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Hey all- as most of you know this is my new BL account (previously went by hthr007). I made my blogs friends only so I can't be e stalked anymore by people. I didn't think my life was that interesting! LOL anyway..

I'm so happy I made the decision to stop taking my hydromorphone/only use benzos if COMPLETELY necessary. This is a huge step for me. Before I wanted nothing to do with being sober, but now I'm chasing it. Instead of chasing that 1st high, I'm chasing sobriety. I decided to quite opiates c/t because I'm an all or nothing girl. I don't have the self control to slowly taper myself off of it. 5 days clean and counting.

PS- here's a picture of me taken in October :D Look at that sunburn lol

the children they grow older and more set in their ways so anything new seems weird and unsavory. friendships are rare in the land of briefcase mornings. a piece of me craves action and i think the more we stoke the ability to desire, the more open we become to desire many things. it's the narrow hallways that lead too well but we're blind to them; too quick to call a door a window.

i kissed his palm and knew i would never know.

the reasons for goodness in that are so unclear.

not knowing is far worse than regret.

It was May 1, 2003. George W. Bush was on the USS Abraham Lincoln giving his "Mission Accomplished" speech. I was sixteen years old, hanging in a shabby apartment on the outskirts of my neighborhood. My friends and I had found a severe alcoholic named Victor to buy us booze when we wanted it. He was in his thirties, from El Salvador. He took a liking to me for some reason.

That day, I remember it being cold outside. I had probably been fighting with my mom. By that time she had already found out I was smoking pot and everything. I was pretty much drinking daily at this point as well. I could walk down the street though, to Victor's apartment, and get some beers any time. Alcohol was cheap and it dulled my senses much more conveniently that weed did. I had been a member of Bluelight for about four months.

Anyway. I think we were actually watching Bush's speech on Telemundo or something. Victor barely spoke any English and we pretty much just had Spanish soap operas on whenever I was over there getting drunk.

Victor smoked Marlboro lights. He slept on a single mattress, on the floor. He never went to sleep without a beer within reach for when he woke up in the morning.

One time we were sitting in his apartment, I think my friend Brendan or Watson was with us. I must have dropped something that rolled under the couch or something, because I looked under there and there was an unopened bottle of MD2020 just out of sight if you were standing up and looking down. I'll never forget the look of joy on Victor's face as he snatched it from me and chugged the whole thing. Warm.

We thought we were so superior to this unshaven, smelly lush from another country. We thought we were better... my friends had many, many laughs at Victor's expense.

Now I'm speaking in rehabs to kids that remind me of me. I'm getting text messages from Brendan who is living on the street (or in a laundry room or something). Watson looked like total shit last time I saw him... like way worse than Victor looked.

And that is what I think of whenever someone brings up the Mission Accomplished thing. I don't think so much about Bush's hypocrisy--just my own. Our own.

Ive known my friends at the local dope house 9 yrs and suffice it to say always managed to be away all the times this place has gotten raided. That all ended Feb 15. The pigs came looking for and got a gang banger that had a warrant apparently. I never knew he existed til being in the back of that feckin cop car. . fuck me yet again, although 7 yrs went by without any arrests. I keep a low pro and as for the hot house, they are the only people that are single like me and have welcomed me anytime 24/7. I even kept up the friendships sober the two yrs I was clean, but saw them every 4 mo or so only-for obvious reasons. There had always been a longing to a very small percent for the highs, for the exciting lifestyle that goes with it. Ive known that drugs to me had been THE most intense relationship Ive ever had full of ups, downs, dysfunction like a fatal attraction. My lover although insanely jealous of my time and money making me miss out on what normies enjoy, a life of more diversity and less intensity--gave the lifestyle, the party,the clowns that use and make me feel Im back in my own element, and finally THE SEX. THE INTENSIVE, GLORIOUS, SEX only given chemically instead of in the form of a male body.

The dope IS the best sex ever, romantic and or sexual liasons with me always ended painfully in disappointment or sorrow. My friendships are the only long haul relationships Ive had, that and 3 blood relatives Mom, an Aunt an Uncle-and of course drugs. A dysfunctional lover demanding most of my time but provides great sexless sex. Drugs are the amuzement park I bring to me instead of me going to it. No standing in long lines, the rides last much longer, and no having to drive 2 hrs to get there--chaos always demands a heavy price however. And I knew when drugs came back 4 yrs ago for great sex, of course he'd promise all the fun and none of the former hassles of bogarting my life, finances,and time-and unfortunately often requires jail time because an addict not loaded driving, stealing to get drugs,gets loaded only at home or rarely a friends at where staying the night at is still committing a felony by default.

