Showing posts from August, 2015

The Brick

There have been a few major loves in my life. My husband. My children, of course. And heroin. "Why did you do it?" she asks me. It is hard to answer that question. I started out this world as an innocent wide eyed girl. I had a question for everything. I had a great sense of curiosity. Why was the sky blue? Why doesn't the water stay warm? Why is it that the birds all leave when the snow comes. I wanted to know a little bit of everything. As I got a little bit older, my questions started to change. I saw the world through the same lenses, my things seemed to get murkier. Why do those boys pick on me? Why did Jesus have to die? Why is it that Daddy made you cry. There were things I wanted to know, there were things that required an answer. The world, I learned was just the magical place where everything synced together in harmony. Some things were cruel. Some of the edges were jagged. If I played with the stove, I was going to get burned. Heroin. Why did it seem s

'Dem Jugs

"How long are you going to keep diggin' in them feet sis?" he asks me in a exaggerated drawl. God- I hate being called sis or being referred to as some one's "street sister". It isn't that I don't care for people. I absolutely do. I even think of a few as being like my extended. That isn't this context. However, "sis" is always followed by a freakin' request. Can I get a cigarette sis? NO Can you spare some change sis? NO Can I get a sip of your forty sis? NO NO NO. I am not your sister. I have a family. I have a family I left a few years ago. I traded them in for a bag of dope. I rarely call them. I haven't seen them since my mom had to drive me for my HIV test. They thought I was positive for a few weeks. I had caught a case of thrush. That is one of nine conditions that makes up the ARC or AIDS related conditions. I did a huge hit of speed before I left San Francisco. I didn't come down until a few days after i got t

Reddit Podcast

I really liked the way this turned out. I hope you will give it a listen. The Heroine of Heroin

On Vacation

Will get another post down when I get back. 

Tales from the Crypt

Some one sent me a message in the past few weeks asking me "how important is it to have safe supplies?" In other words, really Tracey, what is the worst that can happen. These are responses I received on social media. Real stories on what happens when you don't practice harm reduction or get a bad batch. Please feel free to add yours.  ________________________________ I was in a coma from heroin laced with fentanyl, during which had 5 strokes. Have hearing loss (wear hearing aids now) and neuropathy down entire right side of body. One stroke was a brainstem stroke, put me in a "locked-in syndrome" state until I broke out of it. ________________________________ II've got really bad cellulitus and have a big open wound on my right forearm and on my left I had the same but it healed and is a huge scar Like people thought I got a hold of that krokidille (however you spell it) stuff BC of how my arms looked...kinda like a nasty zombie bi

When All the Tears Are On The Inside

I hear the cat pacing on the hardwood floor in the next room. He walks slowly, deliberately over to my bed as he leaps near my toes. As I glance at him, I see the piles of dirty clothes that have accumulated around the door way. I see the layers of dust mingled with ancient cobwebs along the crown molding. I see the objects of my previous life: some faded pictures of me smiling, a crumpled ticket from a baseball game, an empty box of perfume I thought I would save for my treasures, and a plastic heart that one held flowers. The waves of depression roll over me. They cover my body like the tide, they are synced to the many cycles of my moons. The depression goes and and out of my lungs. It feels like my breathing. It is as shallow as my desires. I haven't washed these blankets in six months? Eight months? I change the sheets to pretend that I am not dirty. I carefully select the outfits with the least stains. No one sees me. No one knows me. I spend my life in this room. All I can

Heroin- that bitch ain't loyal.

There comes a moment in the life of every heroin addict when they have to take stock of their current situation. Track marks? Check. Victim of violence? Check. Estrangement from my family? Check. Lack of overall functioning in my nether regions? Check. Poor health? Absolutely. Ability to change my situation? None. I thought being a heroin addict would be the worst thing that happened to me in my life. As a direct result of my use, I was raped. I was so fucked up, I walked right into a dangerous situation. I had a man try to kill me over sex he thought he was entitled too because as a female user, apparently I had no right to say no. I have had my eye split open as I tried to break into a car. I had a knife put to my throat as I was robbed. I had infections raging through my body to the point I had to be rushed into surgery so I wouldn't lose my limbs. Certainly, when I kicked heroin, these were the worst things that could ever possibly happen to me? Getting off heroin is brutal