jerzeezfinest
Bluelight Crew
I had to write a short story for my 20th Century Literature class... I hate writing about stupid shit, and trying to pull something lame out of my ass just for a grade... So I went for what I know best. I figured, fuck it--it's the end of the year and I'm clean...
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There once was a girl, who cried all the time… She never knew why. She dreamt of daemons and blood… she dreamt of monsters and pain. She woke in the middle of the night sweating and shivering at the same time, hysterical. This girl was beautiful, natural… But she was full of pain, and anguish. She was loved by everyone that knew her… but she did not love herself.
Throughout her childhood, she learned how to block her pain… She created castles in the sky, that in her mind, she lived and life flourished. In reality, she lived in a little broken down shack—her parents drug addicts, who beat her and left her to fend for herself… They had pets, that were for some reason, very well taken care of. Large tanks full of turtles and fish. They had birds and lizards. This young girl loved the animals… She would sing to and talk with them… imagining that they understood her—and her pain.
As soon as this girl learned how to read, she lived in her books… All day and all night she read and read and read—and barely even noticed when the chaos in her home was so intense that the tension could be sliced with a cleaver. On the outside, this girl seemed so very happy… But she was always making up stories, seemingly innocent—but it was a world she was creating around herself, one that made sense, one that was livable. This is how the young girl survived.
As she got older, those around her noticed her brilliance… they told her that she would make a huge difference in the world—that she would do something great with her life. She did not believe in this… she had no faith in her ability, but continued to strive for excellence in spite of that. She beat herself up when she wasn’t the best—because she thought it meant she was nothing. Somewhere around the age of 11, she found a new way to escape… She finally realized the enticement that lead her parents to abandon her. It came in the form of a plant, at that time…
This plant, freely abundant—could be used in many ways… it could be used to make money, it could be used to make friends, it could be used to hide from the world. It wasn’t long before additional forms of escape, different and more dangerous, were discovered. By surrounding herself with people like her, mostly older and more experienced, that had lived with the same pain as she, the introduction to the world of mind and mood altering substances was profound.
Innocent enough at first, experimentation was interesting and even enlightening. Learning how to tweak and adjust emotions through drugs was simply recreational—despite the blatant risks associated with it, she still lived in her castle among the clouds and thought she was invincible. Because she had been told how intelligent she was, she believed she was too smart to let the disease of addiction take hold of her… She thought she could outsmart it.
Years of parties, friends, and fun turned into necessity. There was a pill, powder, or crystalline substance for everything. Productivity could be accelerated and achieved at a rate never before seen or experienced. It WAS possible to do everything in a day! She COULD work, study, dance, and maintain a lifestyle that way… Where there was a substance to keep her up, there was one to put her down at the end of the day.
Watching others die was not enough… Learning from the experience of others was not possible. Heeding the warnings given by those who care was useless—for she did not believe in them. She still thought she knew it all… She thought she had the ultimate answer!
Through cognitive dissonance, she changed her perspective on many a behavior—justifying them… Stealing was now OK (because she was owed her for her pain), illegal activity was OK (because the government didn’t know what they were talking about), spending time in dangerous places was OK (because hustlers liked her… and they wanted her business to return, right?). There were many things this young girl said she would never do or try… but as time went on, one by one, those self-promises ceased to matter.
She fell on her face, time and time again… She was incapable of picking herself up for any substantial period of time—especially since she believed a short period of abstinence was equal to a cure. She didn’t even think the problem was her or her addiction—she believed that it was everyone and everything around her that was problematic! This girl was so sure she knew how to take care of herself… She was so sure that she knew how to live… She had survived thus far, right?
By this point, everyone realized and knew the real deal—but there is no talking to an addict… There is no telling them that they need to change. There is no amount of anything that can solve or cure addiction if the addict has not yet experienced their bottom. It takes pain to change… it takes a lot of pain. For her, she had to realize that death was inevitable—she had to realize that she WAS dying! She had to be willing to change… Her parents had long since become better parents… They had long since began to pay attention, and become useful. But it did not matter—She was past the point that they could save her… She had to save herself.
A young girl like this has no business in jail on Greene Street. But that is where addiction lead her… Listening to the women scream out, vomit from withdrawals (that she knew so well), witnessing a girl like her get booked for prostitution to support the same habit she had… It was all a taste of the life she knew was destined for her—if she did not find a Power greater than herself that is capable of restoring her to sanity… if she did not become willing to turn her life and her will over to that Power… if she did not find the strength and hope through honesty, open-mindedness, and willingness to change…
Little girls do not dream about being junkies when they grow up… they do not dream of heroin and crystal meth. They dream of beautiful castles in the sky… they dream about Candy Lands and places where Pretty Ponies exist… they play house and color pages they imagine themselves in… It’s not until the wrong road is taken so far and by miracle that they wake up—and realize exactly what they are… a junky.
