running ragged

it’s been a while since i’ve had a chance to write. we’ve been through the mill these past few weeks, and i’ve been tied up in the 24 hour job of survival…. jesse and i spent a couple weeks sleeping in the xtera after a dispute with my  mother.  (you know any time money goes missing it’s the junky that took it, right?)  so false accusations were followed by heated words, which were followed by us toughing it out in the back of the nissan….parked in a stop n shop parking lot. being homeless is never fun, no matter if it lasts two weeks or two months.  we had been doing okay drug-wise, but after that blowout my “fuck it” attitude kicked in and we went on a little run.  after my  mom cooled down, she let us come back to the house. (the fact that the 200 that was missing was attributed to my father, and not us, was most helpful. ha)  we’ve been home since the middle of may, pulling interviews at temp agencies in the city, getting high more often than not.  the sober house thing turned out to be harder than we anticipated.  i really need a job first, cuz there is no way i can borrow the 500 needed to move in from my parents. things at home, not so good. the house is -yet again- in forclosure, and my mom has spent the past week in the hospital with two herniated discs in her back, and 100mg of fentanyl running through her system. (she is friggin waisted right now)  so she’s not working, and my alchoholic step father certainly isn’t bringing home the bacon….so who knows, we may be sleeping in the xtera again sooner than we’d like.

but right now we are just trying to enjoy having a bed to sleep in.  we drive an hour to the city most days to do the job hunt, and to cop on days we choose to get high.  on days we don’t we hang out in the pool and just spend time loving each other.  i don’t care if that sounds cheesy or not, it’s the truth. i am really trying to soak up every second i get to spend with jesse….cuz when we do go back to work, this will be a time we look back on and really enjoy.  getting to sleep in every day and wake up in each others arms,  making out in the pool with the sun beating down on us,  watching our celts bring home the eastern conf. title, and hopefully the championship (come on pauly, i know you can do it!!)

the unemployment has been a godsend, we can give what we can to my mom….which is not that much.  i would give her more if she would put it toward bills or the mortgage, but whenever i give her money, she gets a mani-pedi, or buys tickets to the sox game, so whatever.

so it’s been a rough go of it for a while, but things have quieted down, and i’m just enjoying the lull in the action.  we went out today, partied a little, and now we just got out of the pool, had killer sex, and are getting ready to watch the celts beat LA.  what more could you ask for?

if there is anything i learned this past month, it’s not to take anything for granted, because it can all be taken away.  this bed, this boyfriend, my relationship with my mom, or just the simple action of having breakfast with my little brother and driving him to school.  these are the things that make my life livable, and i could lose any or all of it at anytime. and no drug can fill that space.

it feels good to write again.  hope you all are well.

romancing the needle

i am all alone at work today, my codefendant, ehem, coworker, is out today…so i’m just sitting here doing not much of anything….and my sick head is saturated with thoughts of getting high. mmmm…..just a few more days til i have money. and it will be the best high in a long time, becuase jesse will finally be home.

but it’s not just the feeling of getting high that i’m making love to in my mind….it’s the whole experience. i can sit for hours at work and just fantasize about a good blood register on a coke shot. the feeling when the needle hits your skin and goes so smooth. the taste of blood mixed with dope after i lick my arm clean. the bells and whistles after a good coke shot. the sweet silence of a good nod. its enough to make me drool.

and that my friends is the obsession. the obsession to use, the love affair with the ritual of sticking yourself. something i don’t think anyone else would ever understand, unless you are dope’s bitch too.

and that’s me, on my knees begging to be kicked just one more time. please, i fucking need it…..

and need it i do. but i can wait one or two more days. check comes anywhere between tomorrow and friday. i can drink my way through that like nothing. one good things that has come out of jesse going away was that i finally ditched that murderous habit i had. i was doing 500 dollars worth of coke and dope to my head a day, and so was he. that’s a lot of fucking hustling. so while he’s been gone, i’ve returned to a chipping state for the time being….suboxone has been helpful, and the drinking kills time inbetween miniruns.

but my first and true love is the needle…when i’m not high all i wanna do is get high, when i am high all i wanna do is stay that way. never ending love/hate relationship. i’ll just sit here a little longer and dream of that first sweet taste in the back of my throat. mmmmm……

the many faces of obsession

long before i knew i was an addict, i knew something else about myself. i was fat. no matter what anyone said, what the scale said, or what the pictures said, i was fat.

if you are an addict, you may be familiar with the term “substitution” you know….”i won’t get high, but i can drink.” “i won’t party, but a little gambling won’t hurt.” “i’ll lay off the dope, but a valium would be nice.” i think we all do it in one form or another. even caffiene counts, if you want to be a real dick about it…. but one of my unhealtier sustitutions is this food thing.

i’ve been bulemic since seventh grade (for those of you counting along at home that’s 12 years.) i suppose its just another vain (no pun intended) attempt at controling the biohazard i pass off as my life.  i never really paid too much attention to this one, because i was always so fuct up with being an addict. and once i got really hooked on the heavy stuff, and i was barely breaking a hundred pounds, it didn’t matter anymore. i barely ate, nevermind needed to chuck it up when i did eat. i thought i had finally found my happy place, complacent in being a junkbox, and skinny *finally* to boot. i thought i had it made, and i looked great.

