Chewed at by Rats Circa 1995

I am rubbing my finger tips. I burnt them. I could not drop this cooker. Everything in my existence is in there. The burning of the lighter , the boiling of my fate. I see my dreams go up in vinegar smoke. I'm burning now. My skin is burning now. I am burning on the inside. My veins are fucking burning up from this shit. A hundred and something degrees of joy and sorrow up from legs to my brain. I burnt my fingers holding on to this cooker just a little too long. Fuck. Another injury.

Let me take some type of inventory. A miss here, yes, a big rope like collapsed bit of bruise over here.Hold on I still have my pants down as I am feeling the effects of my daily remedy. Let me pull my pants up. Did I realize how bad it really stank back here? Why did I decide to fix in the same alley where crackheads go to take a hurried shit. I brush my hair back into my baseball hat. I am sweating now. The heroin makes me sweat. I collect my accouterments of my use- a cooker, a lighter, i only had to use ONE syringe this time, cotton must be saved for later. I lick the plastic wrapper just in case. Coffee and vinegar go together like my morning. The sun is starting to come out. I shuffle away from the light. I find a shady wall and slide down. I am not going anywhere right now. The edges are just too fuzzy.

"WAKE UP"! I feel a kicking on my foot. I am bolted awake. The police? No. A Store owner is kicking me awake. Apparently they are not too happy I am blocking their doorway. Bad for business or something I suppose to have a junkie passed out as your store marquee.  My purse filled with all my drug stuff has spilled on into the doorway. I am picking up the pieces of my life. It is all here on display. No money, no ID, no pictures-just some drug essentials and a few numbers written on a napkin. 

Where does my hustle start and where does it end? I am not sure any more. The only thing certain in my life is that I need drugs. I NEED them. I need these drugs to live. I need 25 cents too so i can get a nutty buddy from the corner store. I am craving something with sugar. Great a do-gooder wants to stop and talk.

"Not every junkie day is filled with some type of existential moment where I am forced to ponder the meaning of my life. Yes, my life may be fucked but I am living it the way I want to live it. I want my fucking heroin, my freedom, a god damn snack. My destiny is entirely in my hands. Now hit me up in twelve hours when I have no money, no dope, no action. THEN we might be able to talk". I am so itchy this guy must think I have bugs.

"Are you going to buy me a snack or what homey? I am pouring my fucking heart out here." 

He brings me out my prize. My honesty has been rewarded for the first time in years. I wave a quiet thank you. My day is full of possibilities. I might go to jail. I might OD. I might make five hundred bucks and go inside for a week. My life is entirely in my hands, the same hands that I burnt on the cooker.  
This is what it was like...

My legs look like they have been chewed at by rats





Comments

  1. AnonymousSeptember 6, 2013 at 2:11 PM

    Another great post! Odd question but I know a lot of addicts say their addiction gives them a sense of identity, did you find that with yourself?

    Also, I'd really like to know more about Jessica from BTH. I dont know if you knew her but it'd be nice to have some more light shed on her story... she seemed so relentless and self destructive. I hope she found it in herself to get help x

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. traceyh415September 7, 2013 at 2:05 PM

      I see her from time to time. She really wants to have some privacy so I am respecting that

      Delete
    2. AnonymousSeptember 8, 2013 at 1:30 AM

      Thats fair enough :-)

      Delete
  2. dukettaSeptember 7, 2013 at 8:17 AM

    This comment has been removed by the author.

    ReplyDelete
  3. dukettaSeptember 7, 2013 at 11:58 AM

    Stark, vivid and tragic - yet, we also get to experience the stubborn soul who wasn't ready to give up on using.
    So real, Tracey!

    ReplyDelete
  4. Jamie AnneSeptember 10, 2013 at 12:37 PM

    As part of your job, I'm sure you've been sent out as a face in the community, to distribute needles, condoms, and information on getting clean. I realize that the majority of your interactions would fall under the category of "hustle" for them, but how successful have your efforts been, in terms of actually inspiring someone on the street, into taking the steps towards treatment? After spending the last week and a half going through your blog here, the stories of broken youth, homelessness and hopelessness, have been inspiring me to want to volunteer with my local needle exchange program. They have positions where you just sit in the office, and hand out needles to walk-ins, but they have positions where you go out into the community, and bring the service to them. I'm trying to determine which position would make the most impact.

    I appreciate any advice. Thanks Tracey :0)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. NicoleJanuary 14, 2014 at 5:34 PM

      Get out and involved with the people in your community. You're going to want to gain their trust. It's easier on their turf instead of in the exchange under those neon lights. I say this from my own personal experience as a heroin addict. Everyone is different though.

      Delete
  5. AnonymousJune 30, 2014 at 6:59 PM

    God, Tracey, those are your battle scars! You went thru one Hell of a war and came out the other side the amazing woman and mother you are today! I see your legs, the scars, and it reminds me of a trophy! You're BEAUTIFUL, inside and out! I'll say it again because it's true, you are my hero!

    ReplyDelete

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