Showing posts from 2013

You sucked the life

As I look at your reflection, I see the contradiction,  I would love to crawl inside your skin,  But you are so eager to let me in  I grab for you in desperate silence,  Once again,  you seek my forgiveness,  You pull me down like frigid water,  You drain my life and play the martyr. We play house and I pretend, You won't betray me yet again, But I succumb to your advances, Forgetting all the squandered chances. I'm quitting you, yet again. I'm breaking free from agony, My knees are pulled against my chest, You sucked the life out of me. You sucked the life right out of me.

A Tale of Arrogance- A guest post

One day back in 1996 or so, four of us got together for lunch. And not long ago, it dawned on me how arrogant the four of us were. One was the maintenance supervisor at a huge apartment complex in a large Ohio city. Another was a foreman at his brother's construction company. One ran the loading dock at a fruit and vegetable wholesaler, and me, I was a hot shot autobody repairman. A pretty tight bunch of characters, Smug and arrogant in our junkiness, each feeling superior in his own right.  Back to the real matter at hand. 17 years ago, I was a heroin user of the 1st degree. Not realizing I had much of a problem, I would rationalize that by telling myself I was doing alright, I even worked 2 jobs (had to pay for it somehow, right?), so how could I have a problem? And in my arrogance, I would look askance at those boosters, hookers, and petty thieves who supported their habits in such ways. I, of course, was better than them. Yeah. A lot of stuff came back to me today, and I

Christmas Eve Contradiction

I am sitting on my couch looking at my son playing in front of our Christmas Tree. In general, I do not care that much for the holidays. As a food addict, I appreciate any opportunity to stuff my face with sweets with no fear of public shaming. At Holiday Parties, the people with food issues silently nod to each other as we seek an extra helping of dessert. We recognize one another at buffets. We see the smiles as others are finally eating at our pace and it is glorious! For fifty weeks of the year, we deflect from our secret eating habits with our juicing and our fabulous overpriced salads. Two weeks of a year, we can relax and do what we do best- indulge without stigma and judgement. I have spent every major holiday with the exception of Christmas in jail. I have been arrested on both Christmas Eve (for solicitation) and the day after Christmas (for drugs). December 25 is a day when many addicts are flush with cash or items to trade yet dealers may be closing up shop for the day. I

I wish I would have wrote this

I can't take credit for writing this but I wish I would have because I love it. I was written by one of my readers JF. My minds been known to drift in to a pit of the sickness I try to shake it off or find someone to talk but no ones there's to listen So my companions always been me and my addiction Depression and happiness is seperated by the line that I'm sniffin And this ain't no happy chimp that sittin here on my shoulder Its a 800 lbs gorillla and I can no longer control em Can't even remember the last time  I spent a day sober I hit rock bottom and still keep sinkin even lower And I know some that still keep goin..still keep smokin Carpet surfin tryin to find another rock.... as if it was golden Its time to slow my roll,  im runnin outta time I'm already knowing Its either jail or overdosing and id have to rob a bank just to get into a program This can't be the path for my life that was originally chosen Vivid pictures i

A Junkie Hooker Tale Circa 1992

"I'm in love with love so I scatter it in the breeze, until I fall to my knees, wondering why the trail to reason feels like a disease..."  My eyes and blue and my skin is a shade of grey. I hold my fingers against the mirror. The reflection is in a window. I see a skeleton with big eyes and a small smile. I brush my hair behind my ear. I put my hair on backwards. My audience awaits. People want to see me perform. the ups and downs of my routine played out in front of an audience of unsuspecting fools. Can they see that I control them all? Can the see that I blend into any setting and command my universe with a wave of my arm?  I see you wanting to approach me. I am full now. I am so full of drugs my world is on tilt. I am beautiful and I control this corner of the universe. The cars circle the block. Each man is sizing me up to judge my imperfections while he turns on the street. Will this man be the lucky one? Will it be him? They are all so very lucky that

Guest Post- tronb3

Jekyll and Hyde. Just do it.. Its been a while.. A few weeks right?? Maybe a few months? A Year?  Time is up.. Act now he says. Pick up the phone.. DO IT!! Jesus fucking Christ… I don’t want to.. I have told you this a million fucking times now over the last 15 years… Why do you always have to get your way… Can’t we just be Normal for a while longer?? Normal?? HA!! I love how you throw that word around. Like when your two friends overdosed and at their service you told everyone how “normal” you were these days and glad you got off that shit before that was you lying in that box, only to go out a few nights later with that stripper you met. You remember her right??  The one we met at you buddies bachelor party? Why did you start talking to her? Was it her beautiful long hair?  Great body? Perfect ass? Oh no it was none of that.. It was the marks in the ditches of her arms that got your attention. That was a great week. Laying in bed with a beautiful woman drifting in and o

