Showing posts from February, 2017

More Questions than Answers

“I had the dream last night…” I thought he was listening but he had already turned his back to me. I had the dream last night. I have this reoccurring dream where I am walking in the doorway of my parents’ house. It is cold outside. It is cold enough to see my breath. I open up the door with the key that is on a chain around my neck. I am eleven years old. Old enough to be home alone. I walk into the empty house. I can hear the echoes of the constant screams. The arguments that trail from one room into the next as my mother follows my father from room to room. I KNOW YOU HAVE BEEN DRINKING. We all know. How could you miss it? This man with the large hands staggering through the door. He attempts to make himself something to eat before there is a confrontation. I sink into the couch, wondering if I can disappear into the fabric. I want to be invisible. I want to run away. He didn’t put his check in the bank again. Are we going to have money for food? I will sneak upstairs later. I w

Maybe I Never Deserved This

Maybe, I deserved to get raped.  I mean, I was so fucked up I shouldn't have been outside, right?! Why did I think that I could kick heroin anyway. Does anyone really stop? Don't they just die or get on methadone for the rest of their lives. I mean- do you know anyone like me that has ever stopped? I turn to look at my therapist. She gives me that warm look of interest without the sense of true understanding that I am going for at this moment. I am laying down on her couch. This isn't how she generally handles her sessions. This is by my special request. I can't stand to look at her. I can't stand to look at anyone. I can't stand to look at the truth.  Rape is a type of spiritual pain that rips into your psyche as your flesh gives way to the hate of another human being. Despite the anesthetizing benefits of klonopin, my lower extremities were still present enough to wonder if I was actually going to bleed. The delicate walls of the honey hole I had

This Afternoon.

I was so excited to get done with work a few minutes early today. The sun has been shining for the past few days. As I stepped out of the building and into the alley, I caught a little chill in the air. I decided to throw my hoodie on. I looked around first. The alley is a popular tourist destination. In the morning, the sides of the buildings are supported by the bodies of those souls hoping to get a spot in treatment for the day. When the gate gets flung open promptly at 8:00am, there is never a shortage of folk hoping today will be the first day they spend searching for a hit. There are limited spots for detox, bupe, and even rehab for a lucky few that arrived at JUST the right moment when the universe aligned to provide a rare opening. Mostly, people are told to return, shuffling back to the streets with less urgency and more hopelessness. At night, the alley becomes a beacon for crack smokers and youngsters needing to find a "safe" place to piss as they stumble to the tr

I was here.

The rain reminds me of being homeless. I would scramble or even fight, if necessary, for a dry place to sleep. The rain reminds me of a time when I was dopesick. It was dark outside, but the dealers were still out of the corner. I tried to make it back to my encampment. I knew I could not. I felt the puke hit the back of my throat when I realized I needed to conduct my dirty business right there. I had a cooker- no water. I pulled my rig out of my back pocket. It was raining outside. I saw the rain pooling on the hood of the car in front of me. It has been raining for awhile- how dirty can it really be? I thought to myself. I used that water. That water almost cost me my leg. I got a raging infection, an infection so rancid that you could smell the rotten tissue from half a block away. If I would not have gotten arrested, maybe I would be one of those people you see panhandling in a wheelchair in the median of any busy street. The rain reminds me of getting in cars with strangers.