Friday, December 29, 2006

a sick voyueristic nature

I was kidnapped Tuesday night. Held against my will in a date's house, he had remote controls for the doors and wouldn't let me out. I suppose it was my fault for putting myself in that situation- I have to look at my part as they say in NA. Fucking NA. Haven't been to a meeting in a while, praise the good lord above. Of course, now that Christmas is over, the 'rents are gonna jump back on my rear about meetings, meetings, meetings. I go, if only to placate them, but I seriously believe those bullshit sessions do more harm than good. By the time the hour is over, I'm shook up by everyone talking about how good it would feel to do one last shot. I could have done a hit right before the meeting, I still leave feeling sick. If it's not that, it's people talking about the stupid shit they did while smoking crack. We've all done stupid shit. I didn't realize these meetings are designated Story Hours, focusing specifically on stories that make the storyteller look like a total asshole. I think the only reason people keep coming back to those meetings is a sick voyueristic nature deep inside everyone. Listening to the struggles and the fuck-ups of strangers is riveting, and it keeps you from thinking about your own problems. But does it help? I'm sure it helps some, but most people I know have either left the program or go in-and-out, following a relapse/recovery relapse/recovery pattern. It's all a pile of shit.

The reason I got kidnapped was because I was making money to keep Micheal and I high and in a decent motel room. I love spending time with him, talking to him, holding to him, having sex with him, sleeping with me. Sometimes I wish I could stop loving him, but I can't. If shit doesn't work out between us this time, I'm joining the other team. I'm sick of men, they are all pretty much the same and I've heard it all before. But with Micheal, the biggest problem is his mama, Connie the Cunt (CtC). A couple hours after he left the house, CtC started calling me- and she didn't stop.

"I know Micheal is with you."

"Let me talk to Micheal!"

"Don't lie to me, tell me where he is."

"I'm going to press charges if he doesn't show up for work tommorow."

I covered for him, of course- I never saw him and he never saw me. We did have a great time together and got real high. Then I went to Miami to see my family, where I shot too much dope in the bathroom and almost fell out in front of my parents and aunts and uncle and everyone. It was wonderful and awful.

try me with pain, try me with fire
just deliver me my one desire
bind me, gag me, beat me up
but when you're through, fill up my cup
make me cry, make me bleed
but give me everything I need
stretch me on your torture rack
steal the clothing off my back
make my path a dreary black
just give me all that I lack
lock me up and toss the key
charge for it a deadly fee
make me miserable and blue
why even ask? you always do
destroy my joy, my faith, my trust
all I ask is that you're just
make sure the misery you serve
is exactly what I deserve
and when you finally kill me dead
send me back to hell instead
nothing to lose, nothing to gain
and by this point I like the pain
give it free and snatch it away
just like every other day
love me like a mother would
then take away all that is good
fill me up with all your lies
but when I'm god, everyone dies

Wednesday, December 27, 2006

"...and this guy was an asshole!"

[[Clay Walker- 'Fore she was mama]]

I've come to my senses, that I've become senseless
I could give you lessons on how to ruin your friendships
Every last conviction, I smoked them all away
I drank my frustrations down the drain, out of the way
So I sit and wait and wonder
"Does anyone else feel like me?"
Someone so tired of their same routines and disappearing self-esteem
I could be an expert on co-dependency
I could write the best book on underage tragedy
I been spending my time at the local liquor store
And I been sleeping nightly on my best friend's kitchen floor
So I sit and wait and wonder
"Does anyone else feel like me?"
I'm so overdosed on apathy and burnt out on sympathy
Let the meaning slip away
Lost my faith in another day
Self-depreciation seems okay
I never thought I'd make it anyway
[the science of selling yourself short]

[[KoRn- Alone I break]]

You got your hair permed, you got your red dress on
Screaming that second gear is such a turn-on
Now the fog forming on my window tells me that the morning's here
And you'll be gone before too long
Where'd you learn those new tricks?
Man, I shouldn't start that talk
But life is one big question when you're staring at the clock
And the answer's always waiting at the liquor store
40 ounces to freedom, so I take that walk
And I know I'm not coming back
[40 oz to freedom]

[[Less Than Jake- Dope man]]

Last night I shot some dope and my entire arm blew up, shoulder to fingertips. It started burning real bad mid-push but I still finished it off. I told my dad a spider bit me, showing him two little [track marks] holes on my swollen hand. He worked for 15 minutes helping me get my rings off before they cut into my skin. The swelling is almost gone now, but I'm scared to put my rings back on. That shit hurt so bad, and scared me too. The rest of the batch didn't do anything like that to me, but it could have, and my brain pounded that into me every time I did a shot last night so I couldn't really enjoy my high. Micheal was supposed to call today, which he did, but I was sleeping and didn't answer the phone and now I'm hoping he calls back. We are spending the night together [[supposedly]]. Shit never seems to work out with us.

[[Carrie Underwood- Before he cheats]]

I haven't hit a meeting lately- not that I'm complaining or anything. I hate those stupid fucking meetings. Found a great website, gonna add it to my links. It's called AA De-programming, and it talks about all the bullshit you'll find in the program. That book I'm reading though, "12-step Horror Stories" is increasingly sounding like bullshit. 90% of the "horror stories" aren't about AA or NA, but about specific rehab centers or people. It's like, "I went to NA and this guy was an asshole!" Really, honey? You'd think in an entire group of basers, junkies, alkies, tweakers, pill poppers, geekers and burnouts that everyone would be nice, kind, and well-adjusted. Certainly no assholes there! It's the dumbest shit I've ever heard. That de-programming website kicks ass! Check my links for it.

