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.

Friday, November 19, 2004

HeartShaped Box

Memoir - final edit

We were "smack bang" in the middle of a heat wave. That's how I found myself standing barefoot and bikini clad on the cool tiles of the milk bar, sand from the beach dusting my body with its summery sugar. I watch keenly as a big breasted woman scoops a generous curl of Strawberry Ripple from the frosted bin, cramming it into the sugar cone. Plumes of heat tangle my hair into ringlets, I rattle my change impatiently as the mother behind me is nudging my ass with her gaugantuan pram. Outside the glass windows I can see the Ex pacing to and fro, obsessing in his own world of inflated importance lost amongst the throng of tourists and squealing children. I avoid catching his eye - I already know this has taken much longer than it should have. The gear and fits were in my backpack anyway so I knew he would have to wait. Apart from heroin, my other weakness is icecream so as we head off to find and isolated spot, I plunge my tongue deep into its cool creamy core - that's what makes me happy. The Hoop Pines in the distance look promising so we begin to make our way to them. He has taken my backpack now , striding ahead and I let him go. He is sick and I am still stoned - I had an extra shot with a new friend - but you know - I wouldn't mind some more ?

By the time I arrive at the Pines shading the soft white dunes, The Ex already has the spoon perched, rather precariously on my backpack. Its amber contents swirl into the barrel of the syringe. His hand is shaking as he flicks the air bubbles out of the syringe, holding it up against the sunshine. His chin holding back his sleeve, he pushes the steel through his track and slides the plunger down. I sit down beside him gently - careful not to disturb anything - as I shield the remaining gear from sand particles. I threw away my ice-cream but I lick my fingers in anticipation. I notice the air tastes salty and sandy upon my lips. In the silence only a good stone will create - the breeze blows its salty breath across my sunburn and I close my eyes as I enjoy the sensation for a moment. I look across to my partner and I see the pleasure flow through his body like wind rippling through a field of grass. I could do with some of that, is what I think.

Of course I don't need to tell him this, he is already pulling the rest of the gear into my syringe. My eyes scan for anyone watching; at the waters edge I see a family basking in the shallows, the parents intertwined as their children frolic in the whitewash below them. I smile at the little boy's sand stained bather bottoms then I turn my back to them as I flex my right forearm to find my vein . I sense they are wondering what we are doing so deep in the dunes - yet common sense tells them to avert their eyes. We wait until they do and then he injects me with only the sound of waves crashing around us. My skin almost sighs as it sucks in the steel. I remember as the sky exploded with it's cloudy shapes; as the sand shone like diamonds - in fact everything was so intensely clean it was like being born again, delivered onto the white hot sand with the glittering ocean to baptize me with it's blue. Summer never felt so good.

The family on the shore had started to walk back in our direction so I closed my eyes to them rather than smile and act straight. Remembering common sense, I put the sharps inside the backpack and as I did, I leaned over to kiss him but he was not breathing. In fact he seemed blue and sprawled under the hoop pines like a rag doll. I rub my eyes and look closer at him. This was the first time I had ever seen someone unconscious. Surreal. His face was patched with purple and his mouth blossomed with blue in the moments that my eyes were fixed upon this unfamiliar face. His eyes were total whites - so still and final - yet turned towards the heavens above.

The beach seemed out of place now. I remember my mouth agape with shock - a second rolled by - then another second later - I wanted to do something. I fact I knew I had to or he would die. So, I am leant over him and I slapped his face as hard as I could bear; trying to raise a response but getting nothing. The prickles of morphine were fading fast as my adrenalin broke through the Heroin. I feel the Strawberry Ripple make an encore appearance as I vomit into the sand beside us. I hope I don't go under as well. What the hell was happening!
I scream out to the people , to anyone that will listen
"I need a phone to call an ambulance." I shout as hard as I can. To anyone that can hear me - he must not die! I have to find a phone. I prop him up gently beneath the pines and I race towards a young couple enjoying a picnic in the shade. An older man sensing my distress is running towards me however talking into his phone. Thank God he doesn’t judge us. He is going to save a life today. He runs alongside me as I take him back to the Ex, still against the pine like death’s puppet. I beg the man to show me CPR and he refuses to perform it on him as he is a drug addict. With not a moment more to waste , I will do the best I can. So, I feel my boyfriends lifeless mouth beneath my own , the slackness as I breathe all my hopes into him. His chest swells on cue and tears meld our faces together. I don’t know if this is how you do it. I saw it on a television show. I will do whatever I can though. I keep blowing in air to his lungs and in the distance I can hear sirens nudging their way through the weekend traffic. A couple of cautious onlookers have gathered around the Pines although nobody came forward to help me.
I think I have done this for about four minutes. I hope I am saving him. As I blew my air into his mouth , I could feel it circle inside his chest then as the swell of his lungs faded, I would hear the air escape his body, making a rattle sound that chilled me to the bone. Was he gone?

Although I can sense bystanders gathering in my peripheral - in that moment it is just me and his expanding chest - That is all I care about. His body was limp and lifeless – his face sagged with the onset of death. He looked really ugly dead. A man wearing board shorts and a singlet tan flags the ambo down : the ambulance humps the gutter and drives through the park, sirens ablaze. People are scrambling to find shoes, picking up plastic wares and picnic baskets. People are screaming and waving. Then the tires are beside me - engine growling -the grille at my face.

