that smell

there’s this smell, so familiar. it comes in many variations, flavors, and potencies. it arrives at different spots along the junky timeline. the ever-present smell of dope.

i can’t explain it, it’s like nothing else on earth, it’s so specific. so alluring, and so nausiating at the same time.

the smell of dope, powder form, can make your mouth water, you like it even better wet. good, dark dope, just ready to be drawn up. pure. euphoric. in those last seconds before you tap the bubbles out of your rig, the smell that’s in the air, heroin, permiating. it could make you break a sweat.

then there’s the smell of dope, residual. after you’ve done your last shot, before you go out to cop again. it’s in the cap you used to cook, it’s in the empty bags, and it’s on the hand you used to shoot with. breath it in deep, and you almost feel a rush. you want it so bad in that moment.

then there’s the other side of it. there’s the smell of it on your first day of kickin. on your hands, no matter how much you wash. all you want to do is forget about getting high. but all it takes is a deep breath and there it is again. no escape. you can equate the first moments of being sick with that smell. it always comes from your hands.

and then there is the worst smell ever. the most vile, grotesque smell to ever make you vomit. dope sick. some twisted, mutilated version of dope smell. it’s in you, it literally leaks from your pores. you cannot wash it off. its in your hair, in each drop of cold sweat, capping each goosebump. on your bedsheets and all your clothes. everyone can smell it, but no one can put thier finger on it. but you know.

it invades your nostrils and makes residence. i hate that smell more than anything. and to be honest, it disapears the moment that diesel hits your bloodstream. you push that stopper down and it all washes away, especially that god forsaken smell of sickness.

such a perfect love-hate relationship.

under pressure

i suppose behind every junky is a nice long story, not an excuse, but an explaination. what happened in my life to bring me to such a place. this weekend was a perfect example of my dysfunctional backstory…

my brother aaron and i have always been close. i have always looked after him. through the bloody divorce of our parents, when i was six and he was two, through a childhood riddled with suicide attempts and drug addiction (on both our parts). it was never easy for us, but we always had each other.

the past few years have come and gone and we have stuck together through it all. through my super abusive boyfriend, a quick cameo by our super abusive father, and my fledgling addiction to hardcore drugs, as well as aaron’s ever-growing affection for binge drinking. see, he takes after me and our father in this aspect. we are genetically dispositioned to drink in excess and then hurt ourselves and those around us. i was infamous in my teen years…i once got hammered on vodka and orange juice, i broke my own nose. but that’s a story for another day.

aaron and i were doomed from the start. fucked up childhood followed by fucked up adulthood. but none of that prepared me for what went down this weekend. aaron has an ultraviolent streak, but he never takes it out on me. until now.

it all started when we met up with some good friends of mine. kurt and his girlfriend lynn are people i know from before the dope game. kurt and i dated years ago (yet another story for another day). but when he heard i had gotten into dope, which he has been a slave to for 15 years, we started hanging out again. you need people you can trust around you. and you can only trust people you know from outside the game. period. so when he called i was happy. we hadn’t really seen each other in a while. so we went over his house, got some shit, and partied. mostly coke. we had a good time. but we stayed out too late, didn’t go to work the next day, junky drama. we came home and casey went to visit his brother. i slept in, why not, i’m not working.

i am most abruptly awoken around 4:30pm, by aaron and my mother arguing. (unbenounced to me, aaron had polished off a liter of souther comfort earlier in the day) aaron was screaming, schrill and violent.

“so i can’t party at the house but kaia can fucking shoot heroin in her room, is that how it is around here, is it?”

this should be interesting i think, as i get dressed to see what all the comotion is about.

from what i can gather, aaron got busted partying at home, which mom doesn’t approve of, he’s only 20, and he throws huge parties. you can’t look the other way, they take up you’re entire line of vision. so instead of taking the responsibility, and sending the underage girls home, he shifts the focus to the sleeping girl upstairs.

he laid it on thick too, told mom i was selling dope out of her house, which i would never do. i do alot of shit, but i’ve got no reason to do that. he told mom he’s seen me nodded out in the kitchen, also a lie. he said alot of things, and i was hurt, but i was ready to let it all go. then mom left to get some space, and he came to my room.

i’ve never seen him like this before. it reminded me so much of my father, when i was younger. i swear,up there i was a scared little kindergartener again. he came in calmly enough.