[[Rick Ross- Hustlin']]

If I told you I cared, could I still smile
Without the vomit rising in my throat like bile?
If I told you I cared, could I still wake
Each day without feeling fake?
If you cared for me, you'd be there for me
And caring for you wouldn't be a bear for me
But you won't, so I don't,
Because it's one less burden to bear
If I pretend I don't care
But can I hide my love for you for another day?
At least until the sickness fades away?
I used to lie with you in bed and you were dead
With your lips turning blue and your arm dripping red
If I told you I cared, you'd piss and moan
And leave me here all alone
Hurting, crying, longing for your touch
So I don't care, because it hurts too much
I will always love you, no matter how you treat me
But I won't let you defeat me
Because you've destroyed the last of my trust
It makes me cry, but you and I can never be an us
You light up my world, I want to be your girl
But I don't want to die so I guess this is goodbye...

[[Big Boi- Kryptonite (I'm on it)]]

hookin' to pay the piper, trickin' to pay the reaper
the price keeps gettin' lower while the risk keeps gettin' steeper
shootin' up old Ben Franklin several times a day
smokin' up Andrew Jackson- is this the only way?
the cook, the sting, the blood, the rush, it's all I know I've got
but I convince myself that I don't care and prep another shot

[[Sublime- Garden grove]]

Tuesday, December 26, 2006

not a charity worker

[[Insane Clown Posse- See you in the killing fields]]

Well, Christmas is finally over, meaning it's time to get my lazy ass out of this house, hit the pavement, and go back to work. I finally got through to Greg, the guy who "stole" my money and dope on the 23rd and then turned his phone off. Yesterday I woke him up, apparently he was coming off a "huge coke binge." He didn't even have a full gram, which (if I remember correctly) goes pretty quickly if you're only snorting it and completely disappears from your body in a couple hours. I guess shit affects different people different ways. Either that or he was making an excuse so he wouldn't have to come give me my money. Today I'm working though, so I'll be right in his part of town. No excuses, motherfucker- just give me what's mine!

[[Kottonmouth Kings- Life ain't what it seems]]

On another note, I'm out of heroin! Argh! I tried to hold onto my last shot for as long as possible. I woke up at about 9am and managed to hold off sticking myself until almost noon. By then all I was doing was moving all over the couch in an attempt to get comfortable, and I found my most comfortable position was sitting on the edge of the toilet pushing the last of my heroin into my arm. It's almost 1pm right now, I'm leaving for work in about an hour and I'm actually looking forward to it. Sitting around the house is a luxury, but it's been 3 days and I'm starting to get cabin fever. Last night I took a ridiculous amount of pills just to get to sleep, in addition to the h. I miss weed, wish I knew someone besides Greg who could help me out with that. I hate asking him for anything besides a ride. It's not that I'm shy, it's that he annoys the fuck out of me and thinks that if he does anything at all to help me out, even something as small as letting me use his camper for 3 minutes so I'm not shooting up in the McDonalds bathroom, I have to suck his dick for free. Well fuck that! I'm a hooker not a charity worker, plus he's got money.

[[Disturbed- The game]]

I want to go see Erick today, the guy who lives over by the Blue Cricket. He's such a good guy, awesome tipper, but he's also one of the weirdos who wants me to move in with him and be his girlfriend. He knows I'm on smack, and still wants me there. Here's the problem: his apartment is tiny, filthy, and full of cats. He gets high, but not on the same drugs I like. There are actually 2 couches in the "living room," which is so small that the couches are practically on top of each other. He says he makes good money, but if he did, why would he live there? Seems to me that we have different definitions of what "good money" really means. If I'm gonna stop working and make some guy my sugar daddy, I want him to at least be a homeowner, and I want a guy who doesn't get high. Is that too much to ask?

[[Weird Al Yankovic- Confessions III]]

Perhaps so- rich, drug-free men aren't exactly the ones lined up to get with me. That's not to say nobody wants me. Lots of guys do, and that's not bragging, that's just a fact that's proved by the amount of money I make in a given working day. Mexicans, middle-income white guys, construction workers, ex-gangsters, musicians, artists, homeless guys, married men going through a mid-life crisis, niggers, junkies, crackheads, dope dealers... these types all love me. But that's not what I want. I want me a VIP, or a CEO, or someone who owns their own business and a house that I can go to because he doesn't have a wife at home. I want someone who I don't have to pretend I don't know them if I see them with someone because (shhhhhh) he could be with his wife or kid or some other family member or employee or boss who he doesn't want told that he picks up hookers. Ah, but I don't really mind. I brought it upon myself really.

[[D12- Keep talkin']]

God I love this song. We still smokin' crack, nigga! Speaking of smoking, I must now retire to the porch to burn a cigarette. I am getting some weed today. It's just a matter of where.

[[Marilyn Manson- This is the new shit]]

Monday, December 25, 2006 I smoke what?

I'm dreamin' of a 90-degree Christmas... because that would be an improvement on how hot it is now. Here in glorious SoFla, the only way to have a white Christmas is to do a lot of cocaine. On that same note, I'm almost out of heroin. Well, I'm determined to have a good Christmas even if I can't have a "brown Christmas." Whatever. I got some decent gifts: a small TV with a game cube to hook up to it, an mp3 player which I am currently filling with shit from yahoo music (a total rip-off site which I don't recommend- they make you pay for a subscription and then you have to pay for individual downloads, what a crock of shit!), cash, candy, shower stuff, gift cards, pajamas, and a big ol' stuffed dog identical to the one I got on my first Christmas. Awwww, how sweet. Can't stop listening to Yahoo music, not actually downloading anything but I can listen for free, after paying the 'scrip fee of course. On to the story of last night...

I was at *Debbie's house last night, eating dinner with the fam and while I was outside smoking a cigarette I ran into a couple guys (walking a dog) who were H-O-T. I mean, lordy lordy they were attractive. I was silently admiring when one of the guys started talking to me.

"Hey girl, do I know you?"

No, I don't think so, what's your name?

"I'm *Brock, this is *Shawn. Do you smoke?"

Um, do I smoke what??