I had been sound asleep on my friends couch when I got woken up to 7 cop cars demanding we all come outside to talk. Oh fucking great, I thought. I was half asleep, half panicked the most vulnerable time for me. They got me good cause I was unprepared. At the time I thought to leave my purse in the house and that I didnt have anything on my person anyway. Woulda, coulda, shoulda I get pissed what I shoulda said an done an what I woulda done had I not just woke up. Never agree to go outside first mistake. Told them hell no when they asked permission to search me, fuck them get a warrant and fine go right ahead bring on the fucking drug sniffing dogs, but Im a citizen not on parole or probation I have my fucking rights and have given no reason or probable cause to warrant a search.

Hindsight. I wanted them to get it over with and leave me the fuck alone but knew it was all over when to my horror the bitch asked "whats this?" retrieving what had been a $5 bag of heroin from my back pocket. I didnt even know it was there. It must have been left over from a time I had no Rx painkillers, the reason I had the small amount. I make it a point never to put bags of dope in my pockets-except obviously one time I didnt. Motherfucker. Damn Orange County taxing and fucking all citizens any which way-and do. "Its heroin in that bag. Turn around, Im placing you under arrest." I had an eerie feeling this scence would play out, except it was when I never saw it coming.

1 2 3

Yesterday I decided to hangout with an old co-worker. We both had been friends first and just would smoke weed together but then we found out we both did pills and dope. Yeah, well it went downhill from there. Not our friendship but the fact that we just started using heroin together all the time and turned into junkies even more than we already were.

So anyways time goes by and we both no longer work at our previous job. I still see her every now and then. We both, however, are busy with school and just life in general. I no longer have her hitting me up telling me her husband has new bags he's selling and I no longer go to her house an hour after that text to buy a bundle. I'm going to school and doing good for once... at least I thought.

So now her husband and her are no more.. I guess her husband cheated on her so she went to live with her brother but first went to detox. She told me of this yesterday when I decided to chill with her, yeah bad idea. She told me she slipped up and did a bag the other day but wasn't planning on doing anymore. I even told her how I was clean for awhile but slipped up over winter break but then I got clean again. I then told her I did not plan on doing it anymore but then after we smoke weed she ends up getting a bag from her brother... I was like, huh? And then out of nowhere I said damn, I should of got one too.

Then she tells me that we can split it and then the next minute I'm snorting dope... what the fuck?! I didn't even want heroin and the other day I even said to myself that I could not fuck this up and then what do you know? I'm snorting heroin the next day. I should of known this was going to happen... I was just setting myself up for it.

I even bought bags after that and my friend did as well. She tells me these are her last bags and her brother knocks on the door asking if us junkies are done. He doesn't like to watch, even though he then offers to sell me coke, crack and everything else and then also tells me I'm invited over his house anytime.

Oh shit, is all I'm thinking but then I'm also thinking oh.... one phone call away. This is all one phone call away. I have a job again and money to spend... ultimate bliss is just one phone call away.

However, I know I can't do this... I can't but why do I always fuck up? I regret ever trying heroin or any opiates for that matter. When will this stop? When will I ever be able to stay clean?

as some of you might know, my dogsitting gig is up and i'm planning on moving up north.
my friend has been urging me to move up since last summer and especially so through these past few months as the area where i will soon be living is a tourist area and most businesses hire during the late winter/ early spring months.
i've got many things to set in order before i move and will be unable to get up there within the next month which would be ideal, but i'm confident in my decision to stay until my one year anniversary of being clean on april 22 (earth day) of this year.
i've got a baby shower to attend in order to support a dear friend of mine,
the aforementioned party which is not only mine but also the party of my recovery brother whose clean date is the day before mine,
and many details to attend to (syncing putting in my quit date at work, tax returns and car repairs, stuff like that.)

sometimes i consider saying 'fuck all' and just going up there with the small amount of money in my bank account,
but i know better than this now. i've moved several times with no financial cushion, and nothing is worse than not being able to support yourself in a new environment.

i'm working on saving up enough to make my car payment and phone bill for a few months if need be,
and am hoping that my tax return will be enough to cover me as far as groceries, gas, and cigarettes go.

i'm slowly checking things off of my list and feeling better about moving with each cross off the list,
i'm doinitright this time

Went back packing for a couple days, only took the sub sublingually, so im not sure about my doses or times exactly, since we were way out in the middle of beautiful nowhere. Could not hear a cars, planes, people or anything, only the sounds of nature: coyotes, snow falling, the wisping wind causing the trees to moan the aching sound of decades old wood. it was a great trip and escape from the everyday grind

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2mgs buprnorphine IN around 8 am
400mgs cimetidine followed 30 mins later by 1 mg alpralozam.