“what’s up” i said looking up from the t.v. i had decided to wait for aaron to come to me, because if you approach him before he’s ready, he gets violent (the many holes in the household walls can attest to that fact)

“what the fuck is up with you kaia” i could see the hurt look on his face.

i tried my best to explain what’s going on with him. “listen, i’ve been doing my best to stay clean, but i fuck up once in a while.” i saw him get a little madder. ” i know you thought you saw me selling drugs, but i wasn’t. i was giving a friend some suboxone, to help her stay clean too.” he was still getting angrier, more confused. “i know you think it’s an all or nothing thing, but it’s not, it’s trial and error, it takes time.” and with this he snapped.

now, i’ve heard my mom say aaron is just as bad as dad, but i never believed her. she’s a drama queen, i thought, she just doesn’t understand us, he’d never hurt me.

these thoughts were running through my head, as aaron put his hand on my throat and pinned me to the bed.

“time? you need fucking time? you need to fucking smarten up. you are lucky i even let you live here, you skinny little junky bitch. mom has no say, her fucking husband has no say, i make the rules, i do. you are fucking lucky.”

my heart is in my troat. i can’t breath i can’t breath. “i’m sorry”

“you’re fucking right you’re sorry. do you even know what you are doing to me, do you even care. i could kill you right fucking now. you are lucky i don’t slit your throat right now. i don’t even have a sister, no father, no sister. you dumb junky bitch. you think i’m gonna let you stay here and do that shit. fuck you. fuck you.” he’s tapping me in the head, with one finger, harder each time. i can see how hurt he is. part of me feels so bad, but i’m overwhealmed by fear. he’s screaming so much his face is fireengine red, and he’s spitting all over me. i can remember that moment of lucid thought. i’m going to die in my pajamas with spit all over my face.

this went on for about an hour. i’d try to get up and he’d pick me up and throw me down on the bed again. “i’m not done with you.” at one point, he raised his hand and i just backed up as far as i could into the corner. i really was just a scared little girl. i put my hands on my head and just screamed “aaron, don’t hurt me don’t hurt me please aaron don’t hurt me.”

and he back away, and put a hand on my head, patting my hair softly. he had tears in his eyes, and he looked like i’d slapped him in the face “kaia, i would never hurt you, how could you say that?” and i cried and he cried and i realized that we never had a chance to be normal. we were taught since day one that there are two ways to cope; you beat the shit out of your problem, or you drown out the noise with whatever drug you can rustle up. i went the violent way for a few years, but it didn’t suit my temperment. aaron seems to have it mastered.

casey came home and found me on the floor in the bedroom, curled up with my teddy bear, crying. aaron tried to start with casey too. he blames casey for my addiction, just like casey’s mom blames me for his. aaron came at casey with fists, but casey just picked me up off the floor and we left.

we had to stay away for almost a week, until aaron calmed down. my mother feared for all of us, and herself. you never know what he’ll do, so its best not to provoke. we came home today after spending a week on the streets (one more for another day), and i talked it out with mom and aaron. but i can see it in his eyes. we crossed that line. he beat on me, just like he beats on everyone else. i’m not speacial anymore. and although i’ll love him forever, more than anyone else, it won’t be the same. because now to him i’m a junky, and to me, he’s another abuser.

my first time

it was the day before christmas. we were driving around with our friend marc, and this girl he copped with, alicia. i had been blowing dope for about six months by this time, and we were out on the hunt again…

marc had been a friend of mine before i even met casey. i had known marc for years. he had a reputation around my hometown for being a junkie. it never really bothered me, but my friends had always had a field day with it. telling stories that always ended up being lies, blaming him for shit getting stolen when he wasn’t even around. to be truthful, marc is probably the closest thing to an honest addict that i’ve ever seen. he doesn’t rip off his friends, except maybe shorting a bag once in a while. he doesn’t steal from anyplace except stores, and even though he been shooting dope since i’d known him, he’d never offered, or made it look glamourous, even when i had money he could’ve used. even when we started getting high together, he never offered to shoot us up, never made it cool. he was looking out for us, in his own way.

so you could imagine the look on his face when this shit went down.

“you ever boot it?” she asked, her eyes shining from the backseat.

