A Note From The Writer

Welcome to the archived blog posts (when I was a wee blogger, wet behind the ears and not aware of spell check and various other gramatical structures!) I have kept the writings unedited or reworked as I am in the process of doing a massive rewrite of my entire life, many posts I have yet to publish and this blog was merely writing practise for the massive job of sorting out my emotions whilst retelling the story as cuttingly real and dramatic as the real memory was.. some of the posts contained are raw, streaming emotion.. many posts although painful to write, had a tremendously cathartic effect - cheaper than therapy one would say. I welcome new and old readers to keep in touch via my author email (sensualexplorersatHotmaildotcom) if you have any questions or wish to share the feelings and emotions raised by my work.
I will announce the publish date and title whenever it happens and I have been clean now for three years. It is possible.
But it is never easy. It's a lifelong journey, I will always be an addict, but I must stay one step ahead of myself and protect all that can be ruined in the eternal struggle to be
at ease once again, comfortable in this skin.
Thank you for being a part of my story.

Wednesday, September 29, 2004

She Will Be Loved

Today was a wonderful day. Unexpectedly delightful. The Best Kind.

It started with a wonderful train journey, I believe I was listening to "She Will Be Loved" by Maroon Five - our current number one in Australia. I love simple moments ,when for a split second , everything is roses and you don't know exactly why or how - but the moment chooses you for that delicious upswing of emotion and plonks you in the midst of something very special.
I call it Life.

I know sometimes we speak of dark times, but don't forget I am never alone - I always have myself and I am always listening to myself, embracing myself and loving myself. I am blessed with a abundant superpower to turn some really horrible memories into the most empowering force -to not just keep "going on". Screw that I'm going to tapdance all the way , not always looking back to those times , but never focussed entirely on moving forward that I forget where I came from.

You have become a part of that now. Part of something really cool that is helping people.
The emails are really heartwarming and I am so flattered by all the great words and genuine compassion. You make me feel hope, and that is a good thing !
Thank you for reading. You make me stronger. Everyday.
You are all my heroes & heroines.

Sometimes I am just so grateful to be here on this train , going to work and being a part of life, the music sweeps me up in some glorious high and I am beaming happiness to anyone that is around me. I feel the love for my boyfriend, the love for my girlfriends, the love of life and just how it all turned around. Dancing in the first rains of summer - Naked. Eating a whole packet of your favorite chocolate biscuits. Giving and getting fantastic head. Your favorite lunch on your favorite day with your favorite friend. I feel like I'm winning. Dancing to a song you always wanted to hear loud and letting it all go. Laughing fits. Looking healthiest you have in years. Feeling a part of things. Surviving. Winning. Playing the heroine for someone else , other than yourself. Sharing a story and touching someone you don't know - but you do.

Life...kinda likes me and it feels so beautiful and right, it is so clean and so promising - I just start dancing on the way to work, the daily commuters beep along and smile - they can't hear my music but I can. ( That is what matters the most)
Yet if they close thier eyes for one precious moment, you can be right there alongside, then they feel the music in my laugh , get the smile in my eyes, get the dance with each confident step I take forward. I love every moment I am alive. Because I am alive. Because... I am me.

And yeah, even when it seems everyone is out to get you ( some people are but that is truly their problem , not yours) so just turn up the music and always put your best foot forward.
I am right beside you.



Tuesday, September 28, 2004

Family Affair

I have just gone back and added a few things and sharpened it up a bit.
Well worth a reread.

"Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. " Tolstoy.

The past few days have been personally taxing. I spent last night sobbing and distressed. It has been building for a few weeks now. I finally realised that I need my father. I think every girl does in her own special way. I want him to care for me. I want him to notice me and take interest in me. But my dad is not well. He likes to drink.

Firstly, my beautiful sister came and stayed with us. ( That was not why I was upset lol) Whilst she was here, we went shopping together and did beautiful sisterly things and over a shopping mall lunch, we had a candid chat about childhood and growing up in the family - that was.
In front of me was a young woman that wanted to speak about how she was mistreated.
So I listened. I learnt.

Things are not going so well for her. My brother (16) and sister (18) are living at home with my parents. The home environment is less than ideal, my parents constantly embroiled in some major fight about money or lack thereof and Dad's drinking problem has worsened. So my own flesh and blood are trapped in a less than desirable situation and it just happens that I don't know what to do about it. At what point can I step in as an adult and protect my siblings or at what point can I ever trust my parents to do thier job, when they failed me ?
My sister is going to leave home and my brother, well I guess , he is just hoping. Just hoping for better days. Then he will leave too.
Try and start again at life, and hopefully manage to survive on his own. But he won't be alone.
I will be there for him.

My dad is an alcoholic. My dad harasses the family. He shouts. He spits. He gets mad.
We don't know how to help him. The Stepmother has been to counselling, to AA - it is Dad that refuses to admit he has a problem.
We don't know how to help ourselves to get over the anger we feel. The sometimes overwhelming feelings of loss. The loss of the chance to be a great family - full of happy people. Not perfect, but happy. But instead we are hardened hearts, just trying to go about life as best as we can.

I left behind my sister and brother, and left that environment as soon as I could. That hurts me and just lately I have been really angry at myself about it. I just could not take it anymore.
Not only did they lose their sister to drugs, they lost their champion fighter , the one who would always make them smile, in the darkest hour of the darkest day.
But I am better now and I think I am ready to help them.
I just don't know if I am strong enough to fight those demons.
And I don't mean my parents.

My birth parents separated when I was about four ( no-one really talks about her) and my father was going to be looking after me as my mother seemed to be struggling with drugs and prostitution. We have a special bond as he is my only true blood relative left in my life.
He is It.

I was raised by my father for the majority of my early childhood and I have many blissful memories, slightly enhanced by the magical recollection that is childhood memories.
Faded like photographs. I remember sleeping in his black t shirts, riding high upon his shoulders like a queen, his soft booming voice singing me to sleep and drinking raspberry lemonades in the pub while he had "a few". I was the apple of his eye. We loved and we lived in happy times.
I remember how the world looked from his shoulders, I remember how it felt to be his little 'Tinkerbell' . I have always been a Daddies Girl , it doesn't matter how grown up I am , the minute my Daddy wipes away my tears , I am straight back there .

I am straight back there , and my heart shrinks with the swell of regret overpowering it, the parent love that I miss, everyday of my life. I am needy again. I am hopeful that he may be there for me again. But now I am grown up and I am meant to be able to do this on my own.
Even though noone has ever taught me the right way - only the hard way.

I think of my childhood as a fruitless time, a time where nothing I could do, would make things go better. My family was broken and that was my lot. I just had to cope. On my own. A heartbreakingly futile time, when my little hands and feet , just could not build a better future for us all. Imaginary friends. Crying myself to sleep. We have all been there.
If you haven't, be very, very thankful.

I tried so hard to keep smiling. To be a perfect daughter. To be well mannered and lead the family with my childhood hopes that one has. The unconditional love that happens. Ties that bind. Yes, I feel let down. Yes, it makes me cry sometimes - when I realize that I didn't do anything wrong - yet I still had my heart broken - never to be quite the same as when she left me , never quite the same when The Stepbrother took my virginity. Parents aren't perfect. I think you can only fully accept that when you are an adult, and that is when you realize you are no longer a child.

Dad ended up remarrying to The Stepmother and I was six. The Stepmother had a son, The Stepbrother. I have mentioned them in earlier posts ( archived)

My dad has always been an alcoholic. This means, to my experience in my family,that on any given night of any week, he will drive home drunk and start shouting and basically being arrogant and cruel. It drives you crazy, so I left home as soon as I could. Most of my childhood was spent, treading on eggshells all the time. Nastiness. The Let downs. The Embarrassment. The Resentment. The Loss of a Father.

The Stepmother seems to think, that had Dad not been so harsh on her with his drinking and associated dysfunctional behavior, she may of been able to treat me better.
Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda. But what is her excuse for not doing something now?
I am so angry about this. I know she loves him. I try to understand , for her sake.

But what about the children?

Lately, I have been going through some rather heavy health issues and I don't think he is even caring enough/ aware enough of life and me, to know what is really going on. I know I sound spoilt and pretentious, but trust me I am not. I really do not know my father anymore.
I know I hurt him with the drugs, but he hurt me too. I don't think he can face up to that. Maybe because of the drink, I wish he could get better like me, but he is his own person.
Daddy - I will wait for you. Just let me love you.

Apparently, after I left home and all the dramas that ensued, Dad starting drinking more and more and basically made my sister's/brother's life hell as well. My sister (Yes, she is technically a half sister but to me she is my sis ) hates my Dad. I find this heartbreaking, but understandable.
She tells me I don't see how bad he is now. I listen to her and let her share the pain. I know exactly how she is feeling and it tears me apart inside. I am right beside you , Sis.
How he calls her names, like fat bitch and slut. I feel so powerless. I want to save them. I want to take away children's pain. One generation is enough. The Stepmother will never leave. She is too "old" now. So, the pain spreads like a stain, another bruise on the palette of the family portrait.

But I don't and never did, know how to reach out to my Father. I don't know how he works, as a person, it is like he is buried under years of pain and rejection and I wouldn't know how to begin.
Daddy - I miss you. Daddy - I need you. You won't hear me , I know, but at least now I know what was making me so sad. How do I begin to reach out to you? I can see that you are dying slowly. You look so old and so very tired. I miss your smell, I miss the roughness of your hands, wiping away my tears. I miss - you.