(yeah, not so much, looking back)

the point i’m trying to make now, though, is since i got sober i have obviously gained some weight back. and i know i’m not “fat” persay. i weigh 132. i’m 5ft4in tall. i know that’s not grotesquely obese. but i LOOK fat when i look in the mirror. and i feel out of control. like i should be able to decide how much i weigh, and what i fucking look like.

i feel lazy and gross, and it’s really starting to weigh on me. (again, no pun intended)

so in case you’re curious, no, i’m not delusional. i know i’m substituting this obsession for my drug obsession. i know it’s unhealthy, and i know weight is a big relapse trigger for girls. i know all this…and yet i still feel myself slipping into this well of self loathing.

i haven’t been purging. i told josh i have an eating disorder, and he’s been on me like white on rice. so am i obstaining from puking because i know it’s the good thing to do? no. am i afraid to piss off the person holding a place in my life right now? yes.  part of me thinks i told him because i know he’d make a huge deal out of it, and i need that kind of pressure to keep in line. i don’t trust myself as far as this is concerned. i need help.

but there are other ways to control your environment. counting calories, exersize, blah blah blah. and i’m doing all those things. it sounds obsurd when i put it out here, but i started out trying to keep the calorie count down to 1000 a day, then it slipped to 800, then 700. i’ve gone back to being a vegetarian, which makes it easy to say no to food. i’ve been doubling up on caffiene cuz it kills my appetite. breakfast now consists of a sugar free instant breakfast mixed w/coffee instead of milk. (i really am a sick kid)

i exersize every day, and i’m starting to resent going to meetings, cuz it takes up time i could be working out. twisted, really…..twisted. i just don’t feel right unless i can chalk up some time to sweating.

but i don’t know. it’s just so tiring, to slave away to another sick way of life. i know, i know….it’s not looking good. but i don’t know what to do, i’m trying all the tricks i learned in the program. obviously, i’m putting myself out there, i’m asking for help, and i’m bringing it to my hp. i guess i’ll just try to keep it in control (ha) and see how it goes.

these are the days i feel like as soon as i kick one sick life, i’ll just grow another, and suffer on…and on.

conflict

i literally feel like i am cybil sometimes, as if there were really two (or more) totally seperate and unique personalities living in my head. junkbox kaia doesn’t give a shit about any of this crap. she doesn’t care to stay sober, or make a life for herself, or do good things or make people happy. she couldn’t care less about helping other, or even living. she’s got this attitude like “whatever happens happens, i just wanna party.” she obsesses about the last high or the next on, she thinks of ways to get over, and she comes up today and makes life suck all over again.

sober kaia is struggling to really do this right. she works the program to the best of her ability, she tries to stay positive, and do what she thinks is right. she tries to put other people before herself, and she tries to steer clear of sick thinking that will put her in bad space, and maybe ruin all this.

that’s where i’m at right now. half the time i just want to say fuck all this shit, and stick myself. the idea makes my mouth water sometimes. and other times, the thought of going back out makes me want to rip my hair out.

i keep trying to recognize a mental slip before it puts me in a week long downward spiral. this last time almost took me out. you know how they say a relapse starts way before you actually pick up. well, they’re right. i see now, certain behaviors lead me right down that path…and i’m lucky i didn’t just pick up and go back home. i had no idea how close i was…

so i am in internal conflict, but i hear part of getting better is putting it out there, and this is a good place to start.

my methadone romance

i’ve gotten some comments on my blog (i deleted them) accusing me of being a lost cause.  i’ll never get clean cuz i really don’t want to, calling me pathetic, and stupid…yada yada yada. but, honestly, isn’t that part of being an addict? getting to the point where you don’t feel you can fall anymore? hopeless, helpless? isn’t that part of being at the end of your rope? i’m sorry if i’m the only junky that makes excuses to get high, or makes mistakes. i’m sorry if i don’t learn from it all  the first time. all i can do is try my best, and take it slow.