Are you serious?

"Naw, we're just fucking around. Do you want to smoke some fentanyl though?"

I didn't know you could smoke fentanyl...

"Come over, I live just a couple houses down."

So I went over, gave them a little striptease (which they immortalized on film) and smoked a couple fentanyl patches. Shit got me so high I got lost on the way back to *Debbie's (literally, 4 houses down). What a hot little duo they are. They got my number, hopefully they'll call again. What a slutty little dope fiend I am. I found these dark glasses yesterday on the sidewalk a couple houses down from my parent's house and love them, but the 'rents informed me that the glasses belonged to one of Lucas' friends, a kid named *Jake, and that I had to return them or else I would be stealing. Now, finding them on the sidewalk and refusing to return them to their rightful owner is not (by my loose moral standards) stealing. Stealing would be if I took them from his pocket, or grabbed 'em off the table from next to him while he was involved in an intense round of Magic: The Gathering. What I did isn't stealing. So fuck 'em. I'm not giving them back to this *Jake loser, now it's the principle of the thing. Now, I'll "lose" 'em in Lake Worth or step on 'em by "accident" before I return 'em to that kid. My mama wants me to go to the doctor just cause I have a huge swollen gland on one side of my throat. Whatever, I love antibiotics, they make me feel so-o-o-o healthy. Yeah. Listening to some old skool shit now, CRIMINAL by Eminem. Time to go blast off...

[names have NOT been changed... sorry guys]

Friday, December 22, 2006

no one can ride forever

Laziness abounds within me, so I basically replicated my post from my other blog. It won't happen again, it just said what I had to say and I liked it.

All I can smell and taste is Altoids Mango Sours. I don’t like carrying spoons around with me, so I cook up in the tops of Altoids tins and leave the candy in them. That way if the cops search me, all I have is clean needles and candy, neither of which is against the law. Hooray for me. The problem is, sometimes the candy melts onto the top of the tin and of course when I’m sick I’m not gonna stop and wash it off (god forbid!) before I pour my shit out into it. I noticed when I was drawing up that my cotton was sticky, but I didn’t really care as I proceeded to do my wake-up shot. Bang bang, started untying the phone charger cord from my arm and waited for the muscle aches to fade. The taste of those fucking mango sours filled my mouth and nose. It got me well, but it’s been about an hour and I can still taste that shit. From now on I’m gonna wash out my tin top before blasting off, unless I’m real real sick and can’t wait the extra 30 seconds.

I'm reading a book called "12-Step Horror Stories" about people who were degraded and humiliated and rejected from AA/NA. It's really great, now I know I'm not the only one who thinks that the 12 steps are a huge pile of shit. I won't deny that they work for some... but they need to admit that they don't work for everyone. Of course they won't. The NAzi's "know" that The NA Way is The Only Way. And if you can get clean without their help, then I guess you were never really an addict to begin with. What a crock.

I’m dreading going to work today. It’s about 230 pm, I just woke up an hour ago and already have a couple dates set up around 4 pm. I could jump in the shower now and do them sooner, but my laziness is taking me over. I don’t even want to shower and wash my ass, that’s how unmotivated I am.

Just wait until you start sniffling again, Michelle. Wait until your stomach ties itself into a knot and won’t let anything in. Then you’ll remember your motivation, your reason for working, your reason for sucking and fucking your way through Friday night. Or maybe you shouldn’t wait until you remember. Maybe you should go out now and save yourself the pain.

It is better not to wait. But I got the confidence and laziness that comes from having another couple bags waiting for me in my purse, and am therefore sitting around the house, updating both my blogs, eating chips, talking on the phone, basically just doing what I did yesterday. Outside of the 2 dope runs I made last night (and they weren’t even really runs, because he delivered to right across the street from my house), I managed to sit inside in my pj’s the whole day long. Well, I also went to one NA meeting but I only go to those to appease the parentals, who are convinced that NA is The Only Way To Stay Clean And Sober. Hell, I’m living in their house. So I don’t complain. I go to the meetings, take my seat, send text-messages for an hour, smoke a cigarette outside while Guys With A Year Or More try to get my phone number, and roll on home. It’s not too much to ask in exchange for rent-free living. I actually did give one NA guy my number, but he didn’t want anything from me that had to do with sobriety. He wanted a date. That’s one of the ones I have set up for myself at 4 pm. God, am I lazy.

Last night, before I went to bed I did 4 bags at once. I don’t know why, it just seemed like a good idea. I’d never done 4 of that shit and I wanted to see what it would do. What happened was, I fell out for a good 3 hours sitting on the closed toilet with my pants up. I woke up leaning against the towel rack with a stream of dried blood dripping from my wrist down around my fingers. Lovely. I must’ve gotten really fucked up, wish I would have been there to enjoy it.

I suppose it’s time to get in the shower, go back to Dixie, and make the money I need to stay well. For me, being hooked on dope is like being at a locked-in carnival. When you first get there, it’s awesome. You can ride all the rides, try all sorts of new stuff, play games, hang with your friends, etc, and you’re having the time of your life. But after being there a while, you start to notice that some of the rides aren’t put together that well, and some of your friends die while riding them. You stand back and see all the imperfections, all the suckiness, all the terror and fear that you’ve been enjoying for so long, and it stops being fun. But you can’t leave. And the rides look so exciting, so tempting, that you stop looking for a door and jump back on the Tilt-A-Whirl with the decision to just ride until you die.

But no one can ride forever.