Another Tenderloin Day

I woke up and brushed the fear out of my eyes. The day ahead was not for the faint of heart. I needed to draw my my courage and step among the broken hearts to find the path to opiated glory. You want to hear the story. I was tiny, I was starving. I was withering away in front of my picked up face. I was barricaded in the room. I was alone in the dirty sheets with the burn hole from the junkies that had passed before me. The ghosts of the overdoses traveled down the halls haunting me as I went to pee in that lonely place no one called home. I looked at my face in the mirror. Then I browsed my neck. Will I stick the needle there? I brushed back my hair. This is all I have left. All my fantasies I can pull up from the bottom of the spoon. There is nothing but the clothes on my back. I take a hit of crack. The world is buzzing now with all my rings and tweaks. The freaks await me down the stairs. I need to get my hustle on. I need to plot and plan and scheme and dream empty bags and ful

Guest Post "High In The Chi - The Cicero Blues"

I feel like a purple fucking alien. Standing by the doors on the  7am  Blue line train headed into the city in my grubby jeans and dirty hoodie surrounded by all the early morning commuters in their button down shirts and ties and sensible pant suits. Well dressed slaves, I think. " Cicero is next " the canned pre recorded voice drones over the trains speakers. " Doors open on the left at Cicero". The train squeals to a stop and I elbow my way through all these captains of industry with their sharp little briefcases full of dreams and sales projections. These poor bastards wouldn't step foot off the train here if the fucking thing was on fire. I stumble across the platform and up the escalator to street level. The chills and sniffles are really starting to kick in as a step out of the station and onto the sidewalk. The chilly October wind slaps me in the face and I pull my hoodie up over my head just in time to see a Chicago PD Suburban gliding up to the curb in

This is a post about rotting flesh

This is a post about desperation. This is a post about rotting flesh. This is a post about the point I got when I was using where I cared so little about my body, I would take a syringe full of blood and hot bacteria laden black tar heroin and shove the syringe through my pants leg and into my skin because I was sick. This is a post about the time when your nose is running and you are dry heaving and no one understand the tears running down your face are because you don't know if you are going to sneeze or use the bathroom on yourself. That is what the post is about- those times. I was never much of a self contained person. I always seem to let me emotions leak where I ever I go in some kind of outburst. There are as many kinds of users as there are starts in the sky. In the course of history, there are have been millions, make a billion users of all types of substances. There is also a unique set of users. That classification falls on the hope to die dope fiend. The hope to die

The good news is that I am not dying...

I was walking from the train station. I noticed I was starting to get some type of weird tunnel vision. I felt as if I had a hot flash on the train. I thought to myself for a split second- is this beginning of a panic attack. No, I think maybe I just don't feel well. When I got home, it seemed as if my arms were going numb. I was trying to adjust my breathing so i went to lay down. Everything seemed to be going black. The feeling I was having was as if I was having some sort of medical emergency. I felt as if I was going to pass out. My husband told me to sit down but it was if some kind of electricity was running through my hands and they were shaking and I had to move them. By the time I realized I really was having a panic attack and was not dying, at least twenty minutes had been spent in a terrible state. I went into my purse to get my ativan. It had been so long since I had a panic attack, I was just about to take this old medication out of my purse. My insane thinking- is

My life as a female user- Judge me not

I am all over the place and I hope you do not mind. To start, it is a not so well kept secrets that eating disorders and drug use go together like sugar and cigarettes. Food was usually the last thing on my mind when I didn't have drugs. When I did have drugs, not only could I EAT whatever I wanted, the only thing I wanted was generally a cinammon roll. The thinner I became, the more compliments I received from observers. "Look at you- Looking good." I remember the first time I put on an outfit that was an "acceptable" size 6! Starvation looked good on me! It was a skin tight black dress. I was walking around the Tenderloin. A man asked me for a quarter. My response "where would I put it?" yeah. It was that tight. Secondly, there is an unspoken paradigm. I want your drugs, you want in my pants. However, that doesn't mean the female user is always up for a trade. It is as if when the drugs enter the blood stream, predators decide you no longe

I appreciate the warmth

I was laying bed last night reflecting on the past few days. I decided I would focus on how different my life is from when I was using drugs. My son is sitting here cuddling with me. He likes to get up in the morning and put his little hands against my face. He has on his Christmas pajamas, the kind with the feet. They are brown with smiling animals like foxes, deer, raccoons, and beaver. I am not sure what these cute, but generally nuisance type animals have to do with Christmas but my son loves them. Some happiness is appreciating things the way they are in the moment. I have been typing this same paragraph for ten minutes because I am holding my son with one arm. He still has his hand on my face. It has been cold in my house so I have been sleeping with my hoodie on at night. Have you ever slept outside? Have you ever slept in an alley, a car, or a park? Even if you are high or drunk, it pretty much sucks to sleep outdoors. If it is cold, you wake up and your hands are like swolle

