against my better judgement

[blood fart]

I will probably regret posting this.

And I doubt very few, if any, of you will actually read the whole thing.

It is just my past life.

And what happened in a 2 1/2 month span.

 

 

 

 

This is going to be quite long, so you might want to grab a snack.

 

In the year 2002, I has switched from being a heroin addict, to being a cocaine addict on methadone.

I was in a relationship with a man who shared my vices.

He was missing one leg.

For this story, he will be known as PegLeg.

As he was known in real life.

I was also on a cornucopia of pharmaceuticals, thanks to the Dr. at my clinic who thought every problem I had could be fixed by piling on more and more pills.

Heavy prescriptions.

Anti-psychotics, sleeping pills, anti-anxiety, anti-depression, anti-nausea..all in all, I had about 9 or so prescriptions.

So now that the groundwork is laid, let me get right into the tale of confusion.

 

My dearly departed best friend, Star, was living with her mother at this time.

They both shared addictions to every substance.

Much like myself.

PegLeg and I had been hanging out with Star and her mother.

Smoking massive amounts of crack cocaine.

Along with other unspeakable acts of addiction.

It was time to score more.

A few months earlier, I had been given the gift of a vehicle.

It wasn't legal, by any means.

Not stolen..just no registeration, no inspection, no insurance, driven by a driver with no license.

So.

I was driving this car down East Airport.

I hadn't had a day sober for about two years at this point, so needless to say, I was pretty high n various substances.

Somehow, my xanax spilled on the floorboard.

I guess I never thought about waiting until we stopped, or even pulling over.

Star and I just started scooping them up with our tiny paws.

A head-on collision was the result of my poor driving.

The cops came.

To jail I went.

Old warrants and all the driving bullshit.

 

I told the judge I was on methadone.

They let me out and told me to come back to court later in the month.

So.

The next afternoon, I walk out of jail.

Having missed my dose, and not feeling that great.

The bus ride to my mom's house was not an option.

I walk to 7-11 and call my family.

They tell me to get on the bus.

I see a dude parked in a fancy monster truck.

I ask him for a ride.

He tells me to get in.

Due to all the shit going on in my head, I don't really remember any conversation that went down during the ride.

But somehow in the span of a 15 minute ride, dude was totally smitten with me.

Typically, I don't give my phone number to dudes.

But I guess I didn't think he posed any threat.

He was just a regular nice guy.

 

So I get out at my family's house and go inside.

To try to fix my sickness with pharmaceuticals.

This is when I noticed that my dog was missing.

Dixie.

She was Scott's.

When he died, they kept her for me until I got out of prison.

She protected me and was the only one who could make me feel safe.

My family had grown tired of my bullshit.

And given my dog to a German Shepard rescue.

It was the last straw.

 

I had already been super depressed about my life.

Not knowing how it got to be the way it was.

Not knowing how to get it to be different in every way.

Hopeless was an understatement.

I locked myself in my room.

And ate hundreds of pills.

I soon fell asleep.

Deep sleep.

Comatose.

My family heard me moaning.

I guess that many pills isn't good on your stomach.

They called the paramedics.

I woke up a few days later in the ICU.

With a IV sewn into my neck because it was the only vein they could find.

A cathader which I attempted to pull out.

The nurse told me I probably didn't want to do that.

She was right.

The tube down my nose and throat came out easily enough.

 

From what I hear, I was out of it for days and days.

Even when I woke up.

I was in a complete daze.

Which is understandable.

 

So.

At this point, PegLeg and I had been together about 2 years.

Of street life and drug addiction.

He didn't come to see how I was doing in the ICU.

He was smoking crack with my friend and her mother.

When he finally did come, it was to ask my mom for "his pills".

Which were actually my pills.

She refused.

He actually had the nerve to call the cops on my mom, thinking the cops would help him get his pills.

While I laid in a post-coma haze, he had a sheriff harass my mom.

In the goddamned ICU.

 

The monster truck driving nice guy had called my family's house when he got home from meeting me that first night.

My family told him what I had done.

He was at the ICU, by my side the whole time.

Bringing me massive stuffed bears and things of the like.

Actually worried.

His name was Uriah.

I later found out his family were members of a super religious cult on the outskirts of town.

They disowned him over having feelings for me.

He broke the rules.

Women can't be like me.

No flashy clothing, no metal musics, no drugs, no sex, no make up, no me.

 

So.

After a week or so in the ICU, I get transferred to the state hospital.

With the crazies.

I was still able to hold it together enough to be able to say the right things.

Make my excuses.

Blame it on methadone and the loss of my dog.

Even though it is completely irrational for someone to try to kill themselves simply over the loss of a pet.

I talked the talk.

Said it was all a mistake.