Morning BL,
been sick for the past coule days but this morning im feeling better. started out with 400mgs cimetidine at ~6am then drove to work(1 cig), had to open at 7 am. Got here and took 1mg buprenorphine IN and 1.5mgs alpralozam (1mg sublingualed and .5 oral) feeling pretty good need a cig and some stims would be nice but hell at least ive got coffee
hope everyone is enjoying there morning too

update: just ran out of coffee and my GF isnt here yet to cover the front desk, im in desperate need of more coffee and a cig! she needs to hurry up..



Times and Routes of substance intake:
1mg Buprenorphine IN ~ 7 am
400mg cimetidine ~ 6 am
1.5mgs Alpralozam 7am-8am (.5mg Sublingual, .5mgs oral ~7am; .5mg sublingual ~ 7:30 am)

yafi. shis.

idktwtcu. igyamb. omp-b? ew, ypapitm. yatco. wattm. ujas.

istftwtltio. ldann. iikheot, tgwtwsn.

wtih. inttwiws. pini

-g

i wrote a letter to fucktwat, so i might as well write you your own letter instead of making fucktwat's letter take a more drastic turn. and since i am posting this in blogs instead of showing it to you, it might make following this whole saga easier to follow. tho i suppose to be entirely accurate, i need to write to vgoraz too. as the 3 of you all play parts in this...

tho i have to wonder how much you care about the other two. i know you are aware of the both of them, and know that they are why i go to seattle all the time. but do you know how tenuous our (me and you) relationship is at times? and how much the two other people in this saga affect my actions?

i don't know how you wouldn't be aware, it isn't like we haven't talked about these things before. and i am not exactly that great when it comes to lying. but i don't see how you could be aware of things and make no effort to change.

i quite enjoy how we both have our own lives. but sometimes i would like to do a little bit more with you. like the stuff you tell me to go to seattle if i want to do. i am kinda certain that other marriages don't have random people to do the things the spouse doesn't want to do. i don't know. i guess in some ways i have everything i want at the moment.

this letter is a lot harder to write than the one about fucktwat. i guess i am more used to being open with him and expressing myself. i sort of gave up doing that with you a long time ago. the conversations never really went anywhere, so i just stopped having them with you. it is true that this has played out time and time again. maybe you are viewing me with the same exacerbation that i view fucktwat. all i know is that stuff has been stagnant for awhile.

you are funny. i like how you can follow my line of thinking and know what i am trying to get at. it is extremely useful when we play a game like cranium or trivial pursuit. i find it amusing to go to your shows and watch your bands play. i find you atractive, even if you look slightly gay half the time you definitely help when it comes to clothing shopping.

but i don't like how you never have anything nice to say about me. how we seem unable to talk about certain issues. i am sure you can write a bitter letter about me. it is why i think an outside party might be useful. someone to be there to mediate when we start talking about heated issues. so you don't get pissy and i don't cease talking.

some people talk about the gorilla in the room. i feel like we are constantly dodging a heard of elephants in the room. sometimes everything seems like an utter farce.

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this is still unfinished. i really don't know if i will finish it. i am finding it surprisingly hard to write. i keep comparing what i am writing here to what i wrote about fucktwat. it is far easier to write about him. that bothers me. tho to be fair, i would maybe be able to get out a sentence if it came to trying to write a letter to vgoraz.

Ok. This is what happened to me today. I went to my dr and got my script for 120 norco, 60 soma, and 30 Zantac. I drove to the pharmacy that I usually use. I can only find one who will fill it so I am very nice and patient. They said it would be ready at 3pm. I said ok. I'm almost out out of gas. I'm bent over and in a lot of pain from the car ride dr visit ect... She says we are short handed and this is the best they can do and offered to give it back. I said no no!! I will figure something out. At this time it is 1pm. So I go home. I drive slowly and turn the air down to save gas. I clean the kitchen and by this time it is 2:45pm. I drive up there and it is not quite ready. I wait for 10 min patiently and sit in one of their chairs as it is killing me to stand. They say it's ready. I say I hope it doesn't cost more than $30. She says oh wait they didn't put it on insurance and it will be a few min. I say ok. Then the lady in the back says my insurance was terminated. They won't cover it. I freak the heck out. I have a full blown panic attack but I'm really good at hiding them because I have had them for over 15 years. I ask for the a number to call them. They say it's on the back of my insurance card. Well my hubbie lost it Friday when I went to the medical center down town to have a Mylogram. And I tell her this and she says there is nothing she can do. So I have a IPhone and look up the contact info online. I connect to my insurance company and they give me my members I'd and group number and phone number to my perscriptions drug plan. I ask for a paper and pen they give it to me and and I sit down to talk to them on the phone. Then the lady in the back who said my insurance was terminate says; get this, I'm sorry it didn't go through and I didn't have time to redo it. It went through this time. I busted out in a hysterical cry. I'm sobbing with my head down. Then I get to the counter and she says the medications are $39.00. I'm like I don't have that. They are always $30. She starts to walk back to see what she can do and then says, oh I'm sorry it's really $29.51. I'm still crying. Then when she cashes me out she doesn't give me my $.49 change and says sorry we are messing with you a lot today aren't we. She gives me my change and I said thank you and got in my car and balled. This week has been the worst.

