Sunday, October 31, 2004
This boy is quite funny and although I thought I could not be drawn into his "monkey like" web I actually spent way too much time on this site. Then I thought..I could do this.
(without any more bum flashes like in september - don't bother it is baleeted)
I am doing this. Well I am registered. The rules state that the content must be fictional. This I struggle with as I think heroinegirl content is way more interesting than anything I could ever make up. But, I like a challenge, so I might try to do it. Now I just need an idea. Darling Maggot is particpating as well and I am looking forward to reading along. ( and copying)
This is also another inspiration for my novel. Note before, this link is not work safe and contains images of real dolls and thier "boyfriends"
Big Time Barbies
Some people do not think I am real !
So for the record..my tears are real.
So are my memoirs.
Perhaps my situation seems stupid or maybe
even exaggerated but sometimes the truth
is stranger than fiction. Thank you to all the readers
I never tire of comments and I know some of you don't know what to say sometimes, normally people don't comment on posts that they may deem personal or perhaps they are speechless.
It doesn't matter if you never comment , if you learn one thing that can help you smile one time than more than you would have, my work is done. Heroinegirl is all about saving yourself from the dangers of yourself and sometimes a lack of education. I don't know how many times I wish I had someone to talk to when I was in the throes of addiction. If this blog is taken seriously then maybe I am providing hope out there. It really is a big bad world.
Be safe my lovelies.
Saturday, October 30, 2004
Original artwork by Mark Ryden. Images altered for personal and non-profit fan art.
*This post is not a memoir, it is what happened yesterday. I commented on the post before this one about what happened this weekend. I have basically lost access to seeing my partner's child due to my past and the risk to the children. I appreciate you asking the references , but no this is new pain in my life that I am trying to understand. Such is life.
I don't want you breathing on them.
I don't want your past around them.
I don't want them in danger.
She says it like nothing.. Almost with relish.
I don't care if you survived she said..
I only fear what you have been through..
Do you not have the pride that I do?
Or just the prejudice..
Today I made a hard decision to walk away from a very special person.
I am cut. I am bleeding. I am raw.
If this is as good as it gets, if I continue to be persecuted for what I did rather than who I am, then tonight I would rather be alone.
When she is older, I hope she understands.
That I would never put her in danger.
What is in my past - is indeed a memoir, something to share for good.
Not to trap into the darkness.
Sweet little girl, you deserve so much better. I am sorry your mummy won't understand that it is ok to be healing , it is ok to have a past..
Maybe when you are older , I can explain.
For now, play in the playground
I let go of your hand....now.
*Imagery is fan art by HG co/Mark Ryden.
Thursday, October 28, 2004
Sometimes in the still of the night , I can see her hips moving with certain sadness, his hands pressing down hard on her shoulders slick with sweat. The minutes crawl by as the goosebumps spread over my face. I wanted to be with anyone else in the world now, than watching her get fucked for free. He was not gentle. He broke her in places, under the skin and deep within. I close my eyes but the mascara won't clot the tears that lazily roll down my face. So I bite my lip and try to be brave for her. In this moment, I am all she has. I won't let her down, even though I am breaking. Minutes.
Precious minutes that took so much and gave so little. I feel her squeeze my hand.
I squeeze back. I hold her hand as much as she holds mine - maybe even more. The rapist takes her as hard as he can, devours our sanity in big sweet gulps then leaves us vacant and shattered - the sweet inside - long gone. After what can only be described as the longest ten minutes in the world, I hear finally hear his footsteps pound the concrete stairs on his retreat, echoing out into the street. Is it really happening, those footsteps sound further away than they really are.. This is not a midday movie. This is happening. How would you cope? Will you ?
A warm imprint in the bed and the faint smell of cheap cologne, perhaps merely a wisp of scent peppered the air, yet I will never forget the smell and then , the man as long as I live...
His secret, was safe for now, so the car slid down the street , grasping at the shadows, almost willing us to forget what happened. Then, he was gone. Never to be seen again. And I suppose he still goes unpunished. He would still be out there.
As she scooped his unwelcome semen from her resentful vagina and flung it into the shower , she looked into me , like this was the least of the stains, the least of the internal burden. I will never forget that look.
Her green eyes lowered to the ground as she reached for the syringe, to make a new sting that never felt so good. I watched her as she plunged the relief into her elbows, the bluish hues mottling her neck like a cotton scarf then spreading.
The next day I was sitting in the park after being evicted from the motel room. I had no home and I guess, nobody. I happened to be crying as I knew I would never see WG again and I had no idea how I would survive without her. A policeman approached me , sensing my distress and just the sight of his uniform , made me burst into tears. Then, out it all came. All of the details. The terrible feelings. Of shame and guilt . It turns out sadly, that the "policeman" that visited us the night before was in fact just some loser with a fake badge and a really good plan. He worked with a partner and targeting junkie whores in particular that had more to loose by "busting" them than letting you have your way with them. The policeman was so nice and understanding. As much as he could be. He would never fully understand how it felt to walk even a day in my shoes. As ironic as it was, we spent a great hour in the park, chatting and trying to understand what my world was coming to then on, I viewed things a little bit differently. He gave me some bus fare and told me to go home to my parents. I thanked him, walked back to the new motel room to begin work and bought a hot dog instead with the money. And boy did it taste good. That would have to do for now.
