UDF guy

For a short while I lived in a small, rural town about an hour north east of the capital. The town itself is very small and old fashioned and the population is even smaller and more old fashioned. I was living in the upstairs apartment of an old house and about a five minute walk from this house was a United Dairy Farmers gas station. It was at this UDF that I first laid eyes on UDF guy.

UDF guy is a twenty something whose name I think is Ryan. Maybe I read it on his name tag or maybe he just looks like a Ryan to me. Whatever the case, I have been infatuated with UDF guy since I first saw him. He is probably about five feet, 10 or 11 inches tall. He's got shaggy dark brown hair and very light skin. He's incredibly thin and has a long face with a squared jaw. His eyes are a very clear blue.

I hadn't been to that specific gas station in months until last night. It seems like it must have been fate that I go there at that specific time on that specific day because when I pulled up, there he was, in all his UDF glory, putting something back in one of the refrigerator doors that holds all the soda. When I walked in he hurried to get behind the counter and smiled at me. I almost died. Seriously, I almost dropped dead right there in the doorway. I could have fallen face down on that grungy little mat they have when you walk in, all because he smiled when he saw me. ANYWAY I got all silly and giggly and wasted a good amount of time meandering around because I wanted to continue staring at him. When I finally got up to the counter he rang me up and we chit chatted for a bit, which was nice despite the fact that I was smiling like a crazy person. He asked me how I was and I asked him how he was and he smiled and I smiled. His hair was a lot longer since I had last been there and I looked a lot better, two very good things, in my opinion.

I think UDF guy might also have a long-term crush on me. I'm not going to go into detail, but I can just feel it. I feel it in my bones. I will say this, though: He goes out of his way to be the one to ring me up and he always smiles when he sees me and sometimes we talk about more than the massive amount of Lemonheads I buy from them. One time the shelf didn't have any Lemonheads on it and he helped me look up and down the store to see if they had any more. I'm going to go ahead and say that the aforementioned incident shows that he has taken a liking to me.

I have been crushing on this gas station guy for almost four years now and I think it's about time he make a move. Even in his little apron he is still sexy. Maybe even more than sexy because he can look sexy with an apron on. ANYWAY I used to fantasize all the time that we would just get down to business when I came in. I would still like that to happen. This is the best I have looked in a long time. It seems right. Especially since now I'm single. I still feel very obligated to Shain, mainly because I think we're going to get married one day, but I wouldn't mind throwing my book of morals out the window of my car while I was driving down State Route 3 to get to that gas station for a night with UDF guy.

Her.

She moves up to me from behind and wraps her familiar, comfortable arms around me.
"I am all you need, now and forever," she whispers softly in my ear. The warmth from her body shoots from my arms, up to my chest, and fills my head with painful memories. Her lips brush my neck and she caresses my skin up and down.
"I'm the only one who has ever cared about you, dear. How many times must we go through this? You'll always be mine." I shake my head in defiance and she quiets me.
"Why do you doubt me? I am your beginning and end, my love. Just accept it." Her breath is hot on my skin and sweat beads on my forehead. My heart pounds.
"Do you feel that blood pulsing in your veins? I am the reason you are alive. You are nothing without me. All you need is me. I love you, my baby. I love you and that is all that matters." I can feel her devilish smile as she rests her cheek on my shoulder.
We had reenacted this moment time and time again. This was not the first time she convinced me all I had was her, but it would be the last.

I lift my hands from my sides and remove her arms from my waist. I pull myself away from her and turn myself around to stare her in the face.
"I love you. I have loved you for so long. But I hate you and I hate what you have caused me to become." Her eyes grow wide and her jaw tenses. I can see her delicate hands ball into fists. "I no longer need you. I never needed you. But you held me so lovingly, you covered my scars and protected me from feeling. I don't want that anymore. I don't want you. What is life if you cannot share it with others? There are people who love me and deserve what I have to offer more than you."
I take her gentle face in my hands. I smile slightly and place my lips on her forehead. I kiss her face all over, her cheeks, her nose, her chin, and her lips.
"Goodbye, my sweet. I never have to be alone ever again."

Never alone

My body was exhausted and my mind was tired. I didn't know what else I could say, I just needed to listen. My shoulders felt like I was setting down a heavy load for a little while. I breathed in and out, in and out.