The Witness

" I haven't seen you for a long time." As I approach the homeless encampment, I see all the familiar signs. There are clothes strewn about the ground. There are wrappers from sweet treats eating in haste and discarded by the user. There are cardboard boxes folded flat. There are old couch cushions. This is clearly an area where someone has set up house. " I haven't seen you in years!" I hastily reply as I dart around the corner. I am attempting to catch the next train out of the shit hole that I use to call my home. I need to get home before the tofurky starts to thaw that i have placed in my back pack. Tofurky- a "roast" made out of meat substitutes is a tradition for me. Now that both my parents are gone, I have started to create my own legacy for my children to grasp on to long after I have left the Earth. I recognized the face. The face was that of an older black man. His eyes have glazed over with time, almost a greyish color. The bags un

Help support my work

Buy my PDF for the holidays or kick down a few dollars to junkies in need. My Paypal is My email is the same. I send care packages to users that have no access to clean supplies. 

The End of My Using

Holes in my skin, My eyes are pinned, Fell into a hole, I have no control. The thing I love is killing me, I'm escaping from reality, I just want to get high, I can't remember why. My money left with all my friends, I sit alone, blood on my skin, The pinprick is now a festering sore, Leave me- rotting to my core. If I knew something different I would do it. So I am left with fuck it. I deceive myself and love my lies Tears of happiness are in my eyes. One day I will stop this madness. One day I will end my sadness. But today is not that day, So go the fuck away. Now go the fuck away. This is a person sleeping on the concrete

Dealing with the Holiday Blues

Holidays are just different when you are a drug addict. Every day is so unpredictable, let alone a day when dealers decide they need to spend time with their families First, there is the whole "how many people am I going to have to hide my using from?" I think in many families, there is that one family member who could potentially "out" you as an addict. Do you bring drugs with you? How long will you be staying? Is traveling involved in this deal. So many elements to ponder. Secondly, there is the opportunity for a parent or sibling to have WAY too much to drink and decide to make your using a subject of meal time conversation. "well this must be better than the meals you had in jail" or "before you wrecked your car" or "what happened to that last girl you were seeing" and finally "if you ever had any money". An addict already has low self esteem. Therefore, these digs provide more ammunition for me to dig in my arm. The Hol

I have to be me

I have these holes in my legs. I have these scars on my arms. I have this hole in my heart. I can not be you, I have to be me.  I accept my imperfections. I do not need to be afraid of the different. I am unique and I have lived a life. I am wise beyond my years.  Do not think that I am broken. Please accept that I have sinned. Kiss my tears and hold my bruises. I think it is time I let you in.  Come inside. Who knows what you will find. 

This song reminds me of you

Music can remind you of a time and a place in your life. When I hear certain songs, it seems as if I am transported to a different time and a place in my memory. There are some songs that make me FEEL a certain memory. I feel what I was feeling on that day. As I moved from homeless junkie punk into mini van mom, I noticed music is hard for me to enjoy. So much of my using involved being in a closed space listening to the same 12 songs over and over, too fucked up to move. I would have a 40 oz in my hand with a trickle of blood on my wrist or dripping down my forearm. There were so many spots, it look like I had a skin disease. I was sleeping where I feel out and waking where I came to consciousness, where that was I had not control of after a blackout evening. I have lived in three different music studios as they were a safe place for a homeless person to catch a safe nights sleep and still have access to a bathroom. I think one of the intrinsic selling points of a mini van is that i

Some days

Some days I hate trying to write and everything I say seems to come out the wrong way. I am sensitive. I want you to like me. I want you to think I am special because I can turn a phrase. I get frozen with my insecurity. Understand my confusion when my tongue is tied for you. 

A Cast of Chemical Characters

There are different kinds of people in this world. Just as there is diversity in the world around us, so it logically follows there would be diversity in the addict habitat. Here are a few: Captain save a bro: This type of user refuses to admit he is addicted, yet constantly wants to sample some of your bag. He will arrive on the scene with money swearing up and down that he is not going to use. He has a job, a place to live and will occasionally let you stay there. Yet, the captain can only use at your place therefore you are happy to see him as he always has money. Chronic illness Jill: Jill does not have cancer, lupus, or any other diagnosable condition. No, Jill is ALWAYS sick yet will not have sex with you or anyone for drugs. Her general good looks enticing yet she only wants to cuddle after she has ingested copious amounts of YOUR drugs. If she ever has her own drugs, she certainly is not sharing with you. Between her over priced connect and constant whining, you would put

