traceyh415

"Your hands are cold " she tells me. THAT'S BECAUSE IT IS COLD OUTSIDE. I yell in my mind. I hate dealing with amateur hour. When you are a user of a year or more, you should at LEAST know how to hit yourself. C'mon. This girl is in the same situation that I was. When I started using, I didn't know how to properly use a needle. I was always depending on others to stick me. What is even more troubling is that, you are putting you life in their hands. You are trusting them to make sure enough is not actually TOO much. This person you rely on is both a doctor and a chemist. They have to mix up the precise dosage. Otherwise, they may kill you. I think 22 year old girls all seemed to have learned from older guys with prison tattoos and a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. He is quick, he can whip the shoelace out of his boot in less than ten seconds. He has a stab wound next to a faded cross on his muscle that is slowly softening and drying up as th...

The cold rain runs down the dirty window. This time of year I think about my youth. It seems like a million years ago, not five. I remember when I was young, I used to draw hearts in the condensation on windows like this.I would imagine my fantasy boyfriend. He would be tall, athletic but like my same kind of music. We would curl up on a day like today and watch the rain from our warm beds. My head would use his muscles for a pillow as he gently played with my hair. My reality is quite different. My prince charming isn't so fucking charming this morning because he is sick. He is laying curled up under the comforter with cigarette burns while I pull on my dirty socks. He is tall, around six feet, and probably weighs 145 pounds. The only scales around here weigh out points and grams. Next to his side of the bed, he has a picture of GG Allin and a plastic figure of THE TICK from the comic books. I can't really use him as a pillow because he is so bony. Some times he rests his he...

"I am not really sure what to say to you when you wake up crying like that " I tell him. What am I supposed to do? Let him sleep? Wake him up? Dope is supposed to be this cure all pain killer but what happens when the pain is so deep nothing will make it go away, not even your dreams. He rolls back over away from me. "Crying" he tells me "I was fucking crying" I can see him wipe his face. His brown hair hits the pillow in a way that I can his eyes slowly close. I know he isn't sleeping. He is not escaping whatever penetrated him when he had no defenses. This moment would almost seem normal if it did not involve us. Two young people in bed, the light streaming in through the window hitting the bare skin on his shoulder. I am in his boxer shorts and t-shirt snug under his comforter. There is food from last night at the edge of the bed from snacks we devoured. Our clothes are strewn about the floor. As soon as we hit the door at 2:30 am we ripped ...

Click here for an article I wrote about how the movie "Black Tar Heroin" impacted my life

Turn the lights on! As I ignite the lighter my obsessions manifested, floating in a transcendental eventide, like silhouettes, they wandered alone to a tangle of shadows in the sunrise. Embraced by the humid walls of this grayish city, the essence that filled the gaps of the improvised alleys in a pile of homes was vanished from my body which, with shades of melancholy, blurred the street from the opaque grey of the wet stones until the last wood hue of that last shack, where you still could see the pale yellow of light in the last lighted lamp post. Maybe by far, only for a few moments, I could get myself clear again, under that fascinating brightness that slipped to the cold wind, like a fluttering orange dress, glowing at night. My desires quickly melted as words that broke down in an imperative mood stripping the brightness of my being to the abyssal sight of the dark. The streets were silent just like hostages of the morbid landscape of São Paulo suburbia. It was all so quiet that...

"Why are you fucking crying?"  I can't stand when he yells at me, especially not an inch away from my face. I am sitting on the ground with my arms crossed. I am not sure what I am going to do. I know I am not going to get up from this spot.  Have you ever just had ENOUGH. Not enough in lower case letters. You can ignore that enough. That enough comes the first time you fuck someone over for a bag of dope. That enough comes when you miss a family gathering because you are too much of a fuck up to make it. That enough is when you promise yourself you aren't going to use today, yet by nightfall you are leaning to the side. That is lower case enough.  I mean ENOUGH! Like- fuck this shit enough. Like break all your gear enough. Like I need to go to the emergency room for this abscess enough. Like I am over drafted and have no hustle enough. Like my girl left me, the one who promised she understood me enough. Like I hate myself enough. I had ENOUGH.  I was crying in a pub...

I wanted to let you know readers- I am officially publishing a book from Seal Press. This book will be more focused on how I have stayed clean all these years. I will not be abandoning you readers. This blog is our thing. It helps me as much as it helps you. Love Tracey.