Showing posts from 2015

My interview with Steven Okazaki (Black tar Heroin & Heroin Cape Cod USA)

Here is the link  click here . I though y'all would be interested.

Just for today- fuck heroin.

You woke up one day. You were strung out.  It happens.  I don't know why you started.  Were you the shy kid? Were you the athlete? Were you the child of uncaring parents? Were you bored?  It doesn't matter any more.  Start where you are at.  Stop licking the blood off your arm. Stop cutting the straw from Dunkin Donuts. Stop killing yourself because someone doesn't love you.  You need to love yourself.  You were born perfect.  A child- capable, lovable, adorable.  The drugs don't understand you. The drugs don't complete you. They compete for your attention. They mask your affection.  You deserve more. I don't know what 2016 will bring.  I do know this- fuck heroin.  Heroin is a living death. Heroin is the jealous lover. Heroin takes everything.  Heroin is not a cure. Heroin is the cancer. It infects your body.  It slow eats away your bones. You become a shell of yourself. Until you die or arres

Fuck the Holidays 2015 Edition

Fuck- the- Holidays.  If you haven't said it, I know you have at least thought it.  As drug users, this time of year sucks big time. First of all, if you are in active addiction there are going to be a long series of uncomfortable days. You are going to have to worry about pinned/dilated pupils. You are going to have to explain the flu that never seems to end. You are going to have to figure out how much of x,y,z you need to take with you on those trips "over the river and through the woods." To top it off, drug dealers have the nerve to take that day off. Where can you spend that $50 mom slips you so dad can't see? How can you make the most of that Christmas bonus? Dashing through the snow with one bag on the tray, over the city we go, sniffing all the way... You know who you are. Secondly, you may be in early recovery. You may be the one everyone hides their purse from at the family gathering. You may be wrestling with whether you should even OPEN your uncle&

New video

I post videos from time to time to show people that "it works" and you can get better, no matter how down you may feel. Click  here

A Life Without Drugs

I get lots and lots of questions. Some days, I might get up to 50 messages. I get questions about the movie "Black Tar Heroin." I get questions about naloxone. I get a few hate message. The main question I get over and over is "What is life like without drugs?" What is life like without drugs? That isn't an easy question to answer. First of all, every person is different. Every "bottom" is different. The reasons people want to quit are different. No one was pressuring me to stop. Despite the fact that I was homeless, depressed, and lying to everyone including my family I still did not feel any pressure to stop. Despite the fact that my health was in complete disrepair, I brushed off various symptoms. I was underweight. I was having heart palpitations from stimulant use. I had cavities and a whole in my tooth where a filling used to be. I had a few large healing abscesses. I had no glasses. I hadn't had them for years. I am unable to properly nav

The Parasite

I have many regrets. I regret the day I decided to stick a needle in my arm. I don't remember why anymore. Why did we shoot up Vicodin? Were we really that bored? Why couldn't we be like everyone else? Happy with a few beers and our Vicodin. God, why couldn't we have been those people? So high off a few beers. It doesn't matter. It is done. I regret the day I turned my first trick. I got money to buy heroin. I went to a hotel with old man. $40 while he stared at me. I was naked on the bed. He told me I was beautiful. I almost believed him. See, how easy this was... My friend told me it was so easy. $40 dollars was so easy. Now we have some drugs. Yay. It doesn't matter. It is done. I regret the way I stole from my parents. I regret the way I used their confidence. I regret the way I lied to them. Give me more money. Help me. I'm clean. Heroin and I live a symbiotic relationship. We get curled together. Our mind. Our thoughts. Mor

A first time for everything.

One day, I was sitting next to the Christmas tree in my flannel footie pajamas with Snoopy on them. The next thing I knew, there was a syringe being passed in front of my face. "Are you ready?" he asked me. What should I say? In the past hour, I have witnessed my first overdose. The person who injected before me had to get stuck in the shower. He was a tall rocker dude with long hair. He lived out with his parents in a semi rural one story house 45 minutes from the city. He wore motorcycle boots, though he never rode anything except the back of a Honda a few times. He had ripped jeans, a bondage belt, and some type of black t-shirt he got from a concert with the sleeves cut off. His arms were semi developed into muscles. Not from hard work. I am not sure if he ever had a job, but from drumming in various bands around the city. He believed he was going to leave this place one day. He was going to blow this town, forget he ever lived here. I think we all believed that or

Thank you Blog Readers

We did it. We made it to another Thanksgiving. We didn't OD and die. We didn't commit suicide. We aren't in prison. We got a third or forth or fifth second chance. We figured out how to make it to another day. No matter whether you are: strung out sick kicking scheming shivering hating life Remember- I love you. I have been there. I clawed my way out of that hole. I hope you are feeling grateful, feeling something Besides the prick of a syringe The cold night air And the desperation of active addiction. I'm off to make some soup. In my stove. In my house. For my family. I'm clean today and it feels good.