"It's 8:55, you guys, time to circle up!"
I raised my body up and supported myself only by leaning on the table in front of me, putting all my weight on my hands. I took a deep breath and moved my way to the circle. Georgia walked towards me. He bright green eyes shined directly at me and she smiled.
"Hey, girl," she whispered to me as she put her arms around me. "We have more in common than I ever thought." I smiled weakly at her and she slipped her arm around my waist, holding me up from my left side. Pippi strode towards me.
"We're gonna talk after the meeting, do you hear me? Don't you worry. What the fuck can they do to you? We all pay for our consequences of using and you don't have to do this shit alone. We all love you." She put her left arm around my waist and held up my right side. The room came together in a circle, all of us with our arms holding the others close.
Georgia and Pippi are both slightly taller than me and with their arms around me my shoulders were pushed upward, my arms around their necks. They held me up when I could not stand. I felt like Jesus on the cross, his apostles helping him to carry it up the hill. These addicts are my apostles. My consequences are my cross to bare. Their arms are outstretched in love and support.


Welcome home! The war is over! You never have to be alone again!

Ocean Isle

It is snowing again. It is always snowing here. I am almost to the point that I can't stand it anymore.


I am standing on the deck of our beach house in North Carolina. Night has finally fallen but it's still warm. There are stars and ocean and sand for miles all around us. The only lights you can see come naturally from the sky or from other beach houses. The only noises are the waves lapping up to the shore and people laughing and singing in the distance.

My aunt, Vicky, stands in front of me, beer in hand. She's not actually my aunt, but she is. Vicky has been friends with my family since she and my Aunt Anne were in college together. I have known her since I was born.
"You should really read this book," she tells me. She reaches over to the glass table next to us and hands me a paperback. I can smell the alcohol on her, even though she's only a little tipsy. It mixes beautifully with the scent of salt and sand and her perfume. Vicky runs her hand through her bleached bangs, and adjusts the sheathe dress she has on. All of her clothes are bought off the Home Shopping Network. Even in the dim light shed on us from the living room inside, I can see her tanned face light up and her thin lips curve into a smile.
"You're a beach child, you know?" She sips her beer and I nod knowingly. "This book is all poems about the beach and feeling at one with yourself and nature at the beach. You grew up coming here, this book is definitely for you." I tell her I'm excited to read it.
"You are so smart, so talented. You are going to go places, girl. I can feel it, you know? I can just feel that you are going to do big things. Your dad would be so proud of you."


In my head I am already at the beach. It is already 85 degrees and sunny and I am back in that moment, when I am whole and one with my favorite place. Fuck the Midwest, I want to go home.

Stupidity, not Insanity

My family tried to get me clean multiple times. I did not thank them or accept it at all.


Between Shain, Clair, and I we had pooled enough money to bail Dexter out of jail.

Dexter was my dope dealer. He's a little bit taller than me, pale and scrawny with heavy blue eyes. The lids are always drooping, making his pupils look like shining half moons. His light hair is shaved almost all the way down. Dexter has tattoos on his calves and upper and lower arms. He seems to always wear a white t-shirt and a pair of low jean shorts that he holds up with one hand, a Newport usually in the other. He has a child-like smile and a low drawl that squeaks when he gets angry or joyful. Dexter's only family is his grandma and his uncle, who both know he's a drug dealer. Gramma finds rigs and baggies in the laundry she does for him. His mother was a crack whore who left him with Gramma and his father was incarcerated for drugs most of Dexter's life. Shortly after he was released and formed a relationship with Dexter he passed away. It seems almost as if Dexter was destined to be a narcotics business man.

Clair is Dexter's girlfriend. Shain and I went to high school with her. She has always been stunningly beautiful with olive skin and shockingly blue eyes. Clair usually keeps her black, straight hair long. She's taller than me and fairly thin. She has perfect teeth and freckles all across her nose and cheeks. She never laughs, she chuckles from her belly.
Clair and I realized the day we worked to get Dexter out of jail how much we had in common. Her mom and my dad died suddenly, both when we were nine. Our relationships with our remaining parents are identical, along with our relationships with our siblings. Our reasons for using dope are exactly the same. Our lives are mirror images. I love Clair's name. She told me as we drove to pick up Shain from work that night that her parents chose that name for her because they loved Debussy's "Clair de Lune" so much. She hummed the melody and I smiled. I play classical piano. I know my Debussy.