Yesterday Rent a center came and took my kids mattresses, my car is about to be repo. And my husband yelled at me for going to the dr to get meds. He did not pay for them. He gives me he'll for taking the pills and smoking cigs. He tells me to get a job. I can barely walk and I filled for disability in April. He keeps saying you ain't going to get it. You don't need meds. You need a job. I love him but I'm about ready to leave him. I don't need that crap.

I read a post on BL and an anology popped in my head. I think it is a good discription to the process of opiate addiction. I came up with the concept in 5 min so to domes its probably flawed. But I think it sums up the way addiction starts and usually ends badly.




Opiates are like a immature rebel friend. You like your friend and think they are the best (honeymoon phase). You have lots of fun and think you can not get caught up in anything bad (denial). Then sometime soon you have fights with your friend and try to make up (high tolerance).Then one day your friend disappears (no more opiates), So what do you do when you cant find your friend? You miss them so much you go to the streets and do something really stupid like asking a out of uniform cop if they know where your friend is ( addiction w/ sourcing). Now your in jail hating your friend.

It went on like this for awhile. But by Fall my life was falling apart. Darrell's apartment got raided Josh went to jail and ended up on Drug Court. I had pawned everything I owned of value and had started stealing from my parents. I knew things where coming to a head and that the real consequences where very close. So I decided that it was time to end my life. Now I know that seems like a drastic solution but at the time I felt so hopeless I didnt want to live my life without heroin. I was too in love with her beauty to imagine life without her warm embrace. I also wanted to escape the shame of being outed to my family for what I am a junky. I remember that day like it was yesterday. I had been awake for a day or two sick as hell. Around midnight the night before I decided I was ready to end it all I wrote a note to my family explaining my decisions why things had to be that way. I then waited for my mom to go to work stole one of her checks went and cashed it for 60 dollars.

I remember it was a sunny day probably 75 degrees outside so I let the sunroof down on my car as I drove downtown to meet the man. I remember the feeling of peace was amazing I was convinced that I was making the right decision. I thought the pain was over the running the stealing the shame the guilt all that shit was going to be washed away by a nice warm overdose. So I got the 3 bags and drove to a local subway that had a nice large parking lot that I figured I wouldnt be bothered in. I stared at the three bags for a few minutes as I thought about my life and how old I felt for 20. But I just couldnt do it all I could think about was the three times I could get high from those bags. But I knew I was fucked so I compromised shot two and would do the third if I still felt like going through with it once high. So I did the two bags got loaded felt better about life. I drove over to my boys house

It started at age 18 in my bedroom with three of my friends a needle and a tiny bag of heroin. I remember the belt around my arm tight, my whole body clenched with anticipation. I watched the needle intently as he clumsily found the vien and pushed off the shot. I remember waiting and thinking fuck nothings happ- then bam the most intense feeling of my life took hold I dont remember much else for a few hours I suppose I was hanging with my boys having the time of my life or maybe I was puking in the backyard, who fucking remembers?

I wasnt hooked from the first shot I didnt have good access and I was still having fun with phychadelics. So summer ended and I went off to college. It was a literal and metaphorical change in my life I kinda knew the fun was over. I was either gonna make it or fall flat on my face. At the time success was not a term I was familiar with I went crazy drank all the time took whatever opiates I could find. But it didnt feel like addiction to any one thing ecstacy or xanax were just as satisfying as opiates. School was not a priority I passed a couple classes just on pure intelligence but never took it seriosly.So at the end of my first semester I find heroin again. It started with a few runs to the city to hang out with this girl I knew. She was a full blown junkie and I loved the excitement of rolling to the ghetto 6 deep in my car the anticipation the fear at first I found the lifestyle way more addicting then the drug. But I was still living an hour from the city going to school so it wasnt an everyday thing yet. Well the second semester starts and everything in my life went to hell I lost all the people I thought where my friends. So I came home to Birmingham with a very fatalistic attitude I decided to dive head first into heroin.

