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.

Saturday, January 08, 2005

All I Want Is You


This is my true story of love and hate , struggle and triumph, obsession and rejection. I have rewritten this memoir now as I was not entirely happy with the first one, hope you like it..
You will find it sad, and some of you may find it inspiring - no idea. Some of it may be similar but about 80% is new. It's all true and beautiful...


You say you want
Diamonds on a ring of gold
You say you want
Your story to remain untold
But all the promises we make
From the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you

The Ex is the only other person that truly lived through what I went through.
I don't know if that makes him responsible or not for the shit we got to up to.
I don't think either of us were very responsible. I always felt I was born a little bit rabid.
Humans always prefer to think it's a chronic case of kindred spirits but in hindsight I see that our love was based around our co-dependence. Ain't love the worst and best drug?

The Ex's influence over my life was/is so intense hence I feel the pseudonym I chose for him doesn't even begin to do him justice. For the enitre six years I knew him, the Ex was such a colourful creature and tortured soul simultaneously. The kind of man that if he wasn't so ruined he could always be brilliant. I found him immensely attractive yet in an outcast/rebellious kind of way. I was young and impressionable girl so I found his rebellious nature extremely appealling. We were intense from day one, we lived and loved our sheer nightmare. Blissfully dismissfully, we built a bubble to protect us from the unknown. We never fell apart because we needed each other more than we loved each other.

Frequently, I speak of the great bond we shared as lovers but we were often jammed together in adversity. Our love seemed doomed with dsyfunction, I could not bare to think it was a hopeless waste of time so everyone saw the disaster way before me. I thought this man could make all my dreams come true, I believed this because back then I sadly hoped a person could make you happy and that's all it took.

You say you'll give me
A highway with no one on it
Treasure just to look upon it
All the riches in the night
You say you'll give me
Eyes in a moon of blindness
A river in a time of dryness
A harbour in the tempest
But all the promises we make
From the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you

Somehow, I never doubted his beauty to transform from the bud to the blossom he could one day be. Indeed, when he was stoned he would assure me that he really did want to be successful and mused that he would make it in the world and I would be taken care of in everyway. I was always going to do my life on my own, so I guess this was his way of trying to switch my focus back onto him.
I would listen to his husky voice as I felt the stone wash over me in waves, trying to stay awake as he fondled the inside of my t-shirt looking for the comfort of intimacy. I had none left for him. The incest issues were kicking in full force and I became very closed to men.
He said that we would be brilliantly happy , but he was miles from that at that moment as the albatross loves to sqeeze tighter if you let it. He let it - all the time.

Therefore, I wasn't convinced that he could ever truly be happy and I guess neither was he. It was no secret that The Ex was never happy with anything in his life and I didn't mind being the one person who could change all of that. I look back and I smile at the things we failed and achieved in.

Then we met Heroin.

Together, The Ex and I continued to stick together against the odds, sometimes riding on a sea of unfriendly smiles. It was no suprise that we became each other's solace, I knew that no-one else outside our drug dependency could possibly understand our love. They just didn't like him, I would think.
Rapidly, it was Us versus The Big Bad World - but I guess that's how I wanted it to be back then. It could've gone different - but it played out like this.

Sickened by thoughts of leaving him to die, I stuck around - and around and around and around. But he never got better, to be honest. He never could, he chose Heroin over us. After all I did for him, I had to let it go. It was harder than the actual drugs.
In fact, I continue to love him , in distant and sad kind of way.

No one thought our love could survive what it did. I guess they will never take away my memories of him , as horrible as some of them are. Our families tried desperately to separate us, thinking that we only encouraged each other's dependence on Heroin. That wasn't true - we both loved it madly and equally. It was a common craving, the main reason why we went so hard yet fell so far.
Sadly, the strength of the addiction became all consuming - all I could do was retreat back into the shadows whilst my family and friends prayed that I would come to my senses. My senses ?
Back then I didn't have any.

Everyday, my partner would inject me and I would come back to life, like he was feeding me intravenously. In exchange, I toiled on my back, from highway to hallways every single day and night. I had no problem disconnecting 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, which wasn't much. The Ex tried to work - but it never seemed to be an ongoing thing. I didn't have time to argue I only had time to get more dope money. So I employed him as my Bodyguard and Boy Friday. I made him earn his dope and do all the menial shit of housekeeping and keep a low profile around the clients. I spent most of my time with clients while he waited in the gardens, beyond the hedges.

