Thursday, September 15, 2011

the precipice

I guess I should start at the beginning of how it all fell apart. I am going to try to keep this condensed into one post but it is a lot of information so it may have to be broken down into a series. Keep in mind that this will in no way be filtered - I need to be totally honest and get it out there - it isn't nice and it isn't pretty and it isn't going to make you laugh - or it might, who knows. If anything - it will probably just confirm a thought that I am sure most individuals have when knowing me "wow, I am so glad I am not her".

It all began in January. I had been seeing this guy, I had known him years ago and we were basically communicating through emails. It was slow at first but then eventually I was all in, on paper - he was so fantastic. Now, talking about him isn't really that relevant to the events but I feel like talking about it, so I will. If you know me at all (which you really don't but let's pretend that you do) you'll know that i have a certain criteria when dating. It really isn't an insane, crazy list of things that must be checked off..just some things I prefer. Vocabulary is one, spelling and grammar/punctuation is another. I am not perfect by any means, but I feel like when one is a poor speller etc, they are just being lazy and I don't like it. Anyways, I was seriously invested in this guy - he wasn't super hot or anything - not at all actually. But he was thin (which I like) he had tattoos, which isn't a deal breaker but I sure like it and he was funny as f*ck. Which is key. Oh and yes, he was extremely intelligent.

So we were communicating back and forth for quite a while before we actually hooked up. He lives about 45 mins from me. Apparently we had made out in the past - I have no recollection of this. But he wouldn't be the first guy that I can't remember making out with. Anyways, we only ended up hanging out about 5 times. The first tine I drank like 2 bottles of wine, made a complete ass of myself I am sure. It was doomed from the start though - as soon as I saw him it wasn't flowing like it should be. In emails we got along great but in person not so much to talk about. Which is why I dipped into the wine so heavily the first time. I was nervous.

The NEXT time we hung out, about 2 weeks later wasn't good. He was "depressed" (he had mentioned that he had always had an obsession with suicide - which I sort of ignored but now in retrospect I realize that something like that is pretty major). Anyways, as soon as he came in I felt his energy and how off it was. DOWNER. It was during this visit that he showed me his arms. And they had track marks on them. Not huge - but if you know what to look for - seeing them can be quite jarring. He had had a spell with heroin in the past as well, like me, but hadn't been nearly as f*cked up as I was. He told me that he and his friend had been doing coke on the weekends sometimes...and that the past weekend they had decided to whack it. I was shocked, really I was. I mean, first off, the guy had a son that lives with him - a 4 year old, just like me and I thought it was pretty lame of him to be doing that. At this point I already knew he wasn't the ONE for me but had liked him so much in the beginning that my 'vision" was clouded, sort of.

Now don't be freaking out and thinking that I started shooting coke with him. As if, coke sucks. BUT I will say that having him tell me that he had used for some reason, somewhere in the back of my stupid mind sort of opened a door that had been shut for a very long time. Like 5 years that door was shut. It wasn't immediately opened but the demon behind it was lurking and was waiting for his chance to make an appearance.

It is so f*cked how humans operate, I knew he wasn't for me - but had so counted on him being so that when he just stopped talking to me - I was devastated. I mean, I wasn't going to hang myself or anything (can't imagine liking anyone THAT much) but still, I was rejected - therefore I was heartbroken - his rejecting made me want him more.

I will just tell you about the last time we saw each other because I am sure it will be amusing for you. He had come over with his son and we going to take our boys to this indoor amusement center. I mean, I not big on family dates..because I would rather us still get to know each other without bringing the kids into the mix. It just throws things off..I was nervous, what if his kid doesnt like me (which is ridiculous because kids love me and I love them, but you know, its only natural to be nervous) and other sort of anxious thoughts.

So they came over, played upstairs for a bit..he and I were as usual, a little bit ill at ease..we both already knew I am sure that "we" weren't really going to go anywhere in terms of a relationship. Holy shit, I forgot to tell you something else about him. Are you familiar with the term ED? Erectile dysfunction? Well, he had that. the few times we made out he could hardly keep it up. I mean, I thought we were going to "go to town" since I was so mentally into him. It is easy to have sex, but when you are actually into it in your head, it is that much better - which is odd for me because honestly, I could take it or leave it most of the time. Sad, I know - but I am fine with it -so get over it. So anyways, no, it was difficult..for him - which was pretty bad for my self esteem, I must tell you. I used to be a prostitute - so having a guy not get off was totally something that I am not familiar with. I know that sounds terrible but it's true. Anyways, he did get me off..(or so he thought..haha). Yes, I faked it, don't be shocked - girls do it all the time. To any guys that are reading this - if she has had 2 bottles of wine..don't even bother. She is going to fake it. I would anyways. Me telling you this is my little f*ck you to him. He isn't a terrible person or anything, so don't think that. But f*ck him anyways.