Not sure if punk is dead, but most of us are by Anonymous

When I train hopped, the easiest way to score- Look for a punk flyer, go to the show, meet new people, get connects, and hopefully find some young chick wanting to piss off her parents so we could crash for a while and use her sweet, sweet cash while we talked about what we'd steal when we left. Funny enough, as a squatter who frankly stank like ass and looked like a leather peacock with studs, I only one time caught shit while walking in projects and ghettos. And even that one time was some punk kid with his boys telling me I had a hole in my pants (the knee was completely gone by that point). Other than that, always got treated like I belonged there. I think the reason you don't see many is because alot of them are gone...I know I only have one friend from that time that is still alive and still living the life that I know of. One went back to nyc and got clean. I watched them drop around me like flies. Tim, the 17 year old who didn't take methadone seriou

A happy life of low expectations

Right now the cat is sitting on my lap picking at his skin. He over grooms himself to the point that he leaves bald spots and scabs. I relate to my cat. I am abrasive like the tongue of a cat. I dig at myself with barbs of insecurity. I rub away my healthy exterior and dig until I reach the vulnerable places. When I reach my sore spot, I am left with an ugly spot on an otherwise beautiful person. I have fifteen years in recovery. Fifteen years of declining the invitation to say fuck it all. I have to find daily ways to cope with disappointment. I have to deal with resentments. I deal with track marks that have turned into sink holes. I have abscess scars that look like the landscape of the moon. I have cellulite because I took up eating as a recreational activity. I have some fabulous tattoos, a wedding ring, some grey hairs, and some dark circles under my eyes.  Am I happy with my life? Absolutely! Simple things make me happy in my daily life. I am not focused on the next hit.

The Craving

Grinding my teeth. I've had so much coffee. Thinking about you gives me a fucking headache. I've got another craving. I am crazy over you. Why do I care about what you are doing right now? It has been so long.  I felt so strong- knowing I can just let you pass by without a tear being shed. You like to get inside my head. You make me afraid to be alone with myself.  I put my heart up on a shelf- to get it away from you. The drugs that coarse through our veins make me insane. I have dope sick love. I swear I won't take you anymore but I draw you up inside me. The chills coming up my spine split my mind into painful pieces. They are a reminder of how you bound me. All my friends are gone. All my money is gone. Cuddle up with my bones. We can pretend I'm normal again... My self esteem is in shards. It is crystal clear I feel the cravings. I'm grinding my teeth with anxiety. I have a craving. I'd give anything for that feeling that took ev

Dear Ruvi

Thank you for my gift 

"Haunted while the minutes drag"

I have some time to kill in my hotel room in Portland. I have had a few days to think about things besides the mental health of those around me and the immediate needs of my children. I have to say that while I am enjoying my vacation, I also enjoy the chaotic life I lead at home. I feel as if so many people bounce from thing to thing. They never get an opportunity to find the things that give their lives a purpose. While junkies maybe be an incredible pain in the ass at times, helping them achieve a voice has created a new sense of energy.  I can only be myself. In being myself, I have many complex layers. I can be the PTA person and the syringe distribution advocate at the same time. I can discuss with my son that a crescent can be a shape AND a type of moon at the same time. We are all many people that inhabit the same skin. Unlike others, I don't feel the necessity to suppress the areas of my interests that don't seem to relate in some way.  I think more than anything, my m

I'm enjoying my vacation

Portland is awesome

Things I love...


"Hey that bitch Tracey got married..."

Letter and emails oh my!. I get so many emails, I call the my junkiemail. More surprising, is when I run into people I used drugs with that are still alive and out in San Francisco. First of all, most of them are surprised by my overall health displayed by my chunky figure and smile. I am kind of a grumpy person but I make a daily attempt to smile at homeless people. I say hello to them. I answer their questions when I have a minute. I respond in a kind manner that acknowledges their existence. I see myself in their faces. Surprisingly enough, I remember being out of the streets. The cardboard boxes houses, the coldness of the sidewalk stay with me. I remember being so afraid of sleeping outside. Many nights I would take speed or sit up staring at the streetlights. People leaving their jobs or the bar or their apartments would stroll pass me ignoring my very presence. Looking at me mean that in some way your soul needed to ponder the fact that people like me existed in your world. I

Guest Post Kitty from US Heroin- A Morbid Love Story

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown 130 Till human voices wake us, and we drown. – The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot I love heroin. For the average person, these three words are shocking, grotesque even. “How can you love the worse drug ever” and “It’s such a horrible, horrible drug. Didn’t you listen to your parents/society/church/politicians/DARE? It WILL kill you!” Heroin is a bitch, no doubt about that. She can make the most pious, virtuous person pawn their family heirlooms for a fix. She can make the strong, fall. She can make even the most disciplined, controlled person keep coming back over and over and over. She can corrode the soul . She can fuck up your sense of right and wrong. What is up is now down, and what is down is now up. Heroin is terrible, ruthless, heartless , but that makes me love her even more. She soothes my troubled spirit and my overactive mind. Forget tai chi and yoga, onc