". Whatever that means.
How could I have missed it? I am not sure. Heroin strikes again. That fucking bitch. Haven't you killed enough of my friends? Haven't you taken enough from me? My freedom, my lovers, a big chunk of my life. Even the acknowledgement that yes, heroin is involved, brings on a new wave of sorrow. I am the "queen" of harm reduction. What the fuck am I supposed to do?
"I love you" I click send.
I love you means many things. It doesn't mean I can trust this. It doesn't mean I can just trust that life is going to work this out somehow. You know what? I am fucking afraid. I am fucking angry. I am afraid that this fucking drug is going to take you like it has taken so many other people I loved. I feel tricked. I feel lied to. I feel slightly jealous- I would LOVE a fat hit to take away my problems for a brief moment. Fuck, I feel very very afraid. I am spinning with anxiety and fear. This wasn't supposed to happen to me. Not me. Not again. Not now.

I normally write sweeping personal narratives about my life as a user. They are sad, entertaining, and true. I never thought I would write about how heroin keeps fucking me over- over and over again. I will never get away from this drug. It follows me every where I go.  Maybe this person will live. Maybe they will die. I don't have any answers. I just know this hurts.

This is a composite of a few different relationships. 

Monday, March 13, 2017

An Angry Sky

The sky opened up. It started to rain, raining buckets. I thought I would drown if I played my cards right. All I was playing was broken hearts. I looked for the connection. Even Mexican drug dealers have limitations. He wore a garbage bag poncho, unprepared for the Northern California weather.

"Uno", I told him. I really wanted two. I NEEDED two. One wasn't going to do shit.

He looked around before he spit the dope into his hand. In his confusion, he gave me a half instead of a quarter. I wasn't going to complain. I've seen junkies try to get brownie points by mentioning errors in the transaction. Oh look- you gave me x.y,z. Fuck all that. It is me verses everyone.

I look into his brown eyes. How old is he? Where did he come from. The last one told me he was 15, brought up her from Mexico specifically to sell dope with his cousin. The one before him was 14. They are all disposable- just like me. They grow fuzzy patches of facial hair to try to make themselves look older. When I was 14, I was still sleeping with a stuffed animal. I still would be if I wouldn't have lost my innocence somewhere on this street.

I look for a corner dry enough to sustain my activities. I look for a vein strong enough to carry away my burdens. I was hoping the rain would drown me. I was hoping I would die but I woke up today. I know this hit won't kill me. Maybe, just maybe, it can make me feel  again.

Friday, March 3, 2017

The Last Day I Used Drugs 2017 edition.

This week marked 19 years since I quit using drugs. I had planned this elaborate post outlining all the horrors that drug use brought me that I was going to share with you. Then, the strangest thing happened. I went out on a long walk around the city I love with a new friend. When I got home, I was simply too happy to take myself back into that place.

Depression is a comfortable sweater for me. Only there are times when I really want to change my clothes. I took off all those layers of anxiety and that veil of sadness a few times this week. I have to say, it felt REALLY fucking good. There are many days over the past 19 years when I have wondered if my brain will ever recover from the damage I did to it. Between the heroin, the crack, the 4-6+ days up on amphetamines, to the copious amounts of benzos, I have feared for my long term sanity. Getting together and talking to another person who has the same issues made me feel like I am not so isolated. In fact, there ARE people who want to be around me. I just shut them out because I am afraid of being hurt or somehow unworthy of affection. It is a vicious cycle of self doubt. For whatever reason, I really spent some quality time with quality people this week. I realized my world is a small as I allow it to be.

I get asked alot- why don't you just put all this behind you? The truth is that I can't forget it. The reminders are there every single day. First of all, I have abscess that are on all my limbs. Between that and the collapsed veins, their is more than enough physical evidence that using was huge part of my left. Second of all, I am a convicted felon. This impacts my freedoms. Third, there are no pictures of me from my senior year of high school to my first year clean with the exception of police booking photos and the movie "Black Tar Heroin: The Dark End of the Street". Finally, the vast majority of my friends are dead. Writing and talking about them keeps them alive.

I don't have a gory tale this year. Don't worry, I have plenty stored for next time!