I was locked out ! Could not post ! My blog wouldn't even load - but low and behold it is here this morning , thank goodness as none of my material is backed up, so I had a very fitful night of sleep. I will be back tonight , so you can check back then for a memoir. Promise !
Thank you guys for all the lovely feedback and emails of late. Very cool !
So I didn't get to post my usual memoir and as we say in aussie land - Spewin ! But, on the plus side I did wake to some lovely comments and lots of little girls and boi's on the guestmap - Deffo made me smile .
Very tired at the moment as my meds have been stepped up, and they are really draining - so I am just trying to pace myself :) I love you guys for your support and I really appreciate it . Sometimes, I am not always strong - sometimes, you just want to be amoungst friends :)
Have a great day!
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Well actually I do, she is PostModern !
Sometimes , if I can be bothered and the coffee is good, I like to comment and which I do not why I insist on as trying to find my way back is normally a little tricky. So I have decided to bookmark the ones I have read that day and wish to return. Plus if it is "dynamate blogging/extremely insightful/damn funny I normally like to go back and read it again.
The numbers are not a rating system, just my virtual way of scattering crumbs..to find my way back. I am against "rating" links or even having sections as I know that blogging is such a personal thing and that what you write is personal but also up for individual interpretation.
I have added a guest map as well. I want to see where you all are. You can use fake details if you think I am FBI , it is more a great way to see how many HG fans are out there, so the book makers sit up and take notice !
Go stick a pin in ! I'm the little blondie in oz.
Monday, October 25, 2004
Throughout the trials and tribulations of being just a girl, finding the perfect career, dealing with my imperfections as I changed physically into the woman I am now , my challenges, my triumphs and my darkest hours , I have had the help of some marvelous women. My best friends. Just like me, we started out as girls with a lunchbox full of candy pink dreams, and now we have exchanged them for sleek mobile phones, laptops and memories. I know that from the points around the globe, they read with me. We all finally smile together. To you, I say this ;
I can't wait to smell your babies. I can't wait to see him lift the veil off your beautiful face. I can't wait to see you when I get off that plane. I can't wait for you to tell me - you're getting married. I can remember the beaches , the outfits, the braces , the tears , the heartbreaks. I remember losing you.
I remember you finding me.
Some are getting married, some are graduating, some are just blossoming and some are getting well. Some are leaving, some are coming home. What we have is something amazing and something I see in front of me always, even though distance seperates us - it doesn't have to matter so much.
I see the plaque on the wall - you're a doctor now baby.
I see you pushing the pram - and I see the proud parents.
I see true love and I see happy ending.
I see us at funerals. I see us in happier times.
I see continuing challenge and I see that we may need each other.
I want you to dye my hair when it goes grey, and tell me it does'nt need it for at least another ten years. I want you to hold my baby. I want you to catch my bouquet. All of you. I mean all of you. I want to waltz with you forever.
I want the fairytale - with my fairies.
I see that you are important.
I see that I love you, and all that you have to offer - your experience.
I see , you. And, I know damn well you see straight into me.
See you soon
Check out our theme song - has the hottest clip.
Friday, October 22, 2004
But there was plenty more blossoms, and plenty more blew away in the wind.
Plenty more , withered and died. But I never went a day without flowers. Is that not what true love is really about ? Or maybe I needed more ?
I think I am coming down with tonsilitis..my throat feels like it has made out with a cheesegrater and then spilt a vat of vinegar down its front. Very precious. Lots of memoirs in the works. Great ideas and Great Memories are happening this weekend ! I am excited about one particular idea that I am going to be blogging tommorow a special memoir from another member of the heroinegirl family. No hints just yet, as I only aim to tease my lovelies.
It's late friday night in Australia so I might just call it a night, the negotiator (ho-hum) is on the "idiot box" and the BF is feeling rather neglected thesedays, so I might dedicate tonight a special night to please him. That normally means telly, icecream and strawberries culminating in some nice cuddles and stuff. He will blush at this, but I mean - I am mid twenties with no children and a dirty mind - the jig is up. We all know I am a bad girl.
A question for the comment punters - If your penis/vagina spoke to you for the first time - What would it say ? I am very curious .......
Sweet dreams by the way and have I told you lately..that I love you ;)
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
It's always best to sell out when the "stocks" are up .
If you know what I mean.
A thousand times goodnight
My skinny arms are aching as I spotclean the stained lounge inside the small room. I must try and keep up appearances. It upset the family otherwise, and that in turn upset me. I am not enitrely a criminal. I still have a family, I still have people that think I am beautiful.
You will always have...family. Love them - in fact maybe just for this moment let them love you, close your eyes and feel them and feel a part of you that you never could do without. Let the imperfections slip by. Just be - for one moment - loved. You would be amazed how much your parents will do for you. You are, to them, forever a child - forever loveable. Now for some you , on this time you may struggle to think such things of a family memberthat you don't think you want to love, maybe you were hurt. Maybe you were abused. Maybe you just weren't loved enough. I want you to think of us then, the survivors. I am your family. This is our story and together we will be loved. From the gutter to the stars...