Right, the last time we hung out we went to the indoor play center. On the way home, in his car, his son says "Dad, there is bird poop on the car window" (our children were in the back seats in their car seats). And he says "that's fine, we can clean it off later". So then I turn around to look at what his son was talking about and immediately I break into a sweat. It wasn't bird poop. My son had picked his nose and wiped on the window of his car. I couldn't just ignore it - I HAD to say something -I mean, he would figure it out anyways. So yeah, that was the last time we hung out.

Okay, I'm tired. That is enough for now. This should satiate your appetite for a while. This is only the beginning anyways - I need to rest up before I tell you more.

Friday, June 10, 2011

No Pictures Please

Yes, I know it's been a while.
But I've been busy....sort of.

I decided that today would be the day that I write a new post, lucky for you. See, as I was typing into Google "I hate my child's father" sort of inspired me - I could just write about some of the crazy shit that he did whilst we were together. People love reading about other people misery.

Oh, another piece of news, I just found out that I passed my occupational licensing exam. That's good I guess. I mean, I can hear it now..."way to go!!" and "you must be so proud" and "you have done so well". Blah blah blah. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's all nice to hear. But I am more like "okay, get over'd been 4's about time I did something". I mean, isn't there some statute of limitations on getting your shit in order?? I'm over it, let's move on.

I get though, from an outside perspective - I am pretty much a living breathing miracle. But miracles are just miracles - they just are and it's isn't a big deal. The true miracle in ALL of this is that I am not HIV positive. I am still astounded by that.

So anyways, I rule.


You must have heard or read stories about abusive relationships and also about the paranoia associated with using crystal meth (hereafter to be referred to as speed. I hate the word "meth". Speed is so much dirtier and awesome and I just feel like that word sums "it" up so much more. Gibb is a good word too. of course, maybe it is spelled with a J but for some reason I always think of it with a G and a double B). This afternoon, as I was watching my son's Dad put him in the car seat to take him overnight (relax people, he has been clean for years too - otherwise I would not allow my son to be anywhere near him) I realized how f*cking crazy it is that I had a kid with this guy. This nightmare of an individual. I mean, who knew?

I am sure I told you all about how we met. It was a blistery and cold November night..he pulled up in his Ford Explorer (still hate those trucks to this day) and asked me if I wanted to hang out. Really, that's what he said. Like, he doesn't want ME, a prostitute, thinking he picks up prostitutes. And actually we didn't have sex that night. It was an okay time, he gave me money for dope - that was all I needed. Took me to his house - so I wasn't cold. But what is it with guys, they always want to save you. I mean, sure, I lived a miserable life but it was mine and I was only unhappy when I was dope sick. Which was only every single f*cking morning, not too often.

Anyways, if I had known then what I know now...the thing is, is that I couldn't get away from him. I would have been perfectly happy living with him and being "allowed" to go make money. But nooooo - that wasn't okay with him. Initially it was, but eventually no. Of course, when he had no money the cash I brought in was good enough to feed him and his habit.

I've already told you all this, you know, when he physically attacked me, etc. It is in previous posts. I wanted to get away from him. I ran away but I knew eventually he would find me. All he had to do was look - I was going to be downtown - I was terrified that he would find me at 3am in some dark alley and slit my throat. No joke, I really thought that. He was crazy - and the speed didn't help. He was convinced that the driving school that always took student drivers on a route that led past his house was not a driving school at all-it was a secret society of people watching him. He made lists of license plate numbers constantly, convinced that they were repeated hovering around him.

He was always so paranoid. He HATED any honking sound around him. Was sure it was a conspiracy of individuals that were communicating with each other via honking their vehicle horns. One time I was on the phone with him and a car honked in the background of wherever I was and he freaked. These are mild examples.

Once we had moved away from my red zone his behavior continued and escalated. And once he had me isolated it was even more alarming. By this point I was on methadone maintenance and was only using speed with him. Well, not WITH him. He would just give me some before he went out for days at a time. Or he would share with me and force me to go and help him "make money" in various shifty and sketchy ways. These times were the worst. I mean, ladies that have been in abusive relationships can relate. ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING you do is wrong.