“nah” i said. “it never came up”

“when here it is, what do you think”

my heart was racing, as well as my mind. is this the person i really am? not only a dope fiend, a junkie, but one that shoots? is this a bridge i really want to cross, only to be desperate to get back again, in a year, or six months? “sure” i could see the look on casey’s face, and marc’s. casey and i exchanged some words about it, and now that i look back on it, i really pushed it. i don’t know if he’d be shooting today, if it wasn’t for me.

so we score a half bundle, and a clean set of works from some diabetic in the city. and then she looks at me with that same sparkle in her eye. she’s so damn excited, i thought. kinda creepy.

“you should get in the back seat with me”

so i switch seats with marc and get in the back with alicia, a girl i met two hours ago, and watched her cook dope which she was getting ready to shoot into my arm. i am completely out of control. but this is the mindset of a junkie. i know its dangerous, i know its crazy. i know we should pack our shit and move to a rehab in the utah mountains. but all i can keep my eyes on is the bottle cap full of heroin, and this needle in the girl’s hand. none of that shit seemed to matter. even though the whole time she’s setting me up, marc is telling the story of his first shot. this involved a hardcore overdose, a trip to the e.r. and a shot of narcane. i’m sure this was marc’s non-invasive way of telling us to watch our shit. he had put the notion to bed every time i mentioned booting, until now. i guess he realized it really wasn’t his call. but i knew he was worried. another one bites the dust.

but still i sit there, giddy with anticipation of this high. like it’s the one i’ve been waiting for my whole life.

“you better roll up your sleeve, sweety.” she snaps me out of my drug induced little fantasy. we had already gotten high, and i was pretty jammed. i’m not sure if that had anything to do with my decision, and to me, that was irrelivent.

i roll up my sleeve, and she raps the string from her sweatshirt around my arm, tight. my chest feels like its going to explode, my breath is shallow, at best. she tapping my arm, looking for a vein. i look away, blink hard. we were driving by a house i used to score coke at. i remember the way the streetlights were hitting the house, making it look omnious, like in a horror movie. i feel a pinch, and its over just like that. i lick the blood off my arm, and alicia askes me how i feel.

“okay” as the word falls out of my mouth i am soaked in a wash of warmth. i start to giggle. i feel like i just tumbled out of a dryer. fuzzy, confused, my head ringing. i put my head back and let the ride take over. i knew in that moment. it wouldn’t be the last time.

in the shadows

casey and i went to a party at a good friend’s house. a good friend that doesn’t use dope. this always complicates things, doesn’t it?

jarod and his girlfriend rachel are kids we met through the music scene we are into. we go see live music alot. jambands mostly, phish, and my favorite the disco biscuits. the kids that see these shows make up a community, and we travel all over the place for shows, get hotels together, and rage it hardcore. these shows are legendary for the drugs, but it’s the kids that bring that on, not the bands, or promoters or venues. the bring the tunes, we supply our own party. and the funny thing is, these kids will do anything you put on their plate. ecstacy, coke, freebase, lsd, dmt, nitrous, uppers, downers, painkillers, horse tranquilizers. but no heroin. i repeat, no dope. it is sacriligous to even mention the h word. so when word got out about mine and casey’s dirty little secret, i thought we’d lost them for good as friends. but to my shock and amazment, they stuck it out with us. we have an unspoken agreement, a “don’t ask don’t tell” type thing; we shoot up in the bathroom and say we’re showering, and they pretend to believe us. it’s working so far, and i’m grateful, because they are such good friends, and it really helps to have them there for us. going to shows is a huge part of our life, and they are a huge part of going to shows.

so we went up to jarod’s house friday night, and the party was just getting started. we copped some coke and got to drinking. we were having a good time, but i always have this nagging feeling in the back of my head at parties like this. at first when we started mainlining, i wanted to keep it out of our freind’s houses all together. casey always disagreed. the first couple times, he’d sneek the sets in the house and make up shots in the bathroom. i’d get all pissed off, telling him how disrespectful it was and how jarod would lose his shit if he saw a fucking needle in casey’s hand. then i would grab my set and do a fat coke shot. i know, i suck.

and as time has gone on, we pretty much have gotten used to being clandestine users. we blow lines with them, but more for show than anything. then we make excuses to go outside, in another room, out to the car, or to the bathroom. this is how we juggle parties. the funniest part is, these kids freebase, often. so they assume most of the time that we are cooking the coke and we just don’t want to share. that works for me.