__________________________________________________________
There once was a girl, who cried all the time… She never knew why. She dreamt of daemons and blood… she dreamt of monsters and pain. She woke in the middle of the night sweating and shivering at the same time, hysterical. This girl was beautiful, natural… But she was full of pain, and anguish. She was loved by everyone that knew her… but she did not love herself.
Throughout her childhood, she learned how to block her pain… She created castles in the sky, that in her mind, she lived and life flourished. In reality, she lived in a little broken down shack—her parents drug addicts, who beat her and left her to fend for herself… They had pets, that were for some reason, very well taken care of. Large tanks full of turtles and fish. They had birds and lizards. This young girl loved the animals… She would sing to and talk with them… imagining that they understood her—and her pain.
As soon as this girl learned how to read, she lived in her books… All day and all night she read and read and read—and barely even noticed when the chaos in her home was so intense that the tension could be sliced with a cleaver. On the outside, this girl seemed so very happy… But she was always making up stories, seemingly innocent—but it was a world she was creating around herself, one that made sense, one that was livable. This is how the young girl survived.
As she got older, those around her noticed her brilliance… they told her that she would make a huge difference in the world—that she would do something great with her life. She did not believe in this… she had no faith in her ability, but continued to strive for excellence in spite of that. She beat herself up when she wasn’t the best—because she thought it meant she was nothing. Somewhere around the age of 11, she found a new way to escape… She finally realized the enticement that lead her parents to abandon her. It came in the form of a plant, at that time…
This plant, freely abundant—could be used in many ways… it could be used to make money, it could be used to make friends, it could be used to hide from the world. It wasn’t long before additional forms of escape, different and more dangerous, were discovered. By surrounding herself with people like her, mostly older and more experienced, that had lived with the same pain as she, the introduction to the world of mind and mood altering substances was profound.
Innocent enough at first, experimentation was interesting and even enlightening. Learning how to tweak and adjust emotions through drugs was simply recreational—despite the blatant risks associated with it, she still lived in her castle among the clouds and thought she was invincible. Because she had been told how intelligent she was, she believed she was too smart to let the disease of addiction take hold of her… She thought she could outsmart it.
Years of parties, friends, and fun turned into necessity. There was a pill, powder, or crystalline substance for everything. Productivity could be accelerated and achieved at a rate never before seen or experienced. It WAS possible to do everything in a day! She COULD work, study, dance, and maintain a lifestyle that way… Where there was a substance to keep her up, there was one to put her down at the end of the day.
Watching others die was not enough… Learning from the experience of others was not possible. Heeding the warnings given by those who care was useless—for she did not believe in them. She still thought she knew it all… She thought she had the ultimate answer!
Through cognitive dissonance, she changed her perspective on many a behavior—justifying them… Stealing was now OK (because she was owed her for her pain), illegal activity was OK (because the government didn’t know what they were talking about), spending time in dangerous places was OK (because hustlers liked her… and they wanted her business to return, right?). There were many things this young girl said she would never do or try… but as time went on, one by one, those self-promises ceased to matter.
She fell on her face, time and time again… She was incapable of picking herself up for any substantial period of time—especially since she believed a short period of abstinence was equal to a cure. She didn’t even think the problem was her or her addiction—she believed that it was everyone and everything around her that was problematic! This girl was so sure she knew how to take care of herself… She was so sure that she knew how to live… She had survived thus far, right?
By this point, everyone realized and knew the real deal—but there is no talking to an addict… There is no telling them that they need to change. There is no amount of anything that can solve or cure addiction if the addict has not yet experienced their bottom. It takes pain to change… it takes a lot of pain. For her, she had to realize that death was inevitable—she had to realize that she WAS dying! She had to be willing to change… Her parents had long since become better parents… They had long since began to pay attention, and become useful. But it did not matter—She was past the point that they could save her… She had to save herself.
A young girl like this has no business in jail on Greene Street. But that is where addiction lead her… Listening to the women scream out, vomit from withdrawals (that she knew so well), witnessing a girl like her get booked for prostitution to support the same habit she had… It was all a taste of the life she knew was destined for her—if she did not find a Power greater than herself that is capable of restoring her to sanity… if she did not become willing to turn her life and her will over to that Power… if she did not find the strength and hope through honesty, open-mindedness, and willingness to change…
Little girls do not dream about being junkies when they grow up… they do not dream of heroin and crystal meth. They dream of beautiful castles in the sky… they dream about Candy Lands and places where Pretty Ponies exist… they play house and color pages they imagine themselves in… It’s not until the wrong road is taken so far and by miracle that they wake up—and realize exactly what they are… a junky.