We did the typical things..and this is humiliating to admit but we used to do that scrap metal thing. You know, go in to abandoned houses late at night and raid it for copper, aluminum..anything of value. Initially this was sort of fun, using speed sort of added to the effect of was like being super f*cking excited about going on a treasure hunt. But, after a bit, his paranoia got worse and I wasn't ever allowed out of his sight or allowed in a different room as he was convinced that there was another guy in there and for sure I was blowing him. He would run into the room and be so sure that he was going to bust me on my knees in front of some street urchin, but it never happened. As if I would do that - do that and risk death upon discovery??
I wouldn't even make eye contact with men, and I would pray that no one would speak to me ever because that would get me in big trouble. It sounds so insane when I say this but it's true. He was totally text book. One time he accused me of having an affair with the guy at a pizza place because i took too long getting our food. He even told me he was sure that "our" son wasn't his at all, that he had been sired by my sister's husband.

One time, we were living in this basement suite (I always insisted on basement suites because I knew there was people upstairs so they would hear me scream if he was trying to murder me) and he had come home from a few days out and he asked me how I was. Or something like that, he would never say that exactly, more like "what the f*ck have you been doing for the last 2 days?" and I had been watching alot of CSI. I was bored, all I could do was watch TV and I proceeded to tell him about how Gary Sinise from one of the CSIs did a cameo on another CSI (I know, very engaging conversation - but I had to say something or he would accuse me of sh*t and I was just trying to make small talk) and wow, he totally lost it.

See, stupid me, I wasn't even thinking. Just by coincidence the family that lived upstairs from us had a 16 year old son named Gary. No big deal right? WRONG. He, in his twisted mind, thought I was telling him about Gary Sinise verbally but mentally I was making love to the 16 year old boy that lived upstairs and actually been doing that in real life for some time. It was this night that he actually told me he WAS going to kill me. In fact, he just leaned in real close and said "you're dead" and when I said "I'm sorry, ****, I am so sorry, I didn't mean anything by it" he said "oh, you are gonna say my name huh?? Say my name so they know it's me??!!". Like, who else would it be? Retard.

He ended up taking off and I just went to bed. See, I was on methadone, like I said, and could pretty much fall asleep at anytime if I stayed still long enough. Anyways, I went to bed. And he came back like 4 times that night. And every single time he would just walk in the house, rip off my blankets to see if I was in street clothes and not in my pajamas. He was sure he had seen me in a few cars passing by him while he was driving. Was sooo sure he would come home to bust me. But no.....spazz, I was in bed not out prowling the streets like him.

It's amazing that I had a baby with this guy. My son came home from a visit with his Dad a couple of weeks ago and said "Mummy, Daddy had a sleep over" and as I questioned him (my son) it all came out. He has a girlfriend. Great, soo glad, finally. Of course, I do feel sorry for her. Even though he isn't using anymore - he is still an idiot. But I asked him about it, I just wanted to make sure she wasn't a nutcase or a dope addict if she is going to be around my son. But then he proceeds to tell me he isn't really into her anyways and it's sort of weird, etc. Like as if I care. I am just glad he has moved on, it's been forever.

But then, the next day I get an email from him and it was all "Oh, I want to ask you some questions but I get all nervous and filled with butterflies...did you ever love me?" (NO) and then goes on to say "You are such a good mother to our son" (I know that, and don't need or want to hear that from you) and "I am so proud of how far you have come" (BARF, seriously, that makes me want to vomit - I am not kidding, my mouth is watering right now just thinking about it. Proud of ME? Again, don't want or need to hear that from you) and then, and I get this quite often "You looked so beautiful when I picked up **** the other night..." UGH. Beautiful? How so? Was it the fact that I was geeking out in my broken glasses that are being held together with electrical tape or the mustard stain on my t shirt?? I usually don't look my best when he comes by.

Anyways, surrender the fantasy, buddy. I can honestly say, that even if he was the last man on Earth would I NEVER. EVER. People always say that the day their child was born was the best day of their life..not so with me. The best day was the day I left my son's Dad. And it was 4 years ago on June 3rd.