I coughed and managed to open my eyes to the sound of someone banging on the door at ten in the morning. The four of us had been up all night, laughing, joking, shooting. I fell asleep on the beaten leather couch in Dexter's living room. I looked around and saw Shain on his elbows, staring at the door, on the love seat perpendicular to me.
"Who the fuck is that?" I asked, groggily. Within a minute Dexter wobbled himself into the living room. He was shirtless, in only boxers, and walking like a 65 year old crippled man because he was muscle pumping dope in his thighs.
"I swear to fucking God, man, if this is another bitch just stopping by to get some shit, I will fuckin kill them, man, I swear."
He brushed the sleep from his eyes and peered through the peep hole. The look on his face was that of confusion as he unpadlocked the front door.
Three large men pushed past Dexter and stepped into the living room.
"What's up, man?" Dexter squeaked.
"Who else is here, Dex? Is this it? I know this isn't it. Where the fuck is your bitch?"
"Clair!" Dexter yelled. "Come out here!" Clair stumbled out of the back bedroom, looking bewildered.
"What the fuck, Dexter. What the fuck is going on." The man who had spoken first told Clair to sit down next to me on the couch. I pulled the blanket tight across my chest and looked worriedly at Shain.
"Where are your guns, Dex?" The man asked.
"I don't have any, man. Had to sell em about a month ago."
"Dexter, I know you have some fucking guns." The man raised his voice. "Where the fuck are your fucking guns?"
"Dude, I swear on my father's grave I don't have any. On my father's grave." Dexter's voice cracked and shook like an earthquake about to rip a whole in the ground. It terrified me to see Dexter nervous. To me he was God, he was immortal, he was undefeatable. Knowing that he was just as scared as I was caused me to shiver.
"So," the man said. A night stick slipped from his shirt sleeve and fell purposefully in his hand. The other two men mimicked his action and raised their weapons. "I could fucking kill you all right fucking now and nobody would be able to do shit about it? Is that what you're fucking telling me?" Nobody said a word.
"Yeah," Dexter nearly whispered. "That's what I'm telling you."


That evening my family took me to a mental health and drug addiction center called NetCare. By that night I was back at Dexter's, the three of them waiting for me with some laughter, a joke, and a shot.

Altruism.

I picture myself on the top of a grassy hill. There is nothing around me for miles and all I can hear is the warm, summer wind blow. The sun is shining so brightly in the sky I can barely keep my eyes open. When I manage to squint through the light I see waving blades of grass in every direction, so green it almost looks fluorescent. A blue sky looks down upon me, pure white clouds drifting above my head. I am filled with an overpowering happiness, so great my body can barely stand it. My mouth forms a smile and spreads across my face into a grin. I outstretch my arms, spread my fingers apart, tilt my head back. Sunlight and heat pours over my skin.

I picture myself on a deserted beach. The air is still, but for seagulls squawking. The sun beats down and I can feel pinpricks on my skin where it is starting to burn. Warm water rushes up to my feet as waves clap right in front of me. I pull my shirt over my head and throw it somewhere in the sand behind me. My feet are soaked in salt water and I have sand caked all the way from my heel to my knees, but I shimmy out of my shorts and kick them away. Standing there, alone, content, unclothed, I wade into the warm ocean. I push past little waves and pull against the current. In a matter of minutes I dip under the waves and swim around, running my fingers through the sand. Sand, sand, sand, it's everywhere. It grazes my arms and scratches at my knees. In this moment, I'm not happy, I'm serene. There are no problems, no worries, no regrets, no fears, no resentments. There is nothing but me and this water.

I picture myself working in a garden outside of a beautiful brick and yellow house. A sweet-faced innocent little boy stares up at me from his spot in the dirt. His hands are covered in brown, his knees are scraped, and his mouth has red in the corners from Kool Aid. The sun is hidden behind a tall tree, light only making it through breaks in between leaves. A humid wind sweeps in and rustles the hair out of his perfect, little bowl cut. His big, dark, moon-shaped eyes stare up at me. His lips curve into a smile and as he starts to tell me his favorite dinosaurs. With every syllable he picks up and drops another piece of dirt. I cannot help but laugh. I take the gardening scissors in my gloved hands and cut him a marigold off the plant. This beautiful little boy giggles and turns the flower upside down. He spins it around and chuckles the way children do as he explains that now it looks like a dancer. I brush a piece of hair from my face and tell him he should give that flower to Daddy when he gets home from work. This little boy can not be more than 5 and he is my son. When I look at him I love him more and differently than I have ever loved before. I want to hold him in my arms forever, protect him from any pain he might encounter. I want him to be as happy in every situation as he is when we play in the garden. The only thing I can feel is the love I have for my baby.

Sergei

It's cold, it's cold, it's cold
Til you bring yourself to me
You're right outside my door
Standing in the snow it's 75 and sunny

Give me some of your love
Cause I know you want let in
I can give you anything you want
Tell me if you want to catch my sins

Cause I can get you high without that heron
I can make you shoot up without a rig
Shed your skin, I mean your clothes
Take a moment to rest on my lips

Better yet, my hips
Your neck, I like your hands
Put them where you feel like
You'd be the best one night stand

You look like a pinko commie
You taste like the USSR
You smell like winter in Siberia
You move just like a tzar

Touch me, touch me, touch me
It's you, I can be the object
Of your affection, it's all I need
I'm such a fucking addict

You're all I want right now, for now
In this moment you're perfect
Every inch is just for you
So tell me, dear, what's the verdict?

Brand New.