Did I make you feel like a failure as a father? I never meant to. Life is tough and I survived it in part because of you. Because I am a fighter. Because I am a good person. Because you are too.

Your hair is graying and you are forgetting things. It's like your the child now. I am worried.
Is it too late for me to be your daughter? When you look at me - who do you see?
Why is it when you go to show me love - it feels so sad that I cannot bear it. What have we become? Strangers ? Is it always going to be up to me, to make everything right ?
I know I am too big for your shoulders, but I am not too old to see the world , from your point of view. I love you so much.

Please daddy, stop drinking.
Please daddy, stop hurting.

I hope you read this, although you don't know me well enough to understand why..
But I understand you.

Forever yours

Sunday, September 26, 2004

Important Notice

Hi Lovelies :)

How goes it - you fabulous people?

What a great weekend. Awesome ! I have not wrote any memoir this weekend, cos I was just having too much fun.
Friday night caught up with my partner in crime ex work collegue and we went out to her "local" which was part club, part pub part awesome! I did not drink at all and still managed to have a splendiferous time. Then yesterday, went down to the Gold Coast, ( Australia's answer to Las Vegas ) and caught up with my best male friend of all time. Big Brother, I call him.
I had some major epihany's this weekend.

1. I am no longer going to berate myself for not knowing how a toilet duck operates or any cleaning apparatus - I am going to hire someone to clean my flat , it is very small , so I am thinking this is just the best way to do things. Update** I am moving and I am getting wireless internet and I am getting a laptop. It's time to move into the future I say!

2. I am going to pack away the sony playstation and get the Xbox. This makes me happy. Oh and get digital cable. I watched MTV for six hours straight.
It was a Viva La Bam marathon. I am alot like him ( in that I am totally crazy) - but I don't have the MTV crew and the budget and the balls to turn my house into a ice hockey rink or skatepark. But the future holds many things.

3. In order to do numbers one and two I will need to go to work more. I don't know if this is cool with me - I mean I am financially and morally ok with not working fulltime. Plus I am going to the UK next year which I need to focus on.

I just love life at the moment..all the tech toys coming my way ( oh yeah and i need a ipod.) and just the people that have stuck with me through the worst and now we rejoyce in our awesome friendships. I fucking love you guy's guts out!
I mean we were great back then, but I was sick and also a shit friend in the process.
To those that believe in me, I salute you and everyday I am thankful for your support.
I would be nothing without the people that love me ! (( Group Hug)))

Oh housekeeping, the traffic has gone down a lot ( perhaps due to Belle finishing) Oh I wonder if that was Belle that commented on my blog, I just don't know ! I mean, I know I asked you to have a look - so maybe?

Anyways , spread the word, about Heroinegirl.
I am inspired to keep going and telling my story for as long as people want to hear about it.

I love you and goodnight X

I am going to dream about my i-toys !
OOh and I am getting a punching bag too.
My yellow belt grading is in November so I have to be ready.


Saturday, September 25, 2004


Good evening :)

I am so sorry I went out tonight and as a result, I am waaaaaaaay too tired to post.
But not to worry, with tommorow comes a new day and a new story.

I will see you then

Thursday, September 23, 2004

Isn't She Lovely?

Hello lovelies :) FINAL DRAFT
Thank you all sooooooo much for the stacks of supercalafragilistic comments !
I feel so special and loved ((hugs))

Welcome to all the new readers, each and every single reader is valued for helping HeroineGirl ( that's me) on my mission to raise awareness on issues that exist in the world, that maybe you do or do not know about - but surely exist regardless.
Just have fun and have a read.
That is all I ever ask!
I Hope everyone is looking forward to the weekend as much as me, as it is only ONE more day to go ( for me, aussie land) Hee Hee :)

Ok - I want to finish The Chinese Laundry Tonight as I have some really mindblowing stuff ( If I do say so myself :P) for this weekend. It's so hard to just stay focused on one memoir as the recollections are coming thick and fast now, untapped and untamed. Screaming to get out of my head and down into reality , or some version of it.
Peace HG

Upon entering the smoke filled loungeroom, my eyes are drawn to a gentleman reclining on the black leather lounge, he meets my eyes though so I look towards the ceiling and then my feet. I was afraid if a client saw how frightened I was, he wouldn't want me. I didn't feel like myself in that moment. The girl with the wig had told me I could pretend I was someone else. I was now an Actress. So act. What If no-one chose me from the parade, if every client chose the other girls instead of me, then I would sit here all night and still go home emptyhanded. What if someone sees my trackmark?

I tell you what that would mean - that would mean I went through all of this - whatever it had become - for nothing. That was not an option for me. My time was worth something to me, and I made sure from then on , I never walked out of a situation second best. That only failed once, but that is a different story, for another time maybe ?

The Shogun announced my name "Kayla" to the gentlemen waiting for a booking and spun me around on the spot, which ended in an awkward pose, on my behalf. They actually clapped.
A petite asian man in a lacoste knit suit came over and pinched my cheek. His hards were sharp and probing, his facial features sharp and enquiring. He leaned in so close that I felt the heat of his breathe, tainted with japanese tea aromas. He turned my face with his hand. If I was unaccustomed to this touch, it did not hold value.
"Too skinny" I was dismissed.
He spoke to The Shogun and they conversed heatedly in native tounges.

Another Client rose from the couch, his almond eyes warm and smiling.
The First ( that is what I will refer to him now as for ease of reference ) , was a regular patron of the Shogun's establishment. He took me in his eyes with comforting ease, and in one fluid movement selected me by the crook of the arm and guided me towards a suite. I looked behind me, and The Wench smiled a crooked smile. It felt so corny. The Sex Industry is though.

No money was to ever touch the WG hands. It seems they did not entertain notions of any kind of control over what was happening. I did not like this aspect at all . All monies were settled discreetly and in advance. I was to keep a small notebook of the appointments and could expect a weekly envelope containing fresh hundred dollar bills, crisp and willing. All up, about a fifteen hundred dollars. That was without tips, and took into account , the house cut.

We enter the room, the huge kingsize bed the focal point, the seashell folded towels scalloped on the end of the pastel duvet. Layers of pillows adorn the embossed headboards. The room doesn't quite smell like sex - yet it has traces of sweat, lubricant and talcum powder that linger, and the artifical feeling has returned. The Drawers are mainly empty, except for discarded tubes of lubricant or empty condom packets. There is no photos in frames. No special touches. No trimmings to add appeal to the room. It is just a vehicle. To take you to that special place in your mind. Welcome to the Pleasuredome, I suppose.

The WG are supplied with the condoms ( but not in all establishments) and this brothel was huge advocates of Baby Oil, and I can still smell it to this day and I am right back there. The Wench always chose to supply the WG with the cheap variety of Baby Oil to peform body slides and adventurous massage. Yes. That's what it was called. Happy ending extra.

Goodness, the joy of the bodyslide ( not ) I think they are a huge waste of time personally - but hey sometimes that is handy right? Speaking of time. Pay Attention , Thirty Minutes. A Knock at twenty. That's all I had to do. I did not have to have sex with this man. Apparently he was very gentle with new girls and only demanded he be the first to deflower them, so to speak.

There was no clock. How am I supposed to know if I am filling the time? What is value for money? Do I dance naked or is he expecting me to fuck him and no amount of dancing will help me ? How long would that take? Does he know the rules? These questions and many more, seem to go unanswered at first, until you start to develop a routine, a set of rituals that enable you to please the client enough so he will visit again. You make additions to the routine, without making it appear like a routine, you do what you know you can do - because it works - Whether it be a handjob or a blowjob - You figure out how to get maximum results for least amount of output. You don't cheat the client, I prefer to think of it as you don't waste his time. (money)

I fumble with the hooks on the bodice of the horrid dress. It won't budge. Struggling with the zipper, my stiletto's snare on the hem and I fall back on the bed. I feel shy and boisterous all in one confusing lump that is rising in my throat. I am convinced about twenty minutes have passed , I am also sure that it is most likely only about five. The First is naked, I can't believe a stranger is showing off his penis. It is waggling at me, only thrusting forward so I could definately not ignore it. How peculiar? How quickly we adapt. Just another wierd looking dick.

The First is reclined against the headboard, enjoying this spectacle immensely. He beckons to me , and I wriggle up to meet him. I trust him I suppose because I don't know any better. You get wiser as you go along. In the beggining, it was a lot of me hoping and trying to stay one step ahead of the client. Then you get control , then confidence then you get customers coming back. I reveal my back to The First and effortlessly he eases down the zipper, his hand slipping across my satin skin and reaching around to cup a quivering breast. I exhale sharp then again more shakily.

"What do you want to do me?" He says. Take your money and run home with a large tob of icecream. Hmm. I don't think that is what he means somehow. Think. Make something up.
"Uh, Well" Get into this RIGHT NOW. I try and think of what I would hear in a porno.
" I want you to watch me undress and then I am going to strip you off and give you a sponge shower , nice , warm and sexy - Just like me" I purr and play with my breasts, encircling the nipple with a wet index finger. God. I am the biggest fraud -but you are paid to perform.
In more ways than one.

""I see" he says lifting my shoulder length hair away from my neck, perhaps to kiss it? This is it. He is already going to want to slip his greasy little tounge in, I see it peeking from behind his pearly teeth.

Time Stops. Just say No. Just do it. Just say NO.

I flinch slightly. " I don't kiss" I say instinctively.
I turn my face as his lips graze my neck. I am totally repulsed. My neck tenses and I feel my heart is going to come straight out of my bra and flop on the bed between us, pumping and screaming in fright. Perhaps a welcome distraction?