To the day that we part
From the beginning, right back at the start
There will always be that love for bliss
And unacheivable unfathomed euphoria
To where only you can take me
And yet only you can break me
You are my Savior, my Killer, nothing less
I need a fix, I need to fill that emptiness
You creep around with your scaly self
Seething, burning, making me cry
Writhing, dying, I just wanted to say goodbye
But never just once, you're too precious to waste
Never satisfied by your vile taste
So I lick again, cringe, and trail off into space
Until I'm on the mountaintop
Looking into forever and all
Slipped, and down I fall
But together we'll find the ground
You are my rail and always to my avail
But please don't leave me now
I can make it work somehow

Thursday, December 21, 2006

the idiot within grows stronger

So, Micheal just called me. He wants to know if I can cop for him. Last time I did that, my family got a phone call at 3 am and I had to give back to his mama (FUW) what he had traded me for the dope. I don't know if I should do it, hell, I don't know why I answered the phone when I saw it was him. But I did answer, and I did agree to help him out. I really don't know why. I guess the idiot within me grows stronger every day. The main question is, do I still love this man? The answer? I think so, but he's not worth the bullshit drama I have to go through in order to see him. Cause if I want to spend time with him, I got 2 options:

1) Hang with him while he lives at his FUW's house and works with her, which means I have to put up with her bitching (since he's not allowed to see or talk to me while living there) and might end up with more 3 am dope-related phone calls.

2) Move him out of FUW's house and into an apartment/motel room with me. This one I'm really super reluctant to do (I guess the idiot within hasn't completely taken me over) because I don't want to be responsible for the bastard.

Both options kind of suck asshole, if you ask me. Maybe I should just NOT go over to his workplace, NOT answer his phone calls, NOT buy heroin for him, NOT deal with the Fat Ugly Whore, NOT spend money on taxis to his house, NOT let him fuck me with no condom on the path in La Mancha while leaning over on a bulldozer, NOT have anything to do with that motherfucker at all. He's another kind of dope to me. I realize he's totally bad for me, I see him wrecking my life, I see everything going to shit because of him, yet I can't walk away. There is something that tells me to keep picking up that phone. I call it: the idiot within, which could also be what makes me poke myself with needles full of poison. But at least when I shoot up, it makes me feel awesome. He makes me feel shitty all the time. When I'm with him, when I'm not with him, when I'm thinking about him, when I'm fucking him, when I'm talking to him- if it has to do with Micheal it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

Update- I just now (1:48 pm) got off the phone with Micheal. He is gonna cash his paycheck today and he wants me to go over there andd call for a deliver to his workplace. The idiot within began telling me what a good idea that was, how I won't have to go out anywhere and I'll get free heroin out of it and I can fuck around at home all day. I hate the idiot within, last night it was telling me to shoot my wake-up bags when I was already high as a kite and nodded out on the couch. I kept telling the idiot that I'd shoot the bag after this cartoon, then when it ended it was after the next cartoon. Finally I fell asleep and woke up 12 hours later with the monkey on my back trying to claw my eyes out. I'm glad I saved the wake-up. In fact, I only did one of my wake-up bags so I still have one left. If I'm not going out today, I better save my dope because even though Micheal will be buying me some, I tend to do a lot of dope. I guess I had that revelation: "Gee, I shoot a lot of dope!" Can't believe I came to that brilliant conclusion all by me-self. Wow. The idiot within is banging against the walls of my brain. He wants out. And I'm gonna let him out, in the form of:

buying dope for Micheal.

Tuesday, December 19, 2006

love is an action, not a feeling

So go ahead and get gone
Call up that chick and see if she's home
I bet you thought that I didn't know
What did you think I was puttin' you out for?
Because you was untrue
Rolling her around in the car that I bought you
Baby, drop them keys
Hurry up, before your taxi leaves
Standin in the front door
Telling me that I'm such a fool
Talkin' bout how I'll never ever find a man like you
You got me to say
You must not know 'bout me, you must not know 'bout me
I could have another you in a minute
Matter fact, he'll be here in a minute
You must not know 'bout me, you must not know 'bout me
I could have another you by tommorow
So don't you ever for a second get to thinkin'
You're irreplacable

I got stood up today. I got all showered, blow-dried, made up and dressed up to see Micheal today (we were gonna meet at the mall, Palm Tran over to a Lake Worth motel, buy some dope and fuck all night) and he never showed up. It wasn't the first time he's done that to me. He will pretty much do anything his mama tells him to do, I'm not into that. I don't even know why I still talk to him, I know I love him but all we got really is love, sex, and heroin. It's a thrilling combination, but it makes for a bummer of a relationship.

So, I waited at the mall for hours until he called me and told me his mom would kick him out of the house if he went to go see me. I heard them fighting on the other end of the phone. I told him that if he couldn't see me, that was that, and there was no use making a big deal of it. Yet I couldn't follow my own advice- the tears began to flow the second I hung the phone up. I felt so pushed aside. He says he loves me, but love is an action, not a feeling. I've sold my ass, gotten robbed and beat up, and been to jail over this man, and to him I'm not worth getting yelled at over. It was a crushing blow. I can't even go into his workplace because his mom works there too (she got him the job). I was in there the other day buying ice cream with my gift card (oh, I gotta explain how I got my gift card!) and his mom made him hide upstairs in the break room. Seriously, what the fuck is that. You'd think the man was in his early teens, but no. He's 22, only a year older than I am, and still a total mama's boy. She has her head firmly lodged up his ass and has no intention of moving or relocating. Why? A: because she's overprotective and fears him returning to his old (heroin- and crack-filled) ways, and B: because he lets her. When we lived together, he let me share his mom's puppet strings, allowing me control over half. I guess whenever he gets close to a woman, he bends over so her whole hand can fit inside and control his every thought, word, and action like a ventriloquist dummy.

It just occured to me, he's probably gonna see this.

I doubt he'll actually read the words, unless he sees his name on it somewhere. I better start a new category... there we go, "Micheal." I really don't mind if he reads this, cause it's honest and he really did hurt me today.

