Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Continuation of Last Week's Post, sans Zardoz

I will begin with the last paragraph from the previous post so it makes sense:
This second time "we" had arranged for me to go to my sister's house in Delta to detox. I was not familiar with Delta, so I had no dope connection out there, plus they weren't planning on letting me go out much, much less letting me out with any money. My sister had been in treatment before, as I mentioned, and had detoxed off of alcohol more than once so she knew that I was going to be sick. I still did not know even how sick I was going to get, as I had only ever made it to day 2 and a half, and that time was by accident.

I was to stay in her room, the master bedroom and would be left to it (kicking). I accepted this as truth and it wasn't until after I arrived that I was told that the only washroom that was working in the house was in the en suite off of the bedroom I was to be "detoxing" in. Not a pleasant thought considering she had 4 boys all under ten, plus her and her husband in the house as well. But still, I was giving it a try.

Before I get on with what happened after I got there, let me inform you a little something that happened on my way there. I had scored, knowing (reluctantly) that it was my last "hurrah". Lots of people, including my bf, think since someone is going to detox anyways, why not just start the process as soon as you decide to go..get a jump on things or something. NO WAY, I can tell you that I have been to detox quite a few times and I had to go in blazing every time. Detoxing is f*cking scary and I could never walk in there voluntarily with a clear head.

As I mentioned in the part one of this post junkies have various ingenious ways of disguising and hiding their dope, and I was no different. I had scored some dope, intending to bring it with me to my sister's so at least I could pretend to myself that I was going to use it just to ease the pain not that I was going to cheat or anything.. us junkies are very good at rationing.. I had this beige, old school long coat that I used to wear all the time. Seventies-ish and awesome, similar to the picture above.. This jacket, like most jackets, had pockets but I had ripped the seam in one of the side pockets making the jacket itself a place to hide a paper of heroin. Just so happens that this time I had a point of heroin in a flap that I had put way down deep inside the coat's liner. I had wrapped it in a bit of Kleenex so you couldn't even feel the flap in there but just a Kleenex that was balled up.

As I was leaving my apt to go get the skytrain to go to my sister's, my bf and I were saying our goodbyes and he was hugging me and decided to be nice and thought he would clean out my pockets since it was obvious that I had old ratty tissues in my jacket. He had never done this before, and why now? I don't know but it happened. He pulled out all of the Kleenex I had wadded up in there, including the one that had my precious cargo in it. I watched and tried to remain calm as he casually threw it in the garbage. Since I was on my way out there was no way I could steal a moment alone to rummage through the kitchen garbage, so I had to leave my dope behind.

I had made it all the way to my sister's worried that he would throw the garbage out before I could get back there...I also knew that he had told our landlord to not let me in under any circumstances (he was worried I would take things to hawk). I worried through the night and got no sleep.

The next morning I had formulated a plan. I was sick at this point and was desperate as one is when in that state. I asked my sister (who was my prison guard at this point) if we could go to my house in Vancouver and pick up some of my stuff, like clothes and books and whatever else I needed to get through my detoxing. She thought that was a great idea so off we went. We had to take the bus and the skytrain though because she had no car. Public transit to my house was about an hour and half journey.

It is funny though because I was soooo dopesick but at soon as I knew that we were going to go back to my house and I MAY get my dope I suddenly felt worlds better. It's so stupid. Anyways, we eventually got landlord had to call my bf at work to ask him if he could let me said yes since my sis was with me and we went in. As you have probably guessed he HAD NOT taken the garbage out. There was no slimy stuff on top or anything and because my sister did not think to watch me for any reason, she just sat in the living room and waited for me. I swear to you the ride back to Delta was not overly painful, it was actually a victorious one if anything. A point (which is 0.1 of a gram) was not going to get me far but I didn't care. I only ever worried about the present never the future.