so yesturday was aweful.  my karma kicked in again  full force. i went to the clinic (methadone) and finally got my first dose, after waiting for almost two months. i’ve been pretty down the last couple weeks, so i’ve been using more and more. self medicating, you know the drill. so i wasn’t feeling as hopeful as i’d like, and on the way home from the clinic, the phone rang. it was kristi. “come give me a ride, i’ll get you high.” and instead doing the “right thing”, i did the “kaia thing”, and picked her up. you just got drug tested and came up positive,” “there won’t be another random for days” “they expect you to use while you are finding your correct dose” i know, all retarded excuses to stick myself. i was wrong.  and i know it. and i’m ashamed of it today.

the day was just an long drawn out self punishment. everything i hate about being an addict: we were out on the hunt for hours, this guy’s not home, this one says wait 45 minutes. then we got coke, i did one shot, and spent the next 2 hours geeked; uncomfortable and emotional, waiting for someone to hook me up with dope, cuz i was broke, of course. retarded. i didn’t get any of my own errarnds done, because i was at the mercy of my dealer all day. i owed her, for the hookup of course.  i got in trouble for bringing the car back late, i got into a fight with kristi for selling three bags for another kid instead of giving the sale to her, i was left at the house alone for two hours while the kids with money went out to score rock, and it goes on and on. all the shit that you go through day in and day out, all in the endless struggle for the unatainable high.

then, once i finally got home; the plot thickens. like a fucking idiot, i fronted three bags from kristi (after we hashed out the “stepping on her toes” fight) and when i got home, casey was excited to see the dope. so i started to set up the shots, and somehow THE FIGHT started again. now, THE FIGHT is the endless argument casey and i have been in for the past year and a half, it only starts when we get high, and it’s always about getting high, being high, not being high, copping drugs, getting clean…etc.  it’s a bloody, ruthless battle, and i fucking hate it. it comes out of nowhere, and it takes no prisoners.

i was finished my shot, and i sat back, jammed as hell, but not feeling good at all. i felt that same sad empty failiur  feeling. shocking, huh? at this point i started to cry.

“casey, i really can’t do this anymore.” i said, sniffling. he was still struggling to hit a vein, so he really wasn’t paying attention to me.

“uhhuh.”

“i don’t know why i even got high today. it wasn’t fun, it’s never fun. i don’t even get high. i’m miserable the whole time, i hate the whole routine of it.”

“uhhuh.”

“and the lady from that job interview called today while i was copping, and i think i may have that job.”  i thought the interview had gone well, and i was really hopeful for this job. this company will pay for me to finish school, and maybe i can finally get my degree. “but now i need to make sure i get a coverup for the pisstest, i don’t want them  to know i’m on methadone.”

“don’t get ahead of yourself, kaia, you don’t even know if they want you.” casey said, cleaning the blood off his arm.

“well, that’s not very supportive.” i said, a little offended. “i’m trying to be positive, i want to do this right. no more dope, i wanna work the clinic.” this concept wasn’t dawning on me for the first time, but i was realizing the gravity of it. “i want this job. bad. i want to fix the car, and move out. i want us to finally do something good.”

he just looked at me. “sorry if i don’t jump for joy, sweety, but it’s hard to take you seriously after i just watched you shoot two bags.” he’s right.

the aggrivated atmosphere was compounded by the holiday.  it was halloween yesturday, and we were supposed to see the disco biscuits in boston with our tour friends. i’ve written about this crew of kids in other posts.  i wrote about how these shows and these friends were a much needed connection to the world beyond heroin, and how much it meant to me to still be able to hit these shows; it’s how i knew i wasn’t totally consumed by the addiction.  well, needless to say, after the last weekend we spent with these kids (casey and i spent 88% of the time locked in our rooms) our tour friends called up last nite, to break it to us easy: they can’t a) keep picking us up and driving us to the show b) keep lending us money for tickets and c) let us crash in their hotel room for free. it’s painfully obvious, we fuct up so bad, we took advantage, and now the one thing in our life that resembled normal fun is lost. in order to resurect our tour life and our friendship with these people, we need to be able to support ourselves.  until we can get our own tickets, ride and hotel rooms, we are not welcome. i understand, and i respect their decision. it’s probably the best thing they could do for us, we need to see how fuct up we really are.

but, at that exact moment i was not thankful to them, i was incredibly sad and angry. because we were at home, doing heroin alone again. nobody’s fault but mine.  i fuct up everything today.  and i have the chance, the clinic, this was my first day, and i fuct that up too.  and now i look to casey to give me a little “is okay, kaia, we’ll do better tomorow.” and instead i got a “i’ll believe it when i see it” it’s all so discouraging.

 all fault aside, the acumulated occurances were weighing on me heavy.   i couldn’t stop crying, i wanted to believe i could do this. i wanted to believe i could make the positive change. i wanted to believe in myself, in this new beginning.  but i feel like i don’t really deserved to be believed in. and apperantly, neither did casey.