Then I laugh, realising my own foible. So does he. I wrap him in a robe and he lights a cigarette.
"Why nice girl do this?" He ponders, almost to himself.
"I don't know to be honest - I don't think I fit in here" I take the cigarette offered and inhale.
"You don't, you could be schoolteacher"
"Really? " I exhale the smoke and it feels good. I'm starting to relax.
"Well I am actually studying at the moment"
I notice his erection subsides slowly, as the smoke curls around near my head rested in his lap.
"You like drug?" He says matter of factly.
"No, I just want to earn money to go overseas" The last thing you want is a junkie reputation.
"Good girl. Maybe you work at my company"
He slips me a business card.
"You shower me?" He asks gently.
I know that he is going to spare me more than the others.I kindly oblige. I get naked , but the mood is relaxed and informal. The pressure is off.He soaps my back and asks me more questions, mostly about what I want to do with myself and whether he really is the first.

As kind as he is, I know he will never pick me again. I know this instinctively, because a man of his cabilbre and social standing does not pay hundreds of dollars for a spongebath and career counselling. However, this night he must've sensed that maybe this was a way he could maybe give back to the female movement.We dressed in silence. I went to put on the dress and then rethought. This is not on my terms. I was ready to do something to get more money. But I don't know if I could do this to line someone else's pockets. Plus, how hard could it be?

For tonight though , I was done with all this jazz. I don't believe in pushing yourself. Sometimes it is my worst enemy, othertimes it has saved my life. I hold my own hand. I lean on me.
That was all I could take at the moment. It was all I had to give.

I put on my own tracksuit ( ahh much better) washed off the layers of makeup, watching the mutlicoloured sludge pooling in the basin. I scoop my hair into a makeshift ponytail and catch my reflection. I'm still in there. I survived.
The First is dressed and ready to leave. Time, is over.

I hugged the First tightly and he assured me he would be back to see me.
I wink - smile a wise smile - and pat him on the bottom affectionately. I slip the business card into my purse and I end up stealing him and his friends from the agency , much later on.
Dog eat dog as I said before. You better be paying attention.

Take me home now please " I am tired, in the soul and in the mind. I am to learn that you can get much, much more tired. In places you did not know you ached until you do, and then it gradually feels good if your doing it right.

Pay me now, by the way.

I get both my wishes filled. Maybe becuase it is my first night. Maybe because they don't want to scare me off, with the guilt trips, bitchiness and treachery that was soon to abound.
At the start of the honeymoon period, everyone wants a piece of the pie.

Slice her up.
With A Cherry On Top.

One blends into ten , into thirty, into packets of condoms , into paypackets into nothing. I saw girls as young as 17 working through until the early hours. Faces and Fake Names. You don't keep a tally of men - it is not something anyone ever mentions. Money is mentioned though. Although a smart WG never discusses the monetary side. Just slips a little away.
It is presumed you are smart and count your pennies and save. Not many do though. Easy come, easy go. Irony.
I remember on the second night I made instant friends with a WG, she was the most gorgeous girl you could ever meet actually. I had a crush on her, pretty much instantly. Moviestar looks and a beautiful personality. Men were entralled with her - she knew it and relied upon it. She worked as a full service prostitute and spent her money on chanel handbags, coke and enjoyed her life from the view of a penthouse aprtment , all funded by "this" The WG lived very happily with her bouncer boyfriend, engaged , I believe. She loved him obsessively yet he did not know she was a prostitute? This seemed rather contradictory to me, but she avoided discussion about boyfriends, as most WG do ( it's not exactly good for business) so I let her have something to herself. You give so much away sometimes, your private life is nice that way - private.

She was planning to only do "this" until she could afford for a boob job then she was going to fly to America and become a star. It was all a tad sad , but what more could I offer her as a friend - but hope that her dreams could come true? That was all she wanted. We were both 19 and that's all we wanted - to be famous and for everyone to know who we were. We did not know our very actions now, would ruin this in the future. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

When she spread her legs, she spread the love - and the world was placed between it. She could have any Client. They tossed omney like confetti and heralded her hips with welcome. She was continually booked and did everything and more to keep them coming and coming back. It was quiet night, meaning everyone wanted to see Her. Sometimes we did doubles. I mean if you can't beat them - join them.

So, to kill a bit of time I went outside for a smoke and peeked into the window of the suite. I knew this was forbidden, yet I was enchanted and horrified simulataneously. Through the gaps in the blinds, I watched the muscly asian pummel his cock deep into her. Unforgiving and wanting, demanding and desperate. I heard her pleas for mercy and I saw her eyes shut tightly. I know she is tired and I can't help but wonder why she does this? I would give anything to look like her , but I wouldn't give what she had. How different it was from this side. She did not look happy. She did not look present. She looked like she was floating on the ceiling and in a happy place for a moment and then she was down there. "Have you come yet?".. Over and Over she asks. The Client sprays his load over her perfect breasts and then dresses promptly, declining a shower. Like a robot , I still recall she got up and wipes herself down. The sex was emotionless and cold , the aftermath was killer. I look away, shamed for her, and also shamed for me.
I guess they all wanted a piece of the fantasy of being with somebody surreal and gorgeous, yet when they saw her legs open, how could they deny her mind was clearly closed?

Her boyfriend soonfound out about the sex work, after he found condom wrappers in her bag and also noticed the strange hours and how he never could ring her work. He called off the engagement then he called her a whore.
In one brief phonecall, I watched her hopes and dreams die on the inside before me. She looked empty and spent. Then that night, she tried to take her own life. Sweet gorgeous bella.
She wished she was on Heroin , so she could explain why she was addicted to a job that no -one could ever accept, there was no rehabilitation for being addicted to The Game.
She told me she was going to get out of town. Start a real job.
That's really good. So am I " I said, unconvinced.
We both accepted each other's fable and split directions.
She got fired for trying to steal the clients.
They were close , but not close enough.
I guess I play the quiet one well.

There had to be a way I could do this on my own and keep the whole fee. That's what I spent all the bookings thinking about, every fucking body slide, every hand numbing wank. Planning. Making deals over cigars and silkrobes. Undercutting. Business cards. I took theirs and then I had my own made.
I stayed for two weeks to learn the procedure, then to steal the clients and make the capital.

Then, I hear they got busted and the illegal brothel was shut down , the operators slapped with jail terms , prostitution with minors and several drug and weapon charges amoungst some other hefty and unsavory claims. The Shogun was put out of business for good. His reputation unsalvaged. But the clients , just moved on. They always will. This time, to something legal. One girl survived the bust , because she was forewarned by an undercover client to not come into work the next night - of course I cannot reveal names.
But you know them already ;)

The heroine of this story survives yet another tale.

The last thing I heard as I left was the dryer churning with the dull thuds of the towels in the laundry, cleaning the last load of semen soaked towels and drying for next unsuspecting body.

The Chinese Laundry.
Never let the sticky stuff - stain ;)


Wednesday, September 22, 2004

Lady In Red

First of all this is the first part to this story - The Chinese Laundry if you haven't read it, then what are you doing ! Go read it, then come back and this post will then be yours.

*lights dim*

Thank you kindly


Inside the luxurious cabin of the European four wheel drive , the awkward silence between Myself and The Shogun broadened, the void of sound punctuated with the moronic drone of the windscreen wipers sloshing the rain. This didn't worry me particularly much, as my mind was full. I felt like I slipping all over the leather seats with every sharp turn and nearly burst into a fit of giggles. The Shogun was driving intently and seemed to be concentrating more on the dangerous conditions, rather than idle chitchat with a nervous looking stranger perched - just a touch too vertical - in the backseat. I check my dress over for lint, out of habit, find plenty and go back to thinking of something to say. The mobile (cell phone) on the seat besides The Shogun, jangles to life. Of course, he is wearing a headset (the trendy variety) and proceeds to fluently converse in Mandarin.You can imagine how nervous I am at this moment - I think I am being kidnapped by the Yakuza or entering some racket of some sort ! The phone just keeps ringing. Apart from my dealer, I have never met someone who had a mobile that rang so much . So much I had to learn. Chinese, Mandarin, Korean, Singaporean - The Shogun conversed freely in over seven languages. I could make words out, snatches of guttural sounds - Girl's names mostly. I just want to get the night done, the money got and the experience over.In that order, no exceptions. I was not going home emptyhanded. I am going to make some money tonight. Lock up your amex.

Finally, the tinted and sleek SUV roars through the security gates , which swing with cautious welcome and we cruise through, then dip into the underground.

Ok. Try and look like you have the slightest fucking clue what you are doing.
I am starting to get very nervous , I have to wipe off my palms and my feet are slick with sweat inside my cheap shoes. Parking the car. Car doors slamming and my face is very hot. No turning back now. Security guards, flanking me , on either side.

He speaks, to the left of me, never to me directly.
"You will need a more suitable dress for this evening, and your makeup needs to be redone."
He moves with a panther like pounce towards the gate and swipes a security ticket.
I start to realise, for the first time and not the last, just how under lock and key I am.
The building is retro eighties and awash with the standard flamingo pinks and ice-blues.
Artifical palms, fronds iced with dust, scratch at my arms as I move into the small doorway.
It appears like we are knocking on the door of a unit in a holiday complex?
Yet, something seems as artificial as the plants.
As always with the game. A woman's intitution cannot be fooled.