But anyways, I worked and it was actually fun. My first date was this young newly-married guy who took me to his friend's apartment on the Island, that was worth a bill. Then I met up with R, who usually pays a bill also but hooked me up with $200 after a 15-minute session (15 minutes is actually being generous- I think it was quicker than that). Did one last date, a Spanish guy. This was less than a minute long and only worth $40 to me, but every little bit helps. I bought some groceries and some h. Then, about 5 or 6 hours after standing me up, guess who calls. He's at home, his mama stepped out momentarily, and he wants to see me. Of course, he's not going to make an effort to make it happen. He's just gonna sit at the crib while I pay $50 of my escort money to take a taxi over to Royal Palm Beach where he is. Once I get there, he carries my groceries and asks me for a bag. He ends up trading me a $400 IPOD (not his) and a diamond wedding set (engagement ring + wedding ring, also not his) for 5 bags. I accept, knowing that I could have more coming if I called my dealer, who for the sake of confidentiality we will call "45R". If I refer to any of my other dealers, they will be "45B" "Garden" "Jog" and "Lockz". I need a charger cord now for the IPOD, what an awesome Christmas present that was. He told me I could pawn the wedding set if I was short on cash, seeing that it was neither his nor mine. Well... I suppose now it's mine. I payed for it, no?

To enter Micheal's subdivision (La Mancha) on foot, there are 2 ways. The first way is the main neighborhood road, which is the only way you can drive to his house. Then there is a bike trail that cuts between a wooded area and a church. We dubbed it "da path." So as we're walking closer to La Mancha for him to go home and me to call another cab, we decide to go down da path and I start sucking his cock. This, of course, led to me bent over a fucking bulldozer while he banged me from behind. It's the first time I've fucked him for months, and I was hoping it would be terrible so there'd be one less thing to like/love about him. But it was good, pretty much as good as it can get outside bent over a tractor keeping an eye out for headlights and bicyclists. Does this mean we're back together? Argh, I don't know! I should've asked or something, huh? Maybe I don't want to know the answer. That's probably what it is. Anyways, we had finished up and cleaned up and were sitting at the gas station across the street from his subdivision and his mama pulled up in her van. At that point, I knew the date was over. He flew over to the drivers'-side window like an obedient little puppy, and (just as I had suspected) he left with his mama without so much as a hug goodbye. Sure, he walked to the end of his neighborhood and gave me stolen merchandise. But that's not the kind of effort I want to see from him. If he wants to be with me, that asshole better fucking start showing it through his actions. It seems to me like he'll hang with me when "he's got nothing better to do" or "he can sneak out after his mama goes to bed." Why does this shit sound so familiar? Oh, now I remember why. I used to do the same shit- in junior high. Maybe ninth grade too, but not really past then. But it didn't faze me this time because I knew what to expect from him.

Eventually I left Royal Palm, rented a GameCube game called "Paper Mario" which I've never heard of but my brother (the ultimate nerdy, video-game-playing, D&D-obsessed, Magic-card-collecting, anime-watching, computer-worshipping FanBoy, no offense to him) says it's the type of thing I'd enjoy. And that boy knows his video games! The only type of games I like are the Mario-type "running-man" games where you move your guy along through the various enemies and "bosses" and all sorts of obstacles. He said it was less of a running-man and more of an "RPG" whatever the fuck that means. RPG = role playing game, no? How can a video game be an RPG? Something like Dungeons and Dragons, that's an RPG. A video game is a video game. Some people take that shit way too seriously. My brother was one of the ones camped outside the store waiting to buy a Nintendo Wii. I saw a T-shirt that makes me laff hysterically: Mario, with bloodshot eyes, burning a blunt with the caption "Wiid". You can't tell me that's not funny!

Finally, I got home and 45R came out and didn't have change for a Benjamin so I was forced to buy 9 bags of heroin. Poor poor me, huh? The rest of the night was been spent bullshittin' around. It's 2:49am, I really should be going to bed since I have a fucking NA meeting at fucking noon. I hate NA, not as much as I hate AA but it's still a terrible concept. "Here's my idea, let's take a large group of people who love drugs, know where to get drugs, and are trying not to do drugs, and put them all together in a room for an hour and let them talk amongst themselves." How many people you think have scored in or during an NA meeting? I know I have. I didn't even ask either, it was offered to me. What a fucked-up world we live in. I guess I have time to post one Micheal-related poem:

Why did you betray me?
Is there nothing left to say to me?
When I needed you the most, you were a fucking ghost
Where were you when I went to jail?
Why didn’t you at least send me mail?
Why don’t you answer when I call?
Why won’t you answer me at all?
For you, to everyone I lied,
For you, I kept my ass inside,
Because of you I have no friends,
So I’m alone, is this how it ends?
For you, I’ve gotten raped and beat,
For you, I worked the fucking street,
If you asked, I would not say no,
But now what do I have to show?
A broken heart, arms full of tracks,
A worthless tattoo on my back,
A shadow of my ring’s old spot,
Do you love me? Apparently not

Last night, right as I was finishing this post, Connie (Micheal's mama, from here on out "fat ugly whore" or "FUW" came over here yelling and threatening to call the police on me because I had given him dope (which I did). Of course I denied it. It was hilarious. She actually drove over here (pretty far) just to bitch at me in person, but before that she called my HOUSE PHONE at 3 AM, waking up my parents who could give a fuck less about Micheal or his FUW. They were not pleased with the whole new development. Micheal got caught with the dope and the first thing he said was my name. I don't think I wanna see him no more.