This apartment was a shithole. Oh shit this darrel was a trip he got 20,000 dollars when he turned 18 and proceeded to blow it all in like 2 months. But he had his apartment paid for and grandparents to send him money. One of the dumbest people I have ever met in my life he lost 5,000 dollars fronting this black guy he didnt know for coke. Anyway we set up basecamp in his apartment turned it into a strait fucking shooting gallery. Ended up turning quite a few of my friends into junkies. Josh ended up being my partner in crime we had just met when I moved back to the city and started hanging with patrick and darrell. We hit it off fast we shared a similar attitude and personality. The next 4 months are a blur of junky politics and unrelenting crazyness.

Man at first it was all fun and games every run to the city an adventure every poke of the needle a chance to meet divinity chill for awhile then gradually come down go home eat sleep and repeat. Money quickly became a problem so me and josh formed a side fiendship we taxed the shit out of this darrel kid gave him cut up shit whatever we had to do to get ours. This went on for a couple months and physical addiction was creeping in. It was starting to dawn on me that heroin was consuming my life like no other drug ever had. I got scared so I told my parents I had a problem and went to rehab.

I had no idea how bad of a decision that was. I was niave I thought I was gonna go there get the cure then be able to continue on as if nothing happened. Instead I got a bunch of spiritual propaganda. I just cant stomach bullshit or the true believers who spew it. In those two weeks I realized I was fucked I wasnt in deep enough to quit, but I could see the cliff looming. It was too late to hit the brakes so I decided to hit the gas. I made the decision about 5 days into my 16 day stay that it was "farther up and further in" for me. So I made it my mission to meet and exchange numbers with every junkie there. I left with a pretty girl on my arm and a legit connection in my phone.

The next months are a blur of trips to the hood and shooting up in parking lots all over the city. Waiting for hours in the heat sick as shit farting burping feeling like death. Until that magic phone call "Come to the blue house" click. Immediatly refilled with life I would pull out of the parking lot and speed to whatever spot he told me. I also remember the nights laying awake in my room to sick to sleep watching shitty movies on HBO. Praying for a change cursing my hubris just wanting it all to end. .

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When I was using (one word or both alcohol and drugs), I had every excuse in the world to continue that trend:

"My girlfriend upset me."
"My curfew was 8pm when I was a child."
"The sun is hot."
"I work hard."
"I deal with a lot of crap."
"I am depressed."
"Life sucks."
"Life rocks"
"I can't get over what I did."
"I'm an alcoholic, I am supposed to..."
"I'm a drug addict, I am supposed to..."
...and so on.

I had them all. The negative ones when I had to reinforce to myself that my life was the worst life out of 6 billion of us. The good ones when I had to reinforce myself into thinking "I am doing good, I know I can handle this when I am doing good."

In retrospect and with an increasingly clearer mind, it was all nonsense. It's all excuses. It's all reasons to justify my behavior. It was all drama I was using to create problems that did not exist. Yes, I am an alcoholic and drug addict, but that doesn't mean I had any problems that were not of my own making. My unclear and unconscious delusional mind made it seem as if I had impending doom around the corner at every stop. It was a wildfire burning on the parched plains of the North American mid-west.

I have been fortunate enough to hear teachers, counselors, professionals, and other sentient beings in my situation voice what has worked for them. Different philosophies but the same end result: sobriety. While I may have agreed or disagreed with what I heard at the time, today certain bits and pieces come back and fit exactly where they are supposed to. Just is the same when I read: I do not try to force comprehension of something I can't quite grasp. I know through my direct experience in the future this will align and make sense. This is my wisdom and not gathered over night.

When I woke up after a night spent at my hometown's dump of a bar, I sat up in bed with my mind out of control. A raging inferno containing thoughts of disappointment, shame, remorse, anger, sorrow, inferiority, brokenness, and despair. My mind kept bringing me back to, "I should just kill myself", as it has for years. Right then, the scenery in my mind changed. "If alcohol doesn't go, then I have to go." With that statement came with it the power to make a decision to stop destroying the very vessel that explores this beautiful life for me. I realized I had a choice, as I have had all these years, to make my life what I want it for me.

I have absolutely no power whatsoever in the world. What goes on around me, external of me, is the world existing in its' chaotic but perfected way. I have always known that I could not change or control the world, but I think I used because I knew I was powerless over the world. However, in this process, I forgot all about myself.

