Sunday, April 29, 2007

"junky strategy"

Some days I feel like I live this wild unpredictable life, and other days I feel like it's just the same shit repeating itself over and over again. It's true that if you hang out in the "cracker 'hood" anything can happen. And I get to meet new people every day, and I like sex and I like giving head, so I really don't know what I'm complaining about. It's just sometimes... I look over on the past 3 days and it looks like this:

1-2pm : wake up
2-3pm : get Greg to take me to Dixie
3-6pm : make money
6-7pm : cop dope and eat dinner
7-10pm: make more money
10-1am: go home, take pills, pass out

What does that song say, "Life is one big party when you're still young, but whos gonna have you back when it's all done?"

I still don't know how I'm getting back...

Well anyways, I was going to fill this with the non-excitement of the past few days, but I can summarize it: Thursday night I smoked too much coke, didn't sleep until Saturday at 1pm and woke up this morning almost out of heroin. Blah. I have stories from the past, so I'm gonna start writing my Past Adventures for the amusement of my readers, especially the ones who I date (and there's quite a few of y'all) and read my blog(s). So here it is:

The Tale of Drug Court, or How I Got Off Easy

Okay, the story begins at Okeechobee and Military, where Micheal and I used to cop (I can say this cause the dope girl doesn't live there anymore). The police in the area knew both our car and our intentions, so they fucked with us on pretty much a daily basis until we figured out a little "junky strategy." Micheal would drive up to Burger King and park while I ran the money around the back, down Indian Road to the house, sprint down Spafford, dive in the car, and floor it until we hit I-95 (it really helped that we lived literally less than a minute away from our exit on 95, so once we were on the highway, game over.

So one day we were attempting this same maneuver, I was running down Spafford to the Burger King and saw the cops crawling all over Micheal. I guess I stepped onto Okeechobee at the wrong moment because the cops, suddenly finished with my boyfriend, rushed over to search me. The female cop pulled the heroin out of my bra and cuffed me in what appeared to be one motion, and I went to jail. My bond was 8 grand.

The next morning, I went before the judge with no prior felonies. He sentenced me to Drug Court, which is like super-mega-probation. Twice-weekly drug tests, mandatory group and individual counseling, an AA/NA meeting signature sheet, weekly court appearances... super-mega-probation. Worst of all, I'd have to stay out of ANY sort of trouble for a YEAR. Fuckin' right. But by the time I went to court I was dopesick and I would have agreed to just about anything that would get me out of jail that same afternoon.

While I was awaiting release with my Drug Court paperwork, Micheal was getting my bond money by robbing his parent's house. While they were home. I'm not with that man anymore, but that was an act of love if I'd ever heard one. Twisted, but then again so were we. I call the cellphone and told him to come pick me up, but it wasn't until after he scooped me up at the gas station across from Gun Club Jail that he told me what he had done. So we did what any junkie couple would do right after a big lick: we partied. We bought a ton of heroin, a nice motel room, pizze, fresh stickers, etc. We were about to leave the room to buy cigarettes when the SWAT team showed up.

Okay, so it wasn't really the SWAT team, but from the way they handled us I say they wished they were SWAT instead of punk-ass street cops in virtually crime-free Royal Palm Beach. They slammed him against the wall and ripped his pockets apart looking for dope, which I had shoved up inside myself because I had a bad feeling about 10 minutes before the cops showed up. They took Micheal to jail for something he did to bond me out, so now I'm obligated to bond him out. But he has no bond. Oops! I got T-netix minutes on my phone so we could keep in touch and I promised I'd send $100/week
(which I did). I went to my first Drug Court appearance where they explained the rules to me. I never went back.

It was a week later and I was trying to get home. All my money had gone into Micheal's commissary account, because if you're in jail and you can't get out, it helps to have Fritos and Little Debbie cupcakes. I was waiting on the ride with 2 crackheads when the cops pulled up on us. I went to jail, for the second time in less than 2 weeks, for possession of heroin.

That's all I feel like typing right now... my next entry I'll finish the story.