Monday, December 18, 2006

a big pile of gag gifts

Yesterday was the Big Family Reunion. We do it every year either right before or right after Christmas, all my family gathers at my grandparent's house in Key Largo (they live in an old people community kinda near Key West) and have a big pile of wrapped "gag gifts," which can be trinkets, tools, toys, candy, food, and stuff like that. We put numbers in a hat and each relative picks a number. Whoever is #1 picks a present from the pile and opens it, then #2 does the same, all the way down the list over and over until the presents are gone. When it's your turn, if you like someone else's present, you can choose to take their gift instead of picking a wrapped one from the pile and then whoever you took from gets to choose another from the pile. Sounds kind of confusing, I know, I guess you have to be there. I got myself a little pen/radio (I'm using the headphones it came with for my Sirius radio), a hot orange blanket (my great aunt chose this, I got it from her), some potpourri (which I gave away), a Publix giftcard, a TV (this wasn't part of the gag-gift pile, it was from my aunt Diana- thank you by the way!), and if there was more I don't remember. Saturday, I worked and spent far too much money, did some cocaine with Shane and Kim, and basically stayed up all night and day. The thing is, after sleeping until 5pm on Thursday, I didn't sleep at all. So while sitting at the Family Reuinion, I was down for the count. It didn't help that I had done 3 bags right before heading off to the Keys. I couldn't keep my eyes open for a minute, not even while I was eating.

My parents, little brother Lucas and I got home around 7pm, and I proceeded to fall asleep on the patio bed while smoking a cigarette. I woke up about 12 hours later to Micheal calling on the phone. He might come get a motel room with me tonight, if not tonight then tommorow. Either way, I'm excited. I'm also out of weed. Sucks to be me, huh? I'm waiting for Micheal to call back, I don't know why. Want to see him tonight, need to get weed first, that's pretty much it.

Saturday, December 16, 2006

Brown, white, green, the other green, and blueberry pie

I don't know if I've disclosed this yet, but I live at home, with my family. Mumsy and Dadsy and me, nestled snugly in a nice house in the suburbs. In a nice neighborhood- not in Lake Worth, the town I hang out in simply because I'm stupid and don't know any better. But I'm not embarrassed of this, nor am I planning on moving out anytime soon. I like it here. DirecTV, internet, TiVo, Sirius satellite radio (that one I payed for, but I would have no place to hook it up if I wasn't at mama's!), my own computer, my own room, Blockbuster Online (I pay for that too, but all the movies are for me), free meals, I come and go as I please, they set up ashtrays for me outside and I got total privacy on top of everything else. Why would I ever want to move out? If I had to say something negative about living at home, something I really didn't like, I would say this:

There is never anything to eat at my parent's house.

Like, never. She goes to Publix maybe once a week, buys a couple items (usually exactly what she needs for 2 recipies, so that's lunch and dinner and we starve the rest of the week), and cooks a couple meals a week. When she makes a meal, she usually makes far too much on purpose so I will stop complaining about the lack of food because I'm happily munching on leftovers. But having leftovers is hard to do, because 2 members of the family (being: me and my dad) would snork down an entire cow and a side of potatoes in 30 minutes flat. She cooks enough to feed entire branches of the armed forces and my dad and I dive in, seconds, thirds, fourths, he's going for the world record! That looks like it's gonna be a Six- or maybe even a Seven-Rolaid Night. And (I know this is odd) I like leftovers more than I like the meal when it was prepared the first time. I like a little micro-wave in my meat, hah.

But, other than leftovers a couple nights a week, there's never food and if there is food, there is never EVER a dessert. My mom has been on a diet for the past few decades, so the house is a No-Dessert Zone. It frustrates the junky within me who wants to taste some chocolate or ice cream or cookies, anything sweet! Today I came home at 2 am and knew that they had eaten some sort of meat and rice stuff cause they forgot to do the dishes. I went poking around in the fridge looking for the leftovers when I found this big box full o' blueberry pie.

Fuck, yeah. I hope she wasn't saving it for anyone cause I ate half that bitch.

So-- between the brown I shot about 10 minutes ago, the white I smoked earlier, the green I rolled and smoked an hour ago, the green stacks in my pockets, and my blueberry pie-- I am having one hell of a great night. I don't have to be a friday night millionaire, I can be a saturday night stripper hahahahahaha!!!

[when I look in the mirror, I see dead people]

Friday, December 15, 2006

friends with benefits?

It is 5:46 pm and I just woke up an hour ago, too much drugs last night, I'm glad I'm almost out now. I got one shot left... gonna do it in 5 minutes before I leave the house. Can't have dope on me in Lake Worth, that would be a very bad idea. Gotta stick my arm here in the comfort of my own home. I passed out before Micheal called last night. I wonder how the dope did him, if he feels like shit today. I hope not. I don't want to awaken his fucking monkey, then I'd be responsible for him. I'm not ready yet... I do love him though, but I'm loving my freedom too. Not having to be anywhere or with anyone, no commitments, do what the fuck I want. I don't know what I'm gonna do about that. I also don't know what he wants to do, he hasn't said anything about getting back together. But he was kissing me and grabbing my ass right in front of his workplace... argh, I don't know. Friends with benefits? Yeah right, that will last as long as my fucking sobriety. Which isn't long at all.

[in a hurry to become friday night millionaire]

Thursday, December 14, 2006

day five/zero, or higher than hell

Fucked up. Got high. Got Micheal high too. My eyes won't open. I smoked crack all night at the motel and then smoked a ridiculous amount of marijuana until shows like Jimmy Neutron: Boy Genius and Rugrats started to "freak me out", on account of they're so stupid. Jesus I'm higher than hell. Been sitting in front of the previous few sentences for about an hour, too fucked up to even type. More later I suppose. Want to need to lay down with my eyes shut. God this "paragraph" literally has taken over an hour to type the nodding is incredible. It feels so to stay here and tach the ewa. What? It's almost 10pm right now.

[ I can't just let the dope take back over...]