“i just want to make this into what it’s supposed to be, a second chance. you know what i mean?” i aksed.

“you know what you sound like, kaia. you sound like you’re superhigh right now. and everyone’s always into recovery when they’re blitzed. i think it’s really convienent for you to wanna get clean now. it’s hard to take you seriously.”a

my eyes were stinging, my throat tightened up. i feel this way so often now. empty. alone. useless.  the further down this dead end path we go together, the further apart casey and i get. we barely talk, unless we are in THE FIGHT, we are not supportive of each other, trust is an issue… everything is an issue. there’s this wall up, and a cold air hangs between us. the tears just keep coming. 

“you need to calm down. what good is that doing. just stop.”

“now i can’t even cry. why do you have to have a say in everything i do? if i need to cry i need to cry. this is the first time in so long i actually FEEL something. don’t tell me not to feel it.”

“oh jesus, so fucking dramatic. is this what methadone does? make you this blubbering mess?  i don’t think i like this” his face was completely emotionless, flipping through the channels.

“damnit casey, i am so alone in this.”

“we’re both alone in this. isn’t that fucking hilarious?” he laughed. “i want us to make it through this and come out on the other side, together. but alot of this journey, we will be alone. don’t hate me for it, it’s just the way it is.  you have to take care of yourself.” he grabbed my hand.

we turned the light off and went to bed. all the same thoughts came trickling into my head. thoughts that barely mean anything anymore, but could mean something if i put some heart back into them.  i want so bad to get clean. i really hope i get this job. one day at a time…put the car on the road. take better care of casey. and the were the thoughts that lulled me to sleep.  slowly growing relivance again.

it’s a little after 11:00 right now, the morning after; i’ve gone to the clinic, made some important phone calls, cleaned up the house, and turned down dope twice already.  take each moment as it comes, don’t let the small shit get me down.  don’t listen to the shit talkers, even myself.  this methadone shit’s not a miracle, but i will get out what i put in. so that’s what i’ll work on…put my fair share of work into my life. that’s what missing in this romance, my fair share.  i’ve just been tagging along, contributing nothing. that’s why i feel nothing, that’s why i feel empty. because i am.  hopefully, over the next few weeks, these thoughts will morph into actions, these feelings will become  movements. and i will get out all i’m putting in.

at a loss for words

i haven’t written in so long, here or in my personal journal.  that is so not like me (whoever that is)  it’s mostly due to the fact that i  took an unscedualed sebaticle from reality.  i have no idea how we’ve been perpetuating it, but i can’t seem to get off this spun out merry-go-round.  every time i turn around, there is another person, another party, another shot…  along the way i aquired a habit yet again.  just when you have it down to a chipper, one good hard weekend, and i’m worrying about a bag for the morning.  ironically, i find myself here, in part, because i made it on the clinic.  there has been two week gap since my intake interview, and when they will start dosing me, next week.  during that time i need to be a) positive for opiates and b) negative for suboxone.  i didn’t know they checked that, but they do, so…as they string me along waiting for a spot, they strung me out. hehehe.  better than fiction.

i am working on some other posts, but i just don’t have it in me right now.  i’ll have to get back to you when i start thinking and feeling again.  for now, i’m just along for the ride.

