living in the public eye

The answer please, Will not occur to me
The secrets of our lives, Are there for all to see
The innocence of our lies, That come so naturally,
So how to get out of…
Livin’ in the public eye?

She came to me last fall
I was drinking Joe and smoking Strikes
Now I moved out of the hall, but now Java, switched to lights
Time’s a ticking, this charade
Hidin’ clues left and right
Didn’t know that masquerade, was hiding them all out of sight
So how to get out of…
Livin’ as a private eye

When dreams escape reality
They never get where you need them to be
Distorted views of what we all see
How should we except the plea?
Forgiving as the days go by.
Forgiving as the days’ goodbye.

Just like that I’m on the run
But my past out to play.
I’m still chasing the sun,
For yet another day

db-spy

quotable

“I’m not using drugs to get high like many people think. I know I made a big mistake when I started using this shit. It’s a very difficult thing to explain. My liver is not functioning and I’m throwing up all the time and shitting my pants. The pain is more than you can handle. It’s the worst pain in the world. Dope sick hurts the entire body

layne staley 2002 (died april 5 2002)

sick of it all

i guess it goes without saying, but this life can get real old. i’m just fed up with it all. with not having an apartment, not having my car on the road, not having anything.

i’m sick of arguing with the love of my life over half a bag of dope, i’m sick of being dopesick, seeing him sick. i’m sick of getting ripped off and not trusting my friends. i’m sick of lying to my mom and hiding my arms. i’m sick of applying for jobs and worrying about whether or not i’ll pass their piss test.

i’m sick of trying so hard to stay clean all week, and blowing it all on payday. i’m sick of getting high and then hating myself once the needle is out of my arm. i’m tired of being a cliche. little junky girl.

i’m tired of people hearing you are a junky, then automatically assuming they know you. “all you people are the same.” and they think that you’re problem gives them free reign to cut you down, say whatever they want. you’re not a real person, afterall, you’re a junky.

i’m tired of family and friends giving me that look. like i’m a terminal cancer patient. ” it’s so sad, she was so young” i’m sick of people giving up hope on me.

i’m sick of being the only who thinks i can change. i’m sick of noone else thinking two weeks clean is a big deal. unless i’m perfect, unless i’m flawless, it’s a waste of time.

i’m sick of feeling like i have to answer to everyone. and i guess that’s where my real problem lies. if you are gonna try to beat this shit, you have to do it for you, noone else.

the funny thing is, it didn’t even occur to me that i was trying to beat it until just now. i haven’t really stopped to think of it until now. i’m struggling, really struggling, with my addiction. i just never admitted it before. it’s all fun and games til you’re a heroin addict. then the rest of your life will be a struggle.

a sad conclusion

i guess it took some time, less than a year, but i’ve finally admitted the truth. there is no glory in trying to be an honest junky.

it may sound stupid, but i’ve always prided myself of being the “true friend” kind of addict. i don’t really see straight up dealers. pull over on the side of the road, “what you need” kind of shit. i’ve got a group of friends, as i like to call them, that i cop with, and its usually their guys. so i spend alot of time w/ these people, and it becomes more than business. or at least i’ve liked to think so.

i was always a believer that if you treat people decent, they will do their best to return the favor. but its not really like that, is it?

i was friends with one kid for months, scoring everyday. at one point in time i owed him about 700 dollars. he was moving to florida and said he needed the cash in a week. most of our friends would’ve kissed him goodbye and been thankful to be able to skip out on the bill. i worked my ass off to get him every sent before he left his driveway. because i promised, and he needed it. this same kid, home now after smoking all the money freebase style, has owed me 30 bucks for over a month. nice.

i have a good friend, a really good friend, who works part time pushing d. we hang out alot, and anytime i cop w/ him i make sure he gets his due. (usually just a bag) and i mean, we help each other out. if i’m sick he’ll front to me, but he always see his on payday. i once owed him $40 for like a week, but that’s the longest it’s gone. twice in the past week i’ve let him “borrow” bags to sell to someone else, and twice he’s left me sick while he gets high at home on what was supposed to be my payback. this from someone i stayed with for a week and babysat his kids.

a kid i’ve been friends with way before dope was born to me, has owed me $120 for almost two weeks now. he knows we needed the money to not only cop, but to live on this week. thank god for foodstamps or i’d weigh alot less that 107 right now. he’s told me he was coming over to hook me up 3 times today, and now his phone is off. i know he has the money. i know he’s putting it in his arm. he knows i’m sick. it doesn’t matter.

i’ve seen people give me water shots after a long night of coke, i’ve seen my boyfriend short me on bags. i’ve seen a friend of mine straight up steal a bundle from a girl who took him off the streets.

i always thought it was good business, to hook people up. so when they can do the same, they’ll think of you. but it really only opens the door for people to shit on you. once kids start lying, cheating, and stealing, no one is safe.

i’m not perfect either, though. i’m not trying to be some junky martyr. i don’t have a job and i feed my habit off my boyfriend. i’ve told my mom money was for suboxone and used it to get high. we’ve owed a good friend 300 dollars since winter, and we used the fact that he won’t talk to junkies as an excuse to not pay.

it’s sad to watch the worst come out in people you really care for. in yourself. and i feel helpless to stop it. you really are a slave. to the dope, to the lifestyle, to your own weakness. those few minutes of bliss will make you turn your back on your whole belief system. what is right, anymore?

so i’ve come to a sad conculsion. there is no honor amung thieves, and there is no such thing as an honest junky.

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.