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

the edge of the abyss

I wrote this poem in detox last month... the title is "I can't write anything Positive"

Mirror, mirroor, on the wall
Will this be the day I fall?
Most of my life has been a mess
Of hardcore drugs and emptiness
Time went by and I went straight
Yeah I got clean, it's not so great
My body hurts, my legs still kick
My hands are aching for a stick
I'm at the edge of the abyss
And it's not just the dope I miss
I miss fucking, sucking, lickying,
Jonesing, copping, cooking, sticking,
I miss the action, miss the game
Miss how the whole block knows my name
What don't I miss? The daylong chase
To put a high smile on my face
Or when I wake up sick as shit
Burning, aching for a hit
To never again see that rush of red?
To tell the truth, I'd rather be dead
I crave that needle in my vein
Not just to melt away the pain
But to keep me smiling, keep me sane
While it wrecks my body and destroys my brain
I'm stuck in a game that I can't win
But I'm slowly letting light flow in
If I stay clean, it's MY OWN WAY
But it does get better every day
So don't fight back, don't question it,
Just listen and don't take a hit
And even if you don't have a cent
And the success rate is a pathetic 4%
Listen and open up your eyes
Cause the worst it could be is a pack of lies
But there ain't much I haven't seen before
So if you're high and unhappy, just reach out for more

Sunday, April 22, 2007

lame-ass hostage situation

Well, yesterday I told my mom I've been shooting up.

I didn't give up the extent of it, but I told her and had her drive me to an NA meeting up at JFK hospital over in Atlantis, where I got some phone numbers. I was so high when I got there that people were falling over themselves trying to talk to me, convince me to go into detox (AGAIN?!?!?), help me out any way they could. I'm gonna start hitting meetings on the daily, although I really don't have any respect for the 12 step programs. It can't hurt though, right?

I'm getting to the point where the high I get from shooting heroin isn't worth the bullshit it comes with. For example, I'm out of veins on my arms and hands and am now slowly but surely wrecking the bottom of my feet with vicious-looking tracks. Who injects shit in the bottom of their feet?! This junkie does. It grosses me out just seeing the needle sticking out from there, but I still register and slam the shit home. Yuck.

Yesterday I went with Mae and a "friend" of hers named Zander to score an 80 because none of my people felt like dealing with me. We copped and then Zander decided that if he wasn't getting a bag, he wasn't going to let either one of us out of the car. He jumped on I-95, locked the doors, and rolled up the windows.

So... this guy thinks he can KIDNAP me? Huh?

I wait until the traffic has slowed (it's about 5pm at this point, rush hour!) and light a cigarette so he'll open my window, then stick my hand out, open the door, and run out into the breakdown lane while he continues on. I called Greg, who jumped on the highway and picked me up. Lame-ass hostage situation. I'm too smart for these stupid motherfuckers. I know, I know, one of these days...

...DEAD. Before I even realize what's going on.

So I get back with Greg and shoot one of the new bags in the camper, then wander out to smoke a cigarette. I immediately fell out in the parking lot, causing him to scream at me at the top of his lungs the entire way home from Wal-Mart. I can't call him until I have 30 days clean. God, I'm gonna miss that asshole! A whole month, after I'm used to seeing him every single fucking day, is gonna drag on and on.

I woke up this morning at 1130am and shot another one of my 20 bags. Couldn't find a vein, so I just popped it and it still got me high as a mother. Next shot, half a bag. And, not until after my parents go to sleep or else I'll get kicked out fo' sho'.

I guess that's all there is to say...

Thursday, April 19, 2007

super fuckin nodding

I don't know how long this post is going to end up being or how many typos will be involved, because I am super fuckin nodding and I don't really want to get drool on my key board. Bwetween the heroin I just shot and the 8 different psych meds that the crazyy psychiatrist over at the Watershed prescribed for me. I'm going to go lay down now, I just was noddinng out and bored and wanted to check in to my favorite of my 2 blogs (don't tell JL though).

Sunday, April 15, 2007

a shot in the butt

I am sicker than sick.

About 2-3 weeks ago, I started noticing that I was peeing a whole lot more and that it burned like hell. Then my lower back and my stomach started hurting, getting worse every day and I didn't say anything to anybody until it got too unbearable, where I couldn't even get out of bed it was so bad. Why? Because I fucking hate doctors. They order blood tests done by vampires, filling up 4 or 5 tubes of blood at a time. They want to poke you 100 times and ask "does this hurt?" while it hurts so bad I that the only answer I could manage is tears running down my cheeks and every muscle clenched. The doctor actually wants me to set an appointment at the surgical center where they are gonna dope me up, stick a camera down my throat, and fixing whatever is wrong down here. So, I have a bleeding ulcer.