"I'm so sorry" I offer to the officers when they push past me with their red vinyl bags and oxygen tanks. It was all I could offer them. It seemed the generic response to everything lately.
"Has he had any drugs, Maam ? " They all lean into my sphere of sadness.
I can only manage to look up at them my sad blue eyes. I shrug my shoulders. There is no more shame left.
"Yes, we have both had Heroin"
My voice broke and I stared at the ground as the lip quivers with fear. That was the clean first person I had admitted this to.
How serious it sounded now, amplified by the sad look the ambulance gentlemen give me. I cannot bare to look at him anymore so I burn my eyes into the horizon. Those waves continued to crash and pound in the distance, the only constant in the landscape. Was its threat to wash our future away with it ? I watched the ambulance officers spread The Ex out on the lawn dragging him from the tree and laying him out like Sunday lunch. They move so fast and I float away from the panic picnic. Just please save him. Please. He really is a good person. You will see.
In the middle of the park, they placed an oxygen mask over his slack jawed face then after no response, proceeded to inject him with Narcaine. Meanwhile all I can do is sit on a park bench praying, just hoping this is not the end. Not today. Please God No. I don't want this to be the last time we ever spoke to each other. I want so much to tell him I love him. I want him alive. More than anything I have ever wanted in my life. In that moment I felt I could love him back to life. Just let me do it. I will never do Heroin again. We will never do Heroin again.
The Narcaine is shot directly into his chest -pure adrenalin to stimulate his heart- he responds immediately. The first thing that he says is my name. It breaks over the crashing sound of the waves. It finds me through my tears and then it just grows louder. Over and over . I push past the officers and stretchers and I find him. He is lying dazed and confused on the lawn. Tears leak down the sides of his sand soaked face. We grip each others hands so tight.
I am so angry I cannot speak. I am so relieved I cannot cry.
'I'm sorry Bub" I stare at the sucker pads on his chest. I am still in shocked that this happened to us.
I shush him. The crowds slowly disperse and the ambo's offer to take him in for observation. We would have to talk about this later. For now, I just wanted to love him. I convince him to go to hospital. To be safe.
And for the first time, he let me and in that moment , I let him have all of me.
In the back of the ambulance we held hands in silence all the way to the hospital, hearts heavy but beating at least, for now.
"She eyes me like a pisces when I am weak
I've been locked inside your heart-shaped box for weeks
I've been drawn into your magnet tar pit trap
I wish I could eat your cancer when you turn black"

7 comments:

Kim said...

Again I'm stunned and so thankful that you have come out the other side.

Kim

shadowx said...

I've spent the past week reading your memoirs in bits and pieces, and although I'm only a little more than halfway through it, I think it's safe to say that you're my new hero, or heroine as you may prefer.

For the past week I've felt like I was living the sad heroine-addicted life of a wise-before-her-years girl who grew up way too fast. I cried, grieved, tap-danced, and smiled with you. You are an exceptionally talented writer, and you have a very unique view about the life you've lived. Sometimes I can't belive that you are only around my age. But, then, on the flip side, it is easy to see why you have overcome your addiction and survived. You're a true butterfly.

You've related to me on so many levels and truly touched me in ways I'll never forget, and I want to thank you for that. I've had a similar life to yours, minus the heroine addiction (I'm quite happy that I have never come into too much contact with hard drugs. I've tried crack cocaine once, and the chalky sweet taste stayed in my mouth for a week. After that, I realized how horribly addictive the hard drugs are and vowed to just stick to marijuana. Thanks to you, you have reinforced that vow, and I will never try heroine or cocaine again)and escort service (although I admit there was a time or two that I've sold my body... that was a low-point), and you've managed to put into words feelings that I have not been able to understand for years... feelings I did not want to understand because it just hurt too much. But those feelings came out in abundance while reading your posts, which often lead to an abundance of crying (which is quite annoying when you're boss comes over to ask you a question and you're sitting there with tears and snot running down your chin!), but it also gave me a deep understanding of myself. You write about the truth of life, and you don't water it down or sugar-coat it like so many others do.

And don't you dare let the discrimination of others get you down or stop you. You really are doing a great thing here. Not just for other people, which I know is driving force that makes you do this, but also for yourself. Sometimes the greatest therapy is just to have someone listen.

I'm listening :-)

shadowx
http://stonerdiary.blog-city.com/

Rambling Rene said...

As always, I send you my love across Sea and Sky. Say hi to the bf for me. Kisses. R.

Doom/Blondie said...

Fucking profound girl.

As in: THAT is fucking profound, girl.


Regards from London

Be safe

My secret life said...

It's so painful to read this. All I can say is -- it figures that you'd be a Nirvana fan, too, and I am SO glad that I never started going down that road!

Mumr Calamus said...

Hmm. Can't tell if this is sad, or cool. I couldn't sleep last night so I put on my headphones and let Nirvana Nevermind lull me to sleep...

stephenliveshere said...

Very few bloggers are able to acheive both quality and qauntity simultaneously. You do, every post.
Your blog is an inspiration to all of us who try to write about our lives. Your stories sober us up, plus the description of the situations you live through wakes us up to how easy we have all had it all for oh-so-long.
I read your work regularly, to give myself inspiration to write better.
There is no doubt that someone will want to publish your work soon!