I am still adjusting to the idea that I'm not going to die of an overdose. I can't really wrap my head around leaving a promising and proud legacy for my family. I always just assumed I would probably accidentally do too much one day and it would kill me. Shain would want to call an ambulance to save me, he'd be crying over my near-lifeless body, but Alex would remind him that not only do junkies just drop you at the hospital and leave you, but those were my wishes. I'd hit the concrete in front of Doctor's or East or Riverside and some observant passerby would alert staff I was dying in front of the hospital. They would wonder for half a second why I was foaming at the mouth, why my eyes were rolled into the back of my head, why I was sweating profusely, and limp or stiff or shaking or seizing, until they grabbed my arm to take a pulse. They would see the rash-like tracks in the inside of my elbow, the top of my forearm, the side of my wrist and up to my thumb. They would feel the cysts that had formed from blown hits, the calluses that had built up. They would shoot me full of Narcan to get me breathing, but it just wouldn't happen. Maybe they would try epinephrine, because my heart rate would be next to nothing. I'd be failing fast. I would die in some nameless, faceless, intern or EMT or surgeon's arms right there on the pavement. They would ID me, somehow, maybe Alex would have thrown my liscense out with me, and my mom would get a call. She would sit silently on the phone, burdened by the thought of what to tell my siblings, but ashamed because she felt relief that it's over. It's finally over, I'm finally over. No more waking up with money missing from her bank account, no more wondering where all her possessions are disappearing to, no more worrying late at night why she can't get ahold of me. And at my funeral, people would cry over my casket. They would touch my cold, hard face and weep about what could have been. When people talked about me, gave my eulogy, they would speak in past tense. "She was such a beautiful girl." "She used to be so ambitious, so talented." They would know I was gone long before I died. And that would just be it. I would have a picture in the paper, next to a headline like, "Local Girl Dies of Heroin Overdose" and a story about how many young people are getting into dope, we're all fucking addicted and dying, I'm just one of many. It would detail how I had all of these things lined up in high school and I threw it all away because of dope.


That is no longer my fate. Today, February 18, 2010, I have three months, two weeks, and four days clean. To return to the the state of absolute misery and pain I was in when I was using would be nothing less than insanity. I love the life I have now. If I were to die today so many people would come to celebrate the life I lived. I am proud now. I am unafraid. My thoughts are always on my new associations, people who are not using and who have found a new way of life. So long as I follow this way I have nothing to fear. I am ever thankful, ever grateful for how much I grow and come to know myself. I feel like a person again. I am me and I am happy. Every day clean is a miricle. The people I have in my life today I never would have met if I hadn't gotten clean. I am so proud to know them. This is where I am today. Pass.

Dexter

Heading down the high way
270 South to where I need to be
Calling God on my cell phone
Even though he's fast asleep

Cause I'm sick and squirming
With agony inside
And my baby sits beside me
Water slipping from his eyes

Well, God lays on his mattress
Or on his couch or on the floor
A cat on his chest, drool spilling from his lips
And a sign on his front door

Well, this ride can't go fast enough
And my God, I want that rush
While he's nodding out on top of Murray Hill
I'm praying my God will calm this ill
Oh, my God, my God

Sign says come to me whenever
But only if I say so
And only when you need me
And only when you pass go

And only on pay day
And only when you're hurting
And only when you're starving
And only when the wound stings

Well, this ride is long enough
And my God, I want that rush
While he's nodding out on top of Murray Hill
I'm praying this void will be filled
By my God, oh my God

Now I don't know what you've been told
But this highway feels awfully cold
When black and white and brown is gold
And all the shit you had got sold
You feel like this fate should have been foretold
Except it's like you've got a blindfold
Over eyes that are completely controlled

By the ride that's taken long enough
Oh, my God, I'm dying for that rush
While he's nodding out on top of Murray Hill
I'm praying my God will love me still
Oh, my God, my God

Dream Man.

I have this man in my head. He is my vision of what my husband will be.

Dream Man is taller than I am, but that's not too hard. He has broad shoulders and a strong, masculine build. He has eyes that sparkle and soft but striking features. His hair is light and kind of shaggy, like he's been too busy to get a hair cut. His fingernails are stubby and his facial hair is scruffy. He stands confidently and comfortably. His voice is low. You can hear him smile when he talks.

Dream Man is always smiling. He's positive and altruistic. He cares about humanity and the ones he loves. He has a strong fatherly instinct, maybe he has younger sisters. He is soft and sensitive, but fiercely protective. He has an upbeat and friendly sense of humor around acquaintances and a dry, witty, sarcastic, sometimes nasty sense of humor with his family and friends. He believes in God, but isn't religious, and cares about staying focused and centered. He is driven in his career, but cares only about providing for his family.

