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🔴 TRIGGER WARNING - DRUG USE 🔴
I was cleaning out my room today and came across the few things I held on to from when I was using. I used to have more stuff, but all I have left are some lighters that don't work, my journal, a drawing I did when I was high, some stickers, and a newspaper from when Ty got arrested.
I was cleaning out my room today and came across the few things I held on to from when I was using. I used to have more stuff, but all I have left are some lighters that don't work, my journal, a drawing I did when I was high, some stickers, and a newspaper from when Ty got arrested.cleaning out my room today and came across the few things I held on to from when I was using. I used to have more stuff, but all I have left are some lighters that don't work, my journal, a drawing I did when I was high, some stickers, and a newspaper from when Ty got arrested.
I was cleaning out my room today and came across the few things I held on to from when I was using. I used to have more stuff, but all I have left are some lighters that don't work, my journal, a drawing I did when I was high, some stickers, and a newspaper from when Ty got arrested.
as cleaning out my room today and came across the few things I held on to from when I was using. I used to have more stuff, but all I have left are some lighters that don't work, my journal, a drawing I did when I was high, some stickers, and a newspaper from when Ty got arrested.as cleaning out my room today and came across the few things I held on to from when I was using. I used to have more stuff, but all I have left are some lighters that don't work, my journal, a drawing I did when I was high, some stickers, and a newspaper from when Ty got arrested.
I hang on to these things to remind myself that what I went through was real. Although I remember everything, and I know it happened and I lived through it, holding something physical reminds me that what I am writing about isn't just a story. It's what I lived through.
I thought I'd share my "souvenirs" and the stories behind them.
A mini black Bic lighter, and some gas station pimp lighter I got from an important person in my story that hasn't been formally introduced yet.
The black lighter was the one I used when I was still smoking. I'd smoke from pipes, broken pieces of glass, foil, anything really. I also had a set of rainbow stickers that was given to me by my room mates. I'd always put them on my syringes, lighters, bags of dope, really anything just to claim it as my own. It no longer lights up, but I remember the last time I used it, where I was, and who I was with. Holding it always brings back the memories of sitting in my room getting high. This little lighter brought me into some really dark times.
The other lighter isn't really my style, but it was given to me by my other room mate. He had a wooden box full of lighters and this was the only one in there that worked. At the time he gave it to me, I was in a house full of people who only shot up. I was the only one who smoked it. He always went out of his way to make sure I had a good pipe or at least a light bulb to smoke out of and a lighter. He never wanted me to start shooting up and did all he could to prevent it. He tried... when he found out I was shooting up, he was like a disappointed dad. I'll get to that later down the road, but this reminds me of how hard everyone tried to keep me from going to the point of no return.
When I was high, I had an obsession with creating. I would draw, write songs, make things, or sometimes just destroy things. I drew this one night, not knowing what I would draw. I ended up drawing myself in the mental state I was in. I was wearing my leggings, boots, and blink 182 shirt. There are needled in my arms and one in my neck. I felt trapped; pinned down by meth, like I would never escape. If my memory serves me right, this was the night I took myself outside (I was living with my room mates), walked up the hill into the woods where there is a huge, deep, well. I'm absolutely terrified of dark holes filled with water, but I almost jumped into it, ready to die. Instead, I found the strength to come inside and used "art" as my escape. This was a pretty big event this night, so it will definitely be a chapter in itself later on.
Based off the last picture, where I had needles in my arms, this is the small scar I'm left with from shooting up. I will forever have to look down and see my track marks. It may be hard to see, but it's just a little white scar, right on my vein. I have a scar on my other arm, but it's a lot harder to see.
This scar is the reason I got the tattoo of my twins, Harley and Finn, right below it. I know if I ever went back to shooting up, (this is my good arm) that I would have to look down at them, and I just wouldn't be able to do it. I'm hoping that one day I can get this spot covered up. Until then, I'm left with my past right in my face.
Here's a picture from my old Facebook that shows all the spots on my arm where I was shooting up. The main place was in the bend of my elbow, but after using the same place for so long, sometimes it won't work, so we had to try other places. This photo makes me really sad to be honest. I remember what happened right before I took this. My room mate walked by my room and said "damn, you're high, aren't you?" I said "Not really, why?". He said "you got all that dark make up on!".
I was trying to find myself; the girl I was before drugs. You can tell by my eyes not being dilated that I wasn't high here.