I only got a day out of that point of heroin by the next day I was onto my next inevitable dilemma (having no dope). My sister, the ruling individual that she is, went out and bought a huge bottle of aspirin with codeine (knowing that codeine is a derivative of heroin or at least a close relative of it) thinking that would alleviate some of my symptoms of withdrawal. I guess it worked...but more in the sense that I was mildly comforted knowing that at least I had some sort of drug in my system. I survived but I told her many times that day that I was leaving and she kept saying, "okay, if you want to leave you can, but just wait ten more minutes and if you still want to leave, go ahead". Of course I was sicker as time went on, eventually it was night and I had to suffer through the witching hour until morning. Keep in mind that I got no peace in this room due to the constant usage of the only functioning bathroom being in MY room.

The NEXT day I was out, gone, I was going and I had figured out a master plan. And honestly, this is one of the things I am least proud of doing during my addiction. I know sleeping with scores of strange men and all that other crap is pretty effin' bad but you will see, this is bad in a different way.

I asked/told my sister that I was going to go to the corner store to get a popsicle or a freezie or something since I wasn't eating anything and thought I might be able to worry it down. She gave me some money to get the kids one too, so bam, I had my bus fare. I had my transportation fee secured. My sister had no idea though, that I had made a phone call earlier in the day.

When I was in highschool I had awesome friends. You know everyone has had them, the best know, your gangs of cohorts that you used to be with every second. Well, in my immediate group there was the alpha females and the alpha males. Now, in this group of females there were four. Myself and three others (duh). Two of them I had sort of lost touch with over time, whatever it happens, but one of them was like the glue..she was sort of needy and used to talk about this fantasy she had that we would all end up in a cul de sac and our kids would play together and all that. She was the one that still made an effort to reach me. I had gone to her bachelorette party maybe a month before I was at my sister's so she had my and I had her number. She had no idea that I was a heroin addict. She attributed my strange behavior to my abusive bf.

I called her from my sister's and told her I want to come to her wedding in Kamloops but I had no money. No problem she said, she offered right away to wire me the money. It is THIS that I feel so ashamed. Sigh, I just think it was a totally disgusting and sh*tty thing to do. I had no intention of going to her wedding even though I made like I was all amped for it. She sent me the money, as soon and as I knew the money was sent, I was off to get the "freezies" and never went back to my sister's. (And as I write this I just realized that today is this girl's birthday, May 25th. Ironic that I should be composing this on this particular date..Don't worry I already called her AND posted on her wall...that IS what real friends do is it not?)

My friend has forgiven me obviously, even after this incident she used to visit Vancouver once in a while and would come downtown to the red zone and look for me and take me for a meal, etc.. She rules, we still talk and actually I talk to all of my high school friends now. I don't talk to them all the time..but through various popular social networking sites, it is easy to reconnect.

I still have never been to a friend's wedding. 2 of my very closest friends got married while I was f*cked up. Since I have been clean 2 more friends have gotten married and I was invited to neither the ones during or the ones after. I can't be overly offended or upset about it and don't think I have sh*tty friends. It is lame to not share in a friend's milestones or to have them share in your's. (For example, when I had my son..I had no one there except for my son's father who kept bailing every 15 minutes to go do hoots of speed in his truck. I had to call him on his cell phone, tell him the baby had been born and to come back in.)

Regarding the weddings...I try to tell myself I don't care and think "oh well, what would I wear anyways.." - and that maybe I wouldn't have gone if even invited, which may be true, who knows, but I still feel the NOT being invited. I feel it. Fo' sho'.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Zardoz Commands you to KILL

I was using heroin for about a year before I had to tell anyone about it. I had a couple friends that knew something was up and I am sure my co-workers knew..but maybe not. I had also been hiding it from my live in boyfriend as well. It was a year after we moved in together that he found out. It doesn't really matter how he found out, but he did.

In my world when someone finds out about your drug adduction or already knows, they aren't usually going to be supportive because obviously, heroin is bad. So, I always had to start promising that I would get clean, that I wanted to get clean and all that. Going into treatment was not something I was considering, but I did not want to be dope sick every morning any more and I was in a place where my addiction was totally unmanageable. I had a job and all this other stuff to worry about and also didn't really know anything ABOUT detox/treatment (my sister had been to a few treatment centres for alcoholism but that is all I had been exposed to at that time). My first instinct when I was finally faced with admitting my addiction to heroin was to go on the methadone program. I had asked my friendly neighborhood dope seller what I should do and he suggested it. I had no idea how to even get on the program so I went to this place that was called "Commercial Heath Centre" (I include the name because they are fabulous and I love them).