In my most favorite fantasy Dream Man and I live in a brightly lit, always cheery version of my grandparent's house in Cleveland. There are yellow and orange flowers in a vase on the kitchen table, and Nirvana or Johnny Cash or the Beatles are always playing on some out-of-sight radio. All the walls are some shade of yellow, like butter cream or sunshine or marigold. Everything looks like it's glowing. Our son, who I call Francis, our adopted daughters, who are presumably named whatever their biological parents named them, and our foster children are playing somewhere. Dream Man comes home from work while it's still light out. He comes up behind me while I wash dishes at the sink and wraps his arms around me. His hair brushes my face and he kisses me hello.

This theoretical son is named Francis Keith. He is only theoretical because I haven't met Dream Man yet. Some day I want this family. So, wherever you are, I am waiting for you, both of you. I can't wait to meet you.

So much.

Tonight is a beautiful night.

I went to an NA meeting with my brother, Alex. It was phenomenal. He is one of my favorite people. We sat and laughed, he showed me his room at the friend's house he's been living at. Being with him makes me feel real. And he wants to continue going with meetings to me. I wasn't sure if this was his way of showing he was stepping towards recovery until he told me he wanted to get back into the rehab facility I went to. I am so proud, so joyful I could just burst. I love him so much.

After the meeting Helen, Luke, and I dropped Alex off. Then the three of us went home to play Apples to Apples with Ma, Kit, Brie, and Brie's husband Joe. It was one of the best times I've had in a long time. The entire game I couldn't stop laughing. My face has been plastered in a permanent grin. I feel beautiful tonight. They are beautiful tonight. This is my family. The family I feel most comfortable with I was given by God, not by birth. It is truly amazing. It was fate that I be brought in with them. I love them so much.

Sometimes I think I want to marry Luke. Sometimes I think I want to make love to Luke. I feel the intense compulsion to touch him every time I'm in his presence. I want to put my arm around him, I want to sit close to him, I want to be with him. I don't lust after him, I desire him, I long for him. It takes all the self control I can muster to stop myself from doing these things, because in the end I would just hurt him. I'm not stable enough for a relationship and it would probably be a really stupid idea to think I could go from one long term relationship to another. Because that's what it would be. I could never just casually date Luke. If I'm with Luke I am completely committed to him. I could not bring myself to do anything to even remotely bring him pain.

When I love someone I love them with everything in me. I do all I can to make them happy, safe. Whatever they are lacking I try to provide it. Being loved by me is wonderful, but intense. When I tell you I love I'm saying it so you know I am willing to do whatever it takes to give you what you want or need. So if you hear me say it to you understand what you are getting yourself into. Love is not a game to me. My love for someone does not wax and wane, it's static. And it's forever. I am yet to love someone and lose that love for them. No matter what we go through or how badly you hurt me I will always feel that love for you.

With that said, you can understand why I cannot ever pursue a relationship with Luke unless I am ready to take on the responsibility. Luke is self conscious, used to being under appreciated, and so intelligent that it's a burden. Sometimes I'm still in awe at how well read and knowledgeable he is. It almost scares me. And he is so willing to love me. Helen and I talk about him at least once every day. She feels like she knows he's already in love with me. I'm not so sure. Whatever the case, he always gives me what he needs. When I'm sad he wants to make me smile. When I'm happy he wants to revel in my warmth. When I'm angry he wants to soothe my soul. He is amazing. I have a stupid, crazy crush on him. And I'm sure it shows.

When we're at work together people comment on the tension between the two of us. I have never noticed, but it's apparent to everyone else. He doesn't expect our relationship to go much farther than the friendship we share. Helen has asked him. The family already loves him. They want him to keep coming back, to throw some NA speak at you. He and Joe get along swimmingly. He is perfect to me, character defects and all.

I hesitate to say that Luke is beautiful, because I'm not sure that's the right word for him. Luke is... too masculine, too... hard-looking to be called beautiful. He's sensitive and caring, but beautiful just doesn't fit. Luke is striking and handsome. He is wonderful, in every sense of the word. I love him so much.

Kit, Helen, Luke, and I are about to leave to go to Steak and Shake, one of our favorite places in the world. I don't want this night to end. I'm as giddy and happy to be alive as when I was in treatment. My life is beautiful. The world is beautiful. Tonight I am not dope sick. Tonight I am not high. Tonight I am not desperate. Tonight I am not lonely. Tonight I am not hateful. Tonight I am so thankful to be alive. Tonight I am with the people who are my family. And I love them so much.

I should probably call my sponsor.

Sometimes I feel so ugly I don't want to leave the house.
Sometimes I feel so tired I can't physically open my eyes.
Sometimes I feel so depressed that I don't want to do a single thing that I know will make me happy.
Sometimes I feel so angry I want to wrap my tiny, delicate hands around someone's neck and squeeze until they go limp.
Sometimes I feel so lonely that I want to be by myself until I die.