This was my journal I used. I got it before I started using, and I will reference it often during the end notes of chapters as I wrote in it quite a bit. You can see the rainbow sticker I put on it so everyone knew it was mine. Of course, that didn't matter. If someone wanted my shit, they'd take it. That's just how it worked living in a trap house.
Here's a page from December. Some of the things marked out is just stuff I'm not going to share in my story or is something more personal that I'd rather keep to myself, that really had no impact on my story.
Because my handwriting was awful when I was high, here's what it says:
"December
Rundown:
Car stolen by [Ty]
10-15 people involved [with] it.
He just robbed [Name not important]
Got a 2001 Mazda Protege.
Aiden has asthma.
2 days in hospital... [he] Almost died...
Started shooting dope.
Right now I'm on one. (Meaning I was really high)
[Person not introduced in story yet] was the first one to do it perfectly.
[Person not introduced in story yet] did my first real one.
He has an aneurysm & cancer in his stomach.
I've been drawing.
Writing poems, short stories & songs.
Kentucky Knife Fight broke up. (My favorite band)
Still unemployed.
No direction in life.
No motivation other than my kiddos & sadly for some reason I'm still not motivated.
I have all these dreams & aspirations... but I feel like I can't do it. Too lazy.
For no reason. Just can't keep my goals? Idk.
Oh, getting a pitbull puppy too. Naming it Opie... Maybe. Or Boston. Idk. Maybe Tripp.
Something different.
My road dog."
I'll explain what a road dog is later in the story. There's so much written on these pages, and although sometimes it's hard to read and look back on them, I'm glad I still kept it around. I can feel what I felt when I wrote them. Sometimes happiness. Sometimes deep sadness. Sometimes hopelessness.
Here's another drawing from my journal. This was me and Gio. My room mates were fighting, as usual, so we ran up into the woods and sat it out, although it was probably under 20 degrees outside. We sat there and smoked a little, we talked about all kinds of things. He was my best friend, and although we never had any relationship (he had a girlfriend he was literally obsessed with and I had my boyfriend) we were very close. Neither of us really belonged in the dope game. We were the odd balls. He was a hippie and I was, well, me. We always took care of each other and had each others backs. We sat next to each other, trying to stay somewhat warm. I found a lot of happiness that night, which is why I drew this. There was a lot of shit going down, but being able to escape all of that with a friend was really nice.
The day Ty got caught.
This will be a chapter or maybe two, and it will be near the end, but I remember begging for a newspaper so I could see this. This was well after Ty and I had a bad downfall, so we weren't on good terms and I was happy to see this.
I'll briefly try to explain what led up to this. Ty started doing heroine and got really ballsy. He stole a brand new truck from someones house and was just driving it around town like he owned it. He had a cop behind him, the cop turned on his lights, and he fled. He had another woman with him but I have no idea what happened to her. He led them on a chase, drove through several yards in a neighborhood, drove into the woods, crashed it into a tree and fled on foot. He was being hunted for several days before he was found. You can see his pants are torn from running and climbing trees, trying to escape.
That particular scenario I had no involvement with, but you see who I hung around with. This was my reality. These were "my people". I was caught up in this type of life. It's not just a story. This was my life. Some people do meth for the high, but I jumped all the way in. I wanted the thrill. I wanted to be the bad ass. I wanted to be feared. For a while, I was. For a while I was a horrible person and I will own that. Not proudly, by any means, but I own who I was.
Looking back, it's scary. If I had not gotten out when I did, this could have been my future.
I lost the other half of the article, but I actually taped this up on my wall at my room mates house.
Adding this because, well, it's tweaker shit. Electrical tape. We used it for everything. I mean, everything. Obviously, that's what I used to hang this to the wall. There was actually a time where I needed an extra plug in, so we busted a hole in the wall from the room behind mine, and ran exposed cables to my room to have a plug in. My room mate left all his electrical tape behind in my room, so I used it for everything.
These are my reminders of who I was. The past is real. I was a junkie piece of shit. I did bad things and I hung out with bad people. I am no longer that person. What I did and who I became changed me to the point to where I will never be the person I was before I was using again.
It sucks, but I'm thankful every single day that I left when I did. As you can see from the article, this was published right after New Years Day. I think this all started on New Years Eve. I got clean on February 12th, 2015. After this incident, things just started to get worse, and I decided that my time here was done. I changed my life, but I will never forget what it could have been.