The first time I went there it was closed for lunch. I was like, "what??". I mean, how can they close for lunch? If someone is an addict, their desire to get clean comes on quickly and then disappears even quicker. They may want help one minute and then the next, not at all. So, I was pretty put off by the closed for lunch sign.

The next day I called there and this guy Ron answered the phone. Ron, I love you. Ron, was amazing, I mean, he used to be an a "f*ck this, f*ck the world addict" - you know, the kind that every junkie can relate to*. I asked him how I could get on the program and he asked me, had I ever been to detox. I said no. He then informed me that I would be denied methadone until I had at least tried to detox since methadone is looked on as a last resort. He told me to go to a clinic and ask the doctor for something called "Clonidine", which was to help me with my heart rate, as detoxing makes your heart beat super fast. So, I did this. I took 5 days off of work and planned to detox at home. Of course, I had never even tried to kick before so I naively thought 5 days was enough.

I went to a walk in clinic and the doc was a total prick. I had seen this doctor once before when I went to him for the morning after pill and he wouldn't give it to me because it was against his religious beliefs. So, naturally, this is the doctor working when I go there in desperation, seeking help for my addiction. Ron had also told me to ask for Valium because sometimes doctors will give you that too. I told the doctor I was a heroin addict, that I needed help and could I get a 'script for Clonidine and Valium. No way, he says. His saying no to the Valium I sort of get, EXCEPT the thing was that I knew he wouldn't give me a 'script for the Vs BECAUSE I was an addict and he thought I was going to misuse them. I wasn't planning on it, I was really just trying to get clean. But, like most doctors that haven't been specially trained to deal with addicts he was an assh*le and treated me like I was garbage. I got the prescription for Clonidine and went and got it filled.

Up until this point I was very nervous, but still had faith in myself and the medical system. When I picked up the meds a few moments later, I was very put off by the fact that the Clonidine was only cost me thirteen (thats 13) dollars . If you know anything about pills, you know that the more expensive a medication is, the more powerful it is, etc. $13 didn't make me feel very much better about the journey I was about to embark on but still, I went ahead with my plan.

I went home to my apartment with no dope on me. My boyfriend searched my bag and found nothing. He totally did not trust me, for obvious reasons, number one being that I had been lying to him for a year about using heroin. I had also lied about what I did with my money, even going so far as to filing a false police report saying I had my wallet stolen when in actuality I had spent our $700 in rent money on drugs debts and drugs. I showed him where I kept my dope and he saw it was empty. As a user you find various ingenious ways to conceal your "stash". Personally I had what appeared to be a dental floss container that I could just click open and inside it I had my flap, my straw and a folded up piece of tinfoil (I was not shooting up then, though I had done it before). He searched everything in my bag and even searched the house and found nothing (he went so far as to open everyone of my CD cases to see if I had hidden some there). Now when I think back I think, "why the f*ck DIDN'T I hide something?". I didn't because I was going to try my best.

I used my last bit that day, a Friday, before I got home and had nothing after about 5 o'clock. I fell into a sort of sleep. We had been up late because I was nervous and because we were watching movies. My ex had rented about 10 movies for me for the next few days to help me pass the time. This was the first time I watched Zardoz, and it ruled, by the way.

By the next morning the sickness was in full effect. We had already planned to get a bunch of weed to at least try to minimize my pain and anxiety on top of the Clonidine I had gotten. The weed seller wasn't going to be around until 5 though and so it was a loooooong day until then. I couldn't eat, could not pass time by sleeping, no rest at all (and actually, I have heard that some people could sleep each night until about 2 days into their detox off of heroin, but not me. I couldn't sleep as soon as I knew I was even going to try to kick). He tried to make me eat. He brilliantly gave me "Spirulina" mixed with yogurt and it made me puke. If you don't know what "Spirulina" is I am sure you can Google it and find out. It still makes me shudder when I think of it, but it also makes me laugh too because he tried it after I did and almost barfed. It was like the worst thing you could give to someone that is having a hard time eating.