The Commissary Blues

I walked into my cell holding an empty plastic tub and an extra pair of orange pants. The worst part of the kick was spent lying on the cold concrete floor. At various points in the last four days, I prayed for death. This alternated with furious masturbation, the only tool I had to get even a moment of sleep. As I sweated out the last of the delicious toxins that made my life worth living, I felt my legs stick against the surface of the mattress. The fear of moving across the cell to request a shower was real. I wasn't sure if the liquid stool was done evacuating my body with equal force as I had shoved syringes into my skin. I have known a few girls who turned tricks for food in here. I suppose I wouldn't suck any one's pussy for a candy bar but I would sell my soul for a packet of kool aid type drink. The water here comes out at a minuscule drip from a faucet that is located directly over the shitter. That can't be healthy. When the dry heaves hit me, I wish I ha

The book cover is here! Pre sale on Amazon now.


"As Grimey As I Need to Be"

I stopped looking at the world through rose colored glasses many years ago. After the first time you see a 13 year old girl/boy turning tricks for drugs, you world view is never the same. In the early stages, I would ask questions. What happened to you? Who did this to you? Who created this monster? In the later years, I bore witness to it. I bit my tongue in silence as the warm blood pooled in my mouth. I knew how things like this happened. When I was first getting introduced to drugs, just some weed and booze laced with the occasional T3, I had a friend who introduced me to the darker side. No, not substances but a world that existed beyond the world in which I lived a comfortable existence. I remember his mom telling him "I need my Kools and my 40z. I don't care how you get it". She meant that literally. She did not care. In fact, she must have known her youngest son sometimes turned to prostitution. How else does a 13 year old come home with $40 and a cartoon of cig

Until that next time

I hear my children screaming in the other room. What are they fighting about now, I wonder to myself. It could be something as serious as who gets to sit INSIDE the fort or something as insignificant as why did you move my shoe. As I check I them, I quickly adjust the blanket that drapes the tent like structure they have created by stringing together a robe, a blanket, and the corner of a bunk bed. I admire their creativity, although I have to take points off for the overall durability. I pat my son's head as I walk back to my spot on the couch. The IKEA cover is slightly worn now. We switched it last year. Apparently, tan isn't a good color when you have cats and kids. Who knew?  I had never bought a couch before. The only thing I knew about couches was dragging them up from the curb with the hope that they didn't have bed bugs or scabies. My parents had the nearly the exact same furniture my entire life. Ethan Allen furniture was accented by a la-Z- boy recliner. You kn

Poem by Martha Frankel

WHAT YOU WEAR TO BURY YOUR SON, AFTER HIS HEROIN OVERDOSE You want to cloak yourself in your fury, but its too sharp Like wind on the beach against a bad sunburn So instead your first layer is the toddler he was, Grape jelly smeared across his smiling face Blonde hair sticky and damp His grandma laughing beside him You scream his name And remember him as A Mutant Turtle, A Pirate, Batman A sword always at the ready You hold onto that, breathing in the smell of him The sharpness, before that other smell, that smell of decay, of deceit That sword, how you wish he could've used it You’re still seething but next you add on the boy he was on the field All sinew and charm and goofiness You’ve forgotten that he was once goofy! Before the lying, before the stealing, before his mother grabbed him from behind and wouldn’t let go, screaming into the night Before the lying Before the stealing That boy, in his dirt-stained uniform You wrap yourself in that You add a layer of grace, for the time

The Overdose

"Do you know where you are?"  I hear a disembodied voice. Are they talking to me. I feel a sting on my face, some heat. My legs feel heavy. They are numb. I feel a heaviness, like I am trapped inside my body. I am dreaming. Dreaming about football, on a tiny screen. Like that hand held game I used to play as a kid. I see the green on the field. Is this an I formation? My vision is off, like I am heading up a tunnel. I see football at the bottom.    As I scan the room, I feel a sting again.  "Tracey...Tracey wake up..." I grab my face to stop the pain. Then, I feel the weight of someone on top of me. I feel my shoulders being shaken. That slap again. Then a face. I see a familiar face.  "Why are you slapping me?!" I ask, grabbing my cheek indignantly. I feel the pressure against my legs again. That pressure is coming from the floor, my friend is over me. His legs have pinned my legs to the floor. Why am I on the floor? I see the glass above my face. I reach

