"And I have learned to live, as it were, with the idea that I will never find peace and happiness, either. But as long as I know there's a pretty good chance I can get my hands on either one of them every once in a while, I do the best I can between high spots.” Hunter S. Thompson.
This is true and very sad. I don't think my boyfriend can read this.
This makes me sad. Maybe in time..it can be a happier story and not so personal. Maybe it will stop someone from trying heroin. Loving Heroin. Dying on Heroin. Maybe it is just a blog and I am just a part of your morning read.
Maybe today is your first day well or your worst day yet. Heroinegirl XX
The cars wash down the highway in mechanical waves, the full moon fills out my silhouette, I stand in the gutter illuminated by the occasional headlight. It is cold and I lost my jumper.
I am wearing a miniskirt and heels that always seem to work. I am 21 and slim.
That works too. In fact in spite of myself, I am still called beautiful , yet I suppose it is in a tragic way like a rosebud worn away from the stem. Just call me beautiful one more time, even though you are a stranger to me. Maybe I will start to believe?
I once believed I was better than this.
I once believed I could never do this.
Heroin. Need I say more.
My skin feels like greasy bitumen as the dust and sweat coats my legs from the passing cars, that some times slow down, sometimes speed up.
The Waiting Game. I have been here for hours. All day and nearly all night. I feel like I am a hundred years old.
I have made about three hundred dollars but we have spent that on gear to get through the day and I needed more dope in the morning. So I take up my spot on the gutter and wish to the stars above that someone will come along soon.
My arms are goose bumps and my skin is all a shiver, everyone is going home to warm dinners and television but I have no home tonight. I wiggle my hips and make contact with a man passing in a black BMW. He shakes his head. But he does a lap of the street, all the same. He will work up the courage and return tommorow. You just wait and see.
I can feel the crumple of money in my back pocket but it is not enough to stop. I only have enough for half a hit. That will not do. So I swap sides of the highway; I hope they don’t call the police again. I'm nearly done. I feel the condom packet scratching my navel, hidden in case. One more condom. One more job. Done. Baby, I am nearly done in so many ways. Don't try to help me. It will only make both of us feel worse. I won't quit heroin right now - I just won't but I am sorry.
Just draw your curtains and pretend I am not here.
That's what I do.
The Man In The BMW returns, I see the client leaning over the passenger seat as the vehicle purrs into the pavement. I look to the right and I look to the side.
Then I get in the car and we drive. I don't speak much as I have nothing to really say to him - and I know he doesn't care anyway.
"Take me to the soccer club."
I show the middle aged businessman the way and I think he is frightened that someone will see us. I try and make him feel safe but in reality - I don't really care. . Like I am going to kill you.
I can see the client is keen even though what he is doing is not what he would usually do. He is exhillarated and petrified in the same pathetic moment. I am quiet. Let's get this over with. Pay upfront and no kissing.
I can do it in the back of the BMW.
I can bend into all kinds of lusty shapes as you thrust me in the back of the BMW. I can hide down low, so nobody sees me?
We don’t know each others names - but baby we don't need to.
We just move in awkward silence, I jerk you off well and proper. This suprises you with the crassness of my eager rubbing - you come on yourself - before you even know what happened. You only absorb what happened when you look down to the spreading stain on your jeans. the sadness you feel in your heart. Maybe for me. Maybe for yourself. But I am gone , so don't fucking worry about it. Don't pretend your better than me until you turn the corner and go home to your toddlers and you wives. I sound bitter but it's true.
To many men I became an addiction. I made sure of it in order to survive.
The men will keep pulling over for me and I will keep coming onto them. We live in a sex symbiosis; only my survival really does depend on what I do. Deep throat for a dime.
As I have warned you many times sweet client, don't even try to trick me at tricking. I know the drill because I made the drill.
We don't have any rules of engagement down here, in the dark place inside your leather bound interiors, it is all hope and pray. You make it my sole purpose in life to get you off and my main goal is to get out alive. I did this because I chose to be a junkie..and now I am addicted like nothing I could ever imagine.
I make myself sick everyday and all I want to do is stop wanting.
Stop needing. Stopping hitting up junk.
I am dopesick and I feel it is time that I contemplated this is my lot.
Pay before your pull down your pants. I am gentle with you, but it makes me tougher on the inside. You don't make me come. You don't mean anything to me after I get my drugs. I hope your wife finds out and you get counselling. I hope you wash well. I hope that you never forget my face - but I know that you will.
That's the way life goes.
Don’t ask me my name. You never saw me and you don’t know me.
When I see you at the supermarket I won't pay you any notice. So stop fucking freaking out.I was too high to remember what the fuck I did with you or what house we went to and I need it to stay that way. I am not your friend.
I am definately not going to stop whoring and be your girlfriend.
I need to pay for my drugs. I wish it could be different for us.
I feel for what you what me to find and I yank it like you ask for. Enough.
I never promised you anymore. Only myself. I will not remember you because I can't.
I can't forget the taste.
I can't forget the fear.
I will never forget how the bushes felt beneath my naked behind as I was pummeled deep into them, but I was paid – so it was ok. No one knew what happened behind the soccer club but me and you. And fourty others.
I won't stain your suit. I won’t leave my lipstick in your car or the condom wrapper underneath the child restraint. But then again, maybe today I might.
Ruin your life , like you seem to take from mine. You barter down my pride.
You wont give me fifty cos you know I will settle for twenty cos thats what Janey is getting lately and she does it without a condom. Whatever it takes. Janey is sicker than me and she is fourty-five. She don't have my legs or my face.
She has to do a lot more and it shows.
Time passes with the man in the BMW and decides I'm not even worth fifty anymore. You used to pay so much more ??? Who has changed - me or you?
As you turn the key in the ignition – I stop you.
I say yes. Everything else inside me screamed no.
But the Heroin spoke for me.
We had come this far and I might as well. It will only take a moment. But it doesn’t and my mascara is running and my mouth is sore. You work me well.
You hold me by the ponytail and inside my mind I am choking on myself rather than you. You yank me away and you come on the oil rag you got from the boot. I hike up my underwear and reapply my lipstick in the rearview. At least you wore a condom. Next time you will see someone else, but at least I remain clean for one more night.
I am better than this – if I dare to get over this. If I can live through this, then I will be fine. But for now, it only costs you 20. To have me and everything I can give. Just ask me – I will sell you whatever I can find of myself.
Running into the red. Drowning in your debt. That's me.
Fucking myself over till the day I die.