Today is one of those days. I don't want to do what I know will help me. I don't want to get over this, I want to sit and stew. I want to dwell on my indescribable pain. I hurt so bad today. I want to cry, but I don't feel like talking about what's wrong with me.



I miss being a junkie sometimes. I miss the comfort in being sad.

my name.

I have this friend named Darrell. He is 15 years older than me and yet we are so alike. We drive to meetings together frequently. Every time he picks me up he and I share stories, laugh at each other's stupidity when we used, and talk about how much we love sobriety. We call on each other for support and share in each others happiness. I love him so much. He never tells me he loves me too when I say goodbye to him, but he lets me know all the time that loves me when we're on the phone or when he texts me. He calls me Sunshine.


I have this friend named Luke. I've known him since freshman year of high school. We have always been close and he has always had feelings for me. I have never felt anything other than friendship for him until now. I completely cut him out of my life when I was using and now that he's back I'm not sure what I would do if he left. Luke is tall and thin from being so sick the past year. He has very light skin and is covered in freckles. His hair is short and orange, but you can only tell because of his facial hair. He wears a white hat all the time. If it's not on his head it's hanging out of his back pocket. He means everything to me. I would never persue a relationship with him for fear that I would lose him as a companion. I need him. I love him in a way I love very few people. When we talk and when we're together we banter and throw insults at the other almost constantly. I can laugh at his jokes but he often takes me too seriously. He calls me Beautiful.


I have this friend named Alex. He is my brother, not by blood, but by love. He is a sociopath and a drug addict, but I see the human in him show through mostly when we're laughing. He has been my brother, my best friend, my partner in crime for almost as long as I've known him. We would steal together. We would sell together. We'd cop together. We'd get high together. We'd get sick together. And now we are just together and it's the best it's ever been. I love everything about him, even his scars. I want more for him than he thinks he deserves. I will love him enough for the both of us. He calls me Tinkerbell.


I have this friend named Helen. We are inseperable. From the time I wake her up in the morning to the time she tells me I must sleep at night we are either together or talking. She lifts me up when I am down and never lets me get too hungry, angry, lonely, or tired. Helen is amazing. The next man I'm with will be sorely butthurt when he learns that she will always come before them. Helen is literally my other half. It feels strange to be apart from her. She can tell what I'm thinking before I say it and how I'm feeling before I know it. We are linked and I love it. She calls me Wife.


I have this friend named Shain. He was my first true love. We were together for almost five years and I can't seem to let him go. He is beautiful. His eyes are his fathers and his smile is his own. His laugh is kind. His hands are thin, like the rest of him, and long. He and Alex are full blooded brothers. They share the same fingers, with tips that curve up at the ends and stubby fingernails. His hair is dark and long. His love for me is powerful and real. Everything reminds me of him. He is clean now, something like twenty days behind me. I have never been more proud of him. I love him, I love him, oh God, how I love him. It physically weighs on me how heavy and strong my unconditional love for him is. I have to limit how much time I talk to him because I get sucked back into the whirlwind, the tidal wave, the ocean that is his love. He calls me Seascape.

ten.

My Daddy died when I was 9. It left a hole in my chest that has never been filled.

Dope never mended the gaping wound that his death left. Dope was like a booby trap. It covered up the hole with a blanket, almost like it wasn't there. But if you were to tread, even lightly, where the blanket lay you would fall into its abyss.

I loved Daddy. I was his first child, his first girl, his Pooh Tyke. He literally was the perfect father. My family was something out of a fairy tale. Daddy would come home from work around 5, kiss my mother, kiss my brothers and I, and go change out of his suit and tie. He'd come downstairs in his promo t-shirt from work, khaki shorts and belt, deck shoes, and an OSU hat. He was a dedicated fan of Ohio State. We'd all eat dinner, sit around and talk, he'd help us with his homework. Then, while my mom cleaned up from dinner, my brothers, Daddy and I would all sit in the living room and watch The Brady Bunch or Kenan and Kel. He'd put us to bed, tuck us in, kiss us goodnight, and always say that he loved us.

He never yelled, never spanked. He punished us by sending us to our rooms. When he'd come up to see if we were still upset he'd tell us he wasn't mad, just disappointed. To this day someone being disappointed in me hurts more than anything else. No amount of yelling or swearing or being put down can hurt me like the words, "You've just disappointed me."

When I was 9 we moved to the capital, from an equally large city in the southern West corner of the state. Most of our family lived here and Daddy had just accepted a position created just for him at the company he'd been working for since I was born. My mother was pregnant with my youngest sibling, my baby sister, Christine. We bought a house my parents weren't happy with simply because we needed a home and it was close to his work. My brother Jon was 8 and my brother Griffin, aptly named for the former Ohio State football player Archie Griffin, was turning 2. Daddy was only 40, and my mom was 39.