After I hand him the money, he would run around town (barefoot and grubby) always willing take the hard hits but he never did win the war. He hated the fact that he had now become accustomed to seeing me with clients. It hurt for him to see me naked and sweaty and tired , it hurt him more when I could never meet his eyes as I handed him the money that felt so hard to let go..
But it was what it was. My body was our sole income yet I noticed he still used a lot of gear, so I guess his concern was negotiable on how much Heroin we had.

Who needs ethics when you have free Heroin? I was stupid. I often wonder if I was exploited by The Ex but I will never know the final truth. I don't doubt we had something, but that something only got worse and he got greedy. I couldn't keep up.

Someone was going to die. I knew it. It wasn't meant to be me. So, he died instead.
You cannot imagine the pain this brings me. I had to leave him. Please believe me.

Suprisingly, by surviving through the worst case scenarios that accompany addiction we earned precious intimacy. It wasn't always love sometimes it was pure hate and anger. The cold harsh reality of drug addiction doesn't have much soul to feast on when your positivity melts away. I said some very cruel things and we had some massive fights. I used to beat him up quite badly but he never hit back - he was just that kind of guy. But was I that kind of girl ?
What had I become ?

Somehow we managed to stick together for at least five years. Every night we would laugh like kings in spite of the cramps and vomiting- I guess my heart never changed. He never stopped telling me that I was wonderful, that I would beat this thing, even if he didn't. We would laugh till we cried. Then it kind felt normal. We both knew that eventually, I would have to leave.
We had become toxic to each other.

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 entwined 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. Were we an infinite affliction of the soul?

Do you remember my face 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. He never came and I know it's becuase you loved me...

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? Why, I still remember the blood and bone fragments sprinkled over both our T shirts and the way your blood was warm but terrible.

On that day I managed to get someone to give us a lift to a hospital so 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 smelt bad sometimes. Even though I sold my soul and even though I was very sick. You understood.
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, lol. Oh well, who cares now .........

I miss you so much baby. Every day I'm thinking of you, I can't believe I am here alive and then I cannot accept that you are gone. It's definately breaking my heart. I miss you - do you hear me say that constantly? I bet you listen from heaven to all my cliches about death and roll your beautiful eyes and laugh.

You are a big part of why I survived - You gave me your food, even though you had not eaten for longer than me - it didn't 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 needed to know we would win over this terrible drug that got way out of hand.. But we never did. I had to leave you and then you ran out of time. I feel so bad for choosing my own life over yours, maybe you will never see that 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 remember what we said and I smile at our passion..

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. You should see how well I am doing - everyone is REAL proud. I wish you could see me , I'm the princess you always thought I was. I do it for me, but I do it for you and your memory. I don't have one single picture of you (of course) but I will NEVER forget your face. Your smile, your touch. You...

Together until the end, that is what people said about us.
Do you remember when you proposed? I do. I felt those butterflies when you placed a rose from someone's garden in my hair and told me you that you could love me forever. I was the happiest girl in the world that day and I hope you know that.
I never got to see how that would unfold.
But my heart and yours are together.
I would marry you tomorrow. But we both know that it will never come. You are dead. I can't talk about it. Not even yet.
It is tragic yet beautiful in all it's blackness.

I'm trying to showing all the "junkie-shamers" that we are good people honey.
I think they are starting to see that we never meant to hurt anyone. I am writing our story and it's so hard but guess what - everyone is real nice ! I wish they could've met you. I really wish that you could've beaten it. I am doing it and boy it is much better than Junk ! Sorry, I don't want to brag. I hope you smile on me still, if only from heaven ?

I chose my path so never blame yourself ! 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 beginning. I am waiting for our day of redemption when I deliver this book to your parents, then you will have peace.
You are an amazing son and a wonderful person that I miss and feel in my life every single waking moment of my blessed life. I made it through baby.
I've really made it though ...

Everyone that didn't understand will finally see - what we survived.
Your story will not go untold.

They Will Never Tear Us Apart,

Your Love

XXX


Waiting for the bad to end is something I have wasted too much precious time on. Heroin is the great remover. It slices you jagged down the middle , ravages you physically and then robs you of anything remaining.
Morals... Memories... Me.
Somehow vanished down the barrel of the syringe.

Heroin left my soul bare and ashamed. My pride was smeared into the ground, my image trodden on with a million bloody footprints, one for each wrong step I took. I felt the flames and I smelt my flesh burning in the fire , maybe I will rise from the cinders today - maybe I won't tommorow ?