Friday, April 8, 2011

More than 10 and Less Than 1000

In the beginning, as in one of my first posts, I wrote about the first time I "prostituted" myself. Remember, it was by accident?? Anyways, it was with an Italian man named Alex. Well, his and my relationship wasn't just a one time thing - we actually saw each other throughout the first year of my selling myself. One time he had a proposition for me and it wasn't for sex. He wanted me to marry his friend so his friend could be a citizen, and I almost did it. Why? Because I had nothing better to do. It wasn't the first time I was offered something like this. One time I was offered like 20 grand to marry this Irish guy I met at a downtown hostel. He was on the run from the IRA or something - I am not big on international politics but I am pretty sure that is what he told me. But this is neither here nor there. I said no to this Irish guy - he showed me the money though - he had it strapped to his belly and it was the most money I had ever seen in one place at one time.

Anyways, yeah, Alex asked me to marry his friend. This has no real significance except I remember the night BEFORE I was supposed to meet him (and the guy he wanted me to marry). I had been picked up by this hot little skinny Asian guy. He was sooo cute and he asked me if I wanted to come sleep over at his house and I hadn't slept for a few days and also needed a shower so I said yes. We went to his house and it was pretty messy - reminiscent of the A & E show Hoarders but the bathroom - it was the worst bathroom I had ever seen. The shower was brutally disgusting, even for me. Not that I was disgusting in any way (not that I had ever had 3 sexually transmitted infections at the same time, now THAT would be disgusting right?? It wasn't my vagina that shrank to about one/25th it's actual size during that dark time?)- but I had been in some pretty harsh places by that point (not a reference to my vagina) and this one was in the top ten most grotesque.

You know when you go to someone's house and on the outside they seem totally normal but then the toilet at their house it black on the inside and super sick and all you can think is "all they need to do is use a friggen' toilet brush and the thing would be clean", well THIS guy's bathroom pales in comparison. It was his shower, it was terrible. I didn't even want to get in it but I sort of had to. I was afraid of slipping and falling on the black sliminess that was the shower floor. I stood on my tip toes and tried to not touch anything. You know your bathroom is bad when a prostitute is afraid of it. It was with this guy that I spent the night with before I met Alex and his friend.

We met (Alex and friend) at the Greyhound Station, outside, at the park. I was looking rough, I'd imagine. His friend must have been really desperate to agree to anything with me. I remember Alex being mad at me for looking so shitty.

So, we met and then Alex and I left to go downtown to get the paperwork. First, I had no ID. So, getting me my ID was the first order of business. We went to the Vital Statistics office to get my birth certificate. And we got it. Alex probably has it still. Who knows what he can do with it. We never did take this whole marrying thing any farther. So there is no second part to this story.

So somewhere out there there is a birth certificate for yours truly in the possession of a shady and fat Italian man. And he knows my mother's maiden name.

Did I ever tell you guys about Mike? He was the first man that picked me up when I actually stood on the street corner looking for a "date". He was very nice. Just an older man wanting some female attention. He took me shopping and bought me a bunch of clothes and shoes and since I was still living with my bf at the time, when I decided to go home, I had to secure all the stuff in a locker at the bus station. My bf ended up finding the key and going down there and getting the stuff. Can't imagine what he thought when he saw it all.

And actually, the time I was picked up by Mike, the first time (because there is usually is always a second time) we drove right by my crying bf who was walking the streets looking for me. And we just drove right by. I didn't take a second glance. Heartless person I am. Was. But still when I finally had to put out for Mike, he being the first guy that I actually had SEX with for money - I did tear up a bit. The usual thought "how the f*ck did I get here?" came to mind.

Well, he DID buy me boots.

Sunday, February 13, 2011


Just hang's hard to concentrate while I wait for the liquid inspiration to kick in....ahhh, almost there - now I just need to switch off the Kardashians..and here we are.

How did I meet R? Well, he was a dope dealer. A good dope dealer - good in the sense that he sold good dope. But he wasn't a bad guy either. I have decided to share with you everything that is R. Or just how I met him, things that happened with us and yeah. We had a very volatile and tumultuous relationship.

I met R after I had been working the street for a while. When I first began working downtown I sort stayed around the center of the insanity and he worked a few blocks away, near Oppenheimer park. I guess he had spotted me walking by sometime and eventually approached me. See that is what the dope dealers do, they can just spot a girl and know that they can have sex with her. As long as they have dope that they can pay with.

He approached me and asked me if I would "like to spend some time" with him. Meaning would I be interested in doing a date with him for dope. I said yes, of course.