Red Ribbon Week Reflections

It is red ribbon week at my kids' school, a time when I always feel generally uncomfortable with both the past and the future. For those who are unfamiliar, Red Ribbon week is when the schools try to find catchy ways to get school children to pledge to stay off drugs. I cringe when my children come home with red ribbons or discuss how they are doing "crazy hair" for red ribbon week. Is this really the best way to keep my kids off drugs? When I was my daughter's age, I had already smoked pot. This was at seven and eight years old. I had already seen my father falling down drunk numerous times. I had seen older people in my life under the influence of drugs. I am from the beginning of the DARE generation where we were told drugs were bad. No one ever explained to us WHY or what drugs actually did to young bodies. We were also told sex was something married people do and HIV is God's righteous wrath for being a sinner. Except, I already had seen people on drugs, pe

Bonjour Rue 89 readers

je vous remercie beaucoup pour la lecture de mon blog . mon français est pas très bon . aimer Tracey 

Radio Forum On I participated in on the state of Opioid use in the US

The link is Here

Pedicure and Cats

In this picture are two of my favorite things- my fresh pedicure and my cat. I was reflecting today on how much my life has changed. I was sitting in the spa chair at the nail place. As I was getting my legs rubbed with salt scrub, I was thinking "This feels better than heroin." Maybe, that is an exaggeration but at that moment, having a leg massage certainly felt better than heroin. Plus, here it is hours later. I'm not scheming on how I'm going to get another one in a few hours. Let's be honest, my legs are fucked. You can't inject heroin into your legs 6-8 times a day for years and come out of that unscathed. In addition to that, street level Black Tar Heroin id full of garbage. When I first started going to 12 step meetings through the rehab, my stomach used to get super upset. It took me about a month to figure out why. It was that cheap coffee smell. It was the same smell of cooking up heroin filled to the brim with instant coffee. "The best par

The tail that wags the dog

Heroin had me searching all over for things I would never find. The truth was right in front of me. Like the blood that poured over my skin when I pulled out the needle, I just missed that point. I loved drugs. Loved them. Did I mention I fucking LOVED them? Heroin, amphetamines, MDMA, LSD, benzos, cocaine. My love for all of you made me insane. I'd be searching the Tenderloin with no shoes on. Walking barefoot over broken crack pipes I thought Jesus called my name. I'd see Satan at the Civic Center smoking rocks, Charlie Manson was at the corner. He was a guerrilla pimp on a bicycle. The chicks were sucking dicks in vans Strange men found then on their lunch hours. What was my life? Just hand to mouth to bag to vein to pleasure then pain. Until I did it again. And again. And again. You were everything I loved and hated. That syrupy substance that promised me release. I cast all my burdens upon the poppy. The promise of relief was too powerful. I didn't

Broken Toys

"Do you always play with those broken toys?" he asked me. I nervously took a drink of my chocolate Quik. The breakfast of champions- a cinnamon roll, a Nestle Quik, and a fat shot. I had two of those three things this morning. "what do you mean?" I asked. He pivoted towards me for effect. "Those men you play around with girl" he spun around in his chair "you better be using condoms." I laughed to myself. Condoms? When was the last time I had a period. Six months? Eight months? I lost count. It isn't like I am having sex anyway. Sex to me is having someone lightly scratch my back. Sex to me is coming back to my room and having him say "look babe, I saved this for you." That hasn't happened. In a world full of seven billion people, I gravitate towards a few people who are absolutely no good for me. The fact that I am a drug addict in the present tense doesn't make life any easier. Relationships between users seem to fa

Story I contributed to for Vice

I would love to get everyone's thoughts on this story here

There was a time...

There was a time that seemed not that long ago when the only thing I needed to worry about was what kind of drug was flowing through my veins. Opioids, benzos, amphetamines where my drug of choice. All at the same time of course. Don't forget the cocaine. Some booze was in there, too. That feeling of being dopesick and chugging on some Taca cheap ass vodka will never leave my memory. That feeling of having my side hurt only realizing it was my liver after washing down a handful of Vicodin with flat beer. There were many days when I woke up broken in my small apartment in Cincinnati that I thought "how much worse can my life possibly get?" I found out. I don't know if I was born an addict. I know my behaviors certainly molded me into one. That roller coaster of crippling depression briefly came to a screeching halt when I found opioids. There was my solution, my lover, and my best friend in one place. There was a time when I thought the real problem was simply not ha

The traveler

"I'm here on business..." he tells me. His voice is trailing off. He must be desperate to trust me.  There is a certain magical place for any all middlemen. That is a place when a person approaches you that is both too sick and too scared to get product for themselves. This person is firing on both cylinders. How he ever acquired a heroin habit, I do not know. I suppose he started popping a few percs after a sports injury or someone gave him a few lines in college. He stuck the straw in his nose expecting something similar to coke. Instead, he traveled down the rabbit hole where heroin became an orgasm, a first love, and a bowl full of fuck you all in one. As he settled in, he told himself this was the best feeling in the world until he began violently puking on his loafers. He couldn't make it to the bathroom so he yakked in his empty big gulp while his edgy female companion told him "I knew you would like it". I suppose when he stepped off the airplane in

A Dope Fiend Prayer.