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

day four, or oblivion is the only answer

No pills in me today. No meth or cocaine in me today. Not even any alcohol, like last night. Just pot. No opiates. Hating life. I am just counting down the minutes until I can get my ass to Lake Worth and taste the brown sugar. A group of friends want to go to Europe, would I be interested in going with? I'd have to be off dope, but... if I can do it, why not go? I have no ties to this south Florida bullshit besides the dope dealers. I mean, I'm just starting to see Micheal again, leaving could fuck that up because I don't think he's ready to go with me. I want to leave all by myself, go north somewhere (fuck Ft Laudy/Miami, that's the same as staying here) and try to stay high and sleep inside and make money in a whole new part of the world. I want to go to New York or fucking California or hell, even Georgia or Alabama would be a new adventure. I'm sick of fucking West Palm Beach. I'm sick of the same streets and the same people that I see every day, different names, but the same old bullshit. I have a feeling I'll see those same people in any city I go to in this country.

I need some heroin, plain and simple. If I can stay away from it, maybe I can move. If I return to the needle, I'm a homebody for however much longer. Oblivion is the only answer, even when there's no question being asked.

[i'm off to see the wizard]

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

day three, or, do you have any tinfoil?

I wanted to die when I woke up this morning. This fucking shit isn't fucking helping. I need a bag so badly, it's ridiculous. I can always make it through the first and second days, but once the dope is a full "weekend" behind me, I'm done. I'll be back on the hammer by nightfall. I don't even have the money for a taxi to the bus stop, I'm fucked. But I can get a ride. I've always gotten a ride when I really needed one, and until I got that ride, I walked. I can make it to the stupid wellington mall, I know it's far when you're walking but someone will pick me up. I'll give em 5 bucks for gas. Why did I spend money on [[meth]], I wish I never found out who had some. We can help each other, he says. I can't go into detail all I can say is that I fucking love meth. He gave me [[a lot of meth]] and expected me to sit around and bullshit. I'm a drug addict, all I wanted to do was get that shit into my body somehow so I asked, "do you have any tinfoil?" Then I got stuck there. Then I got a ride back to my parents house, because no one is home there and I'm too broke to pay the motel. I don't understand people who snort their dope or coke or whatever. That shit burns like hell and makes me sneeze. I'll never snort anything again. But now, I've been up all day smoking all sorts of things. I better stop typing for now, I don't think I'm making too much sense.

[all cranked up with nowhere to go]

Monday, December 11, 2006

day two, or drowning in an ocean of pharmaceuticals

One pill makes you larger and the other makes you small
And the ones that mother gave you don't mean anything at all
Go ask Alice when she's 10 feet tall
[white rabbit]

Keep you doped with religion and sex on tv
And you think you're so clever and classless and free
But you're still fucking peasants as far as I can see
[working class hero]

When I wonder why I try
And I wonder why I bother
And I wonder why I cry
Why I go through all this trouble
I do it for the drugs
I do it just to feel alive
I do it for the love
That I get from the bottom of a bottle
[bottom of a bottle]

I feel like Alice in Wonderland. Last night I felt like absolute horseshit after finding 2 full bags of dope in my closet, so I poured out handfuls of each of my pills, added another fentanyl patch, and attempted to sleep. I started tripping, there's no other word to describe it. I'm still feeling it right now, it's awful. I had a Client last night, he used to sell all sorts of drugs and still knows where to get most of them. I didn't even ask him about it, even after the hundred was in my pocket. I'm really not craving a shot as much as I thought I would. The reason why is more than obvious, the pills are keeping my head screwed on. Take away my pills and my pot, I will turn into a very unhappy person in just a short while. Right now I'm sitting at my mom's house (still!) waiting for her to leave so I can smoke another joint. I'm starting to wonder if I'll ever go back to Lake Worth, and to work, and all that happy horseshit. Well, I kind of like being at my mom's house with the TiVo and DSL internet and free food, and she's leaving today and won't return until Wednesday night. Sounds like a good time to shoot some cocaine. Ahhhh, that would be nice, wouldn't it? But no, I'm probably just gonna buy some more pot.

I never realized how agonizingly boring life is without the hammer. I used to be able to sit on my ass for days (if my financial situation allowed it) doing nothing but watching tv and shooting up, and I never remember getting bored. Hell, those were the best days. That's really the only thing I'm craving, is boredom relief. I almost wish I was a normal person who could find a way out of boredom without chemical aid- almost. My addiction is such a huge part of who I am that if I were to take that away, I would be so completely different that I might even have to change my name. But competing with the boredom is a ridiculous amount of laziness that makes even the smallest tasks seem like "too much work." I'll be bored, think of something to do to kill time, then attempt to get up and say "ah, fuck it."

I haven't taken a shower since Friday morning.

And now it's Monday afternoon.

It's a sad day in JunkyWorld when you're dopeless and too bored and lazy to wash your own ass. I keep seeing flashes of light and movement out of the corner of my eye, but when I turn my head to look there's nothing there. What is this, acid flashback? Or is it just Shelly drowning in an ocean of pharmaceuticals? I'll successfully kick dope and then become a pill addict, I could see it now, hah.

Wait... that's not funny at all.

...many hours later, now around 9 pm...

I figured it all out today. I'm not really trying toget sober because that's the last fucking thing I want. I don't want to face the world without some form of a cloud over my eyes, call me a pussy or a weakling I don't give a fuck I'm a god damn coward. I'm trying to get off dope- annd only temporarily- so I won't "need" it. I can do it every once in a while. Is that not the stupidest thing in the world? Like right now, I would do anything for a shot of smack. So instead I munch up a handful of pills, wash em down with Cisco, smoke pot until my lungs are on fire. Nothing is as it should be, I'm higher than I've been in a long time and I haven't even done any heroin. But the high is different, it's wrong. I kind of hate it, I can't think, I can't fucking form sentences. I don't remember pot and booze turning on me like this before, but with all the different pills and shit I've added into the mix I'm just kicking my own ass. I can't see. It's fucking weird. [nother gulp of Cisco] What is it about sobriety I'm so fucking scared of? Just the twitchyness? That fades in like a month or 2 months, will I have to keep myself blasted for that long? I'm scared of what's going to happen to me wha I fell off the chair. I will probably read this later when I'm not this stoned/barred out and will have no idea what it means. That's okay, because Oblivion is a part of my everyday life. I never remember what I did later. It's so sad. How many joints did I roll? I think almost 30, out of a quarter bag. They fill up a whole cigarette pack.