Even though I am quite stoned I manage to collect up the trash. I have spilt one of the overflowing ashtray on the white tiles, soot spray on everything. Straight down my white skirt. I rub it away and it smears. . I hide the needles and apply concealer to my track marks. The shade does not match my skin and it looks pathetic. This does make me sad. I am running out of disguises . I am cashing in on my third and fourth "second chances". What can I do - right in this moment ? I shrug my shoulder to the deafing silence as I spray the room with toilet spray and wipe the mascara ruins from my eyes. Two more minutes.
What is that smell ?
I think it's the fridge. All we had was a small bar fridge laden with congealing rot and takeout containers. I light a cigarette and tensely stare out into nothing. One more minute. The room snarls with smoke and I taste lipstick. I told the Ex to clear out a while ago. Just alone with my thoughts - then alone with him. Light another ciggarette. I exhale and guide the smoke in a plume in front of my face then begin to pace the room.
What in fuck's name could he say to me? I didn't want to be lectured from anyone - I already knew deep inside myself how repulsive I had become. I didn't need no telling. I did not want to see any more tears or wringing hands. I was sick, I was well in the haze by now. I didn't respect him. I only humour him. Ever.
Still I am nervous. I am always nervous when he is around. He has that way of looking past me, so guilty that I still remain sheer under his gaze. He can still see into me. But he cannot get into me. Not anymore. I'm like an angel from a bedtime story, I fascinate him and I intoxicate him. He has never worked me out. Because, he can't. Because I am beautiful. Because, he was cruel.
Because he stole my innocence. My smiles only shatter. My laugh only mocks him. Well, he should of kept his filthy hands to himself. He should of. Maybe things woulda been different.
I don't know - that is something I won't ever know.
Light another cigarette and march to the door in falsetto stride. He is there.
I welcome him inside the home. Not by choice. As always, he looks uncomfortable and I turn my cheek to his peck. I don't have time for this. I just want to get back to my life. To my struggle. You would'nt understand , how much money I needed to make. All your concern, won't put that needle in my arm any quicker. You will leave after tea and forced pleasantries and I will have to walk out onto the highway to wave you out - promising to see you some time. But I won't . I will stand there waving with a plastic grin until you are gone. Then, I will walk out to the same road you left on , I will put out my thumb and then my real life begins. Maybe for him, I won't wait till his car rounds that corner. Maybe you will , for fucking once , see me in your rear-view mirror. You will see truth.
I know he is embarrased by the smell of the unit. I do not care.
In fact if there was one benefit of replusion. I never cared about what he thought of me. I reveled in his discomfort. I felt like I wanted to whack up right there in front of him. What can I say - he fucking makes me mad. He brought me wildflowers I see him offer them into my direction, almost wilting with the the tension that bound us, the blooms suspended in hope. I did not reach forward. They fell to the floor. My eyes, pinned and cold never left his face. I wanted him to explain why he felt the need to come and see me.
Who had sent him. I know exactly what he wanted to do. He wanted to gawk at me. He wanted to stop blaming himself for my downfall.
He did not sit down. I levelled with him.
"So -I guess you have heard that I am a junkie now." It was not a question.
"Yes" Almost pathetically overloaded with remorse "I want to apologise for you know.." he trailed off and I saw his lip tremble. I light a cigarette, the whole time my glazed eyes never leave his face. I want to see the first tear. I want to watch him face me. Entirely.
"No - I don't know?" I refused to bear the pussyfoot. It was my house, and my advantage.
"Back when we where kids - the stuff " He waits for me to jump in, as I had so many more times before, every birthday he had, every christmas we shared , every fucked up occasion I had to pretend that his cock had never been thrust down my throat, that he never crept through the wrong window - and look who he found. Me. Aint I lucky? It went on for three years. He took my virginity at six - it was not stuff - it was all of me and all of my innocence.
I was not letting him chide me into "getting over things" . I was over him telling me how to feel and how to be. He never got that and he never will. There is NO EXCUSE.
He is crying. Telling me stories about being beaten with phonebooks by policeman in the genitals. He was 14. It was hard on us both as children, but if I never said anything to that school teacher on that day - he would of done it for as long as he could. Dad wasn't around. No one knew. I just wanted to fit in and be a part of the "family" But not like this.
Please believe, I never wanted this. I thought you were the family I had always dreamed about.
But the promises broke and the make-believe ran out. So here I am.
I am watching him cry and I feel bad. This makes me mad. It always goes like this. I can't fucking handle his sobbing and pleading - thank god I am stoned. I made sure I was.
I wave away his tears. I tell him that I forgive him - that I won't ever forget and that I am on some made-up rehab program. He stops crying and looks genuine tortured. I know it fucked up his ability to have relationships. Just like it ruined the "first" time I slept with someone that I actually wanted to , and cared about. How it ended with me floating on the ceiling, how long it took me to come down. Does he still feel me under him as much as I feel his wieght on top of me?
I walk him to the door. I am emotionally spent - yet I know that I save the best till last.
"Thank you for coming today. I know it was hard for you. I hope you feel better. I honestly do. It must be so hard to live with yourself sometimes. However, my burden now is that I am sick. The fact you took my virginity is another issue - for a stronger day.
I look forward to this conversation again when I am well. When I am happy. When I am able to look you in the eye and ask you why and make you explain how you could. When it is even.
He recoiled slightly. He was about to feel Heroinegirl , just like you are now. I continued.