But on heroin, I'm just a babe in the woods , struggling to stay alive so you don't care who sees, as long as you don’t have to feel those eyes upon you. You don't see your eyes rolling around your head as you talk to people. But your parents do and the children wonder - what is wrong with that lady on the bus. That lady is me.
How can you explain heroin to a child? I wish someone did to me.


***************************************************************************

Part Two
Picture my skin as pale and pasty, broken up with purple marks snaking around tired eyes. I guess I looked scary huh ?

My clothes , what few that managed not to get stolen, reeked of sweat and despair. The threadbare material clung to my bones, barely disguising the emerging skeleton coming to reach its reality.

Shake, rattle and roll.

In the beginning of the addiction it was a magical and lush parade of dreams. To have the fruits of our youth sprinkled with heroin, was surreal. 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 that good again. The deafening peace of time on heroin. In the early days, you promise yourself that you will keep a grip on the situation. But 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. The Ex would push me on the playground swings as I made plans for us to run-away and start again without needles and grime. Our plans never went right and before I knew it, I was letting everyone down again... But I could never entirely give up hope. I couldn't really fathom being a fucking Junkie forever.
But it happens every single day , claiming lives and ruining the others.

No one ever experiments with Heroin thinking they will become addicts, the minute you fall asleep under the red flags then before you realise, 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. It has been quoted in many historical books that " Heroin is like kissing God." Most people don't see the appeal in the drug until you put it like that. I think it is like kissing the devil.
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 about Heroin addiction. You never really think it could happen to you. It's safer to think that it only happens to losers and uneducated people.
I wasn't the stereotypical "heroin junkie". I didn't walk into my first drug deal thinking I was handing my life over, rolled inside a fifty dollar bill . I ended up handing over everything I ever owned.

I pawned jewelery, furniture,belongings, prescriptions and of course my own body. I still have to replace many things, but I will never get back the time.
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, will it be my final friend or foe? I never guess it would pound me into the dirt , my screams caught in a trickle of poisoned blood.
I never knew I could sleep with so many strangers. But I did it all.

I could barely remember how I used to look before the Heroin took over my appearance. Deathly thin, my hair always looked limp and greasy, my skin was constantly covered in blemishes and strange marks and I smelt terrible, heroin sweat coated my skin. I could feel my body protesting against the harm I was inflicting upon it, polluting it with neglect and dope. Consequently, I often suffered boils, acne and of course my track mark used to be wet and weeping just a manifestation of my insides. It isn't easy to remember how I used to look like, all I know is I looked like the living dead, ever so slowly the drug took hold. My teeth fell out in the shower and I thought I had Aids for a very long time.

I worried about my looks only sometimes, when questioned by The healthy people. You suddenly realize there is no way out. You can't just put down the needle. Hell awaits. "You've changed", is all they say,"You look terrible."

In four short months of agressive binging on dope I had changed into a Junkie. My old life was nearly over. I was halfway to infinite madness and I nearly liked the feeling - Nearly. I still felt I had something that made me different.

Because I knew my worth , I spent all my second chances, just near misses remained. I was my own worst enemy, I thought I was never going to die.
A big fat needle loaded with oblivion was all I had left.
But it couldn't love me they way a person with compassion could.
Heroin is a tragedy of our times. I was at university and I wanted a future.
Then I met Heroin. It was always going to be a struggle against Heroin as my birth mother had been an addict herself. Apparently, that's how she could leave me.
After doing it myself , I can kinder see why.
She doesn't even know that I ever picked up a needle , to try and find some answers but I only found more pain.
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, even after all the pain that scene caused me, 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 I want this to never happen to my children. I'm sure you feel the same?

Sooner or later we will be forced to listen to what the world's decay is telling us. We will begin to question why our children cannot cope on their own and we will see millions more die. More than ever, abused kids are turning to drugs and loosing control in the process. I mean hard drugs here ( like Heroin, Alcohol, Meth and other man-made disasters.)
Try to not think it won't happen to you so it will never affect you. True, you may not be travel my exact path ( That's what I hope at least) However, it might be a friend of a friend. Your parents may be alcholics (like mine is) you may already feel like you have just run out of things to say to try and convince them to stop - will they ever run out of excuses ? I know it's hard to be on the other end of drugs - you don't get the high, you only get the lows.

Besides you are reading my blog right now. So guess what - you're no longer innocent ! Now you can make up your own mind. I hope my story is a tool you choose to use to make an informed choice about how you will value your life. I hope you make the right choice, in fact I know you will.

The next ' druggie' you could meet could be someone you meet in a chat room. Like my boyfriend that was raised in a strictly Christian. How much I have opened his eyes ! Drugs don't kill as much as the ignorance surrounding the actual addicts do. Anybody can feel compassion.