suspended animation

 i got a comment on my blog a couple days ago that got me thinking. 
”why do you keep referring to yourself as a kid, aren’t you 22 or 23?”
the fact of the matter is, i’m 24, and the question opened my eyes to a phenomena i see every day, but never really noticed…. suspended animation.
i know you’ve either lived it, or seen it in action.  how life just seems to stop moving once you pick up dope.  you can blow coke and eat rolls, you can blaze weed and hit the bar scene every weekend. life keeps moving, sometimes erratic, sometimes faster than you’d like. but once you bring heroin into your life, life leaves you behind.
you either lose your job, or get stuck in some dead end job that was supposed to be “just til i get my shit together.  you lose your apartment, move back in with your parents.  you lose your car, or you license, or both. suddenly find yourself begging for rides like in junior high.  your cell phone gets shut off, and you feel like the only person in america that uses the payphone.  you haven’t had money for anything but dope in so long  that you’re wearing the same ratty hoodie you got for christmas senior year.
and you look around, and it’s not just you, your whole life is stuck.  the world spins on around you, but your life, your whole scene, is on pause.
my friend marc has been using since he was sixteen.  that’s 12 years.  looking at his life is like looking at a photo;  he’s never had his own apartment, he’s never had more than this minimum wage job he got out of high school.  he hasn’t had a girlfriend in ten years.  he lost his license when he was seventeen, and just never got it back, never had a car.  no bank account, no cell phone.  it’s like he just got off the bus, and it went on without him.
all the things i was trying to accomplish before the junk, they all got lost in the shuffle.  i put all my goals on the back burner, so i could focus my effort into my real ambition: to get my nod on.  now that i’m coming out of my coma and seeing all the damage i have caused, it seems so overwhelming.
so you start to think it would be easier to just start over. an easier, smaller, lower scale life. you are a junky after all.  certain things are just not possible anymore.  so, the shitbox  car is better than taking the bus.  the slummy apartment is better than mom’s basement.  a job is a job, even if you’re cleaning hotel rooms.  your goals are different, what you expect, what you deserve. 
you’re not an adult, you’re not a kid. you’re a junky. somewhere in between, where you trade your credit cards and atm card for the foodstamps card and the needle exchange card.  where the future seems so far away, and a good life is asking too much. 
so you hold onto whatever you have, because it’s all you have, until you pawn it or trade it. then you’re left empty handed again.  game over.
so yeah, i do call myself and my friends kids.  because we’re more kids than adults.  we are stuck, depending on others to help us survive, unable to take that next step
i got a postcard in the mail today for the class of 2000/2001 5 year reunion, and it reminded me of a joke we made alot in detox.  “sitting in the window, watching the world go by.”  because that’s what we do, as addicts.  sit back, with that needle in my hand, and watch the world go by.  watch life go by without me.  people graduating college, joining the army, people getting married, having kids.  i have friends buying houses, getting promotions.  and here  i am, worse off than when i was 20. 
so i can go to the reunion and say “not too much has changed, i’ve tried, but failed so far.  the only thing i’ve got to show is 30,000 in debt, hep c, and some killer stories.  in school i was gonna be a writer, a big one.  it was the one thing i thought i was good at, and i lost that too.  this blog is the first time i’ve written in years.
so for now, calling us kids fits to me.  and until the day i stand on my own feet, make my own money, control my own feelings, confront my own demons, i guess that’s the way it’s gonna stay.

true romance

it was breakfast time, and alyson, molly and i sat around cold cereal and burnt coffee.  i thought it was about time for the 64 thousand dollar question:

“so, molly, what number detox is this for you?”

“six.” she said, smiling. i couldn’t help but think this was kindof a joke to alot of people here.

“what’s so funny?” alyson had no sense of humor for it.

“well, i’ve been to this one three times so far, and never completed.” (completed would be to do the six days and taper from the usual 30mg starter to 5mg on release day)

“why?” i know why.

“i wanted to get high.” bingo.

“the last time i was here, i left with this kid manny, two days into treatment.”

“let me guess, he was hot.” aly had a little smile on her face now.

“so. fucking. hot.” molly slammed her hand on the table for emphasis.  “it was so romantic.”

now, junky romantic is different from a standard version of romantic. example of standard romance:–’ i met this kid at a club downtown, he bought me a drink and we talked all night.  the next date we went on we made a real connection, he bought me flowers and i met his best friend. i really think this is going somewhere.’–

example of junky romance:–’i met this kid at my dealers house, he split his half gram with me, we talked all night.  the next day we hustled a hundred bucks from the mall, and he bought me a 40 of coke.  he even introduced me to his main guy, and we crashed over his place.  i think we could hang out for a few weeks, anyway.’–

molly’s story was primetime junkhead romance.

“i met manny on my first day here.  we spent the whole day together, talking about our habits, where we came from, what we wanna do. he really understood me. 

just another example of junk bringing people together. hehehe.

“it was falltime then too, and it was so sunny outside, the leaves were falling all over the city. we kept talking about how cool it would be to just run away.  it’s hard, you know, sitting in the windows up here, knowing you can’t go outside.  we couldn’t stop talking about it.   so, after relapse prevention group, i saw manny walking away from the payphone. he had just called his guy, and we could meet him in the park in an hour.”

“oh, molly, you’re kidding.” this story was awefully familiar to me. “so you left.”

“yep, we were out of there before lunch.”

i had to laugh.

“let me guess, a nice long run with detox kid?”

“we walked down to the park, with our backpacks full of all our shit. we saw the guy, and then we sat on the underside of a bridge, and shot up right there. it was all so exciting, like having sex in public, but better.”

it’s funny, how girls always equate junk with sex.

“i only had a couple hundred bucks, so staying in a hotel was out of the question.”

“need to save that cash to get your fix, sugar.” alyson knew it all too well.

“even so, the money only lasted a couple more days.  we’d been staying at manny’s guy’s house, but after the money ran out, the welcome wore out. next thing i knew, i was outside target, stemmin for cash.”

“wait a second, you were panhandling?” i was confused.  “with all the money and the car at home, you chose to panhandle outside a stripmall?”