but it still gets to me. whenever we are in the bathroom, and i’m watching casey on the floor mixing shit up, i feel guilty. every time i hear someone in the next room stumbling drunk, i get nervous and put my back against the door. everytime i put that needle in my arm, i wonder what we’re missing, if anyone has noticed were missing yet, what’s gonna happen when we finally get caught.

but it doesn’t stop us. me and casey just keep on poking, keep on partying, and hope for the best. i feel bad and all. but then there’s still that central theme of hipocracy. my tour friends, who will sometimes stay up for four days straight, smoke hundreds of dollars worth of coke in one night, are worried about us. “i can’t believe you would choose to do this with your life, kaia. could you pass the pipe, please?”

you have to see the humor in that.

i woke up sick at jarod’s house today.we tried calling kristi, our dealer, to come get us. she was sleeping still, and i couldn’t wait any longer. so casey and i took suboxone and went back to bed. and since suboxone makes it chemically impossible to get high for twelve hours after you dose it, i’ve had pleanty of sober-time (worst kind of time) to reflect on the weekend. now that i’m safely in the comfort of home, i realize that jarod and rachel aren’t trying to be hippocrites. it’s just easier to see what’s in front of you than what’s on your face.

i worry about casey all the time. how much he eats, all the long hours he works, his fucked up relationship with his mother. i am always trying to protect him. keep him from getting hurt, getting sick, getting ripped off. i don’t really stop to wonder about myself. i’m a big girl, i can handle it, I think. but i would hate to see casey in any pain. and its the same way with your friends. jarod and rachel just wanna have a good time hanging out with us, they don’t like to see us losing weight, nodding out, or getting dopesick after a long night of blowing lines and “talking” by ourselves. they just want to see us do good, and have good times. they are real friends.

and in this game, people like that are rare.

counting the minutes

counting the minutes

i’ve been up for about 12 hours already. i have not been sleeping like i used to. casey, everloving boyfriend and partner in crime, decided it would be best if we tried to keep clean til payday. that way, when we do get money, we can spend it on scoring and not paying off debts for all the shit i fronted on credit all week. it seemed like a good idea until i actually had to stay clean. what a long 3 days it was. i know it sound pathetic, but it’s my life, and i can’t help how i feel. we had some suboxone (godsend drug that will oneday replace methadone as the doctor’s little helping in the dope world), and that helped, but i don’t work and he does, so after the initial sickness was over, i haven’t had any. i was doing okay, til yesturday.

when *kristi and shane came to get me. we were supposed to go the needle exchange in cambridge (part of boston) and i had spent the entire night before trying to borrow money from my brother and his friends so i could have something to put in those nice clean sets (needles i.e. “set of works.) but i was not successful. as soon as i got in the car, shane was setting up a set full of really dark dope, and i realized how long the ride would be if i didn’t get high. maybe i should just stay home.

nah, fuck it, i had to get those sets, or the bruises on my arms would just get worse. i hate the bruising that comes with using dull needles, not to mention the infections you can get. we try to be safe, but when you live an hour or more from the needle exchange, and a clean set goes for $5+ on the street, you bend the rules sometimes. so i had to go. i got in an got ready for a long, shitty ride.

about 20 minutes into the ride, i started talking about my predicament. after watching them shoot like 5 bags between them, it was most definatly on my mind.

” so i’ve been clean for like three days”

“good for you, kid.” shane said looking back at me. man, he was jammed.

i then mentioned my issue with cash, and how i didn’t think first about how hard it would be for me to drive down to boston and not get high with them. kristi handed me a bag and told me to shut up. if i wanna bag just ask.

i still don’t know if i was subcontiously hinting to her, or if she was just being nice, but i took it and without hesitation, threw away the whole week of sobriety. i think my hands were actually shaking with anticipation. and it was sweet. absence makes the heart grow fonder.

we got a couple bags of rock (crack cocaine) and headed to the city.

see, as i’m sure it is with alot of addicts, we don’t discriminate. sure, dope is my #1, don’t tell her any different, but i can do any other drug with the best of them. i have had the rare opportunity to be addicted to almost any drug you can think of. i had a very rough time with crystal meth, boughts with excessive use of ecstacy and acid, and may have very well been a binge drinker in high school. but i really came into my own selling coke. i loved it, didn’t make much money, but i was the life of the party and i partied for free. what more could a girl want. i smoked alot for a while, but it all changed when i started shooting.

shooting brought me to a whole new level. i’m sure some of you understand. but for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. however high i got on coke, the comedown sucked that bad. however high i got on dope, the sickness after was that sicker. it’s just the way life is, you play you pay. i’ve come to terms with it.