I am not crazy.

 

It was a strange experience, to say the least.

I crossed paths with a homeless man I had seen around.

He recognized me and asked me for a cigarette.

Which I had plenty of.

Family and friends and my new boyfriend made sure of that.

Candy, stolen Dukes Of Hazzards coloring book brought by Sara, coffee, anything that would make my stay more comfortable.

So.

I give the homeless man a smoke and start to talk to him.

He was nice when he was medicated.

Reminded me somewhat of my favorite uncle.

Who is schitzophrenic.

 

I spent about a week at the nut house.

Going to strange groups where I was treated like a child.

Told to do Crayola drawings that expressed my feelings about a certain subject.

It was all so asinine.

I wasn't crazy.

No need to lump me in with those guys.

 

Upon my release, I discovered Uriah was living in my bedroom at my family's house.

And was my boyfriend.

Who cared about me.

He worked a nice job and had no vices except for me.

He thought he could buy my way back into being happy with life.

I don't know if it is possible.

But he sure tried.

Shopping sprees where anything I wanted would be bought.

I told him he should get a journal for himself.

To write out things.

He did everything I told him to do.

 

I made a trip back to the nuthouse.

To take the homeless man who I had talked to a care package.

Of coffee and a mug.

And a carton of smokes.

And some candy.

It was the least I could do.

He had no one.

That must be a hard pill to swallow.

 

I digress.

 

I had been cut off at my methadone clinic during all of this.

When the Dr. who prescribed me all my pills found out I had eaten them all at once, she made a remark to the effect of "I have been waiting for this to happen for some time now"

So I was back at home with no methadone.

The only thing I could do was go to rehab.

To rehab I went.

For a week or so.

I wasn't going to do anything more than detox.

They could keep their programs to themselves.

 

Methadone takes much longer to get over than straight heroin.

I got out of rehab after that week or so.

The pains in my legs were unbearable.

I would pace the house and punch myself in the legs to relieve some of the pain.

Uriah had never done a drug in his life.

This whole thing must have been so unreal for him.

He was a champion about it all.

I guess he was really just a super sweet dude that I took advantage of.

He would give me money for pills to make the pains less.

He would drive me around in his monster truck for hours because the vibrations would help my muscles feel better.

Anything to make me feel better.

 

We spent about a month or more like this.

Living in my room at my mom's house.

Him always wanting to buy me more and more.

Thousands of dollars worth of clothing.

Dinners.

Pills.

We went to a professional wrestling match that I thought would be fun.

I drank too many $5 beers and vomited on the person sitting in front of me.

We left and went to dinner.

He could see no wrong in me.

Love blinds.

I didn't even know what to say or do about anything of it.

We had never talked feelings.

He left his journal out while he was at work one day.

I read parts of it.

He thought I was the love of his life.

I didn't know how to take that.

 

I guess I had to destroy it.

Shit begets shit.

My mental instability was destroying my life.

And that is exactly what I wanted.

Death wish.

 

Somewhere around this point, I started talking to PegLeg again.

Hearing his excuses.

Apologies.

I always forgive.

It's just my nature.

 

I was still feeling like crap from kicking methadone.

And weak.

His offers of heroin were not turned down.

Within days, I was back with him.

Driving around from store to store, stealing DVD players and things of the like.

To pawn for drugs.

We were being driven around by a lesbian I had known since high school.

In her car that wouldn't go in reverse.

We would have to stick out our legs and Flintstone it out of parking lots.

Not exactly what you would call a "speedy getaway".

 

Before I went to prison, I was scoring crack cocaine down on 6th.

I ran into the lesbian.

She wanted me to score for her.

I said I would if she would drive me around while I got high.

She agreed.

All through the night.

Back and forth to the ATM.

She must have went through hundreds of dollars.

We watched the sun come up.

She said what I have heard hundreds other say and not mean,

"This is the last one."

We sat in her car next to a park downtown.

A dude walked up and asked me if I wanted to get high.

She said,

"We don't have any money."

He said,

"I didn't ask if you had money, and I wasn't talking to you."

I tell him to get in.

We drive to an apartment not far from the park.

It was his buddy's.

He pulls out a ziplock bag full of crack.

And starts filling my hands with it.

I accept.

Fast forward to probably 12 hours later.

We are still in the apartment.

Dude still is trying to talk me into having sex with him.

I am still saying all the same lines I had said to hundreds of other dudes.

That lets them think there is a chance.

When in actuality, there is none.

From the other room, I hear the lesbian giving a mouth hug to the dude's friend.

For crack.

He wasn't even the one with all the crack.

I laughed.

A few minutes later I tell her I am ready to leave.

I don't want to spend all day in that apartment.

Even though we already had.