In the frame of the doorway , I was free , I was an adult and it was my door to close, not his.
Don't come over when I'm stoned and think you have settled it. This is not over and never will be for you, what's done is done. Now get the fuck out of my face.
I slammed the door shaking. He did not leave for sometime. Then - he was gone.
Perhaps if I was stoned, I would not of faced up to him as strong.
But in the end, I spoke from the heart. In the end , I clamboured over the numbness and I finally got straight - with myself. In the end ... this day became a new begginning.
I emailed Belle today as I miss her tremendously , both her person and the luscious contributions to "the movement" and female bloggerism in general. Belle was definately the key factor in this blog's conception. I am definately aspiring to be published ( no coyness will be found here ) I know exactly what I want to do when I grow up - I want to be a writer. I love HeroineGirl and I also know that I will always have plenty of material - such is life. I would rather be paid to blog/write ( I don't really have affinity with the term "Blog" and all it's variants ) than be embarrased about how much time I spend writing my memoirs.Yes, I confess unashamedly that rather than have to maintain a diet, consisting solely of cold cheeseburgers and flat lemonade, I could be on a pink powder puff and writing my memoirs in some very fancy lingerie whilst popping belgian choclate into my smug little trout.
However, I do know the road is long and well travelled and I must admit, other blogs are way more awesome. (I know this because I just read some great ones today) I know I shouldn't compare ..but I always have been a naughty little jerk ~smiles~ then le sighs ;)
Due to my 'airy- fairy -quite - contrary manner ' , I am seriously contemplating leaving my current office job for a little while. I am lucky in that I have excellent managerial support and collegues that are appreciative of my delicate medical situation and after a few heartfelt disclosures on my behalf, I think we are moving towards leaving The Job and finding something more "creative" and "people orientated". Does that preclude photoshopping dramatic gothic pictures and sharing them in blogger with millions - I wonder ?
What will I do at home all the time ? I will write of course and definately study the art. Will I drive you all crazy with this constant talking to myself? I am beggining to feel like Carrie Bradshaw - minus all the cool couture and Manolo's. Of course, it could all go terribly pearshaped, but I would rather be bewildered with trying than not trying at all. Plus , I think that I could find something better for me "The Fairy". Maybe I could start a babysitters club up again - that was so big in the eighties and I did I mention I am great with kids?
I rang Social Security today (only on hold for 25 seconds) and was curtly advised that my entitlement would be the princely sum of "Three Hundred and Sixty-Five Dollars and Six Cents." Fortnightly.
Um.. Hello peoples - do the math - That sucks BIG TIME DONKEY DOODLE !
I spend that amount on expensive cheese and overseas fashion mags alone.
Not only do I want my cable, magazine and dvd habits to be catered for ( internet access is key - I mean how can I look for blogs err I mean jobs) I also have to pay off the "correspondance" course on Counselling that mocks me from my bookcase, I also have debts associated with my time being a junkie. Thousands of dollars there. Then of course, we have the usual food requirement and sundries. I AM GOING TO DIE! I am going to be massively poor as in " I am such a sad piece of crap and only eat tinned food (cold) kind of poor. What if I have to settle for renting a home ( gasp) with ...wheels ? ( faints)
I know exactly how I could earn money, I know exactly how I should earn money.
One way is to go forward and one way is to go backwards. Crossroads.
Kind of like monopoly.
Anyone got a spare get of jail free card ?
Memoir to come.
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
Natasha Bedingfield - These Words /Soundtrack - New heroinegirl screenshow
::. PREVIOUS LINK WAS NOT PROPERTY OF HG.::
Natasha Bedingfield - These Words - Playing It and Loving It
I have spent the last few days coding ( that sounds way more exciting than it was) As a result, we lost a few posts/comments/braincells and a few readers may of noticed some downtime. I am sorry about that and I won't fiddle with the "bits" anymore.
But -on the brighter side of the coin - I have learnt a lot about html and I feel better about things tech now , so it was a great albeit steep learning curve. I have tried on some new "outfits" ( templates) and they just don't seem to work as well as this one ( which I hacked into from blogger) I am trying to work out how to put a picture at the top and leave it there.
I know the html fairy will come in my sleep and I will wake up and just know exactly what to do.
The slideshow feature is new too and I am looking into a few other things for "HG - the Blog."
Thank you to the new linkers, I have visited most of you to thank you personally. All my links to the (thinks about it) right are linkers and if you are linking - then tell me about it. I will deffo add you ! I love to love you baby ;)
Big shout out to Darling Maggot (link to the ..right?) who helped me last night when I got in the blues after posting insufficient Funds (below me) He hopped on msn and made me feel like a hundred bucks ! Sooky la la loves you.
All of the readers have been so sweet. You make me cry sometimes and feel really proud of who I am and what I do. I am a romantic and I guess I am in love with life , thank you for appreciating my journey and making me smile again.
That is what friends are for, and I salute you all. Sooky la la loves you.
Monday, October 18, 2004
.. here we go..
The Ex and I lived in fleabag motels once we became blacklisted from rental accomodation. The standard of living was atrociously poor. We had carelessly burned a lot of bridges so now our families seemed as helpless as we were. My parents had given up, as I would always go back to him. I would always go back to the needle. I would always say yes..I could never say no.
Craving for pleasure on the back of an opiate realm. I was floating and falling at the same time.