so it was an intersting ride to boston, pulling over periodically so shane could puke. poor kid. you’d think after so many years in the game he’d have his sea legs. kristi and shane are two of my best junky friends. they are both a little older than me, and they party hard. but they take good care of me, and they have good connections. they are good friends. that’s why i was glad we were all going to the exchange together. i don’t want anyone else getting hurt.

we went in and got our clean sets and it was over as soon as it started.

but, as it is in these parts, one day of fun equals one day after of hell. i only did two bags yesturday, but now i’m so fucking sick. it’s like i fell right back into my habit. but whatever, casey gets paid, and kristi will be here to pick me up soon, and it will all melt away.

and i just sit here, counting the minutes

on pins and needles

i feel like every move i make is under the microscope. casey and i have been living with my parents for almost three months now. at first, we thought we were slick. riding under the radar. family and friends had known for sometime that “something wasn’t right” but they couldn’t put a finger on it. until one saturday night, when casey’s mom came down to my mom’s house.

we were out, at our dealer’s house. quiet weekend night shooting coke and talking politics. i got a frantic call from my mom on my cell, something about casey’s mother, our safe with needles in it, and asorted other hellfire and damnation. it was a rough scene. i tried my best to talk mom down, but i can’t begin to understand what it must feel like to find out your oldest, and only daughter is a junky. it must’ve really hurt.

i was livid with casey’s mother. *sara had always hated me, blamed me for all of casey’s bad behavoir. i’m sure that’s a common reaction. but the reality is, he was into shit way before i crossed his path. but i never had the heart to break that to her. so i let her blame me and kept quiet. until she went to my mom.

my mom is a fragile person. and sara just laid into her. if she’d been a better mother, i wouldn’ve been a better kid and casey would’ve been okay. tired old denial. not only was it my fault now, but my mom’s.

like i said, i can’t understand what it must be like. casey is sara’s youngest, her baby. and even though he’s almost 28, she still treats him that way. so maybe she overreacted, trashing his room, going through all our stuff, breaking into the safe, finding used sets of works (all our old needles) and about a million baggies with little cartoon characters on them. various pills and random shooting tools. it must’ve been quite a shock. but i maintain my opinion, she had no right to go to my house and make my mom cry. she needs to learn to deal, accept the fact that casey’s fucked and maybe, just maybe it’s nobody’s fault but his. abstract concept…

so, in the past few months since we were outed as junkies, its been so tough. i’m new to this, so i’m not used to people mistrusting me, acting like i’ve been shady all along. we’ve done our fair share of hustling for dope money, but never stolen, like really stolen, from any family. sara changed the locks on her doors and put all casey’s shit in storage. that stings. like she was trying to erase us, erase him.

but people take all of this personally. all the lies we’ve told. even if we’ve never stolen her checkbook, or sold her computer, she still feels betrayed. we stayed at her house for over a year, using every day, staying out all night, sleeping all day. and she knew. deep down she knew, but wouldn’t accept it.

and all that spills over into how we live now. my family doesn’t trust us. they look us over with those eyes, every time we ask to borrow the car. when i tell my mom i need money to see the doctor. (often times i’m still lieing about that one) and every time i come downstairs with a long sleeve shirt on, they wonder. and they’re right. i’m still covered with bruises and tracks. we keep telling them we’re clean, hoping they don’t think about it too much.

and my parents are quieter about it than sara was. they’ve learned the lost art of looking the other way. they grew up with me, and i’ve been out of control for a very long time. it’s just gone from teenage sex sleepover and acid parties to quiet nights shooting coke and dope til the sun comes up. it’s always been something with me. now its quieter and there’s less people involved, but they know the stakes are higher. i’m just praying if we stay to ourselves, time will just go on, and casey and i will fade into the background.

then maybe we can all relax.

back’s to the wall

i’m new here, so be gentle. i’m 24, and i’ve been partying for as long as i can remember. i remember thinking “i can do this, balence this life” because i had a job and a place of my own. i went shopping all the time, my friends were cool, and i was their “in” you know, the hookup. i was the girl that could get shit. no matter what time it was or how much you had to spend. anything you wanted. coke, rolls, benzos, you name it. it made me feel good, to be the life of the party.