Finally came the time to get the weed. He had to go somewhere in Chinatown and suggested I stayed home. I volunteered to go with him though, and told him I would try to score some Valium at Main and Hastings while he was getting the weed. I had had an ex bf that was an addict, years ago, and he told me that you can get anything there. It is an area known for drugs and all that. I was so naive though, it isn't like someone is always there selling pills. It is basically "rock (crack), down (heroin), and powder (cocaine)" that is sold there. I knew this deep down, that I most likely would not find any Vs but was also super desperate at this point (keep in mind I am not even 24 hrs into my detox yet). I had another ulterior motive. I had a stash of 10 loonies (one dollar coins) in my backpack that I had found night before. So while my bf was getting the weed, I was going to try to score Valium as well as down. Ten bucks won't buy you much but I was hurting bad.

He goes to get the weed and I go to score. I had to be quick because if he came back and saw me getting heroin he would spazz and probably knock me around for a bit once we got home, plus I had to ingest it before he came back. I had limited time. So, first I made my feeble attempt at acquiring the heroin. If you have ever tried to infiltrate an area like this you can imagine what I went through. These people can spot a mark from a mile away. I was so friggen paranoid that I was going to get busted by cops and my bf that the first person that mouthed the word "DOWN" to me, I went over to. I gave him the money and he gave me something that looked like crushed drywall. No matter, I snorted it anyways and it did nothing to alleviate my withdrawal symptoms.

I then went to get the Valium. I had a ten dollar budget for that. I had no idea how much it would cost but was hoping for a miracle. I went up to some little ogre and told him I wanted Valium and he took me inside a pub, asked me for the ten bucks, and said for me to wait there, at the entrance. He went in the washroom, came out, went over to this table of about 5 wasted drunks and then came back to me and gave me something wrapped in tissue. He said "hurry, hurry get outta here" like as if we were going to get busted or something and I swear to God he vanished into thin air. Once outside I looked inside the tissue and found some rocks that looked like stucco rocks from the outside of a house. Great, I wasn't overly shocked...I was more concerned at telling my bf that I had lost the money. We were in no way financially secure and plus he was prick.

As an aside, I will tell you that Main and Hastings is very intimidating if you are not familiar with it. Everyone tries to rip you off, they see everyone as an opportunity for getting money. Plus the ever present worry about the cops add to the stress. After being there a while you learn to not f*cking care, but in the beginning it is easy to get taken.

Back to the story: I walked across the street to where my bf had been waiting after he had gotten the weed and told him about the money I lost. He was upset but not overly so. He just made me feel like a worthless piece of sh*t and told me I was stupid as hell, the usual stuff.

We went back home and he put on a movie for me, I rolled a joint and smoked it. It made me totally freak out and my heart rate was through the roof (despite the Clonidine, which I don't even think it was anything more than a the doctors tell you it slows your heart down but in actuality it doesn't, that is how effective it was) but..despite that, eventually I fell asleep for about ten minutes.

The night drug on and soon it was time for bed, for him anyways. I told him I was going to sleep in the other room since I knew I was going to be squirming like a son of a bitch and I would probably keep him awake.

I seriously writhed around all night. I remember getting up to use the washroom and I banged into walls, made tons of noise, I must have sounded like a buffalo when I was breathing. I was so weak. I remember thinking to myself that I was like a snake. If I slithered and wiggled while I was lying down then the "bugs" or whatever it was (sort of felt like bugs, I wasn't hallucinating) would be less active under my skin.

The next morning my boyfriend got out of bed and he asked me how I was...I was sweaty and my hair was manged big time from my restlessness and I told him how horrid and painful my night was. He then had the balls to tell me how awful HIS night had been..that his back had been hurting and blah blah blah. As if, this is sooo irritating to a person that is dope sick. People say they understand and all that but they really don't. I find it patronizing and very irritating when anyone that hasn't been "there" tells me "Oh, I understand" and tries to equivocate pain they may have felt at some point in their lives with the pain and discomfort of withdrawal. Their heart may be in the right place, but there is a difference between saying you understand and saying you understand that the person may be in pain, and with THAT you can sympathize. I don't care how many years you spent in university getting your degree in "counselling science", do NOT tell me (or tell "us") that you understand, because you don't. This is why previous drug use or any substance abuse should be a job requirement for anyone that works in a detox because I wasn't about to listen to anything coming from someone that hadn't been writhing around on the floor, pissing and puking on themselves for days.