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 countless forums of addicted people who are desperately trying to take the power back - pray for them if you do that kind of thing - they will be visiting my blog one day so you may be able to even pump them up on here.

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

As an addict, I came so close to losing it all. It was a constant battle to keep ahold of my essence. How could I still maintain that I was a good person? It was hard. I thought it was denial, it was easy to blur the lines.
I let that small girl inside of me, play with the notion that I would work it out and I would be safe once again. I remembered who I was only by listening to the people that remembered me before the drugs. These kind people believed that I could do anything when I was growing up - even though that now meant quit injecting Heroin into my scabby arms. How things change ..
My friends and my family. My blog readers, my counsellors. My past boyfriends.
You all help me so much...
I thought that I had fucked everyone over, one too many times. I knew I was alone and it almost made me admit this was my fate.

Then. Someone held out a hand.
Keep in mind, this outreached hand had been badly burnt by me in the past. When I wasn't ready to say "Help me please - I'm drowning here" I meant it now.
This hand was so scared to touch me. I was not a friend anymore , I was a parasite on my own body , I was sick and twisted underneath the heroin scum.
But that hand still managed to believe in me and I bathed in it's beauty. Clean.
Now you know what it means. I'm clean. It sounds so nice and good.
I can't tell you how much I soared after that. It was just my time.
Heroinegirl started the staircase to the stars and now I'm enjoying the marvellous view , halfway to heaven.

To the addicts or abused that read along and feel helpless. I hope you try and embrace this compassion. Try your best to understand it and to follow the advice of professionals and those that know you and want the best for you.
Don't let your life slip away - when so many others had no choice.

You have two hands , look at them!
Now I want you to reach out. Cherish !
Whether you need the hand to be offered or you know you need to be the one offering your hand - do it now - the world won't stop spinning. Make a move before the opportunity vanishes altogether. (By the way, I don't mean vanish as in actual death, I mean your soul vanishes forever, but death may happen too.)

We are not victims! If turn your back and hope it will go away you will always, always wish that you hadn't. To people reading this might say,"I have tried to get them to stop taking Drugs and it's useless !!" , It may not feel like you made any impact but knowing that you tried makes a difference to an addict or an abused person. We are all sharing this universe, so trying to heal it can only mean better things for everyone, now and in the future.

Believe that addicts can turn their life around! Believe that you can maybe help!
When you care, it's another hammer crashing through the plaster cast that has your friend, your lover, your sibling trapped inside. Maybe you only have energy for just one crack at the hammer or maybe you want to get in there and destroy it. But they ALL add up ! Then before you know it , they are smashing it themselves and when you see that first true smile - you will never, ever forget it.
Just ask my Father. He still looks at me at tears well up.
Bless him.

In time, the casing will crack and fall to the floor - I am living proof.

I never went to Narcotics Anonymous, knowing that I personally needed to be healed by those people that had been through my life. You can't deny that some of those same people hurt you, even if your sober. I'm still on that journey of forgiveness and I WILL get there. It's all on the way to the stars...

Compassion saved my life and it's ok to be frightened. It's ok to be angry with an addict for the damage the drugs caused to everyone involved. But it's not worth continuing pain and anguish as Heroin does make a person sick. Drug abuse happens to good people too !
I speak for all of us ! I believe in you.
There will come a day when you will get an apology or explanation from a healed addict. Have faith, it will come ! Everyone needs time to heal, it doesn't happen overnight, you know the rest ;).

I said to my family - If you can forgive me, then I can forgive you.
But do not forget each other. Never turn your back. That is not ok.
Just ask my Mother. I'm sure she wonders what ever happened to me.
Maybe she is dead. It's been twenty years.


***************************************************************************
Part Three

Every morning the scene would play out the same. The Ex and I hardly ever ventured outside, if only to try the dealers again from a public phone .
I was so pale and frail at the time that I could feel the sun seer my skin for I recoil into the sweaty alcoves only to return to pain and loathing.

Waiting in the darkness, tossing and turning in the sweat drenched sheets, I am cloaked in chills and a growing edge of discomfort. My sense of smell is so acute, I can 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 cigarette as I hear my own empty stomach whine. We are no longer buying groceries so there is no food for us today, I drink my third glass of water instead. Heroin will make us better, that's what I keep telling myself.
Before I can finish the third gulp of water, I rush into the bathroom with vomit leaking from my hands. However, The ex is already using the toilet, the putrid smell of shit and vomit only makes my stomach heave in protest. It was just as easy to grab a saucepan from the kitchen, so there I am, choking over ribbons of bile , filling up the silver pan. My limbs creak in protest when I make a hasty retreat to the darkened bedroom, the place where I want to finally and gratefully die. I know how pathetic this seems ! I'm trying to show you that part of the addiction was knowing that a shot of heroin stops this feeling in an instant. A seemingly beautiful instant.