With my power to make decisions comes my power to stay sober. I am wise today because the wisdom I have gathered is being used in such a way to not make the mistakes of my past. I am free. I am me.

The truth exists with or without me. It needs no excuse, no manipulative story, nothing. It shines bright like the hot sun in the desert after the swirl of dust has settled. My excuses and my disrespect for the truth came through the delusions of my mind. From my mind stems all personal problems, for I do not have any true problems.

The paramedics were working on him but kept telling everyone to get out...I was just running around like i was in a dream not knowing what to do....finally they took him to the ambulance..I didnt evne seen him out the door, only once he was in there, and i climbed up to look in the window and saw his body strapped down......knowing but not knowing he was dead, still holding out hope, even though the EMTs were casually smoking a cigarette outside the ambulance waiting for the family to get in their cars for the ride to the hospital. I heard them say that they were bringing him to st. clares, which is not the closest hospital. When they said that, I knew, logically, that if there was any chance of helping him, they would rush him to the closest hospital, but I still was in a daze, still hoping, and i forced it out of my mind.

Then the cops told me I had to come with them.....that they were gonna have a detective come and interview me to see if i had a role in his death...so i left with them, with all my clothes, ipod, phone, stuff, (i was basically living there) left behind, they told me i could come back and get them later, not realizing that the family would never let me in the house agian...and they took me and held me in a cell for 3 hours by my self and I just was in there sobbing and screaming and praying, praying, praying....that he was alive, that he was ok, that it was gonna be alright......

finally they came and told me that they were charging me with tampering with evidence, that the detective didnt need to talk to me he just said to charge and release me. my dad came to pick me up and told me we were going to the hspital. i thought he meant to see steve. i closed my eyes and tried to sleep but when we got there it wasnt St Clares. then he told me we were there for me. I didnt understand. He told me steve was dead and i just broke down screaming in the parking lot. they had to drag me in, i couldnt even walk. worse than you see in the movies. they took me into the hospital and put me into a psychiatric evaluation room. i was there by myself just delirious with grief til they came and shot me up with ativan and haldol and put me to sleep...

at that point i couldnt wait to get back home and go see his family, find out when the funeral was, get my stuff, all that, but when i came home my family said that steves brother had came to the house, threw everything of mine that he recognized onto the front lawn, and cussed out my entire family and everyone in it, freaking out and screaming and everything youd expect...and then a neighbor we both knew came to my house and told me that steves family asked him to come and tell me that Im not welcome at the funeral, that there woudl be cops there checking names on the list of people who wasnt allowed so I shouldnt even bother to try and come.

his family knew my history, that i was a recovered addict, and whatever....so I guess the eaasiest thing for them to do, was to put blame on me, instead of admit that steve used drugs on his own free will and they were all fooled. They refused to belive that I didnt know nothing about it. they refused to believe that it could have been something he did BEFORE he ever even met me. Everyone just blames me, bnecause "steve would never do that." He hid it so fucking well that even confronted with direct evidence that he DID DO IT, they still cannot face the truth.

And now, on top of this all, 2 days after he died, Child Protective Services came to my door. Steves family called in a report on me that I am a drug addict, that theres drug and alcohol abuse going on in the present of the child, and god only knows what else they told them. Now theyre trying to take my kid away.

A day or 2 after that, when I wasnt home, a detective came to the door asking to talk to me. That they need to hear "my side of the story". I didnt talk to them, and got a lawyer who contacted them and I aint heard from them since. But I heard from that same neighbor who I ran into the other day, that theres an investigation into the death. That theyre trying to find out what "really" happened. His family is telling the cops that they believe that I shot him up with the drugs that killed him. That i was directly responsible for his death. Theyre telling everybody that this was his first time ever using, that I got him drugs and like, forced him to use with me, and shot him up. I know that aint true, but nobody else except Steve knows that, and hes gone. Im the only one who knows the truth. And the thing is, I know that theres no way to proove whether I did or did not do that--only 2 people was in that room that night, me, and him, and hes gone. Unless they had a secret video camera with a tape of it, they have no way to show that I did that. So I should be in the clear, you would think. But my lawyer told me that in NJ, the law is very, very vague and all encompassing in a situation of a overdose resulting in death. That anybody who "facilitates" the use of the drugs that killed the person can be held responsible. And facilitating can mean many, many things. say your friend buys the drugs, and he says hey, can you make my shot up for me, my hands are too shaky right now, so you prep his shot for him, pass it to him, and he shoots up himself, and dies, you still 'facilitated' the use of the drugs and can be charged. it can be applied to so many situations and stretched to fit however they want it to fit. the thing is, normally they wouldnt do that. normally someone dies from an OD and whoever is there is just whoever was there, they aint gonna go out of their way to try and find a way to nail them. but because his family is pushing so aggressively its a whole different story.