Work. Dope. Sleep. Work. Dope. Sleep. Work. Dope. Sleep. Broke. Cry. Twitch. Whine. Ahhhhh. Nod. School. Dope. Sleep. School. Dope. Sleep. School. Dope. Sleep. Beg. Borrow. Cry. Twitch. Shit. Ahhh. Nod. Scam. Hustle. Scam. Hustle. Tick Tick Tick. Call. Wait. Call. Wait. Sick. Sick. SICK! No, I didn't lie to you. Well, maybe, just a little. Yes, I promise I will get clean. Middle. Skim. Middle. Another Day, another felony. Some cheese, some tar, some scramble. My life inside a plastic bag. Valium. Vodka. Ramble. My self esteem? I misplaced it. My faith in God? I erased it. I held my future in my hand. I traded it to my man. If I die in my sleep, Promise you won't wake me. If I have to live this way, I pray the drugs will take me. Tell my family that I loved them. Tell my girl she will love again. Tell my boyfriend that I am sorry. As I fade into oblivion.

BBC Interview/podcast

I have been invited on a few different podcasts lately. This one required me to get up at 5:30 am. I try only requests that seem like a good fit and are no going to be saying terrible things about heroin users. I liked the way this one turned out. Link  here

One simple story- A guest post from an observer

Let me be completely clear. I have never been an addict. I have never lain my head on the street for slumber or been driven to prostitution or acts of craziness for cash.  My perspective is based wholly on being a witness to addiction. Sadly, most of the addicts that I see cannot talk. They are tiny babies born to moms who are addicts. I am a lowly administrative assistant in a small hospital on the east coast that helps babies born addicted wean from the drugs they are dependent on.  There are stories here…stories that some folks aren’t strong enough to tell themselves.  Yet.   Not strong enough YET.  I always say yet because as my young daughter tells me, anything can happen.  The first mama that I ever encountered was named Sharon  in 2010 . Sharon had a beautiful baby girl as well an older child which I never met but she talked about constantly. She was in her 30s and her story still haunts me.  It is amazing what people tell me. I really have no power and that makes me a comp

Endless Anticipation- Guest Post JF

Endless Ancipation It's  6am  and all I can think about is scoring heroin...I'm not sure how I ended up in this situation, wait....that's a lie. I know exactly how this escalated to black tar. I followed that curious cat down the wrong alley, tripped, slipped and fell nose first into a pile of brown powder...well,fuck me....let's get this show on the road. 630 am "maybe he's awake, should I try calling?"  I mean, the sun is almost up and he MIGHT be up....That's the logic of an addict, I know damn well he won't be awake for at least 4 more hours..and that's still not likely, my call log is more like a continual spiral into drug craving madness. 745am While my cravings are completely mental, that voice in my head just won't shut the fuck up...That gorilla on my back weighs 800 lbs and he's a mean fucker when he doesn't get his way. He's a master manipulator and will speak to you smoother than a seasoned pimp mackin to a fresh bit

The Heroine of Heroin Podcast

I forgot to post the links when I did the official reddit podcast  Here . Follow and it will give you a variety of different ways to listen to the podcast

2 bags please guest post JF

"2 bags please" As the words of Curtis Mayfield are on an endless loop in my head...the thought of heroin is the only competition it faces for my attention. Days blend into nights, night blend into weeks, and it all becomes a blur until you're staring at yourself in the mirror trying to figure out your life. How can such a small pebble of joy cause such a reset in my brainwaves...the joy of having the dopamine production of a is only found in a pile of brown powder.  I check again to make sure I still have my score...a black ball about the size of a large marble, portable pitch black onyx love measured by the gram. This 3 grams won't even last 3 day before I'm back in the endless rat race of copping. I am best friends with the devil and he feeds my addiction happily..a sick twisted friendship of mutual self destruction, our bond is heroin and his habit is worse than mine.  The feeling of hopeless addiction sets in deeper as I look through my