The Setting

Let's Rock N Roll Baby! The door opened and it all comes rushing at me. Maybe that's because I am being pulled this way and that. Introduced and Paraded. Examined and Summarised. Sized Up to Be Worked Over. A visual spectacular of dangerous dimensity. So keep up.
I take it all in as fast as my adrenalin let's me - which is now.
Lots of fake plants, plush carpet and the walls are soundproofed. Three girls on a couch. One is wearing a red wig. All young. Looking bored with an air of wasted elegance, like a fine cigar wasting in the ashes. Lines of coke on a smoked glass table. I can hear a dryer going the soft thud thud slightly louder than -Music ? The sounds of someone gettting fucked - hard. Yes there it was again - music it was though - muted from the backroom - sounds like Madonna. Playboy magazines fanned over the floor, the televison playing a porno, the faceless woman bouncing up and down on a tired looking dick. Men. I see three Asian Men, all leering at the girls on the couch, who are in turn leering at me. Me? Me ? Fuck! That's right I am just standing here doing nothing, but with my dumb jaw gaping open. This doesn't feel legal at all. Suddenly, I feel very out of my depth. That's ok. I'm used to that, I will take anything you throw at me - just give a bat to play with. A manicured finger, tapping me on the shoulder. I jump out of my skin. I think I am in shock. It is a lady ( I think?) who I noticed was talking to The Shogun in hushed and urgent tones.

"Makeup" It wasn't a question. Then I am taken by The Wench ( The Shogun's right hand woman, a harsh bent over looking woman that had way too much crack in her heyday and much less tolerance for "green-girls" like me.) I picked up straight away that she was in control of the money. She was the only one I truly had to impress tonight. Then word would spreadabout me on it's own, but without that initial good impression - The Wench - could make me or break me and it wouldn't matter to her, plenty more pussy in the sea.

Then I am in the bedroom, an eery soundstage for whatever I don't want to think about yet. I notice the towel fanned on the bed, like a seashell , almost beckoning to it's murky depths.
She pulls back the mirrored cupboard ( yes everything is mirrored) to revealed a criminal line up of hideous dresses with what seemed a practised relish, that I felt was slightly forced. I mean these dresses were frightful, I may have been stoned, but I know that the rhinestones and frills are not a flatchested girls best friend. Help ! Yet The Wench is whizzing me around, clucking her tounge in that way I know she has no taste at all. (Please don't be doing my makeup - If there is a god !) Out comes some 'fishtailed- felony- against- fashion ' and I am wrestle it onto my body. These kind of dresses only come in two kinds, too small and too large. I was the former.

I know I look cheap, but a girl has to do what a girl has to do. Besides - who even knows I am here? A bunch of asian guys I wont ever see again? This is totally surreal. Out comes the makeup ( Oh damn no woman!) and then I am getting dolled up and I think my hair is - is - is getting fluffed. (!) There is no mercy!
"Oh.. I see, that's an interesting way to do that " ( I see your making me look feral that's what I see).I am trying to readjust - or should I say undo her alterations - whilst her gnarled hands are slapping mine away. Spitting on me , as she speaks. This whole time, she is gabbering on about how men love red lipstick, how this colour brings out my eyes - and how all the men are real gentlemen - and how I will do 30 mins for this, and an hour for that and what about brown mascara ? Doors slamming shut. The Intercom is buzzing. My head is spinning, I think this dress is definately a size too small and it smells like stale smoke. Gasping for air now. She is still talking though, her teeth are gnashing away at the words, my face a plate of learning they wish to devour. I hear muffled processions, hairdryers and then she is saying I am ready. She spins me to the mirror. Taa-Da!

"Seee darling , I don't even recognise you" She sneered
"Thank God" I deadpanned. She did not laugh. Neither did I.
I looked in the mirror and I saw an idiot.
But a funny idiot, cos if you don't have a sense of humour in life.
You aint got nothing.

Then, the moment we all remember, The Naming Task.
"Sooooo ( she elongated every vowel, but you get the gist) , What is your name"
"######" I say.
"No, I mean have yoooou thought of a Naaaaaaame?"
Blank expression.
"You have to have another name, a name that the Clients will refer to you as, you will become this person darlinng "
Oh I see. Can I think about this?
"Kayla" Says the Shogun.
It has already been decided. Oh. I see.
How long has he been standing here?
I begin to fidget on cue.

He takes me out into the loungeroom to be "shown".
On the floor behind me, I leave my blouse, my real name and a fair share of humility.
"Come with me, you are going to be a star" The Shogun drank me in with his eyes. " My Star" he breathed throatily.

So I didn't mind .

Tuesday, September 21, 2004

Some Kind Of Wonderful

I have just gotten home from everything and god knows I am tired.
I dare not write tonight, the last few evenings I have been barely able to sleep, rattled by images and emotions unearthed on these pages.
I think I should get a good nights sleep tonight, as I a widdle-bit sleepy now.
They say, you have to ride the wave of tiredness when it comes - well -
Surf's Up.

I think I have spyware on my pc. It is like the PC STD. I am ashamed.
I will get you though, you hardy little web weed that calls itself searchmiracle - you will not win.
You should see how much spybot, adaware, norton, zonealarm I have going on.
This bugger is good. I am getting pop -ups !
Very upsetting darling, argh there is another one.
Viagra pushing nazi's!


Signed, Sealed, Delivered - I'm Yours

Firstly, thank you all so much for all mentioning me on your blogs, you are all simply so beautiful and as I have said many times you all deserve champagne baths and choc-dipped strawberries fed to you. For the recovering alcoholics, I must insist you take a milk bath instead.
But I will still feed you strawberries.
I'm listening to Stevie Wonder. I love this guy, and this is what I just did because of it.
I call it "Just blame Stevie Syndrome".

Me: "Hey, I know you're at work and everything but I just called to say I Love You"
Friend: (sounds a tad worried that I am a stalking retard) That's interesting.
It gets a bit wierd here and I'm starting to think that maybe I am a lesbo.
Me: " So yeah, that's all. Just wanted to say-"
Friend: " Uh yeah, I heard ya, I have some sandwich I have to look at , I better go"
Me: Cool No Problem
Hang Up.

Moral of the story, Stevie makes me loose my mind !
Ok I am writing the Chinese Laundry now, just wanted to share that recent HG faux paus.

Update: I still haven't posted yet as I was still bumming around the internet.
Now, I know you are waiting. I'm sorry.
I better do some chores though or BF is sending me to The Farm.
You know, where puppies go if they are naughty.

Monday, September 20, 2004

It Started With A Kiss

Final Copy* sorry guys I said I would put that and I forgot.
Where is my comments kids?? Is there anybody out there.
I miss you.
Time spent as an escort, figure largely in my recollection of life spent addicted to Heroin.
Before I decided I would be an escort , there was a time , when it was the first time. I did have employ previously ,as an adminstration clerk, but with the drugs taking over and my performance gradually becoming increasingly unsatisfactory - I was fired for the first time in my life.

When I wasn't sure if I could. I wasn't sure if I would.
Sell something I had never shared before unless I cared for someone. Unless I knew that person. Unless I had feelings for that person. They were the rules of life?
Some rules are meant to be broken, I suppose.

Although, I call this piece The Chinese Laundry and I am not making specific racial judgements throughout this piece, just saying why it was, how I felt and of course, how it happened. I will say this will be a three part series, at the moment.

Let us begin shall we.

The Chinese Laundry
Act One

The Ex and I are sitting on the matress with a litany of bills and fines covering the bed like a paper quilt. As far as I could see, we were well and truly fucked. I am making some calculations on the back of a chinese menu, The Ex is smoking a joint and playing with my hair in an almost lucid state. He traces a loveheart on the delicate expanse of my inner thigh, but I am too involved with the job of accountant to comment. But I notice.

I think Garbage Number One Crush is playing on the cd player, that we just got back from The Pawn Shop. I feel better about it, as it was a present from family and little things like that mean things to girls. Even if we are Junkies.
We were trying. Today was pay day, the one blissful day a fortnight that we both recieved a government allowance. Yet in spite of this, it was barely enough to support us - we were going to need much, much more money- if we could continue this habit of habit. Already the money had gone. It wasn't even 2 o'clock in the afternoon. Everything was falling apart.

I made The Ex go and buy me a newspaper with the last of the "free money". I had to get us work, or we would lose the unit (not to mention our credit ratings from defaulting on the lease and rent payments) Already the rent was a "couple of weeks" behind.
I had managed to speak to the landlord and convince her that we just needed a chance, just a little bit of compassion. Somehow she saw that we were trying, and relented on the eviction notice. She would regret that later, I suppose.
I am sorry. Again.

The Ex returns with the local rag and I am then looking through the classifieds for a job when, one in particular, catches my eye. It seems easy enough. I circled the following with the guts of a ballpoint pen.

Top Quality Escorts Required
Earn $1000 p.w!
Exclusive Clientele
No Sex
Asian Speaking an advantage.

Then a phone number.

Well, I thought - this is better than the streets. I mean, isn't this 'agency thing' supposed to be safe and the "right" way to go about "things".
I mean as everyone says...
What Do You Have To Lose?
The Ex and I decided to go down to the phone box and call. It answered on the second ring.

"Hello" A woman's voice. Had a slight edge of something I could not place. Was it sleaze?
"Hi , I am -(shit what am I doing?) I am, ( get the paper out) calling about the advertisement in the paper - about the escort position. I chewed my nails and waited. Silence firstly.
"Ok, have you done this before? And what is your name?" Rustling of papers in the background and muffled noises, like a hand over the mouthpiece, midst conversation.
"I consider myself pretty open to this and I am great with people (wtf, I sound like a moron) and I speak japanese?" I ended with a questioning note rather than an affirmative tone.
"Japanese?" Intrest piqued in her tone.
"Yes" I said it more determined now. I needed this chance. Sell yourself now or forever hold your peace. The irony.
More rustling and then finally I was meeting her in two hours ( man these guys work fast!) at the local Mcdonalds. Ok , so far - so good.
"Ok - I will see you at -" I was cut off abruptly.
The phone went dead. Ok then.
Not one for pleasantries, I noted.

