traceyh415

"E verytime I comb my hair,  Thoughts of u get in my eyes" she screams  as she pull on her wig. She bounces as she flips her head back with Farrah Fawcet perfection. " U're a sinner, I don't care  I just want your creamy thighs." She grabs my hand.  "THIS," she tells me "THIS is my fucking jam girl."  Why is it that people that can't sing always sing the loudest? Ms Wendy is quite a sight today. Six feet tall, she squueeeeeezes her feet into some red size ten pumps that match her skin tight crushed velvet mini dress. Her fishnet pantyhoes make her legs look fucking fantastic. From th back, she looks like a slightly tacky version of a model. In the front, she looks like a linebacker. Those broad shoulders give her away every time. In the dark, without glasses, I suppose she would pass as biologically female. It doesn't matter what she looks like- she is Ms Wendy to me. She lets me come over and gnaw on gummy bears from her cand

I pass her the 40 oz. I see feel that warm carbonation stuck halfway between my throat and my nose. It is as if my body is involuntarily refusing to have this swill enter my stomach cavity. Between the bean burritos from Taco Bell and this Old English, my digestive system WILL find a way to expel these toxic substances. "Why don't you want to come work with us?" she asks me as she gingerly takes a sip. Apparently, you can come to work at a sex club smelling like alcohol. I wouldn't know. I haven't had a job in a few years, nor have I been more than a few feet inside a club. "You don't even have to touch anyone." "Thank God for that!" I told her. Nor would I want anyone touching me for that matter. The best part about heroin is not only did I have no period, I have no sex drive. I have no desire to touch anyone ESPECIALLY some trick in a club. Working eight hours anywhere seems too long. "What happens when you get sick?" I ask

When I was balls deep in the mind fuck that was active addiction, the WORST thing that could possibly happen was to be stuck using with someone who had been clean. "Have you ever done the steps, man?' he asked "I'm not a man, I'm a chick, dude..." I told him. "Have you AT LEAST been to meetings?" he asked. "Can you pass me the fucking pipe?" I barked. This whole afternoon is a recipe for disaster. Some days, the hustle is all about trying to build something from nothing. Today, I truly have a fuck load of nothing. The one thing I do have- this room. This room is my base of operations. "Guests" of the hotel, get all inclusive stay at the corner of hell and nowhere. In this package, we get rats the size of small cats. We get generations of roaches, so jaded they no longer scatter when you turn on the lights. They look up at you as they nibble on the crumbs of your 25cent home run pie like "you again? you bring me food,

Here is the link to a podcast I did called The exchange show  http://theexchangeshow.com/podcast/tracey-helton-overcoming-a-heroin-addiction/

Someone sent me a message recently to ask me about my life now. I try to comply with readers' requests. Here you go: I wake up everyday next to a man who loves me. I sleep with one ear plug in my ear. His snoring is enough to wake a small army. It sounds like a combination of a tortured rhino and an industrial accident involving a saw. I don't sleep well at night for a variety of reasons. His snoring is one of them. Another involves the older male cat. He insists on trying to sleep on my feet. It doesn't matter how many times I move him or put him off, he comes right back. He is a smart feline. If you try to put him out, he will bang on the door with his front paws until you are forced to let him in. If I sleep past dawn, he will start licking one of my appendages with his abrasive tongue. Sometimes, I have nightmares. I dream I am back in a dark place of my own making. I picture myself shivering on a curb somewhere too sick to move. I have dreams about my parents'