The motels were dingy, grimy and stained with human malaise and despair. The neon vacancy sign our noble saviour. So many different "homes". It was ok, as long as we were together. Even though we were killing each other. He wanted me well. To him, he was already dead.
I told him No. I wouldn't give him up. I couldn't give him up. Not yet. He was all I had, and he knew it, and sometimes he used it against me. In hindsight, I guess he did it often.
As my closet began to fill with syringes and our hearts with resignation, I started to use more than I had ever before. Our habit ballooned out of control. I had to see more clients.
I had to do more and be more - than ever before. Hundreds of dollars a day, wasted.
So, I Sacrificed - everything. I shot up watered down hope into my tired old veins and sweat it out later, then do it all again for another day. Die some. Steal Some. Lose Some. I paid for the room daily and worked from it as well. I hated the fact that I had to sleep with my boyfriend in the same bed I worked in. The cleaner only let us change the sheets once a week. Between the sex smells and the sweat and taint of being a malnourished addict, the atmosphere in which we lived and toiled, soon filled with rank and ruin. But we were better off than mostof the other junkies. We did not sleep on the street - yet. I did not work the highway - yet. The Ex would wait in the garden, for hours on end. Reading. Watching over. I had a few girls working for me as well, and I blew the profits, you know how.
Once we had 'money for the morning', only then could I call it a day.
Then it was our time. Then, it wasn't "so bad". Sometimes, I even miss it. Maybe?
We would have makeshift picnics on the bed. Tiny trails of crumbs make little paths of delight on the duvet. Munchie food bought at midnight from the petrol station on the corner. Overpriced 'food' that normally you wouldn't buy or even eat -but hey it's late and you're hungry.
Then after The feast would come The Shot. There is no sense in delaying anymore. I want it in me and I want to get wasted. He shoots me up in the darkness, my clouded face bathed in the blue blink of the televison set. Yet, my head clears of the static. Then an ambrosial moment under the fan, the milks of our eyes quivering as the heroin rushed me over , all hot and heavy. A few minutes of lost time. The dark would sink then spin. Then, it cleared. Time to light a cigarette. Time to share a deep and passionate kiss. For a moment, it was bliss.
We would make each other coffee milks and watch Letterman. Smoke a joint to relax and soon the rough edges of the day would form fuzz and fray from the mind. Then how I could laugh. Peels of laughter echoing into the night from behind the cheap and thin walls. The magical moment when your laugh becomes a cackle. Outside the city snarls in it's sleep. As the light of dawn would enfringe upon our reality, I would turn the sheets over, find the fresher side and turn the other cheek to the grime of the day, and let the sleep find me there.
On one occasion it had been all day since I had eaten last. I remember asking the friendly, middle-aged client I was entertaining at the time , if he could kindly drop me to at the local supermarket at conclusion. He was a kind man, married and had teenage children. His eyes seemed to crinkle with kindness. I think I reminded him of his own daughter, even though this thought is disgusting in itself. Regardless of this, I pleased him well - even though I was inside I was reeling from starvation and weak in so many ways. I was a professional pleaser and so that is what I had to do. They don't care about me personally. No matter.
The room was still and hot and all I heard was his noises. Then the job was over. Thank god.
My eyes had formed tears, but only from the sickness. He dropped me at the supermarket and wished me well. I bounded inside, the past forgotten and my underwear fresh. Red rings around wrists, the only clue remains.
Inside the store, I was spellbound by the aisles of heavenly food. Bright pillars of smiling faces and lurid logo. I filled my small basket with food cautiously , only the bare essentials for The Ex and myself. Fresh stone-fruit , sweets, cakes and canned goods and a iceberg lettuce. I gingerly placed a magazine on the top, even though I knew this to be extravagant but I craved to read and use my brain and escape if not just for a moment.
I got to the cashier and emptied my bounty onto the conveyor belt.
The teenage checkout operator was painted with heavy makeup, her disposition - pissed off.
I smiled at her, even though she could only return a stare.
I touched my matted hair self conciously and licked my blue lips.
It came to twenty dollars. Money. Money.
Oh my god.
You forgot to get the money from the client.
I am going to kill you. No wait, the landlord will.
You have really done it this time.
I am thinking No , No No and before I realise it I am breathless and shouting this out .
" No ! No ! No! Please No! " I beg to myself and perhaps to anyone still listening.Tears.
This is just not possible ! I am white with shock and rummaging through my beaten handbag looking for the money, even though my banging heart is screaming. My mind is screaming. I already know. I forgot to get the money. Two hundred dollars. I purely forgot. I was too hungry. Everyone is staring. I am hysterical - how could she ever understand. A deep hue of burn flourishes across my face. I have no other money. That was the rent, the food - the everything.
Then I just looked at the salesgirl. I saw them all before me -a million mocking men whom I knew only too well that if you let your guard slip for one moment - they will capitalize.
As much as he said he would return, as much as he said he would be a regular.
I knew I was never going to see him again. Like the money, he was long gone.
The Client. As he drove me to the store, he was quiet. He knew. As I babbled on about what I was making for dinner and how I could pay the rent - He Knew.
As he drove off, with unusual speed, He Knew.
The salesgirl softened as she saw a glimpse of me, that maybe I was good. But she wasn't sure - like most people and decided that she could do nothing anyways. Granted.