On April 24, the day after Easter, we'd been living in our new home just short of five months. I woke up around 8 and thought it odd that Daddy's alarm was still going off. Usually he got up around six, but I figured he must have been in the shower and couldn't hear it beeping. I went down to the kitchen to eat breakfast, where Mom was feeding Griffin in the high chair. I hadn't been at the table more than five minutes when Jon came down from his room. I always remember the words he spoke next. He was slender, with a sweet round face. His eyes match mine in every way except the color; large, round doe eyes, the longest soft lashes, always shiny. While my eyes are dark brown, almost black if you don't look closely, his are hazel. His hair was a warm shade of brown, and his bowl cut grazed just below his eyebrows. Still in his pajamas, he strode lazily into the entryway of the kitchen from the hallway that lead to the front door and stairs and said, "Hey, Mom?" He paused while she looked up from Griffin. "Daddy's laying in bed. He's face down and he's blue."

I remember racing up the stares after my very pregnant mother. I remember grabbing Daddy's left arm, and shaking it. He felt so heavy. His back looked like it always did, his skin extremely fair, but I could see that his entire front side was purple and blue, like a bruise. His body was still warm as he lay there, no covers, in only his white Hanes. I remember Griffin standing in the doorway to my parents room, wailing one of the only words that he pronounced correctly, "Daddy," at the top of his lungs, heavy tears rolling from his blue moon eyes. My mother screaming hysterically my father's name. Keith.

A month later, on May 15, Christine was born.


I am my father's daughter. I do know that one day I'd like to get married. I don't know that I want to change my last name. I heavily resemble my mother's side of the family. Thin, fairly light, big dark eyes, thick dark hair. If I didn't color mine constantly my hair would be the same shade of brown as my mothers, like the eyes we share, almost black. All I have of my father is his last name and his blood. I have tainted both. When people would hear the name he gave me they would shake their heads. "She had such potential. She got into CCAD and just threw it away. It's sad." I'm working on changing that.

What hurts most is that I share his blood. The same blood that coursed through his veins, that pumped in and out, in and out of the heart that killed him, that made him who he was, is the same blood that I intoxicated. The veins he gave me became as hard as my exterior. The blood that runs through them was no good to me unless it was filled with dope. I pricked my skin, punctured my veins, but injected dope straight into his blood. I am disgusted with my disrespect.


I work every day, harder and harder, towards my sobriety. I want people to love me just as much as they loved Daddy. I want people to know I am Keith's daughter, and that I am something to be proud of.

Summer.

Today feels like summer.

Summer is one of the most beautiful times of year to me. My birthday is near the end of the season, my family has always vacationed in North Carolina every June, and I always feel very free. The open air, the heat that feels like it radiates from inside you, the endless amount of sunshine, the fluorescent blue sky, the amazing green of the grass, flowers everywhere. The weather makes me feel like everything is waiting for me and I can have it if I just leave my room.

I sit here in the living room of my family's house. They are not my blood family, but they love me, take care of me, laugh with me and at me, listen to me when I need an open ear, hold me when I cry. They are truly indescribable. Helen and Brie are sisters. Helen is a year younger than me and Brie is a year older. I met Helen on my first day of high school. She walked into my Science class with Miss Lee with a storm about her. She looked like she was ready to fight anybody who even glanced in her direction. Her hair was pulled back, not in vanity, but in an attempt to keep it out of her face. She wore mens jeans that were far too large for her and a red shirt, with sleeves that only came down to her elbows. I never imagined she would be my better half.

Helen's eyes are a piercing shade of blue. They're the color of an iceberg when she's enraged, the color of a bluebell when she smiles, and the color of rain when she's distressed. Sometimes the only way I can describe her is goofy. She sings off key purposefully, dances in place when she's bored. She is one of the most compassionate people I've ever known. I have broken every rule she has for people and yet she always lets me find my way back to her. She knows the most about me. I love her more than I could ever put into any amount of words.

Kit is upstairs in the shower. For having such a short stature and such short hair she manages to take the longest in the bathroom out of the four of us. Kit has short dark hair that she parts on the side and straightens. Her long bangs cover her right eye. She's a little bit heavier and wears mostly mens clothing. Kit is a lesbian and we've always known. She's got a bright smile and sad eyes. How could I forget, her boobs are massive. Massive. I have never seen boobs as big as Kit's.

I'm getting off track. Today feels like summer. It is January 22, but it's hovering somewhere around 40 degrees. The sky was open and bright for a while. You could see the pale blue of the sky while I smoked at work. It feels like summer, though, because all of the blinds in the house are open. The deck door isn't covered by the drapes. And we are all here together. Just like summers past. Just like before heroin.