After our initial good bf was going to make himself breakfast. At this point I could not eat but also could not even look at the food or even smell it without getting nauseous. He cooked himself up some bacon. It was almost unbearable. In real life I like bacon but this particular day it was so overpowering and thick and just the aroma of cooking meat was vomitus.

I was hiding out in the bedroom with the door closed when he came to find me after he ate. I told him I had had enough, I was done, I had gone as far as I could go on my own. I was too dope sick and needed professional help. Then he surprised me by saying that he agreed. He said he hated seeing me like that and that he was worried that if I was already as sick as I was, he was not "qualified" to take care of me not knowing how bad it was going to get. (I honestly thought he was going to tell me how pathetic I was, that I obviously did not love him enough and I was a worthless pussy). We agreed that I needed to go score, not from Main and Hastings, but from a reputable dope dealer near where I worked in east van. I told my bf that I could not even take the bus, all I could do was get in a cab and have the dealer waiting, then I could get out of the taxi, buy the dope, get back in and come home. Cab drivers usually don't care and are used to people buying dope from the passenger side window of their car, if anything they may just ask you to get out and jump back in after.

I was prepared to go exactly how I was, in my scummy, sweaty, mangy teeth brushing, no face washing, nothing. That is how it is when someone is sick, everything else comes after. First the wack, then life.

Anyways, bf called a cab and I went to score, after he combed my hair. Even the taxi ride hurt. I went then I came home, crawled up the stairs to my apt and did some dope. I had made to about a day and three eighths into detoxing from heroin.

In the grand scheme of things I was not overly ill, but when rating the levels of sickness...there really is no 1-10. Dope sick is dope sick. But if I had to rate it, I would say I was at about a 3. Remember the first time you did acid and you were wasted only an hour into it, and you think to yourself "I cant believe it has only been an hour...I can't believe that I am going to get higher"?? It is sort of like that, if that makes any sense. For me it was like that anyways. You know you are going to get sicker but you already feel so ill how can it possibly get worse? But it does.

The next day was a Monday and I was still reeling from my attempt but other than that things were basically back to normal. I went to the clinic on Tuesday, since they were closed on Mondays. I did my intake and then had to wait to see my doctor, Dr. Russell. I met with him, he asked me a lot of questions, including how much I was using each day (I was already prepared for this one, my dealer had told me to always say that you were using more than you actually were, because apparently they never prescribed you enough of the methadone to compensate). Then I had to wait three long days for my application to be approved by the Collegiate of Physicians (think that is what it is called). They could refuse you for various reasons, one of those reasons being if you had not attempted to get clean by detoxing or had not even tried to go to a detox centre. I did tell him I had tried to kick myself, and had failed. Looking back though, I see that I didn't even really need to even try to detox..I could have just SAID I tried. It wasn;t like he could look into it and find out that I was lying.

That was my first attempt at home made detox. One other time I tried to detox at "home" rather than a medical detox facility. Doesn't matter how many times there were between the first try and this next one, and to tell you the truth I can't even get things straight sometimes. Some happenings blur together and their correct chronological order is lost in the sands of time. I remember when I was a total speed freak and used to stay awake for like 7 days (I never went longer than that) and instead of feeling like it had been a whole 7 days, it sometimes felt like one super, super long day.

So this second time "we" had arranged for me to go to my sister's house in Delta to detox. I was not familiar with Delta, so I had no dope connection out there, plus they weren't planning on letting me go out much, much less letting me out with any money. My sis had been in treatment before as I mentioned and had detoxed off of alcohol more than once so she knew that I was going to be sick. I still did not know even how sick I was going to get, as I had only ever made it to day 2 and a half I think, and that time was by accident**.

To be continued....(this post was soooo long that I cut it into 2...)
* It is like an elite club that you can belong to, like any support group I guess. It is easy to find a kindred spirit in a fellow addict. It is like having a can just tell when someone speaks the same language. Even now, years later, I still spot it and feel it with certain people.