R in an interesting character. He is very small, in the sense that he isn't a tall guy. He is white but is from somewhere around Trinidad or St. Thomas or something so he is a white guy with a Jamaican accent. It is really quite endearing. At the time he must have been about 40-43, I am not exactly sure. At the time I was about 28 maybe. He wasn't unattractive but wasn't overly attractive. Let's say he is more attractive THAN unattractive. When I first met him he had never tried heroin before though he did sell it. He had been a crack head years before - I will touch on this a bit later on in the post.

We arranged a meeting place for a few hours later at a mutually convenient place (a seedy by the hour establishment). We did the date and he paid me EXTREMELY well. Afterwards, he asked me if i would meet him again later and would I agree to spend the night with him. Oh yes, I said, I will. He met me that night, picked me up in his White Chevette (that he had bought for an eight ball of cocaine) and we went to the Inter City Hotel in Burnaby. He told me he had enough dope for me to last about 4 days and enough money that we wouldn't have to leave before then. Since my life basically consisted of ensuring I didn't get dope sick and that was pretty much it - it was a fabulous plan.

We did the four days at the Inter City Hotel and then eventually ended back downtown - but somwhere during our days together we sort of hit it off and he invited me to stay at his house with him. He lived with another guy in a neighbouring area. He had to go downtown everyday anyways, he sold his dope daily from 10-2 so I could get a ride in with him. He wasn't like most guys - he was fine with my prostituting and never made me feel bad about it. Well, he did have a problem with me doing dates with his roommate. He knew I needed money though so just looked the other way when it happened.

So, as I am typing this I am thinking that I could probably bore you with a play by play of my entire friendship with him. But I won't do that. What I will do is touch on the highlights of our relationship.

R was the first guy to ever smack me in the face. I mean, I had been hit before but he smacked me like a girl smacks a guy when he disrespects her or something. I guess you could say that at the time R and I were considered to be an item but if you have ever been a prostitute you know that this really means nothing. You have no loyalties. The only loyalty I had for R was that he gave me a place to sleep, he would come and get me wherever I was no matter what time of day or how f*cked up I was, and he had dope. Sure, I must have TOLD him that I "liked" him and of course I did, as much as I could like anyone that offered me what he did. He made my life much easier and we WERE friends. R had issues though. It almost seemed like anyone in his life up until when I knew him had never really loved him or gave a sh*t about him. The day that he had smacked me I had been running around with this guy Greg and had been hiding it from R. He had asked me if something was going on and I had denied it. Then he happened upon us holding hands somewhere and had come right up to me on the street and smacked me HARD across the face. I totally deserved it though-at that point R had been nothing but good to me. Plus, Greg was a f*cking idiot. I mean, one time he fell asleep whilst trying to give me oral pleasure and it was so ridiculous. He was totally using me. I made money and he needed money. Needless to say, Greg and my's relationship ended right there.

R told me stories about when he was younger, when he lived in Trinidad (I'll just say Trinidad because it may be there or somewhere close by there). I can't remember too much if what he told me about when he was little but I do remember him telling me about when he was a crackhead there. He told me about being a dope addict and being a white guy there and having to hide underneath porches (from the po-po that would be screaming through the city on Jeeps with guns in hand) once the curfew that had been put it place had passed each day. He told me about one time that a young girl had asked her voodoo-ey grandparent (he had heard the exchange) about why this man was hiding under their porch. The elderly woman had explained that he was being haunted by demons. Which he was, I guess.

I remember when R decided to enlist me as his partner in crime in regards to the dope selling and I would hold the dope while he sold it then he would call me on his cell (that I had) and I would meet up with him to replenish his supply (what does REplenish even mean?? You would think to have to REplenish something it would have to be plenished in the first place). This plan of his only lasted one day. He did one round of dope selling and then we met up and he gave me the $$ and I gave him more up and down and then I took off with the money and the dope and disappeared for like 3 days. And when I saw him again he wasn't even mad. He said "you are a dope addict, I sort of expected this" and asked me if I was sick and threw me 2 papers of down.

I remember him telling me about how he was in love with a girl that was HIV positive. Then I remember when she died.

I remember him begging me to let him go down on me and me agreeing to only after he had given me a huge wack of coke to do. I kept my eyes squeezed shut the whole time. I remember him having issues with premature ejaculation.