“yeah, i should’ve just gone home, been the good girl, taken my punishment, and my place as daddy’s little junky.  sometimes it’s better to just stay away.  when i was with manny there were no expectations. i had no history with that kid. no broken promises, failed attempts. just me and him. all i had to worry about was hustling money and scoring dope. ” she looked sad now.

“i made a few hundred dollars that day.” she said. “but not til i took my shoes off.”

“come again, chica, your shoes?” i giggled, and the smile returned to her face.  molly was popular at detox.  she was very pretty, and her laugh was contagious. so, the breakfast table had become a little audience for her story. all the boys from our floor.  i hadn’t really met any of them yet, but they were interested in something at our table. let’s call it the story for now, just to be fair.  molly liked the attention, anyway.

“well, i was wearing three inch stillettos and gucci sunglasses, it was hard to get people to take pity on you when you look like paris friggin hilton.”

“i’d give you a dollar.” piped in curtis, molly’s “manny equivilant” this time around. they were the reason detox has its famous ‘no coupling’ rule.

“very funny.” she gave him a playful shove.

“so what did you do?”

“i took my shoes off, painted my french tips black, washed the makeup off, and replaced it with my best orphan face.  I made manny hide behind a car parked a couple rows over, cuz it’s hard to get cash from a guy when you have a body guard two feet away, watching every exchange.”\

“and that worked?”

“you better believe it. one guy alone gave me $75, told me to go buy some shoes.” she beemed, very proud of herself.

“i’m gonna have to try that one.”

“so we took our winnings and went to see his guy.  we couldn’t stay, cuz his guy was going to re-up, so soon we were wandering the streets agian, looking for a place to shoot. as we walked downtown, past a used car lot. i saw some attendant checking me out, and i never let an opportunity pass me by, so i laid my best sob story on him ‘i was visiting the city with friends, and they left me behind after the party.  i can’t get home til tomorow, and i’d really appreciate it if you’d let me sleep in one of these cars.  you don’t even need to tell your boss, just leave this red one unlocked. it can be our little secret.’”

“and he went for that?”

“yep, i’m very pursuasive.”

“more like pathetic.” curtis again.

“cute, curtis, but it worked. that’s all that matters.”

“it never ceases to amaze me, the power of young girls over men.”

molly just smiled. “so we spent that night in the back seat of a buick skylark.  we cuddled under a blanket manny kept in his backpack.  i let him hit me off as the sun went down behind us.  we just talked, got high, made out.”

“how sweet.”  funny thing was, i was serious. it really did seem really sweet to me.

“but after a couple days, it got old.  i started seeing the same people at the same stemmin spots.  i started to feel dumb. i told these people i needed their money to get home, and then they see me a week later, selling the same story.”

“well, molly, even the best run has to come to an end.” alyson said.

“so i finally called my parents, and i said goodbye to manny.”

“what happened to him?” i asked.

“i don’t know, i never saw him again.” molly didn’t seem to know how lucky she was to be able to just stop playing the game when it got old. i’m sure manny had nowhere to go home to.

“maybe you’ll catch him on the detox circuit.” i said. everyone started to laugh, and then i noticed, the whole table was listening, entralled with molly’s junkylovestory.

“you never know. there’s plenty of time before my six days is up.”

“does that mean you plan on completing treatment this time?” alyson asked.

“maybe.” she replied, giving curtis a glance.  “haven’t met anyone worth leaving with yet.” with that she and curtis got up and headed back to the elevator.

and that about summed her up right there. molly, such a sweetheart, such an addict. so naiive.  she’ll run the motions, for her parents. to keep the lines of communication, and the bank account, open.  but when it comes down to it, she’s not ready to really commit to recovery.  she’s too into the lifestyle, the people, the drugs. 

it’s all still too romantic for her.

 

 

molly

(the following few entries are based on kids i met while i was away. one thing i realised is how different each person really is, and sometimes the ONLY thing we have in common is the addiction. but that is enough to bond us. i respect these kids, i feel for them, and i thank them for letting me in on their lives, and share it.)

molly was my second roomate. she slept across the room from alyson.  my first night there was her second. after lights out, we all lay in bed talking.

“so, kaia, you don’t look like you’d shoot dope.”

“and you do?” i laughed.  molly was about 5′2″ tall, weighing all of about 100 pounds.  she didn’t look strung out, though. she looked healthy, except for her tracks.  they ran from her fingers to just below her elbow, and they were purple.  she had a dark, store bought tan, which looked a little strange in the middle of a new england september. but it did help to dull her tracks.  as we spoke, it became clear, she was not your typical junked-out kid.  she had money, and you could see it.  chesnut brown hair, dirty blond highlights, french tips on her fingers and toes.  she had victoria’s secret pink and green pajamas. she even had a luis vitton makeup case hidden in the back of her dresser. 