The Interview

I am running late to the "interview" due to my dealer not having the gear/heroin cut in time. I nearly did not go at all, but I had some sleepers to get me over the edge. The shot would be waiting for me when I got home. Besides, it would work better for me , if I wasn't pinned.

So here I am , at this Mc Donalds, dressed quite smartly and drinking coffee from a styrofoam cup , the rim of which is smeared with scarlet lipstick. I was picking at the edges, when I was overshadowed by a lady, accompanied by The Shogun. (Enter Stage)

In the next thirty seconds, we summised each other.

The Players

The Madame

Thirtyish. Caucasian. Brassy blonde hair with a sprinkling of grey. Italian looking. Almond shaped eyes with deep hazelnut centres. I searched for warmth and only found professional detachment and something else, maybe greed ? A slight smattering of freckles and poor dentistry. Five foot seven , dripping in gold and precious gems , a wreath of gold chain pooling around her ample decolletage. Dressed sharp in a pressed suit and brand new leather pumps. I did not trust her. It only takes the human mind five seconds to summize this.
How clever.

The Shogun

Mid forties. Asian. Handsome. Almond shaped eyes. Lithe and fit form. With a slight of movement to shake my hand , and I could see his well honed muscles rippled under his black cotton in response to the firm grip I offered. Dressed in tailored slacks, informal T shirt and the latest sport sneakers, he came across as trendy and well maintained. His nails were manicured and his hair was cut well. His cologne smelt familiar and clean. CK One was all the rage back then. He moved with deliberate purpose and spoke just as well. He also had a ponytail about three inches long, which added to his Master Shogun appeal. He was feline and fierce, yet restrained with subtle dignity and decorum. I was suitably impressed.

The Meeting
Suddenly in a moment of rare self conciousness, I wished I had perhaps put more thought into my choice of attire. I looked fine enough but I never knew if I was "good enough".

I did not have many clothes that still fit me, well enough to cover my bones, so I was protruding rather grotesquely from my collarbones and wrists. I looked well scrubbed, but not particularly glamourous. However, I am a pretty girl and I know how to work a situation.
I smiled confidently and opened my palms in a open and appealing manner, gesturing to the seat.
We all got comfortable. As comfortable as this situation allows.
Mostly, they did all the talking, which suited me, I did not have a clue what I was doing anyway.
I knew after seeing The Shogun and the way he looked relieved when he saw I was attractive that I had the job. I also sensed the tables had turned - ever so slightly- an exchange of power from the telephone call to the face to face. I had something they wanted and the air was filled with promises almost immediately. I listened objectively to the proposition.

"You want to travel to Asia ? " She waved a bewjewelled hand into the air as if summoning a makebelieve butler - "Not a problem - we could definately look into that." She leaned in, almost conspiratorily.
"All of our clients are Asian. Very gentle men and VERY clean and carefully screened to boot. Our girls are not expected to do anything dirty. We do not tolerate drugs or theft either. All the girls are really supportive. We will take very good care of you"

The Shogun was not talking, just nodding along sagely - it was obviously the woman's part to do the poaching. I humoured them.
I wonder if this could support our heroin habit ? I did care extensively nor given much thought to fancy yachts or entertaining embassadors. I just wanted to support The Ex and Myself and not have to break into houses.
The Madam explained the benefits, expensive dresses, glamourous dinners, luxury premises, professional security, and then I was not listening to her anymore, just thinking in my own mind.

This may just work. I mean, I am hardly going to want to do this for real. As in - as a career.
Your going to be a whore?? Is that what you are willing to do now?
Man - how times have changed. Shut up. You can do this ! Just think of all the times you won't be sick , it is not that hard for you. If it is, you can stop. You could just stop.

"When can I start ?" Although I already knew the answer. It is always the same.
"Tonight." The Shogun spoke for the first time.

Sounds like a plan to me.

We all shook hands briefly, then I explained where I was living. They would come and collect me and take me to the establishment. This was for security reasons.They seemed ok. They were married and I could tell The Madam's main concern is whether I would screw The Shogun. But rest assured , I never mix business with pleasure. Only when the rates are simply too good to refuse.
The Preparation
The Ex, initally dubious about my encounter with The Madame and The Shogun, tried to talk me out of going to work to do whatever "escort" meant. I managed to cajole him into my way of thinking, quite easily, it is a gift I have. He wasn't happy that I did not know where I was going and that he could not be seen on the premises. He fretted so much when I was away, I was his charge and I was also his lifeline to Heroin, something I knew all too well. I mean it is all very nice and ambitious to have intentions of cleaning up of the junk and getting well, but who would pay the rent in the meantime? Who would pay the debts that had already spiralled out of control? Who would put food on the table ? The Ex was just not bringing in enough money.
God knows we tried.
We both had warrants for petty crimes from our teenage years things like being busted for pot, not a big fine but enough for a few uncomfortable days in jail to pay it off , these days getting closer to the fuzz was a reality we took with our persecution.
Always looking over the shoulder for the law, or for the people who would easily break it and break you without so much as a backward glance. Dog eat Dog. They wouldn't even piss on you if there was not anything in it for them. It broke my heart, for a while.
I was putting on my makeup and my hand was shaking so much, I had to steady my breathing. Try the mascara again silly. Now careful, don't think about it. Oh here we go..
My eyes brimmed with tears.
Have you ever felt the sharp winds of upset on the inhale - when the gush of air created by the sheer magnitude of pain takes you in it's grasp, so much you close your eyes as it takes you further into the darkest place and it's all black and lonely and the only sound is your heart breaking? That is ok, your not alone then - are you?
Then, you blink ..and you tell yourself. Girl, it aint that bad. You tell yourself again.
And you try, so preciously, . to smile through it all.
But you never quite believe it.
I am dressed .I am ready.I am lost.
And as the rain comes down and the street is illumated by lighting, the car is waiting. The Horn calls. It is time to go. I look outside and for a moment, I don't want to go with those strangers. I want to stay and watch television with people I know.
I want to stay with my boyfriend. But this war is not won in a day.
Wiping my tears away and steeling myself , just like I was born to do, I let The Ex walk me to the porch.
I kiss my boyfriend sweetly, my heart banging its nervous fury.
He holds my face and speaks sternly.
" Call me if anything even begins to look suspicious - you understand me ?"
I nod vehemently. I had a decent set of streetsmarts. I felt I had control of this situation, for the time being. How long I would stay in front, was anyone's guess.
" Goodbye " I said.
"I hope this doesn't change things between us " I searched his eyes for affirmation.
"Goodbye" Is all he said and very quietly. I walk towards the car, as that is the only way forward it seems.
With one hand on the car door , I pause for a moment. I turn to look back.
What I look for - I do not know, someone to be calling me back. Someone to tell me - It is not to late to change your mind. Someone, I suppose.
The porch light was out and the door closed.
So rather than be alone with my decisions, I stepped into the car and became a lady - of the night.
Although I kept looking through the rainy window of the backseat and then I saw him.
I saw the Ex run back out onto the street. I saw something that said, ' This isn't worth it'.
But I had already turned the corner.
In more ways than one.

Sunday, September 19, 2004

Desired Constellation

Update for the Uplate*

Ooh I just watched Gothika and *drumroll* Kill Bill 2*taa daa* Of course, I had already seen KB2 ( on opening night) but now I can watch ( read: practise the exploding heart technique) in the luxury of my own flat , which I am still wanting to leave by the way , if you read earlier.
I also watched Australian Idol and made up somewhat with the BF. I suspect I am still on probabtion though , goodness I was so moody today. I know its bad when I got to a park for a calm down picnic and I end up pacing the entire 1Km oval in a powerwalk , just so I dont have to talk to the person I came with. Is that not the definition of anti-social. But I feel better now.
It is a hormonal thing and now all you sods know the date.
We have just moved up a level.
Now go to bed - one more word and the little kid gets it.

I am so cranky today. Not only do I have chronic , hatred spitting pms with a side of mood swings to go - I am also suffering side effects of some rather nasty medication.
My head won't stop being pedantically hostile and I am thinking that I should be thrown of a very large cliff, until I get over myself. I am very angry and very frustrated all of a sudden.
Why? Let me start ..
I want to live in a more modern house than the circa 1950's flat I live in now.
I know the rent is cheap and I am saving money - but I don't have any cooling or heating , any bath ( a travesty for me) and i have two faucets one in the bathroom , so I can't just wash my face and hands with warm water , unless i have a plug to mix the water in the sink -right? I get freezing cold or scalding hot to wash my face with, or my feet after being in my joggers.
So I just burnt myself again on the foot.

I'm not talking to BF cos I am a cow, but he is also being a bastard. You know when guys try to fix things that are upsetting but they fail to acknowledge that you are indeed feeling depressed/lousy/mean/unreasonable/tired. Listen up men in the house - I am going to let you into a major secret to understanding, read : pleasing women. I will dispense this wisdom - Now.