This last statement was not meant to be sad, but hopeful. I had this before heroin destroyed everything I ever worked for. Dope took me to places I never would have put myself. I lost everyone and everything, especially myself. And I have it back. I have my family. We are here together, on this pseudo summer day, and I am happy. I am completely and truly happy. I never imagined I'd be happy. And I am. I am so happy.

In my life.

I have a brother. I call him Alex. He has wide green eyes, a child like smile, and a joyful laugh. His hair is long right now, and light. He's thin, but not by nature. When he hugs me, especially goodbye, he pulls me in, holds me tight against him, like he's trying to show me with what strength he loves me. Alex is still in active addiction, but when I'm with him it's like everything in the world is alright. We laugh, we joke, we reminisce. I missed him so much. He goes to great lengths to accommodate my sobriety. He doesn't go off to the bathroom, ever, he doesn't steal away at all. When we're together he stays with me the whole time, with the exception of when he went to the kitchen to get me a glass of Kool Aid. For a while I tried to keep distance between us, but anytime I was talking to someone who was still in contact with him, I wanted to know how Alex was. I needed to know he was being taken care of without me or Shain being there. I love him more than anything. I would go to any length, no matter how absurd, to keep him safe, happy, healthy. You know, as safe, happy and healthy as a junkie can be. I can't imagine a life without my brother. I don't want to.

The cat behind me sends my body into a state of near defeat. I can't breathe, my chest feels like a boa constrictor has me in its grasp, my eyes, my nose, everything runs, and I cough like I have tuberculosis. And yet, this neurotic feline sits behind me outstretching its paw and pressing it against my shoulder. It reaches for me, calls for me. I am allergic to this cat, Domino, as much as I am allergic to heroin. And it still searches endlessly for me, always maneuvering its way back into my life.

Heroin became my sweetest, kindest, most tolerant lover. She cradled me in her inviting arms when I needed consolation. She was the friend I called upon when I wanted to celebrate, because it wasn't a party until she walked in the door. She laid in my bed, caressing my skin, delivering to me everything I desired. She never accused me of straying, she never turned me away, she never disowned me for my imperfections. She's intoxicating. She was also the most hateful, hurtful, backstabbing lover one could ever imagine. When I wanted her more she wanted me less. She distanced me from my family, my friends. She drove me to complete isolation, decided for me what I was doing every day. She took pleasure in seeing my pain. And that made me crave her even more. She would never leave me. She's the type of lover that will hold you for hours, kiss you softly, whisper that you are all she needs, and when you lie together in bed she screams that she hates you, throws her clothes on, breaks a glass on your head and smashes the windows out of your car.

And so is the world of the junkie. Until November 3, 2009. That was the day I left the one love that would never leave me. That was the first day of my life.

anomoly.

I see an agonizing pain when I stare into your eyes. They are shining; not blue, not gray. It drives me to distraction. Even when you smile your eyes don't lie. Let me hold you. Let me release you from your constricting thoughts. Let me build you up to feel like the man I know you are. Let me be more than any hallucination. You are thirty days behind me but you are by my side.

Mitch.

Usually near the end of the day my thoughts drift comfortably to you. I feel a physical warmth wash over me when you are on my mind. I want nothing more than to put my arms around you, your face could rest against my chest. Your eyes are always shrouded in darkness. Your mystery still intrigues me, despite the fact that you share your innermost thoughts, hopes and desires with me. I love you deeply and passionately. I adore every inch of you, your rough face, your shaggy hair, your long limbs. I enjoy our conversations, but it's always better when we're together. You saved me, please believe me. Your absolute and unconditional love almost overwhelms me. Come home to me, to us. You are always welcome in my heart.

savior.

You ease my pain and soothe my mind. I am infatuated with what you provide me so readily. I am at home in your hearts. Not a single person, relationship, kiss, has ever made me feel more special or valued in my entire life. I am forever indebted to Narcotics Anonymous.

m&m

What I feel for you is so innocent. You have such sweet eyes. You hardly look at me when we speak and you hardly hold me when we embrace and you hardly love me when we're together. I value how shy you are. And I appreciate what we have. And I don't want more or less right now. And I like you. I like you, my sweet, I like you. I want to tell you all the time how wonderful I think you are. How you only contribute to the happiness I already feel. I look forward to seeing you tonight. And those eyes, you have such sweet eyes.

perhaps, perhaps, perhaps

I am a heroin addict.
I have 80 days clean today.
It hurts to think
It hurts to feel
It hurts to be
And I love every minute of it.
Perhaps I'm masochistic or perhaps I'm just grateful.