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.