Men, if you just say - I understand how you feel - that must be terrible and then before suggest a solution , let her speak and then listen - you will almost half solve the problem. I think it is great men are fixers and when the toilet clogs up I appreciate it even more, and men/males are very rational and caring as well. (I am not a man hater) But just don't always try to fix things before you know whats truly wrong - us women we say one thing , but honestly at the bottom of it all, it's probably something completely different.
How will you ever know if you don't just listen and sook me ? LOL

Mind you I have met some men who sympathise and empathise, so I don't want to generalize.
Every person is different. I am only bitching about my BF. I think also the silent treatment should be banned in all seven states of australia. Especially IF you are in the wrong, that's just pure sulking in my little mean squinty eyes of discernment.
Bring on the blackbelt, I say, so I can open a can of whoop ass on you.
Yeah your frightened now, yeah. * pretends computer is BF*
Oh dear I think he just saw me , practising my speech of indignation.
Foiled again.

Heroinegirl is going to have an afternoon nap.
Maybe I will wake up minus the wart on my nose.
(p.s I don't have anything like a wart on my face, not that there is anything wrong with that)

Back later.

"Whoop Assedly Yours"

Saturday, September 18, 2004

Beauty and The Beast

Oh and just some housekeeping. I want to raise awareness and the only way we can do this - is one blog at a time. The next recovery or inspiration could be a mouse click away.
If you are a regular reader, spread the word about Heroinegirl.
Reach out and touch someone.

For the purposes of this memoir I call my partner of five years The Ex.

This is my personal story of love and hate , struggle and triumph, obsession and rejection.
The Ex is the only other character that truly lived through what I went through, right beside me. I don't know if that makes him responsible or not. I don't think either of us were. I liked to always explain it myself that we were kindred spirits.

The Ex's power on my life was so intense that I feel the psudeonym doesn't even begin to do justice to the sheer nightmare we made of our lives. Frequently, I speak of a great bond we had, jammed together in adversity, but it was never a hopeless union and yes everyone saw it way before me.

But I never doubted his beauty, to change. He wanted to - at least I think he did. He was not happy with anything in his life and I didn't mind changing that. I felt the same way and over our heads we became.

Together, pushing against the odds and unfriendly smiles, we were each other's solace. I knew that no-one else outside our drug dependancy could possibly understand our love. It really felt like us versus The Big Bad World - but I guess that's how I liked it back then. Sickened by thoughts of leaving him to die, I stuck around - and around and around and around.
No one even thought our love would survive what it did. I guess they can never take that away , as horrible as it was. Our families tried to seperate us, thinking that we both made each other more dependant on Heroin. That wasn't true - we both loved it madly.
Sadly, the strength of the addiction was all consuming - and I retreated back into the shadows whilst my family and friends prayed I would come to my senses. My senses ?
Back then I didn't have any.

Everyday, he would inject me and feed me intravenously and in exhange I toiled on my back, from highway to hallways every single day and night. I had no problem dissconecting my body from the old man sweating onto my tiny pale breasts, I made all the right noises and all the right moves. I used this money to score, pay rent and buy food with whatever was left over. The Ex tried to work - but it just never worked out. Instead, he was my Bodyguard and Boy Friday.
He would run around town barefeet and grubby, always willing take the hard hits he never won the war. He hated the fact that he had now become accustomed to me seeing clients as our sole income yet I noticed he still used a lot of gear. Who needs ethics when you have free Heroin? I was stupid and he knew it and loved it all the same.

Suprisingly by surviving through the worst case scenarios every day of our addiction, we earnt precious intimacy. It was not always love sometimes it was hate. The cold harsh reality of drug addiction doesn't have much of your soul to feast on when the sparrows had long flown from the winters.
Somehow we managed to stick together for at least three years. Every night we would laugh like kings in spite of the cramps and vomits - I guess my heart never changed. If you fight for them. He would tell me I was wonderful, that I would beat this thing, even if he didn't. We would laugh till we cried. Then it kinda felt normal. Kinda.
Dreams come from darkness too.

We were so alone. But to each other, we were everything, so it didn't matter.
To him I say this

Long Lost Love,

You made me laugh in my darkest hour. No one ever knows how you helped me when it wasn't looking good. When it got tougher, so did we. I saved your life, my breath filling your lungs with my lungs, my tears wetting your face almost like we could share tears. You watched over me with clients , your pained expression watching through the window. Those moments of sleep , when we were entwinded in our dreams as one, I will never forget.
Do you remember when we prayed together every morning and night? I remember.
You would make me put out my cigarette before I did so. You were always a gentleman to me.

Do you remember fishing for our supper in the lake? I remember. You built a roaring fire and you always gave me the only blanket we ever found. Remember when we had no home but we still managed to kiss under the stars? I do.
It was always just me and you. Where we an infinite affliction of the soul?
As I drifted off to slumberland, you always reassured me that it's ok to rest my head while you kept an eye out for the bogeyman. I would wake up around and midnight and go to the shelter.
I'm sorry you stayed behind. I couldn't always afford it. I couldn't afford to stop taking smack.

Do you remember my shaking hands as I held your shattered skull together when you were beaten senseless. I still remember the blood and bone fragments sprinked over both our T shirts. I got you to a hospital and I made sure you lived for another day.
It was a proven fact that you would do it for me.

You always made me your princess, even though I smelled bad sometimes. We were real. We were unreal. We... were.
Do you remember limping down to the store and when you stole me a chocolate bar to eat -just because I hadn't eaten for days. I remember you got caught for shoplifting and you pleading with the police. They let you go but I never got the chocolate bar.
Junkie Fever.

Even though you had not eaten for longer than me - it did not matter to you.
In these moments we have the understanding, that not many people ever discover.
We lived and died - every day.

Even though, as much as my parents tried to come between us, you would find me. You loved me , so you found me so much easier than anyone else.

Do you remember baby ..as they tore us apart, my fingernails would tear at your flesh?
You wanted me to go. I know. But I couldn't. We got in this together and I wanted to know we would win. But we never did. I had to leave you. It was the only way.

Can you hear me screaming out to you still?
Do you still see my face ? It was white with panic , hands clutching, I could not see behind me as I was wrenched from your arms by the authorities - I wanted a last picture of you but your face fades behind my tears.

Screaming our messages, imploring our meaning.

I will be back for you !
I will come for you too!
Don't forget about me
I will see you tonight !

I get better now for both of us.
Because you died.

I will take you over the line baby, even if you are not here to do it for yourself.
Together until the end, that is what people said to us, as you placed a rose from someone's garden in my hair and told me you wanted to marry me. I was the princess.
I never answered that question in time. But my heart and yours are together.
I would marry you tommorow. But we both know that it will never come.
You are dead. I can't talk about it. Not even yet.

I am showing all the junkiecritics that we are good people and we never meant to hurt anyone. I chose my path and I remember that although we nearly died - but you did save my life. If it wasn't for you - I wouldn't be here. It's not fair that everyone thought you deserved to die like a animal. I'm here to tell you that you mattered. That I was the only one who loved you , and that makes me a better person - not a fool.
You taught me compassion and I will never regret one moment.

When people just turned away, it was much easier on everyone. But me, I suppose.
I miss you so much. I hate drugs. I hate them so much that I bite down and feel blood.
I want my life back - I want you back. You are a just a boy - this I saw in the beggining.
I am waiting for our day of redemption when I deliver this book to your parents.
When they finally see - what we survived. Your story will not go untold.

They Will Never Tear Us Apart,
Your Love

Wait is all I have done. Heroin is the great remover. It slices you jagged down the middle , ravages you physically and robs the rest. Morals. Memories. Me.
Heroin leaves your soul bare and ashamed. Your pride is smeared into the ground, your image trodden on with a million bloody footprints, one for each wrong step you took.

But for now , in the woods , now your struggling to stay alive and you don’t care who sees, as long as you don’t have to feel it.You don’t see your eyes rolling around your head as you talk to people. They do. Your skin is pale and pasty, broken up with purple marks under your tired eyes. I guess I looked scary huh ?
When your clothes , what few you have left, reek of sweat and despair. The threadbare material hangs to your bones, barely disguising the emerging skeleton coming to reach its reality.

Shake, rattle and roll.

In the beginning it was a magical and lush parade of dreams. To have the fruits of our youth sprinkled with heroin. The way the sunshine massaged your skin in the early days, the way the beach breeze had a smell so beautiful, it would never smell the same again. The deafening peace of time on heroin. In the early days. The days of promises to keep a grip. As much as I tried I couldn't keep from holding out, so I just settled for holding on. Every time I hit rock bottom I wanted to give up Junk. You would push me on the playground swings as I made plans for us to run-away they just never went right and before I knew it, I was letting everyone down again... But I never gave up hope. I don't want to be a fucking Junkie forever.
Now, I am proud to say that is why I am not today.

No one ever goes into heroin thinking they will become addicts, the minute you fall asleep under the red flags, you know that it's too late.
People that can use dope , on and off, ( very rare ) seem to me like some reserve player on the football team, they never go the yards or plough through the scrum but then again they don’t have to. Junkies call these ones The Lucky Ones. They say Heroin is like kissing god.
If your willing to die at thirty for that feeling then release my hand as you plummet.

It doesn't matter how many times you watch Trainspotting or how many books or blogs you read. You never think it would happen to you. I was not the ideal choice to become a heroin junkie. You don't walk into the deal thinking your handing over your life which is rolled up inside a shame stained fifty dollar bill . I ended up handing over everything I ever owned.
I pawned jewelerry, furniture,belongings, prescriptions and of course my own body.
It's price was so much more than fifty fucking dollars.