What in Christ's name am I talking about.

[too high to care what happens next]

Sunday, December 10, 2006

part of real life

Went to visit Micheal at his workplace. He wanted to get high, I wanted to get high, he knew I shouldn't get high, I knew he shouldn't get high, we went back and forth like this for hours until his break ended. Speaking of workplaces, I got a Job to do tonight. I need money to buy more pot anyway. I don't know what's up with me and the marijuana lately, I guess I'm trying to find something that will replace smack somehow in my daily life. But to be honest, it's not a very good substitution. A very shitty one if you ask me. But it's what I got, so it's what I do. I've never been really picky about my mind-altering substances. Whatever is placed in my line of sight is what I'm using at that particular moment. In NA, they call people like me "garbage heads." Crackhead and pothead are too specific, garbage head implies that I will put any substance into my body rather than experience a second of real life. Actually, that's garbage. Heroin is part of real life. When I push the plunger down and close my eyes, that's real enough for me. And so is the sickness. Honestly, I thought I'd be much sicker by now than I am. Bored out of my skin, but not sick. Might have to do with the fact that I've stayed fucked up pretty much non-stop since I pulled the last needle out of my arm. Pills, weed, patches, you name it. The Client who has requested my services tonight knows where to get hammer. I might break down and ask him about it. In fact if I don't, I will be completely amazed at myself. Maybe he won't even call back. Maybe he'll have some and I won't even want any. Maybe I'll bend over and a monkey will climb out of my ass.

the count: 0
others: pot, methadone, vistaril, benadryl, xanax, fentanyl, clonidine, Cisco
street money: $100
in the hole: $150

day one, or a step into normalcy

Having a "regular" blog is just a step into normalcy, as my life has been anything since for the past... well, long time. They call me Shelly. In the past I've been everything from "Dan's girl" to "that one girl who sells the pills" to "junkie" to "the bald girl... no, not the lesbian, the other one." I've not only been at the top of the mountain and the bottom of the abyss, but I've been in all the little towns and valleys in between. I don't know where I'm at now, but I know I don't even see mountains. I can't see anything past the blackness and void. I'm 21 going on 50, as Shane likes to say about me. Everyone says that about me. What is it about me that, until one gets a visual, makes me seem much older than I really am? When people hear about me or read my writings, they find it hard to believe I'm only 21. Once they see my face, on the other hand, no one believes I have made it to 21. I get carded every day of my life, and that's just buying cigarettes. But regardless of appearence or experience, I am 21 years of age. I should be enjoying myself much more than I have been, I think, while some might argue that I've been enjoying myself far too much.

Rewind 8 years. 13 years old, and already a punk kid. Wore all black just for the shock value of it. Got wasted at punk rock shows. Hung with older guys. Carried an air of superiority and insanity around other girls my age; after all, I could chug a bottle of Jack Daniels to the head while they sipped on half-flat beers liberated from the Shell station's back room. Age 14: Discovered cocaine and then heroin. Age 15: Discovered the needle and got sent away, to live in Christian boarding school. Age 17: Graduated from said boarding school and met long-time boyfriend Micheal. Age 18: Discovered crack cocaine, ran with that for a few months, then got as far away from it as I could. Discovered that men would pay good money (crack money?) just to spend a short while with a blond 18-year-old woman. Age 19: Re-discovered Lady Heroin and her instruments of destruction. Before you could say, "every junkie's just a setting sun" I was eyeball-deep in the dope and the dope lifestyle. Age 21: Got arrested for the 10th time and was separated from Micheal, I have been trying to put it back together with him since then with very little luck.

Well, what's new in my world? I'm not on the hammer, for one thing. It's been over 24 hours now, I suppose I should be really patting my ass for this "accomplishment" but I have a feeling that my body is plotting how to get one last bag into me without involving my brain. And hell, it might succeed. My brain has set precedent for letting actions slip by that you'd think a brain would be able to catch. Heroin addiction has nothing to do with the brain. It starts there, but soon it's taken over your entire body and you can't get rid of it. No matter what. I could never touch hammer again, I could live to be 100 years old, and I will still lay in bed night after night and wish I had just one little bag to help me sleep. It doesn't happen with any other drug. When I was on coke, I knew there were certain times and places where it was completely inappropriate to be geeked out. With marijuana, you sleep and you eat and you watch TV but not much else happens. With speed and pills, you use them as medication when you need a sudden burst of energy or a blast in the opposite direction. But with heroin, life passes right in front of you and you can't understand how you didn't realize it. Bedtime? I need a shot to help me sleep. Mealtime? A bag will bring back my appetite. Morning? I can't function without a wake-up shot. Work? I wouldn't think of facing it sober. After work? No better way to kick back than with a bag of dope. And it's a slow progression, you don't even realize it, but suddenly you need heroin to do ANYTHING. From watching a movie to tying your shoes to walking to the gas station for a pack of cigarettes, a needle has to be involved. I get dressed to go to Burger King for some fries, spend 30 minutes struggling with a blood-filled apparatus and suddenly it smacks (no pun intended) me right in the face.

"Why do I have to numb myself in order to go get french fries?"

"Shut the fuck up and do what you have to do."

And so for a while, I did. Or so I thought. In reality I was doing exactly the opposite. I didn't do anything that I HAD to do, but rather everything that I wanted to do. And that's how life goes to shit. Pursuit of pleasure, pursuit of oblivion, pursuit of money to obtain oblivion. There isn't room for much else when those are your first priorities. And your only priorities. So, I decided to quit the hammer. With pharmaceuticals and some good weed to help me, how can I fail? Let me count the ways...