It was dark outside.

She wasn't ready to quit.

"One more"

It's always the same with people and crack.

So predictable.

Back to the streets again.

Doing the thing.

We are under a bridge and the dude we buy from says he will give us some more if we drive him to score.

Of course she jumps on the offer.

We walk back to her car.

She is too messed up to drive.

We sit there.

Bike cops pass us.

They come back.

I guess we looked suspect.

She made up some bullshit about her car not starting.

And was obviously high as shit.

She can't play it off like I thought I was able to.

Tells the cops it is okay to search her vehicle.

Knowing that I had felony warrants out for my arrest and tons of paraphenelia on me.

The cops find my bag.

With syringes, lemon juice, cookers, brillo, etc.

They make a remark about me coming prepared.

They find her crack pipe.

That she had stuffed next to my seat.

The crack dude in the back seat was told to walk away.

She started crying.

I was handcuffed.

She was let go.

Being as that she told them she was just a girl from the outskirts of town and didn't even know what had happened.

Place the blame on me.

Which they did.

So I went to jail.

And then to prison.

 

In my wallet was a photo of my dude.

Posed with guns.

We had taken that photo in Portland.

He was in jail in Austin.

For crimes probably relating to drugs or thievery.

When I was in county jail, he cheated on me.

With my best friend, Star.

She sent me letters telling me to leave him.

That he wasn't good enough for me.

I guess he was good enough for her.

It hurt.

After all the talk of loving me more than anyone ever.

That a few weeks apart.

And he is saying the same things to a different woman.

It was the first time that had ever happened.

Although, not the last.

Dudes are all the same.

 

Back to the story at hand.

The lesbian.

And being the reason I got arrested.

That night.

Instead of being able to run a few more weeks.

And still go to prison.

 

She was always worried when I got out that I would hurt her.

Stab her.

She would run from me when she saw me.

Then she realized she could do things for me and I would not hurt her.

So.

She was driving us around.

Stealing.

Pawning.

Drugging.

We had to get out of town.

Things just weren't working.

We tell her to drive us to San Francisco.

She had never been.

We painted a picture for her that made it out to be the Promise Land.

Off we go.

 

I am already tired of this story.

And my coffee has gotten cold.

 

Let me wrap it up real quick.

We treated her poorly.

Spent Christmas in AZ, begging on the side of the road.

Then I died in a motel room.

Not for long.

People always bring me back.

To a life I was trying to escape.

 

We made it to SF.

And ditched our driver.

Things got worse.

Much worse.

I was beaten and raped on PegLeg's Bday.

He yelled at me for going off on by myself.

I kicked him in the ribs and left.

All my belongings were gone.

The only photos I had of dead friends were thrown up into a half-build bridge.

I could see them but not get them.

I would see hobos wearing my clothes.

Whatever.

It was the least of my worries.

I had a new dude the night I left my old one.

He was sleeping under the pillar right next to the one we slept at under the bridge.

He held me while I cried.

And told me things would be alright.

They weren't.

We dressed as nice as we could.

And would steal from nicer stores.

To sell our goods on the street.

Living in abandoned buildings.

Then in alleyways.

Middle of winter and no blankets.

It was a desperate time.

 

On my Bday, I called my mom.

She sent me a bus ticket.

And enough money to buy enough drugs to get home.

I promised I would not buy crack.

Buy dope only.

And get on the bus.

I kept that promise.

 

I came home with one bag left.

Did that.

And then no more.

 

Until PegLeg came back to town.

And I once again forgave him.

 

I never learn my lesson.

 

I don't know what happened to Uriah.

He was too good for me anyways.

My mom said he would have been loyal and loving for the rest of eternity.

I didn't think I deserved that.

 

Things are different now.

In more ways than one.

 

I forgave Star for sleeping with my dude.

I don't hold grudges.

It's not in my nature.

She hung herself last year.

It hurt my heart.

But that is a whole 'nother story.

I might get into that later.

 

Let The Day Begin.

[JustinTimberlake]

God thats long.

[R@ndomH3ro]

but intresting

[blood fart]

Reading Is Fundamental, son.

[JustinTimberlake]

\no homo. Anyway, good luck with what youre going through. It's kinda wierd reading this cause it sounds like you're writing about yourself to understand yourself. Do you understand?

[Reuben Kinkaid]

You hsould write a book. If Bojangles can do it, so can you.

[JustinTimberlake]

In shakespearean. Reads like sonnets ...

[count chocula]

jesus

 

>tear*<

[blood fart]

I am writing a book.

You's guys be reading it right now.

Understand.

 

I write fast.

And do little-to-no editing.

When I read it over again, I notice things are left out.

But I don't want to go back and fix it.

 

Maybe later.