Years on smack can peel away in forgotten chapters. The future of a drug addict exists on the back of opiate realm, nothing really quite a fact, nothing beautiful enough to be a fantasy. Heroin, final friend and foe will drive you into the dirt and will wash away everything you cherish. As each treasure drowns in your poisoned blood, you may have a faint memory of what you used to look like, what it used to feel like to live like them. The healthy people. You suddenly realise there is no way out. You can't just put down the needle. Hell awaits.
I was a Junkie. I was nearly over. I was nearly a lost cause - Nearly.

NO second chances, just near misses.
A big fat needle loaded with oblivion is waiting for the addict.
But it doesn't love you they way a person with compassion can.
Heroin is a tragedy of our times. I was at university and I wanted a future.
Then I met Heroin. It was always meant to be, drug abuse is in my genes.
I will always be tempted to shoot up drugs and trust me this is not in keeping with the rest of my life. Some people like to gamble with food money - I must like to gamble with my life.
But I'm learning one day at a time - that I have to cut out all of it. The scene, the people and eventually the memories. Leave it all behind - It's the only way you will ever have a chance at beating Junk. I can tell you straight - The fight against drugs is easier with support of loved ones.
You might not know someone on drugs ( I doubt it) but I believe that If I can be compassionate towards these people then so can you. I know it seems easier for everyone to pretend that drugs do not exist. I wish I could do the same !

But we have to listen to what the world's decay is telling us - we are not coping on our own , more than ever people are turning to drugs and loosing control in the process. I mean hard drugs here ( like Heroin and Alcohol.)
Try to not think it won't happen to you so it will never affect you. It may not be you , it might be a friend of a friend. Besides you are reading my blog right now. So guess what - you are now aware ! Now you can make an informed choice.
The next ' druggie' you could meet could be someone you meet in a chat room. Like my christian BF! How much I have opened his eyes ! Drugs don't kill as much as the ignorance surrounding the actual addicts do.

Open your mind as that is the only we can power we can use to save our friends, to save our families from the lack of information about all forms of drug abuse.
Not many Junkies blog about how they want to quit but can't... but there is many forums of people who are desperately trying to take the power back - pray for them if you do that kind of thing.

Is there anybody out there ?
Just nod if you can hear me...

As an addict, so close to losing it all , I kept ahold of my essence. That I was a good person. I let that small girl inside play with the notion I would work it out and I would be safe again.
I thought that I had fucked everyone over, one too many times. I knew I was alone.

Then. Someone held out a hand.
That hand had been badly burnt by me in the past. When I wasn't ready to say Help Me.
That hand was so scared to touch me. But that hand still managed to believe in me.
I can't tell you how much I soared after that. It was just the right time.
I was back.

To the addicts or abused that read alone cherish compassion. Try your best to understand it. You have two hands , look at them. Then reach out. Cherish it. Whether you need the hand to be offered or maybe you know that you need to be the hand. Just do it before they vanish.
Then you will always, always wish that you did. It may not feel like you made any impact.
Believe ! It's another hammer crashing through the plaster cast that has your friend, your lover, your sibling underneath. Just one crack at the hammer or maybe get in there and destroy it. In time, it will crack and fall - I am living proof.
I never went went to Narcotics Anonomous as I knew that I personally needed to be healed by those that had harmed me in the first place. You can't deny those people hurt you, even if your sober. I am still on that journey.

Compassion saved my life.. It is ok to be frightened. It's ok to be angry at an addict.
There will come a day and you will get an apology or explanation. Have faith.

If you can forgive me, then I can forgive you.
But do not forget each other.

Every morning the scene would be the same. The Ex and I hardly ever ventured outside (maybe to go try the dealers again from a public phone) .
I was so pale and frail that the sun would seer my greying skin making me recoil into the sweaty abyss of the apartment , back to pain and pure loathing.

Waiting in the darkness, tossing and turning in the sweat drenched sheets, cloaked in chills and a growing edge of discomfort. My sense of smell was so acute, I could smell the stench of sweat and vomit. The Ex runs to the bathroom with runny shit exploding from his boxers. It's not even funny anymore. I light my third ciggarette and think of my own howling stomach. Thers is no food for us today so I drink my third glass of water. Before I finish the third gulp, I have to rush into the bathroom. The ex is already in there and the smell only makes me worse, I grab a saucepan and hurl ribbons of bile into the silver. My limbs creak in protest when I walk back to the sweat abyss to finally and gratefully die. I know how pathetic this is - but the thing is a shot of heroin stops this feeling in an instant. A seemingly beautiful instant.

I must rise from the bed, just to get rid of these fucking cramps. My head just won't stop. Talking delirum to my broken will. What a fucked up headcase, I think.
When you are dope sick nothing is considered too crazy plans if it means you will get a hit to stop the spiralling sickness.
This is when you may steal, rob or do whatever you have to do. It's common and what gives Junkie's not a very good image. I don't believe in stealing, no matter what.

But, you can manage a huge habit without ripping off your mates/mum and dad/dealer.
But it is VERY hard. There isn't a medal awarded for those addicts who succeed in holding onto their dignity, when everyone else hooked on shit will beat you to death if you give them a moment to think about it.
Your life still falls apart regardless. Nothing gets better from this horrible scenario, you just get sicker and sicker and sicker.

Then, presto ! The dealer would arrive for the day with The Hit. Only then could you contemplate mixing with the "straight people' outside. Suddenly your not thinking about the future anymore and all the goals are forgotten. When beige bliss is inside your spoon it's all about the hit , getting your blood mixed with it's 'cure'. I saw so much blood and sometimes it sprayed onto the ceiling and stained the sleeves on my clothes. I became a doctor of death.

The Ex and I resembled vampire born from the most shitful day you can imagine. In the inky black night the only glitter was sharp syringe teeth, obsessed with blood and flow. We wanted it and we couldn’t live without it. We tried to have mornings when we just thought we could sit it in. This was early days. It felt like my head could split open and blistering lava would spill forth and curdle on my spine. Agony is instant and increasing as every muscle tenses, every inch of your body is screaming for heroin and it will never ever stop.

Your body becomes the silent enemy in the corner. You plot to win sgainst your own cunningness to get wasted , but she was always a few steps ahead of me.
The elusive field of light I could see, yet never reach. I wanted the addiction to end but I had no real drive to get there. I wanted to see how alive I could be , whilst I burnt myself with the fire.
Heroin addicts are sick people and I am no exception. In the end though, we are not a group.
It's a person battle and the sooner addicts realise that they have the final say in their future the fucking better. Wake up and smell the sewers that are lay behind you.

Reality was seeping slowly into my numbess. It was persistant and I am lucky that I don't deal well with denial. The truth about my unfolding life as a junkie was like a deep river of mercury, clinging undeniably to a million festering sores between The Ex and I. Someone had to rescue me but it was me all along. I had to take the first step - it was away from The Ex.

I could feel the years slipping by like a scar refusing to heal, no matter what pleasant memories I could unearth to heal it. I knew something had to give and I had nothing left.

The pause button was on my life for five years - five very long years. Five very important years when my friends were at university and doing things I wanted to do, back then. I just wanted the movie resume playing again and for everyone to treat me like the person I used to be. I wanted a happier ending. Was it possible anymore ?

I thought all of this standing on the side of the highway working as a prostitute. I cut an odd figure in my smeared makeup and limp ponytail. My skin goosebumped in the emerging light of dawn, I feel the last traces of Heroin fading away. It was only replaced with a gentle gnawing fear - that could begin in my chest yet by nine in the morning it literally has me pinned to the ground - making you very sore and sorry you even contemplated breaking free of it's vice-like grip.

Peering into the headlights of the approaching client, I am blinded by the lights. Then the road is quiet. Everyone seems to have better things to do right now, but you. I suck and blow my way to a better day , even though now it all feels so wrong. The man pays me something ridiculous - I don't mean in a good way either.

I stay out for a couple of hours , walking up and and down the highway. I am out in the grey early morning , I am more tired that you would ever believe. But I get the money. That is the main thing. I slink back into bed at seven. It didn’t matter I had to wake up in two hours later. I now had money to score. Some kind of superwoman. Pfft.
But back then I felt so noble, such a loving, caring girlfriend.
I had stopped the pain for both of us and we could have yet another hit of brown.
Exhausted I flopped into bed and tried to picture days like the ones I actually live now, but as I shut my eyes I soar like the broken angel that I am. Slinking into sleep, sinking into my nightmares.


I used to cry - now I hold my head up high.

Just got home from media concert.

This is who I saw and danced to -
Boney M , Village People (original) , Gloria Gaynor, Hot Chocolate, Kasey and The Sunshine Band. All up a great night of disco, my legs are hurting and my ears are ringing.
Gloria Gaynor told me personally - I will survive.

From diva, to diva.

It is the weekend now , so I will write more tommorow.
Have a few drafts that will make you think

Nights All

Thursday, September 16, 2004

Earthbound Misfit

Hello Lovelies !

Just got home from Taekwondo. Boy - I am tired in places I never knew I had hair. Jokes. Just seeing if you paying attention. I am a big sooky la la though, I'm just a tad sore and tired , man I fucking ( thats how much I love it) LOVE martial arts. The achievable fitness and discipline is great and the artform, I just drink it up. The hour goes so quickly. I go straight from the office of doom, get picked up by BF and we go together, it is great value too - 40$ UNLIMITED classes( I just found that out) for the month. I go twice a week. Good huh. Snaps for HG.

