Showing posts from January, 2015

I had been ripped off before

I had been ripped off before. When you buy drugs on the street, that is part of the daily grind of an addict. This time, it was particularly painful. I thought I had found someone I could trust. I was wrong. I am a solo user. I have no problem using alone. I am not using heroin as part of some broader social experiment. I am not interested in having it enhance sex because the lower half of my body is completely numb. I guess that isn't entirely true. It does come alive when I am in withdrawal. Or from time to time a bowel movement the size of my forearm decides to rear it's ugly head, ripping my ass apart until it feels like I gave booty birth to a premature 4 pound stool baby. I sometimes masturbate in dirty gas station toilets because there is no where else to go when you live outside. My period has been gone so long I used the last tampon for the cotton when I had no filter. There is no room for anyone in my life. Heroin sucks the oxygen from my lungs. It steals the blood

I have a great life

I am appreciating my life at the moment. I kicked heroin, the drug considered to be the hardest to kick. I escaped HIV. I survived overdoses. I have been raped, beaten, had someone try to kill me more than once. Yet, I am resilient. My life is pretty fucking good. I got people who love me, clean clothes, and some self esteem.  I hope you feel good today. I hope you are safe. I hope you get the love you need and the life you deserve. 

Headed in the right direction

It feels like I only closed my eyes for a minute. I was so tired. The chair felt comfortable after I put my legs up on the bench. I was resting for a moment when I woke up to someone shaking me. I could barely hear them, like a whisper, until they yelled my name. "Tracey...." I heard a male voice urging me to come back to the present. I felt him grasp my arm again. I can't go back into my shell again. As I open my eyes, I see his face. For a junkie boy, he has a beautiful face. Those crystal blue eyes surrounded by long lashes. He has a baby face, so round it makes you want to pinch his cheeks. He tries to grow a mustache but it comes out like a broken pattern of fuzz that looks as if it was drawn on after a drunken night of beer pong. I love his face. Things are coming into focus, I can tell he is pissed at me. What now? I ask myself. I was just waiting here while he went to see his probation officer. He asked me to wait here in the Mc Donald's next to the Hal

Questions and Answers

One of my followers suggested I do a new video where I answer questions. If you have a question you want me to answer, send them here our to my email No question is off limits.

High Note

"Why are you here?" he asked the group. The group leader was a smaller man with a fire in his eyes. He talked with a half smile. He wore a baseball hat, Levis, and a modest amount of jewelry. When he talked, he gestured. It was if he was trying to pull me into what he believed. I wasn't sure why I was here. I knew I had been arrested. I knew I was being forced to come to these classes. I knew if I didn't attend them, I was going right back to jail. I wanted to believe the things he told me. However, the group members made me more dubious than hopefully. One man raised his hand. He started the conversation "well, I am here because I got caught with a few zips. I was never a user. I was just a seller. My P.O. thought I might benefit from this group". I roll my eyes. Such fucking bullshit. I knew this dude. The only zip this dude knows about is unzipping his pants to piss behind his shopping cart. The facilitator looks around again. No one wants to rais

Just a Girl from Cincinnati

"Just check" he asked me. I didn't need to check, I already knew the answer. I don't want to get out of the car. It is cold as hell outside. He is fiending. Fiending is when drugs are the only thing on your mind. Your thoughts are completely consumed with acquiring some type of substance. Nothing else, no rational thoughts can enter. I grab the car door "Fuck. Okay. This is pointless " I tell him. I checked my balance, hoping it would say something difference this time. Nope. Now I have to wait and see if the machine is going to take my card.  Luckily, it spits it back. "My balance is -$2.03" I informed him. Nothing had changed. I had put an empty envelope in the ATM last night to get some money. My paycheck from my little retail job is long gone. I am going to be completely fucked if my mom checks the bank statements. She has another card to this account so she can make deposits. He starts banging on the steering wheel."FUCK. What

I wanna be your dog

"So messed up I want you here In my room I want you here Now we're gonna be face-to-face And I'll lay right down in my favorite place " The Stooges 1969 The Stooges pound in the back of my mind. There are days when my life seems like it has a soundtrack that loops over and over. It is hard being a fuck up. At least I am a fuck up with a series of theme songs.  Love among junkies is a hard. I cannot say romance is still alive just because you share syringes. That seems to be a sign that two people are truly a couple. It isn't enough to swap sex fluids. You have to share your blood. Somehow that couple seems more hardcore even though they are more foolish. Sharing needles is a matter of convenience, not a matter of affection. It takes two minutes less to get those drugs inside of you when every moment counts.  My first boyfriend was a red haired punk rocker with a chain pad locked around his neck. I had lost 50 pounds between my junior and senior year of hig