then the party changed a little for me. it started as it does with lots of kids. pills. percs, vics, you know, small time shit. i met casey, my current boyfriend, about two years ago. he sold me some oc’s. romantic, huh? from there, it went to morphine, and i still thought i had it together.

my friends were starting to give me shit. “you know, girl, that’s heavy. you need to watch yourself.” i thought it was funny, because they would be telling me this while clearing thier nose for a huge line of coke. it was hippocritical. even if they were right, they were addicts too.

so, as time went on i started to notice little things about me, new things. if i didn’t get high before work, i felt tired and irratable, my body hurt. but it was probably in my head. when you’re not high, you think about it more, make up reasons to get high. it will take away this backache. of course it will. it was about the first time *casey went to detox, i was still new to the scene and thought he was making a big deal out of nothing. the first night he was in, i went out and got an eightball with some friends of mine. i told them where he was and they started in on the same old shit. “cut your losses and run, it will only get worse” what did they know.

it was a few months later i finally realized we may be in a bit of a pickle. casey had been working out of state, staying in a hotel, and i had been at home on my own. getting pills here and there, just having fun. until one weekend, i went down to visit joe in his hotel. he had been spending inordinate ammounts of money on drugs lately and i couldn’t figure it out. cuz he’d come home and get oc’s and fentanyl patches from our regular girl, and their was a guy we saw in the city. he must be seeing him alot more than i knew of, cuz he was broke all the time.

so the weekend went by without incident, we did a lot of coke, ate some ecstacy, and ate a fair ammount of patch too. i was feeling woosy in a good way for a while. then sunday rolled around, and i had eaten all the patch the night before. casey had had barely any. (which didn’t make much sense to me, he should’ve been sick by then) i had never been sick before, not from withdrawl. i always told joe it was in his head. a reason to score more shit. it may have been the most wrong i’ve ever been. that day i learned my lesson…

my stomach was killing me, i kept puking. my muscles were tight and twitchy, my bones hurt, my actual bones. it felt like i had sand i my blood. i was sweating, but so damn cold. it was unlike anything i had ever felt before. i was crying. “you’re sick” casey said, calmly. “that shit’s for junkies” i snapped, rolling around on the bed like linda blair. he just laughed. this went on for another hour or so, until i started screaming “do something, how can you be so fucking calm.” by now, i knew he was holding out on me. i’d seen him go to the bathroom three times in the last two hours. did he think i was an idiot? i’d been doing drugs incognito since i was 13 years old.

“i’ve got one thing, but i don’t think you’ll want it”

“why don’t you let me make that decision”

“it’s pretty heavy, kaia”

“do you see me” i’m up on my knees on the bed, soaking wet with sweat, pale and weak from getting sick. “anything is better than this.”

“it’s dope”

i just sortof sat there, in shock. we had been together for over a year at this point, and i thought we had no secrets. i guess i was wrong.

and dope, you know, that’s like the final frontier of drug addiction. you can blow lines, eat rolls, you can fucking smoke crack, but you can’t do heroin. everyone knows that. it’s the end of the line. i always told myself i was in control, i always told myself “you’ve got boundries, you know your limits, you aren’t unscrupulous. you don’t do heroin.

so this, yeah, it was heavy.

but i was so sick, i felt like i was dying. it was so hot in there. and there he was at the desk, all non-chalant, dumping out this brown shit on the table top, cutting it out into lines.

i had so many questions. “where did you get it” “how long have you been doing this” “why didn’t you tell me” ” are you hooked on this shit” “how much have you spent” “what does it do to you” “how does it make you feel” “is it safe”

but none of that mattered as much as feeling better. killing this aching, pulsating virus in my little body. so i put aside all the shit in my head, walked over to the desk, sat on casey’s lap, and did my first line of dope ever.

it’s been a year since then, i’ve been shooting for about six months. i’ve lost 55 pounds, all my old friends, my house, my car, even my cell phone. all the things i held onto to prove to myself that i wasn’t an addict.

but it’s now, when i’m an undeniable junkie, that i look back and realize, i was a junkie all along. just because i didn’t do heroin, just because i was a “funtioning addict” that doesn’t change the fact that i used drugs, all my life, to supress things i didn’t like, to make things i did like better, and to get through everyday life. and the first step is admitting you have a problem, right. ha ha.

so here goes the first step. hi, i’m kaia, and i’m a junkie.

*i’ve been asked to change the names of all the kids in my blog, so, you don’t know me