I started to sob , right there in front of everyone. I was pulling at my clothes, mascara streaking my desperate face. I was losing the plot. In Woolworths.
No one helped me. They just watched me and waited for the tears to stop. People stepped gingerly over me and the world kept going for them. But not for me. I had just slept with that man, who pretended to listen to my dreams and hopes, for nothing. I gave him so much.
I was a stupid fool. Too whacked out nowdays, to even remember to get the money. I relied on whoring to survive and I needed to know that this could never , ever happen again. I needed to know why this mattered today, right here in front of all these people who didn't even know me.
The sales girl stepped over me, and took away my groceries.
She put back the cake and she returned the magazine to the shelf.
She turned to say "I'm Sorry"
But I had already gone
Only leaving shocked stares to exchange.
Sunday, October 17, 2004
The amber hues of candlelight pick up a trail of downy hair on the nape of my neck.
My hair is still clinging with the drips of rose oil and warmth , the bouquet of flowers blossoming with every heady inhale. As I lean back into my watery garden, the bubbles fizzle between my thighs and then I am submerged and warm in every part of me. Delicious. It is so quiet and all the town is sleepy on a Sunday. Blue rain and darkness at my window. The only sound the rumble of distant thunder.
P.s I made you something my lovelies ..on the weekend.
As promised..something old and something new. Before you click the link though, play a song that reminds you of me..I promise it is worth it.
Thursday, October 14, 2004
The Apprentice series 2 has started. I find this show hi-hi-larious. I absolutely adore reality televison by the way. Except survivor - that is so five years ago!! I love Australian Idol and American Idol and The Apprentice and Average Joe and Big Fat & Farting Ugly People..
Ok one of those is still "in the works".
I adore television as a relaxant, I mostly watch HBO programs, which we call Channel 9 - Yes we are very simple. We have channel 10 ( The OC and all those crime shows) Channel 7 (the wanna be top network) Channel 2 or ABC (government channel) and the aforementioned channel nine. That is free to air t.v. I have cable at home - called Foxtel - although I have the "sadass" package ( you know the one with all the good channels replace with gainy static stuff and a big mocking sign that basically reads, "Hey Cheapass, spend a further ten bucks and you could be watching Bam on MTV - Sweet - O but not for you - Tightcheeks".
But this may be changing, I may be upgrading in time for summer. If I am a good girl.
Had a breakdown at work today, after I had a major depressive episode that can be easily decribed as self pity at being a corporate sellout. It wasn't fun. But hey I survived to Blog about it. That's the main thing - it's all "material".. Blegh. This is what I mean. So flat today !
I went to a premiere of Collateral last night and I think it made my 'fuck you I wont do what you tell me - Rage Against The Machine Attitude flare up again.
I ended up telling the boss how much I hated being in that burbur brown office and we had a great talk - I will definately blog a much more heartfelt piece about everything we worked through and some big things I have sorted out in my mind.
It was a hairy morning, so to speak, as I just felt like I was being a whore still, just getting less money and with a side serve of utter frustration. So I blubbered to the female boss about how much basically I was not happy and why in excruciating detail (quite embarrassing but hey I am a sensitive soul and this medication gives makes me emotionally slutty) It seems to me that at the moment I just have no control over myself especially in the tears or mood swings arena. This ####'n medication makes me feel so tired and shitty somedays I want to give it up and just hope and pray that my body will fix itself, but I know it won't . I have been told it won't. It is six months of my life that I will be pycho bitchface who has heart of stone. The BF looks more tired than me though. Eek.
Nup, I have to keep taking these drugs as that is all that is on offer for me (at the moment) I know it could be worse. I still wish that personally, I could handle this a tad better. Ok a lot better.
So I know that I haven't done any memoir this week as it has just been too frenetic but I am trying to get some sleep in. A girl needs her beauty sleep. But I still love you and I have a good memoir planned for the weekend. Something Old and Something New. Maybe even a guest is coming soon.
Who would you like to hear from ?
( Apart from me, you are all so lovely!)
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
Firstly. Must have a sooky la la moment. A sassy yet highly agressive brown belt whipped my bony ass tonight. Not only is my pride wounded (as she is the size of half an olsen twin) but fights like a minx and I think she sprained my butt, if that is possible. Despite what onlookers may say (or plead with me to see reason) she clearly reveled in my fledging incompetence as a jerk/whitebelt, at times openly sweeping me to the floor, I guess cos she "can". Slurry!
Man, I just want to learn how to crack a can of whoop ass on her as fast as possible. This girl is like so hot, she is tiny in a early 'buffy as a teen before angel deflowered her" and she is killer. She says a meek 'sorry' for a backfist to the head then in the same moment it takes me to moan - and I mean moan - "No Worries Matey" she sideswipes my smiling wave to kick me in the stomach for instance. This is not cool. Of course afterwards, she smiles sweetly and says awesome to her other friend, who has red hair so that doesn't count.
She will never mock me.
As Elle Driver says in Kill Bill One..
"If you ever take your ass out of this goddamn bed for as long as you f**kin live, I will beat it into the ground, bitch!
(But she has an eyepatch in the movie so it actually is alot more "for real")
You know stuff self defense. This is war!