I remember the first time he shot up. I remember that I was the one that did it. I remember that it was at that point that his life changed. I know that he still battles with it, even now. I remember when he told me he was hep c positive and he didn't even blame me (of course, he could have given it to me but it was probably the other way around).

I remember Christmas day being so dope sick and he was on day 2 of kicking it (yet again) and he wouldn't give me anything, told me to f*ck off and to go find dope somewhere else. I mean, he was kicking heroin but had heroin on him to sell and wasn't doing it. Who does that?? R did.

This is probably one of my less interesting posts but I thought it was necessary, since he is using again and it makes me sad. It depresses me to think that someone like him is still battling with it. Especially because he has no one that cares about him, no one to give him support. There is more I could write and if I think of anything to add I will include next time.

Anyways, I'll wrap it up now. Maybe next time I will write a post with more vulgar details and more degradation to make sure your sick appetite is satiated.

Friday, January 14, 2011

Waking Up with C*ck in Mouth

So, if you are following me on Twitter you know what the rest of the world knows: somewhere between now and my last post I seemed to have misplaced my notebook. THE NOTEBOOK. The one that has random ideas, happenings and other tantalizing anecdotes that I use solely for the purpose of amusing you, my internet legion. Now, I have nothing more to rely on then my cell phone, sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and type a note into it. Or, I will be having a conversation with someone and it will remind me of that time I was ****ing Jimmy behind the Circle K and I may act like I am checking my text messages but I am not. I am making an note. Now you know.

Since it has been a good month (meaning at least a month, not in the sense that it has been a GOOD month - though it hasn't been especially painful) I have decided just to write about my last "note"that I put in my phone. The note merely says "waking up with cock in mouth". So, here we go:

It was a Friday night (seems it is always a Friday, doesn't it?) and I was on Dunlevy, in the side doorway of the Patricia Hotel. I had had a good evening so far that night. I specifically remember having a nice spot o' the crack cocaine in my pocket and at least 5 bucks in the other pocket. No immediate down sickness in sight.

Now, if caught in the right frame of mind and with a nice amount of dope, I could be relied on for being up to pretty much anything. Of course, if I was f*cking desperate I could be up for anything as well but on this night, I wasn't desperate. I remeber this one desperate Sunday morning I accepted an offer to go to Squamish with this intense dude with nothing more than a promise of a healthy amount of cocaine as payment. How will I get back? I asked and he said, "Don't worry about it!". So I didn't. And then ended up by some shady railroad tracks hitchhiking a ride back to Vancouver. I was sick as f*ck and the old man that gave me a ride kept asking me if I needed to go to the hospital. Bless him, he drove me almost the whole way.


So, it was Friday, I was working and this youngish guy came up to myself and another female and initially he just wanted to score some dope (crack). Then somehow between the score and him going home he had asked me to go with him and I had agreed. When I think back I think I may have been short of a couple nights sleep - not realizing how perilously close to unconsciousness I really was.

We went to his house. It wasn't too far from the hood. I mean, it was still in Vancouver anyways. We went to his house and he was just like any other crack smoking guy. He wanted to do dope and to get a bl*wjob. Fine, I did that all the time. BUT, usually me and the "guy" would at least hang out and do our dope. There was some sense of comraderie usually but not with him. I don't know how long I managed to stay awake for but all I can remember is waking up periodically with his c*ck in my mouth. Like, I would come to and he was forcing me to give him oral sex. I mean, how can that even be satisfying? I was so out of it.

The next moring I was sooo dope sick, I knew I hadn't smoked all my dope because I had been asleep but the crack (his and mine) was gone and so was my 5 bucks. What a jerk off.

Anyways, he was pissing and whining that he didn't want to give me a ride back downtown. But since he lived a basement suite I threatened to scream bloody murder so the upstairs folks would hear me and I told him I knew where he lived so he had to driveme downtown or I would come back with my gang of thugs (what thugs?).

He took me as far at the Greyhound Bus station at Main and Terminal. I was crying that I was so sick and couldn't possibly walk the rest of the way and you know what he did? He punched me in the face and told me to get the f*ck out of his truck. Nice.

It is so weird for me to think that this was actually my life. Things like this happen all the time. It's awful and true.

That is basically the end of this story. You want to know what happened next? Well, let's just say that it involved heroin, cocaine, money, prostitution and a needle exchange. Oh and some major bouts of dope sickness in between.

Right here I would like to mention that my friend from down there, whom I refer to as R has recently informed me that he is using again. I am sorry R, and I love you.