So for all I know, next time I hear a knock on the door it could be the cops with a warrant to lock me up. his family wants revenge. They are out for blood. they want to destroy me and what is left of my life. I aint just dealing with him being gone. Im dealing with the possibility of losing my kid and being charged with killing the man I loved more than my own fucking life itself. Its so fucking sick and twisted that I cant even understand. To lose the love of my life and then be told I am responsible for his death is just so beyond wrong.

You know I had been a dopehead for a long time and finally got my act together, was clean for like 3 years. Found this new guy, not Maliks "real" dad, but he treated malik like his own son all the same. He was my soul mate, no question. We found each other actually, because he was my neighbor. we started talking, chilling, became smoke buddies...and then we realized we were falling hard for each other. He was truly my dream guy, and I dont only say that looking back. i said it all the time when he was here too. we would always just stop and look at each other and say...its too good to be true. this must be a dream because we are just too lucky.

i was so happy to have a man who didnt have the same past as me with dope and opiates....everything was great....he told me he hated opiates and was known for being very against dope because back when he was 15 his best friend OD'd and died in his arms. everybody hwo was close with him knew that story and knew he would "never" do dope.

he was a commercial carpenter and he was doing demolition down in Seaside HEights after theh hurricane. his boss was screwing him over, workin him like a dog, no weekends, commuting like 8 hours a day, really shitty, everything was mad stressed, and we were really struggling trying to get thru it. never ever considered breaking up but it was just mad rough. and then one day he comes to me....about a week, week and a half max before his death...and he says...i have a confession. i did dope....and he made it sound like he had only just tried it at first. a guy at his job offered it to him, he did it, whatever......but in the days after that the whole story gradually came out. That he had been doing it here and there, on and off, for the past 2 years or so. that he didnt want to tell me because he didnt want to bring it around me and have me doing it, but that he felt like a hypocrite and didnt want to lie to me anymore.

I was fuckin devastated. i sobbed for hours. i could not believe it. i was so crushed because i knew that shit dont bring nothing but trouble, and i didnt want him to ever go thru the shit that i went thru with it. i knew it could only bring bad things into our life. I was just fucking...gutted....because he had came home high to me. I was a junkie! I didnt even see that shit! Why? He came home fucked up and nodded out in the middle of doing shit but I never, ever, in a million years EVER would have thought to even think he was on dope....because "Steve would never do that." It just wasnt even a possibility that could cross my mind. thats how much he had us all fooled.

finally after a few days of terrible depression and this feeling of just...doom...i decided...fuck it. he told me he didnt intend to stop, that he would keep doing it from time to time, but he didnt want me to worry, and i was just like...whatever. If hes gonna do it, at least I can do it with him so I make sure he is safe and not out driving around high with some assholes who would just let him take a charge for them or something. it was a horrible decision but at the time it seemed like the only thing to do. I felt like if I did it with him, he could see how bad it hurt ME to see HIM do it. like, a taste of his own medicine or some shit like that. the thinking dont make no sense to somebody outside but to me it made perfect sense somehow. I felt like the ball was already rolling. the time to stop him had already past--he had already did it. it was too late to talk him out of it, too late to do anything about that. what was done was done, so all i could do was go along for the ride.

i can still remember how we sat under his deck, smoking a bowl, when we came to the decision to do it together. I can still remember in my mind, I took a mental picture of it. And I said "I will remember this day. I will look back on this day someday as the day we took the step." The same way the first time I shot dope, i ,made a mental note, like "I will look back and remember this as the day it all started." And I thought, god forbid one of us ends up addicted again--but we wont let that happen. this is just a one time thing, just for fun, not a big deal, we will be careful and its no big thing. But i had this nagging doubt at the back of my mind that this day would be burned into my brain forever--as the day that I opened the door to pandoras box.

That week he had worked a full 7 days without a break and was due a fat check. but when he went to go pick it up, he texted me "somethings wrong". and I felt like something was wrong too, but it turned out, he only meant with the amount of the check. Instead of being 800 something, it was for 300 dollars. That to me was a sign that we shouldnt do it. i said maybe we should just say fuck it and wait til next weekend babe. but he was all like no it was already my plan to do it i dont want to wait i worked hard all weekend whatever whatever whatever.....so despite not even having enough money to get thru the rest of the week, he went thru with it.