I remember thinking that I must rise from this bed to try and ease the cramps. My head just won't stop. Talking delirium gabbering to my broken will. What a fucked up headcase I was when I was sick. It was pure evil.
When you are dope sick nothing is considered too crazy. If it means you will get a hit to stop the spiraling sickness.
This is when you may steal, rob or do whatever you have to do. It's common and what gives junkies not a very good image. I don't believe in stealing, no matter what. I always knew people worked very hard for nice things, I knew this because my family never had anything special. But for men, it is harder, they may not feel comfortable dealing or doing sex work. It's a quick path to Gaol from there.

But, you can manage a huge habit without ripping off your mates/mum and dad/dealer.
But it's VERY hard. There isn't a medal awarded to those addicts who succeed in holding onto their dignity when everyone else hooked on Hammer will beat you to death if you give them a dope-sick moment to think about it.
Your life still falls apart regardless of how much you think you are holding it together. Heroin builds tolerance, so you need more and more and more.
Nothing gets better from this horrible scenario, you just get sicker and sicker and sicker.


The only relief from the dopesick was when The dealer would arrive with the gear. 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 from so many people - sometimes it sprayed onto the ceiling with deadly comedy. My blood stained all the sleeves on my clothes. All over the floors and all down my arms. Disgusting.

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. Nobody said it was easy.. though no-one ever said it could be this hard.

Your body becomes the silent enemy in the corner. You plot to win against 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 realize 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 numbness. It was persistent 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 working the streets for a couple more hours , peddling my wares up and down the ghost highway. I'm out in the grey early morning and the fog is like cashmere on my skin , I am more tired that you could ever believe. But I get the money. That's the main thing. Singing inside, I slink back into our motel room as I hear the tourists awaken for breakfast. It didn't’ matter that I had to wake up two hours later just to do it all over again. I knew that as long as I was stoned I would be able to do it. It's the cycle some working girls get stuck in.
That's why it was a good feeling thatI now had money to score, so I pushed what I had to do for that money to the back of my mind. It was my goal to become entirely mechanical.
Some kind of superhuman. Pfft.

It felt like putting my body up for dope money was the easiest thing to do and the hardest thing to forget. I felt so noble, such a loving, caring girlfriend, that I could switch off my own self and earn money to do so.
Being a hooker seemed to stop the pain of poverty for both of us, yet another hit of brown only leads to another hit of brown. It was a vicious cycle, I know. We knew it every single moment.

Exhausted, I collapse into bed where the Ex sleeps peacefully and my mind wanders to picture days like the ones I actually live now, days where I'm clean and grateful for the flowers and the never-ending blue skies. I needed to believe that I could find my way out through the madness,. I shut my eyes to pray for this but I fall so fast, like an angel with a broken wing, I plummet into sleep, kept alive by only nightmares that form solid secrets under the stained mattress.

Today things are much better and I look like a normal pretty girl. I am the happiest I've ever been, save for one tiny detail;

Even though I love my life and all the pretty, maybe I would trade it in tommorow- just to see him alive again. Just to show him how to live.

Beyond the princesses and flowers ....
All I really want ...is you.

Today I send you this memoir...from the harbour in the tempest..I will survive.

You say you want
Your love to work out right
To last with me through the night
You say you want
Diamonds on a ring of gold
Your story to remain untold
Your love not to grow cold
All the promises we break
From the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you

This memoir created whilst listening to this song
All I Want Is You by U2

Ed- Longest post ever - Make sure every single reader swings by and vote for me as Most Inspirational Blog Please!!!
At the moment I think I'm second so it's very close - hee hee !

I love you guys...
I look forward to your comments :)
Have a good weekend.
Heroinegirl
XXXX


3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Wow, this is an amazing work. I feel as if I understand and yet this is a parrallel life to mine, different and twisted in its own way. So many similarities and so many differences. --sam paul

Anonymous said...

you are amazingly strong and brave, I wish I were as strong as you.

TerminallyUniq said...

You are absolutely brilliant! I love your work; with every word, the reader can feel its painstaking journey to be born, feel your journey spilled onto the page, a masterpiece! God bless!