**The time I made it to 2 and a half days I had gone to visit a friend of mine in Calgary and had thought I bought enough heroin for 5 days. I did not, like most junkies, I knew I had this larger than normal amount on me and blew through in record time, not even considering what I would do when I was faced with being out of dope. I ran out when I still had 2 whole days before I was to come home. I even had money, but could fine not dope in that city. No heroin, only crack. I Western Unioned some money to my dealer to have him courier dope out to me even though it was only going to get there about 6 hrs before I had to catch my flight. He did not even get the money from the Western Union place though because the guy there refused to deal with him due to my dope dealer calling him a "stupid f*cking' chink". I had to go get the $$ myself after I got back from Alberta. It was an awful 2 and a half days. I just drank a ton of vodka until I passed out and ended up puking on myself.

Monday, May 3, 2010

The London Guard

WARNING: For all you people that know me for real, this post is pretty graphic so proceed with caution.

I have been asked if I ever got picked up by women. Yes, I have. One in particular that I remember. It was in the very beginning of selling myself.

I was standing at the bus stop on Cordova..right across the street from Oppenheimer Park and just around the corner from the funeral parlour on Dunlevy. (I give you the co-ordinates in case you ever go there you can actually know where I mean, because touring a poverty stricken, sad, hopeless area might be something on a visitor's agenda.)

It was the afternoon, gloriously sunny and I was standing, hoping it was looking like I was waiting for the bus. I was still thinking that perhaps people I knew may drive by since it was a busy street and I didn't want to get recognized.

This woman walked up to me and started talking. She asked me if I was waiting for the bus, and I said no. I can't remember how I dropped the hint but it was at some point understood that I was in fact, a prostitute. Then she asked me if I had ever been picked up by a woman, and I told her no. Not yet, anyways.

Her name was Patty, she was 42 and she asked me if I would give her a massage for 20 bucks. Of course I would, I told her. Easy money, so I thought. I went with Patty to her car.

She was attractive and obviously a lesbian. I guess sometimes one can't tell, but you could with her, she had a KD Lang thing going on but more feminine. She told me all about her girlfriend that she lived with, that she was an alcoholic, always expecting Patty to support her alcoholism and that they were on the brink of separation. I often heard these sorts of stories from the people that picked me up..and I tried to be sympathetic..they are people and they want to be heard AND ultimately, as an ulterior motive, it can secure a monetary bonus for me because I was nice. Patty also informed me that she herself was battling an addiction to crack.

I will admit I was extremely nervous since I had no real idea what she was going to have me do. We went to a park, she parked the car and then asked for just a simple shoulder massage which I gave her. After that, I could feel this weird sexual vibe coming off her and she asked if she could kiss me. I have kissed girls before, wasted drunk at a bar and stuff so that was no big deal. A kiss is just a kiss. She sort of went crazy after that...telling me that I was making her so "hot" and that she wanted to f*ck me and all that.

We were interrupted by some passers by and I mentioned that I had more than earned my money and that I would like her to take me back so I could score and be on my way. By this point though she said she wanted to score and that she had money to pay for a hotel room for the night and would I be interested in keeping her company. Of course I agreed on the condition that she pay for my dope and anything else I wanted. It was a very attractive proposition. At that point given the choice of doing a date with a man or a woman, I would have chosen the woman. She knew I was not a lesbian so I assumed that it was understood that I was not there for major sexual reasons. Minor sexual reasons yes...but I was still in the dark about what went on between girls. On girls. I had assumed due to the lame porn out there that it was eating p*ssy and finger penetration and all that. You know, vibrators, etc. I didn't think she had a vibrator.

We scored, she got the room. It was then that things got a little out of control. I am not sure if this is common knowledge, but a lot of time, especially with men, they get all aroused when they smoke crack. It is sort of irritating to tell you the truth, because they pick up girls, want to smoke crack and then they want you to pleasure them in a million ways while they get high. They ARE sharing their dope with you so it is basically a trade off. The down side is that the last thing I wanted to do while smoking crack was s*ck someone off. But anyways, Patty was sort of like this. It was all good until the moment when she started getting into the dope then she was a friggen maniac for my vagina and other private parts. Sigh, it was weird. Don't get me wrong, I mean, making out is fun, especially when I don't have to fake that I am enjoying "penetration" or whatever, but it was just weird. I was not naked and was a little shocked when she wanted to "f*ck" me. Fine, whatever, get her off my back and let her do what she wants to do, fake that I was enjoying it, then it's over. BUT.. it came to the point the SHE wanted ME to do the same for her. The same but different.