Everytime we drank together, we always took shots together, never alone. Each round of shots was a toast. This time, we toasted, tapping our needles together...And his toast was...."To our new thing."

But that was the only time we ever did our 'new thing.'

The whole night felt so surreal. i never imagined i would be doing THAT with HIM, when it was something he had told me , at the beginning of our relationship, that he would leave me if I ever did it. (he later told me that was a empty threat, that he never could have left me, but the point was--i was 100% willing and ready to never touch it again because he was worth far more to me.)

I can still remember standing in his room, and this feeling of badness washing over me. I felt so strongly like....Maybe this is a bad idea. I told him we should just stop and not do any more and just go to bed and save it for another time. he said fuck that, I'm gettin wasted! and shit...I mean, the deed was done. We had already used that night. at that point i said fuck it too....not like I can go back now, so I guess theres nothing else to do but enjoy the night and nod with my baby.

We went to bed. in the morning, he was laying on his back, snoring, making this weird sound. i kept trying to roll him over to his side but he wouldnt budge, no matter what I did. but his snoring was keeping me awake. I couldnt sleep, so I wanted him to move. (I want to shoot myself in the head for my fucking horrible selfishness, I just wanted to sleep, in my sleep hazed fog never thinking that maybe that sound was because of something wrong.)

Finally he just rolled over onto his stomach with his face in the pillow. I fell asleep for maybe 20 minutes and woke up with a terrible feeling because I realized that I didnt hear him snoring anymore...but I didnt hear him breathing either.

I tried to wake him up and he wouldnt budge. I tried to turn him over and when I brought his face out from the pillow his lips were blue.....

I dont even want to continue it from there because its so fucking painful and I still keep getting the flashbacks of that morning, torturing me in the middle of the night, wherever I am, i cant get away. I tried to give him CPR but it didnt work. I was naked in bed with him and I was so crazy afraid that I just started screaming running thru the house with nothing but a pair of panties on screaming for his family to help and didnt even realize i had no clothes on.

His stepdad came and called 911, my phone was dead and could not dial.

Once his stepdad was doing CPR, I tried to throw all his shit away. I knew that he wanted me to have his back. I figured they would come, revive him, and then he would be like "what the fuck babe, you didnt throw the shit out? Come on, I thought you had my back! I thought I could count on you!" So since I couldnt do anything to help anything at that time, except get rid of shit, I did.

But his brother saw me do it. And by the way--when I screamed for help, his brother came running upstairs, and before knowing ANYTHING about ANYTHING at all, theonly thing he heard was "STEVE NEEDS HELP, QUICK!!!!" and his brother came up to me and screamed in my face "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO HIM!?!?!?!?!?!?!" He had already decided that I did this to him before he even knew what "this" was.

So when the cops came and asked where the shit was at, his brother led them right to it and told them i tried to throw it out....His brother also asked me "what did you do , call 911 first or hide the drugs?" fucking piece of shit.

months away from turning 30. i hate the thought of it. it's meant to be this milestone birthday, but really im dredding it. i feel so incomplete. who am i? i don't really know. i'm not anyone who's proud of themselves. i'm just someone who's n this planet but i don't know why. i'm lost without a cause.

i'm a lost fucking cause. my own worst enemy. i manage to put on a fake smile and try to be happy most of the time, but then there's times like this where i just lay in bed exhausted. tired from the fake smiles and prtending to be happy when the raw truth is, i'm miserable as fuck.

i feel like a no one. maybe it's this expectation i put on myself to be someone, i don't nknow.

stuck in the same cycle. i'll feel miserable for a few days then get over it. back to pretending everything's great, insteadin of actually doing something different to try and make it a real happiness.

but really who the fuck wants to be with someone who doesn't even like themself? i mean, how can i expect anyone to like or fall in love with me, when i don't even love myself. you can't.

something has to change. i am so stuck. stuck in this endless and poinstless routine of going back and forth. it's the same old story yet i keep doing the same thing around and around. but here i am, turning 30 and no better off. am i stupid? am i just too damn stubborn? or maybe there's a part of me that enjoys being miserable. maybe there's a part of me that enjoys destroying my own happiness. can't be too happy for too long, that ain't right - be careful, you're happy, time to back off.

i'm a lost fucking cause. so god damn stuck. yet i don't have the fucking balls or belief to actually do something new, do something different. am i just a fucking pussy? a spoint little pussy.

agh i'm probably just being silly. feeling sorry for myself. boo hoo. i'll get over it. life goes on. tomorrow's another day. i'm a live, what more do i want?