Wax On ...Wax Off ! My lily white ass ! I am stained with the shame of defeat! In fact,
The Hot Teen Assasin was inciting huge rage inside me with "innocous" coaching (pah) like "Comon is that all you have, your only doing one thing " I think at one stage I was pretending that I was crying and spewing blood but she would just roll her eyes and nail me , and I would be moaning and looking retarded and everyone just ignores me.
I mean I could have been spewing blood peoples ? Hel-loo.
The retardness, I am hoping, will fade away in time, to be superseded by panther-like moves and precise technique. Hey, a girl can dream.
To add further humilation to the farce that is me as a "killing machine" , not only did I realise that "No suckface, I can't do 20 pushups like I thought, ( I can do ten really bad , back bendy , bum pointed out ones) but ALSO I managed to continously flash everyone in my class (including the incredibly spunky and lustful Regional Instructor) my insanely padded "teen miracle' bra last week and it was like an 'extreme bra', so now I am like stick insect who wears shoulder pads down her top. Of course, I did not notice that said breast was thrust out in all it's lace clad glory until the last few minutes of the lesson. After I had made a right "boob" of myself . Ha. That one was for the cheap seats in the back ;)
Sometimes, when I am training I think about the bonuses of what I am doing ( when I am not panting for water like a porn star ) I think everyone should do some kind of self defense. I won't sell you on it - you either have thought about it or you haven't. But for the Have's - go and do a free lesson. You may just pick up one thing that seriously - will save your life. I have a few "swiftys" I can do know, and yeah I feel pretty fucking awesome about it.
But yeah revenge is a dish best served cold, so I bided my time - waiting until the free sparring at the delicious peak of the class ( the end ) , where I promptly made Miss Powderpuff Girl #2 bleed. Yeah - bleed ok? Like..totally ! But to be fair ( it is not entirely like that cool) , it was my festy toenail that scratched her - my unkemptness finally coming through for me ( maybe my unplucked eyebrows could do the same) - and yes as gross as it is -I drew blood. Then I danced around and laughed on the inside. I told you I was a Killing Machine. In my skanky defense of my toenails, I clipped my toenails tonight ( ok the BF did it as he gets shredded all the time and was over it ) but it was already written by the God's that she was going down. * does a little awesome punch at the screen*
Like Bam ! * does it again* You better be scared.
I hope she doesn't read this - if so - You are so right and I am so weak and you are just awesome at fighting.
And hey - You're Fit - But You Know It.
Monday, October 11, 2004
There is a song that is inside my soul - there is one I have tried to write over and over again.
So I try with you now - to talk about it - out aloud, so to speak. Why is it so hard? Are you my only friend?
I am only a child, six years of age , to be precise. I guess a little new inside myself. My father has remarried to The Stepmother who had a son, The Stepbrother. Both Stepmother and Stepbrother were very wary of letting me inside their lives - even though they had my Dad. They had him and I didn't know where I was going to fit. I got tired of trying to make them see me. I found my place in the background and there I remain.
"Make room for me please !" Is anyone listening ?
"I'm down here !"
But I did not feel any warmth from the strangers. I was a hassle. An inconvience. A by-product of an unsavoury union. That's my parents you are speaking about.
I wish they would get back together , but that doesn't happen. Ever.
So, I didn't kiss my parents on the lips anymore. My toys lost their shine. The backyard swing, just didn't swing as high anymore. Daddy stopped putting me on his shoulders, I was too big I know, but it was all I had.
Nothing can stop these lonely tears from falling...
The Stepmother made me felt like a charity case, like an anamoly in her dreams of how things should be in her new marriage. I went from being an the apple of my father's eye to on the edge of his peripheral. I felt like a thorn between my Father and his new wife. I guess nothing has really changed. I tried to fit in. Honest.
Why won't you believe me daddy? Do you ever think of her as well ? Do you think of how she hurt you too and now she has hurt me? Do you feel sad when you see me , and you see her at the same time?
Before I moved in permanently with the new family, I was shuttled between my birth parents. I remember my mother always keeping my garbage bags packed to "go back to your Father's". I had a couple bags crammed with imperfect toys and a few photo's but that was it. I had to leave my bikes and my bedroom behind. I am afraid. I want my mummy. But I did not know if she wanted me. I just had to believe it. I had believe in somebody. I was, just a child, after all.
Sometimes , my birth mother would forget that I had to go to school. We would be sitting at the breakfast table and I would watch her fall asleep into her breakfast cereal stoned, her cigarette smoldering into the cornflake sodden floor. I would start to cry because I knew this meant she would have to give me back soon. Then we would both cry. I was responsibility. I was too much to remember. My mother is gorgeous and when she smiled - she could take your breath clean away. I will never forget how she looked, how she smelt - how she was.
Sometimes, she even forgot about me all together. With my little hands I would clean up the mess, that was my mother , tuck her back into bed. Shower her little kisses. Then I would go and watch cartoons, very quietly. On the days that she did remember that I had school - I would be waiting outside school at hometime long after all the children had been collected - it seemed like I was waiting and waiting for her all of my life , but she just wouldn't come , or couldn't come so the principal would drive me home and I would feel ok again. He was a friendly man and he seemed to understand that I was a good little girl. I didn't care if my Mummy looked "bad" - I knew she was a good mummy. But no one else ever believed me. When he dropped me home , I made myself dinner and put myself to bed. I was a big girl. I even made Mummy dinner - but she would be too sick to eat and would throw the plate at the wall. But it is ok. Maybe later, mummy.