Now, it is one thing to kiss a girl at a bar or one of your friends when you are playing truth or dare when you are younger, but making out with a real lesbian was something I was not familiar with. All I will say is that I managed to get out of it in the sense that I didn't really have to do anything too serious with her BUT she did want me to fist f*ck her. It was then I realized that just because she doesn't want men, it does not mean she does not want to be "f*cked" in the traditional sense. I was apprehensive but she was very insistent. She had spent a lot of money on drugs and food and the room and I did feel like I owed her. So, I submitted and tried to satisfy her. She was really, really into it. I won't say that I actually DID put my whole fist inside of her but almost. I gave it the old (half assed) college try. She was on all I could not see her face and she was being very vocal during the attempt. As I said my whole fist wasn't in her but she was screaming for me to basically punch her, that is how hard she wanted me to be "banging" her. It was then that I broke.

I started crying and told her I could not do it. It was too much for me and I was very uncomfortable. Let it be understood that this in NO WAY is a reflection on how I feel about homosexuality. I am just not a lesbian, that is a fact, that is it. The crazy part of this is that really, as a prostitute EVERYTHING is negotiable. Everything. You go into it thinking "oh I would never do -------- and certainly not --------, no matter how much $$". As if, there is things that I would rather not do of course, but every offer is considered. It all depends on the $$ and the request.

I had done unspeakably horrific things (well, at this point in my "career" I was not as flexible in my "boundaries" as I was over time but as I think about it now, it seems weird to me that it was this that I had a problem with). You would think I would have this deep seated hate on for men or something but I didn't. And I still don't (but I must??). It was so easy for me (after the first time) to put myself in a different head space and allow myself to be used basically as a vessel. I mean, of course it wasn't just me lying there when I did dates, guys hire girls for all sorts of reasons, but I am serious when I say that I could have done any number of things while I gave some guy a meaningless hummer. I mean, I was on autopilot, so to speak. But not with Patty.

Okay, so, after I said that I could not do it anymore she calmed down, said she understood and from that point on she was a lot less intense. As the dope ran out she became unmanageable in a different way. She was a big time joneser. She eventually had no more money she could spend and I made some phone calls and used the room to do dates in. We were only there overnight so it wasn't like a parade of men coming in and out..I just called a couple of them and would not only get paid for the date but also would get extra for the cost of the room. I think I told them that I had to compensate someone else for allowing me to use their space.

Check out time came and Patty and I parted ways. She did say that she would be back and I knew she meant it. She had been doing the dope that I had bought with my earnings so I guess maybe that was a bit of an incentive for her. It wasn't like I was giving her mass amounts of dope but I was sharing, no big deal.

On to another encounter with her. It is a fleeting memory but this time I remember that I had been using her for her car for some reason. She was taking me to various places to meet some of my "regular" dates. I still would go downtown to work but it was me this time that had rented the room and she was just there. Jonesing. The room was at the London Guard Motel, on Kingsway. It has been torn down now, but it is a pretty well known place. Us dope addicts love the rooms that have their own entrance, so our frequent comings and goings would not be monitored. So much.

It was late on the night I had rented the room, there was no more crack and I was exhausted, I probably hadn't slept in days and I was fine with going to sleep. I had heroin so I was okay. She was not a heroin user though and was very much opposed to me going to sleep. She actually said to me" you know, lots of girls work could go do that". I was so pissed off. It was so obvious that she was expecting me and had no shame in asking me to go make money for HER to get crack. Bitch.

I guess it is not an insane concept but she left that night to find fuel elsewhere and I can't remember seeing her again. I will never forget the Patty experience though.

That is it. Nothing overly profound other than yes, women pick up prostitutes too. And I am really not into fisting, not the punching kind anyways.

I also thought I would mention that my spell check tags the word "fisting" as incorrect spelling.