At first - I was all gangly and uncoordinated like a sumo ballet dancer, so stiff it was offputing, but I move better now and I am coming away from each lesson a little more empowered. I am not a victim anymore and each lesson I feel exhilarated with my new found strength. I have the confidence to throw a punch ( and mean it) , each week I sharpen my hands into deadly weapons , I am taught how to utilise whatever I can to defend myself and protect not only me, but those I love and care about. (Of course the true nature of self defense is that voilence is the last, last resort, only to be called on when all negotiations have basically died in the arse darling)I won't use it unless everything else has failed. But it is nice to know - you touch me or your touch my child or you touch my husband and I will defend them with all I have. Not to mention the anger it can expell after a day of meaningless customer service and stifled screams from the sheer tedium. Oh yeah, just to bring you up to speed on the work sitch:
I have decided to scale down my work to part-time, as I don't really have need for surplus income I am recieving at the moment, plus I have ideas !

In short, I am just listening to some Bjork and relaxing tonight, taking some time to savour the dull pain in my thighs and the onset of a well earnt night sleep !

Sweet Dreams Kids.

Peace be with you

*judo chops a star out of blogger template and does spinning back jump onto the street*

I am gone. (lol)

KILL BILL 2 is out in australia. Just wait till I watch that, then I am totally unbearable guys!

ok gone really now.

*stop reading* guyyyyyyyyyys.

ok you hung up first.



Oops sorry I thought you were going?




Blogger has terminated this call.

You come back now ya here.

Blogger: grumbles.

Wednesday, September 15, 2004

Upwardly Downwards

Hello Lovelies

*warm huggles*

I am so torn. Part of me wants to keep on telling the story of how things were, but the healthier part of me wants so much to race forward to the happier days, the mindset from which I write to you today. I don't want my blog to depress people, forever the consumate worrywart, I want my site to inspire - for people to crave more and more knowledge - as my story has a lot to give. Yet I deliberate - at times it will seem all I have to write is about bleakness - but there is so much more to me than just the usual junkie stereotype. I am not trying to sing for a supper.
I am not writing for pity nor rationalisation of what happened. I am ( sometimes too simply) a writer and I love nothing more from life itself , than to articulate in prose that can be as vivid as the universe, it gives me the words to describe it's own beauty. You just need to match the two and henceforth my obsession with writing.

In the five year span of the addiction, there were highlights, lowlights and a lot in between. I guess I am appealing to you, which way do you think we should go? This is a journey we share together, me and you, helping each other to a new level of understanding.

There has only been two times in my illustrious career as heroin-user/ purveyor of sorts, when my life had become a fraction too close to ending. Goodness, I don't like that title. It is too flippant. I honestly don't think the sex and the drugs are both intrinsically connected, in this story. Frankly they just enabled each other's fury - the drugs made the touching easier - the touching made the drugs easier to come by.

Generally speaking though, the majority of clientele are gentle and nervous and unsuspecting of drug abuse. Laxness in sex safety is something I encountered often, and suprised me. In many ways, my own disgust at my own drug demise was proof enough, that no man was ever safe. I knew what some girls were willing to do and what for. So I protected myself first, clients as secondary concern, seems harsh, but so is the reality of what we are doing, if you think about it.

Most clients were touchingly awkward, almost intrepid in exploring the boundaries of sexual deviance , as much as I. At first I was slightly overwhelmed with the mental gymnastics I performed to set up my mindset for selling myself. Don't get me wrong, I was not chiding myself for one moment nor worrying about what people would say. All that mattered is how I was handling it, how I felt about me and what I thought I could handle. As long as I kept that in check, I did not feel so bad. Then with that self belief - 'that this was just a job', and 'that this is what I could do and not get fucked up', I started to earn insane amounts of money.

Together, client and I , share a mutual need. To get the most from what we are doing whilst giving the least away to each other. And so we play this game.

It was indeed a client that first attempted to sway me away from drugs. I gave him a run for his money ( and a few other things ) and between us both being passionately stubborn, I ended up heading down the "wake-up-to-yourself road" and then , I found myself quite startlingly, alone.
I did not take it personal. Some steps you will always , always take alone.

It helped, in that I outgrow people very easily, it sounds callous, but it just seems to me that people in all thier individuality have unique experience to offer , so if someone doesn't personally inspire me or it still doesn't satisfy my social requirements, I normally lose interest. I amusingly reference myself to be like a photographer's flashbulb - before the camera takes the snapshot - I blind you for a moment , capture a smile and illuminate the world in a whole new light. Forever seeing the beauty, forever taking new smiles and forever thier is new experiences to color my kaleidescope of feeling.

Anyways, I am deviating, back to how I nearly died. Not from work, I was smarter professionally than personally , as is often the case with me.

Like a movie on fast forward, the clouds rolled past in crazy pace. Sun rising then sun setting, the tide coming closer then pulling back. Days peeling away like rubbish in a blowing wind. Scattered. Noisy. Unpredictable and dirty. Too soon, it was missed years to weep for. I still miss them.

I remember being so stoned, the the ceiling above lurched and loomed , like a broken rollercoaster hurtling towards the sky, then derailing in a sudden jerk of gravity and before you know it and the shock weakens your wake - you find yourself crashing down , down - down. I heard someone scream, I think it was me.

I had collapsed in the kitchen, my face hot and prickly against the cool tiles. The air was smoky and acrid, the saucepan full of pumpkin soup now burning to the insides of the pan. Minutes pass by. I don't know how long I had been in this position, yet I my stiffness betrayed the minutes I I felt. I just know something is wrong - I - I can't explain it and even if I could you wouldn't understand. I remember thinking, Is this what dying feels like ?

My breath was a faint rasp. Laboured, like it was snarled on my innards and could not escape. The Ex was somewhere in the unit, I could sense something in my peripheral vision -yet I was not concious enough- to fathom what it was.

I could hear only his occasioning murmuring and incoherrent voice in the fog.
Was he desperately calling my name or was I desperately trying to hear it ?

I wish I could turn back time. I wish I had not ever tried heroin. This is how your gonna die. In a fucking kitchen at midday , with your dead boyfriend.

I had a big job the night before and had earnt a record amount of money , entertaining a group of scholars on a houseboat on the fringes of town. I had kindly "rewarded" ourselves with a bigger shot than usual and now it was caining us. We had clearly had too much and we knew this about five seconds after it hit our veins.

We were dancing with death and it was a dangerous buzz. I wondered if my lips were blue. Like in the movies. 'I am a sad kinda moviestar' I thought as my eyes closed over.

Had The Ex died yet? His breath, however choked , was no longer within earshot. Silence now. Death stalking through our unit, picking through the pieces. Trying to find treasure of the useless forms that withered below. "Please see something good in me to save me God "
The Ex ?
He could not help me. He was battling for his life. I had to stay alive and maybe save him. Oh my. I am so frightened for us. So much , I want to just rest my head.
No !
'Don't shut YOUR FUCKING EYES.' It was all I keep saying.

I just want my love to tell me they love me. Then , I promise to give up.
But my lips were blue, and they did not part for breath nor speak.

I couldn't move and all of sudden I was 'oh so tired'.

"Dont shut your eyes " I kept repeating.
Over and over.
" Dont shut YOUR FUCKING EYES on me !!"

Moaning in the distance. Oh my fucking god I am dying. It was all I could do from slipping under, was to scare myself shitless.

I can't tell you how resolute I was. I believe when faced with the immediate threat of death, and I mean - immediate - your body does some really powerful things. My body did not want to die. I was not going out like this.

Plumes of acrid smoke fill the tiny kitchen, the saucepan hissing and spitting and spweing forth toxic smoke, which made me all the more drowsy.
The fog got deeper. I hadn't eaten for a day or so and my head was shutting down. I felt The Ex's strong hands pick up my spindly shoulder blades and throw me into the sink. A glass of cold water over my face. "Im fine" I waved him away, annoyed.

"Im not going to die" I rasped. I looked in his face and I knew. He looked so scared, like I had never seen before in our five years together. I don't want to play anymore, I dont want to lose you it said.

Then I am sobbing and coming to, peels of concious licking into my eyes, my skin color going from pallid to poor in a few moments. Someone loves me to save my life. Here I come.
More water, and then dragging me out into the lounge. Where are we going. I don't care - as long as I am not dying.

Your going to drop" he slapped my face . "Fuck off " I attempt to spit out. Somehow though I fall asleep or something mid sentence.

A hard crack to the right cheek. The sting , dull but sharp, a red flash across my washed out expression.

"Your ruining my hit" I say groggily, struggling to appear normal.

The Ex, in turn was blue at the corners of his mouth and his eyes where pure whites. I slapped his face in return and laughed a hollow evil laugh.
We were not beating each other to death. We were keeping each other alive.
Sounds fucking crazy right. Absofuckinglutely.

"Why dont we both just fucking die, you go first bastard. I'll meet you in hell".
It was sad to speak like this , the love of my life, and all I have to give is deliberate shards of hate and pain, polished with every time we traded our standards for the demands of the drug. Until deep within our eyes, our pupils glittered stones of pupils held no wanting of love, but for the drug itself.

But somehow, he held on, perhaps he knew I wouldnt bring him back anymore, if I was dying myself.

It was two o clock in the afternoon.
Just another day.

No one knew what we were doing. No one knew where we were living. No one knew if I was alive or dead. Not that I made it easy. It was like I just fell off the face of the earth.
And that is just the way a junkie likes it. I am never proud of this , or this day.

A scratching sound at the door, louder than rodents.

An eviction notice was slid under the door.

"Fuck you" I said, to no-one in particular.

Then I fell asleep on the kitchen floor with Justin in my arms.


Thanks guys, that was a hard one tonight.
See you guys later.