[Dick Quickwood]

"From the other room, I hear the lesbian giving a mouth hug to the dude's friend.

For crack.

He wasn't even the one with all the crack."

 

hahaha

[Ape Shit]

i thought i had it rough growing up cause my dad made me take piano lessons, but man...

[Guest shai_hulud]

I can relate.

 

Not in degree, but definitely on some points.

 

You'll be all right. If you need to talk to someone, you know how to find me.

[Hoblow]

Your story is a lot like my girlfriends story, but much more fucked up.

I don't think it would be as fun to read if it wasn't written the way it is.

[blood fart]

"From the other room, I hear the lesbian giving a mouth hug to the dude's friend.

For crack.

He wasn't even the one with all the crack."

 

hahaha

 

 

Really.

I was like,

"What the shit is going on??"

I walked to the bathroom and saw her wiping her mouth and looking guilty.

LIke I totally just pulled her dyke card.

Which I did.

 

It wasn't actually even a different room.

There was only a tall dresser cutting the room in half.

 

To be fair, I did show the dude with the ziplock bag of crack cocaine my boobies.

I didn't take my leather bra off or anything.

But you know, we do what we have to do to get what we want to get.

[c-walk]

damn, that was long but kept my interest through all the crack and homelessness

 

 

christ you've had one crazy life... i kind of want to know what happened to Uriah, seemed like a good guy (that or completely fucking nutts in the head)

[IrishCarBombs]

read half. read the rest later

[blood fart]

damn, that was long but kept my interest through all the crack and homelessness

 

 

christ you've had one crazy life... i kind of want to know what happened to Uriah, seemed like a good guy (that or completely fucking nutts in the head)

 

I don't know what happened to him.

I know I destroyed his heart.

And I feel bad about that.

He didn't know what he was getting himself into.

 

He took me out to his family's compound once.

To pick up some of his kayaks to sell.

It was strange.

All his sisters were in ankle-length skirts and high-necked button-down shirts.

His mother and father disowned him.

And wouldn't even come out to meet me.

They said I was the devil.

They weren't too far off.

 

He was nice.

Too nice.

Not that I have anything against nice dudes now, but at that point in my life, I didn't feel worthy enough to be with someone who treated me so well.

Things have changed drastically.

 

 

 

That was only about a 2-3 month span.

Give or take.

I spent about 10 years wrapped up into that lifestyle.

You can't even imagine some of the stories I have.

That I am not comfortable sharing.

[c-walk]

10 years like that?

 

 

 

be damn glad you're alive right now... fucking hell

[dirtydoses]

i read it all

 

but not really sure why you even posted it.

[blood fart]

I guess I could have made a thread about Lady E.

There's always tomorrow.

[OL'DIRTYGeEEZER]

wow...that was an amazing story..u should listen to LoveLine with dr. drew...he talks about problems related to these....good luck and i hope u get better.

[blood fart]

I am better.

 

This was a while ago.

Like I said.

Back in 2002.

 

In Feb., I will have 5 years clean off heroin.

I have about 2 years clean off cocaine.

It's all a thing of the past.

 

I am not the same person I used to be.

For that, I am grateful.

[dirtydoses]

yes.

[the.crooked]

I am writing a book.

You's guys be reading it right now.

Understand.

 

I write fast.

And do little-to-no editing.

When I read it over again, I notice things are left out.

But I don't want to go back and fix it.

 

Maybe later.

 

This is how I write my essays. Perhaps this is why we share an affinity for each other's writing style.

[NerdUnit]

Blood fart: I really like how you write.

 

It's not always what you say but how you

 

say it. Shit is simple and is powerful.

 

I'm glad you are here to share it with us.

 

Thanks.

 

Not too long at all either.

 

Fuck that spoon feed me bizness.

 

Work for it fools. DO yer reeden.

[lord_casek]

that was amazing. glad you're still alive to tell that story, and glad things have changed for you to have enough confidence to tell it to strangers.

[TRILLionare]

where was all that money coming from?

[RathofGod]

so were you doing graff at the time also

 

or the drugs prevented you

[Bert]

I am better.

 

This was a while ago.

Like I said.

Back in 2002.

 

In Feb., I will have 5 years clean off heroin.

I have about 2 years clean off cocaine.

It's all a thing of the past.

 

I am not the same person I used to be.

For that, I am grateful.

 

Glad I saw this I was about to ask if you were still using because the last paragraph the only thing you say is you met up with PegLeg which left me with suspense...

[uncle-boy]

damn thats ruff

you're one tuff lady

 

the only time i ever thought i was overdosing was on methadone, i felt so stupid.

and i fucking hate the leg pains! lol

 

glad you're alive and seem to be doing better

good luck with your life ms.