“why are you here?” she asked me.  i gave her my standard ‘casey vs. the birch tree’ answer, and then asked her the same question.

“well, about a month ago, i had just gotten back from copping dope and i was bootin in a parking lot near my house. the cops in town know my family, and they took me in on possession.”

“you had dope on you?”

“no, just a cooker with ‘residue’.”

“you are not serious.” where i come from that was unheard of, why even bother.

“i come from a pretty ritzy place, posession class a is a big deal, i made front page news.”

i had to laugh a little, poor kid.

“so they towed my beemer and hauled me in.”

“your beemer?”

“it was a gift from my dad, but trust me, sometimes it’s more of a curse than a blessing.”
“how do you figure?”

“have you ever tried to cop in the projects, being the only white girl for miles, in a bmw, with out of state plates. how do you think i got popped the first time?”

“this is not your first time?”

“no, this is my second posession charge in three months.”

this wasn’t really funny any more.

“so, you’re not sick of it yet?” aly asked. after all she’s been through, she’s almost like a “mother junky” if that makes any sense. she’s the one who will sit down with a kid and try to talk him out of leaving detox. she’ll help kids get on the clinic, she’ll give you money for a hotel. she’ll do whatever she can to keep a friend from going down the path she did.

“it’s just getting fun, girly. so they took me in, in cuffs and all, and interrigated me like a goddamn serial killer, ‘who’s your guy, what’s his name, how much are you using, where’s your stash, blah blah blah.”

“so that’s why you’re here?”

“nah, i wasn’t gonna come. but i had one more run in with the cops.”

i just shook my head. i mean, she looked so damn innocent.

“i wasn’t supposed to be using, cuz of my charges, and i was supposed to be driving, either.  so when my mom noticed the car gone some time after 2am, they reported it stolen, and there i was again, sitting in the police station.”

“did you at least get to get off first?” standard question.

“he walked up to my car mid-push, parked at 7-11.” she laughed. “by then i figured, what the hell, and finished my damn shot. at least i was jammed until i got bailed out.”

i found it facinating, that a girl from such privilage would end up there.  with all the special attention, private schools, therapists, trips to rehab (the kind that included acupunture and hypnosis).  with her positive, proactive parents, with her trustfund.  her mom and dad never abused her, they didn’t even drink. they did everything right. and she still turned out a heroin addict.  it made me wonder.  is it all genetic, or maybe completely random. maybe we lost the cosmic lottery. i just don’t know.

“so if you’re so loaded, what are you doing in this generic junky depository?”

“well, i’ve got court next tuesday, and this was the only place that had a bed. i’m doing the detox thing to make a good impression on the judge.”

“so what’s your plan after detox?” aly asked.

“my parents want to get me the implant.”

“what?” it never stopped with this chick.  i don’t know anyone that has tried the implant.

the implant is kinda like the deposhot for junkies. it’s a shot you get in your arm that implants a little chip under your skin. the chip is an opiate blocker. for three months you physically can’t get high.

“isn’t that shit like 2 grand?”

“it was my mom’s idea. i told her i’d try it if i could get my car back.”

“so if you’ve got so many fucking options, how come you’re still running?” aly asked, i guess she was just as confused as i was.

“i’m not done yet, i guess.”

with that we went to bed. it’s the simplest and most frustrating fact of junky life:  no matter how many programs you do, or how many wonder drugs you try, no matter how many times you get arrested, or make your mother cry, you won’t stop using until you are ready to.

mistrust, mistake

i understand that being a junky comes with certain bad side effects. track marks, poverty, and mistrust, just to name a few. i see, i’ve done some fuct up shit in my day, i won’t deny it. but this situation just didn’t jive with me. i just feel like the wrong reasons are behind it all.day before yesturday i finally ran into my best friend mikey, back from war for good, and looking to do some drinking. i called casey at work and told him, i’d probably be gone when he got home cuz me and mike were gonna go out and drink a little. casey didn’t mind. me and mike have been friends for years, and it’s never been a sexual thing.  besides, if you are gonna be in a relationship, there’s gotta be some kind of trust. looking back on it now, i don’t think it’s sexual mistrust, i think it’s drug-related.
so mikey showed up and we were in the pool for a while, just drinking and catching up, it’s been about three months since i’ve seen him, so time passed quickly. before i knew it casey was home and we were all just chillin, having a good time. my brother and his friends asked me to go to the liquour store for them, and mikey had to pick up a dresser from a freind’s house, so we decided to go take care of that. casey asked me to get him some food while we were out too. now here’s the fatal mistake; we took our beer with us. now, as a junky, drinking doesn’t come into the equation often anymore. i don’t know what it is, but to me, dope and booze just don’t mix well. so if you’re drinking, leave your beers at home, or you’ll never go back there.  so by this time,  i was tipsy off like three beers. we got to our friend dave’s house, to pick up the dresser, and we ran into even more people i haven’t seen in forever. we decided to stay for one beer, i mean, we brought it with us, why not have one??  two hours later, i had totally forgotten about the booze for my brother, casey’s food, and anthing else i was supposed to do. i was just living the moment.
at that point, the whole direction of the evening changed. this kid john we know from a couple years ago showed up. he’s a recovered addict, well, at least i thought he was recovered… about ten minutes into his visit, mikey and dave finally go downstairs to load the dresser, the whole reason we even came over, and john makes his move.
“so kaia, how’ve you been?”