But that's not all! I told him about the back pain on my sides radiating to the front and they did some more stupid tests. The diagnosis? 2 bleeding ulcers, urinary tract infecction (UTI), and a kidney infection. They wanted to hospitalize me, but I refused. The only thing I hate worse than doctors are hospitals. So they gave me a shot in the butt of super duper antibiotics which actually got me high for the first 20 seconds or so. Finally, we leave the damn doctors office with a script for antibiotics that I just take by mouth.

So it was Friday night and I was too sick to go out. Hell, I was too sick to get up off the couch. I wouldn't even get up to smoke- nothing. I had a high fever and my sides and stomach felt like I was being stabbed over and over and over. I guess I missed out on payday, but I wouldn't have been able to work if I did go out there, no way in hell!

Saturday, on the other hand, I needed to go out. I was out of dope and I figure if I'm already sick, I don't want to be dopesick on top of everything else. So I went out to the east side and made $160 bucks, out of which I was "allowed" to keep $70 of it. That is the last time I give my money to him. I'm the one sucking dick, I'm the one walking in the sun or the rain, I'm the one risking my ass in an area where all the cops know me. All he does is drive me around. Why should he get a bigger cut than me? It's the end of that- from now on he gets $40 total no matter how much I make. If I had $120 and he had $40, I would have been able to get a deal for the hundred and stay home longer. But no! I'm starting to dislike him greatly. Shit, I can take the bus to Dixie and back. I don't need to be chouffered (still can't spell that word!) all over town. It's not worth losing over 50% when I'm sucking dick on the street and he's laying in the back of the truck living large. Fuck all that noise. Never again.

On a happier note, my antibiotics are kicking in and I'm starting to feel a lot better. On Friday night I wouldn't have been able to sit in a chair and look at a monitor for more than 1 minute. I can't even get to the blogger login page in 1 minute. Well, I'm going to some pancake hut with my folks for Sunday brunch. So I'm out. And I'm gonna try to post more often...

[[further down the spiral]]

Sunday, April 8, 2007

**crappy Nokia** VS **shiny new Samsung**

I haven't felt like writing in a while... I think it's partly the meds I'm on, partly stress (arguments), and partly total disappointment in myself for going right back where I used to be before I went to detox. There was a stranger, some skinny dude in a white work van, asking my good friend Shane where I was.

"Come on dude, I've seen you with her dozens of times. Do you know she just got out of rehab and she's back to the same old shit?"

Turns out, we've never officially met. He's seen me walking down the street (a lot of the time with Shane cause he's just the best guy ever) and reads my blog (didn't specify which one..?) and now he's chasing my friends up and down the strip trying to talk to me and I guess scare me straight like that TV show [[scared straight]]. I need to stay away from psychotic assholes. Maybe I shouldn't have pictures on my blog- hell no! I just got a new phone FINALLY and it's a camera phone so the blog pics might change or be added to a lot in the next month or so.

That is, if I have the energy to figure out how to send email from my phone- so far I end up in the same little cycle and it doesn't let me type anything but numbers for email addresses. What a big pain in the ass. I'm glad to have a nice phone now, where I can download and check email and take pics and whatever. My old one is 2 more bounces off the concrete away from just disintegrating in a pile of plastic and dust. Problem is, I bought it off the street for $20 from some crackhead named John and his service isn't cancelled until the 20th. So until then, I'm stuck with my crappy Nokia until I can get that number onto the shiny new Samsung. I'm not changing my number for anyone.

I was away on a road trip to South Carolina with Greg it was fun except for our twice-daily arguments ending with FUCK YOU!!! YOU'RE JUST A HOOKER!! WELL YOU AIN'T SHIT BUT TRANSPORTATION!!! If you don't argue with somoene, you don't really care about them. I believe that from the bottom of my heart.I made a little money. But check it- I was gone 6 days and I didn't even go through the 12 bags I brought with me on the trip. That makes me feel so good about myself...

...gee whiz, Michelle, you're only sticking a needle full of poison directly into your veins twice a day, you must have this thing licked!!!