Other times, much sweeter times when she got clean for a little bit, she was the only person who could ever make me feel like I was the centre of the universe. She wasn't perfect, but hey she was my Mum. So I forgave her. Constantly. I am that kind of girl. That hasn't changed.
But she always got sick again. So she lost custody of me. It changed my life. And no-one ever asked me how I felt about it. And now, well - I can barely speak about it.
My mother was in the throes of heroin addiction herself, and I guess I was just in the way a lot of the time, for a lot of people. But I managed to keep my chirpy disposition in light of the constant hurt and rejection I was feeling. I still don't know if I bottled it up - I get angry that no-one went out of their way to really think about how a small child would be feeling. Did they stop for a minute , for me, whether I had anything to do with how the grown-ups decided to live their lives ? Will anyone tell me why it is so hard to think of the children?
Sometimes I want to find her. I want to find my mother. It has been seventeen very long years - I think about her often , I look in the mirror and I am her. I remind my Father of her and I know that we are very similar - we are family. I want to tell her about the abuse, the sex work and about the drugs. I want her to care - I want her to sympathize. I want her to feel bad.
Yet, I can wish all I want ( and believe me I do ) The Stepmother has told me, so many times I have lost count, that she doesn't want to find me and if she wanted to - she would. So I remain a prisoner of my own anxiety.
Mother, I wish I could have the courage to find you. I wish I could undo all the bad words spoken about you, in my mind by others, unravel the lies and perhaps attempt to find the truth.
It is what we deserve. Can I let you destroy me with your final rejection? Do you know that I put needles in me as well - to try and understand that final day you drove off into the horizon.
I wanted to emulate you and feel that I could understand how a mother could leave her child - forever. How could you be so cruel? How could I be a part of you, I am nothing like you.
I am full of love and loyalty - do I even want to know you ? What kind of person are you to do that ? And never look back...
Should I do what you taught me to do?
Could I possibly learn to forget you
As much as I hate to love you , I love you more than ever.
All the flowers that you planted, mama
In the back yard
All died when you went away
I know that living with you baby was sometimes hard
But I'm willing to give it another try
cause nothing compares ...
Nothing compares to you
Saturday, October 09, 2004
Thursday, October 07, 2004
Not to mention all the hot buffy look-a-likes blackbelts that are training me - phwoar!
Being kick ass has never looked so good. I will post memoirs on the weekend, one more day of work and then the big weekend and lots of material.. Doe anyone have any photo requests of things that I have mentioned in the blog? Places I have mentioned in my blog , heroin addiction information , Australia, whatever really? Please leave these suggestions in the comments and I will select a few ideas and post the pictures on the weekend. I can't post pictures of other "characters" in this blog because of privacy reasons.
I was supposed to be faceless as well - but I blew that...what can I say.
I'm a showpony!
For the new readers, or people that joined late I have compiled a little list of posts that help build the story of HG. Most of them are now final edit - but please keep in mind I am officially NOT claiming to be a professional writer - I am just a wee little blogger bunny.
My favorite memoirs Part Une
This was the first entry I really spoke about my Stepmother. I was too frightened to do it , for fear that she would read it one day and spit on me. Part of me is still scared to share - part of me , when writing - just can't stop. In this entry, you learn about my childhood and how it began. Much more on this, but this was the begginning - in many ways for me and the audience to understanding HG
This was another first. The first time I actually wrote down I had sex for money. You were the first to read it and I reworded it so many times, lol, and I think I hid this post from BF for about three weeks and then I sent him the URL. Rough I know, that he read along with everyone else, but as I said million times before, this stuff is buried way down below. Sometimes you can say it to the shadows , before coming out of the darkness. Plus I mention the Ex here. I love writing about him. Tragic yet beautiful lovestory. I would not change a minute.
Another early post that I like. Just because I always knew when you reread it with the knowledge of HeroineGirl , it has many hidden meanings , some of you may have discovered - some of you still have to find out.
This is the memoir where I stopped worrying about site traffic and links and started to just let it flow. I also describe my first intimate experience with The Ex and the personal sex life of a drug addicted mixed up and very sick little girl. This is the first part of the abortion story and I think a turning point , it started to hurt. I was crying a lot through the posting - But it never felt so good.
Always a hard post as I knew some people are offended by the idea that I could not keep the baby. I was relieved when not one person sent me any hatemail and just let me deal with things my way and share them as they happened. I have been left alone by the critics and for that I am grateful - life is meant for smiling !
The Abortion conclusion. There is one more post though I would like to do about the after effects on the relationship with The Ex as things definately do change. I still remember all the details of this day and I really enjoyed taking people behind the curtains of such a place - to show that you can survive anything with a little spirit. My favorite line - you know the STRONG one. That somes up everything I am trying to do with this blog. I want to share that power of survival. God knows it is mine to give.
I have many more, because I really do love the memoirs and the special part they have to play for HeroineGirl.I will choose some others from the selection another time. Please feel free to comment on the readings on this thread so I can answer your questions accurately. Thank you to the linkers - you guys are the bee's knees. Yes ! From the gutter to the stars - one blog a time.