“good, how’s your wife?”
”getting a divorce.”

“bummer, sorry” nice one kaia.
“so,what are you doing tonight, i hear you can cop dope in the city”

here we go. “yeah, i know a girl, i thought you were cool with that shit now.”

“are you ever really cool with it?” he just smiled at me.
in five minutes i was on the phone, and in ten we were in the car. twenty minutes, and i was balencing my cooker on my lap. that first desperate coke shot always rattles my cage. you can never get it done fast enough, and you can never seem to get your hands to stop shaking.  as i closed my eyes and tried to get my head-ring on, the phone rang. it was casey. understandable upset, i’d gone to cop and totally forgotten my responsibilities to them. so i hung up the phone, and went into my purse to get the money for the booze. i had to make this right before people started to get really pissed. priority check; failed.
this was about the time i noticed, all the money was gone. as well as my wallet. nice. very nice. i imediatly called casey back.
“all my fucking money is gone.”

“what, what the hell did you do with it?”

“ i lost it or it got stolen, or something.” i was about to tell him about the wallet, but he cut me off.

“yeah, or something. nice one, kaia, you like spending other peoples money on dope.” he was sooooo pissed off.

“what do you mean?” i knew what he meant.

“you take off with aaron’s money and go to cop, and then convienently get robbed. who do you think you’re fucking with?”

i was hurt, i admit it. but i had a feeling, as soon as i noticed the money was missing, that this was the way it was gonna go down. i am, after all, still a junky. weather it’s my brother or my boyfriend, they all see me the same way. there’s always that chance, in their eyes, that i’m gonna hustle them. but that’s not the case with me, i don’t pull that shit. and i certainly didn’t pull that shit this time.

“i don’t know what to tell you, baby. the money is gone.”

he hung up on me. nothing makes me sadder than that sudden dial tone. i was surprized he took my brother’s side so adamantly. i mean, we are partners in crime, even if i did rip off aaron, (which i didn’t, repeat, didn’t) casey should have had my  back. after all, it wasn’t even his money. that’s what leads me to believe, he was jelous more than anything. not of me and mikey, or a “cheating thing” but of the drugs. he was pissed i copped for another kid, and got high out of the deal. just gives you a little insight into the mind of a junky. do whatever you want, but don’t ever fuck with my drugs.
mikey brought me back to the apartment we were hanging out at. no money. we checked his car, no money. we checked john’s car, no goddamn money. i reluctantly dialed my house back, they had to hear it from me.
aaron answered the phone.

“is casey there?”

“no but i am, you know what isn’t here, my fucking money, or how about my beer.”

“i told him, aaron, i lost it, i can get it back to you tomorow.”

“what does that do for me tonight, kaia?”
”i didn’t have anything to do with it, it was an accident, or a theft.”

“I DONT BELIEVE YOU”
that pretty much said it , right there. no matter what i said, noone was going to believe me.  aaron told me casey said “fuck you” and went out for the night.  i went to a girlfriend’s house for the night. no use in going home unless you have what they want from you. and i couldn’t have the money til the next morning. so i settled in at a house where beer and weed are the two main food groups. tell you what, nothing give you that mix of a rush and a shame wave like secretly shooting dope in a friends bathroom. but, hey, i don’t make the rules, i just live by them.
when i did get home, i gave aaron his money, and we were cool. things with casey were a little tougher. he left the house and didn’t come home for two days. didn’t go to work, was just out on a revenge bender. you know how that is, when you feel left out of a score, you settle it on your terms. well, for my indiscresion, i paid. two days of no phone calls, worrying, wondering. when you are living the life of  two addicts, the worst case scenario runs through your head alot.  for all i know he could have od’d and been stuffed behind a dumpster.

 if i learned anything from this experience it would have to be; if you want anyone to trust you, buy your booze before you cop your drugs, hehehe. but seriously, if you want people to trust you, do what you say you’re gonna before you do what you want.