Saturday, March 28, 2009

I love heroin.

I know this is a long post, and its almost the same as the other long post I posted...the autobiography one. I didn't get alot of comments at that post because I'm sure not many people took the time to read the post in it's entirety. I sure as hell would have stopped when I got to the second paragraph. This post is a bit different. I hope it will be more entertaining. I hope you read the entire post. If you thank you...and please leave a comment. Tell me what you think, good or bad. All criticism is good, and I can learn for it.

With no further ado...
Where do I start? How do I begin to tell the story of my decent in Heroin addiction? Sitting here writing this, I feel as though opiates have been apart of me subconsciously since the day I was born. Which is ludicrous because my parents had not used opiates even once before I was born. My mother had smoked pot during her formative years.
Though when my mother and father married my mom stopped using pot. Yet, both parents drank, but not at all excessively. Yet still to me, it seems I’ve known since day one that I would look for an escape, an escape from the madness of life. The meaningless I found in life as I grew into adolescents.
I was born in the 1980’s. When Pattie Smith had already led a revolution for women in the music industry. When Rainbow Brite was my favorite toy, and computer’s were still in their infancy. Madonna was at the top of the charts along side of Michal Jackson. The 1980’s were the happiest time of my life. I was a child, with parents whom loved me with every ounce they had within them. My father had a strong work ethic, and he provided for us. I never remember a time I went without. I also had Grandma Betty, and Papa Donald, my fathers parents. The fondest memories I have are with Grandma Betty and Papa Donald, and my little sister Angie. Childhood was like heaven. There was nothing mama couldn't’t shield you from, and there was no hurt grandma couldn't’t kiss away. I felt so safe, every night lying next to my little sister. Knowing mom and dad were in the next room, protecting us from monsters, and boogeyman.
I grew up in a small town, where drugs aside from pot, and maybe some Coke were scarce. In Elementary school, I remember a friend of mine snorting chalk and pretending it was cocaine. This friend wrote a note to another friend asking for the coke. The teacher intercepted this note, and thought they were talking about soda. He asked, “Okay, who has the soda”. This was my first introduction into drugs. Even though it was only chalk, the fact that you used a straw and snorted it up your nose made it very interesting. Of course it would be a number of years before I used real cocaine.
In middle school I became aware of this movement going on in music in Seattle. I remember the first time I herd Nirvana’s “Smells like Teen Spirit”, and chills went up my back. I was in Sixth grade, and at a sleep over with three or four other friends. We had all brought CD’s that we liked, but I didn’t have any CD’s because I didn’t have a CD player. One friend brought Nirvana’s Nevermind. The year was 1994, the winter of, and I had no idea that Kurt Cobain had killed himself that spring. I had no idea who Kurt Cobain was.
The next morning after the sleep over I asked my friend if I could borrow the Nirvana CD, and I got my parents to buy me a CD player. When we went shopping for for CD’s I found that Nirvana had two other CD’s, Bleach, and In Utero. I had my mom buy me all three of the Nirvana Albums. Then I found the band Hole’s Live through this, and “Teenage Whore”. I was in love. I had no idea who these people were, I just knew I liked the music they played. I liked the way it made me feel. When I decided to look closer into this band Nirvana, I found out that I was too late. The lead singer had committed suicide. I remember feeling this overwhelming feeling of anger, and curiosity.
When I was seven my grandma Betty died of Cancer, and two months later my Papa Donald killed himself in our garage. The day after they found the body of my Papa, my dad got drunk, and tried to kill himself by hanging in front of me, my sister, and my mother. I just sat there and watched. At that moment I became obsessed with suicide. In Elementary school one day both of my best friends, told me that they didn’t want to be friends with me anymore, and I tried to kill myself by swallowing a plastic bag. Needless to say… it didn’t work.
After I found out that Kurt Cobain had committed suicide, and after I watched whatever interview I could find of him, I noticed he spoke about suicide a lot in his interviews. I also noticed that he had this look, black circles around his eyes, and he was skinny and dirty. He talked about punk music, and politics. He was married and had a child with Courtney Love, the lead singer of the other band I found “Hole”.
I knew that Kurt and Courtney had a drug problem, with Heroin. I don’t want to make it seem like the reason I began using Heroin was because of Kurt Cobain. I didn’t even start using opiates until I graduated from High School. The first time I used an opiate, Kurt Cobain did not even cross my mind.
So here I was, 13-14 years old, and I missed had missed out on the one scene I could relate to was over, and I was too young to join. In middle school I was an ugly kid. I had to grow into my looks. I felt isolated, and alone. My friends from elementary school had found new cliques to join, and I was on my own. In a small town, and being an out cast was hard. I had no self esteem. It was at this age I emerged myself into music, Poe, Mazzy Star, Fiona Apple, Butthole Surfers, Nada Surf, Marilyn Manson etc… I also began to write. I wrote horrible poetry, and plagiarized a lot of that poetry from songs I was listening to while writing the teen angst poetry.
When I was 14 I ran away from home. I really just snuck out, and stayed out with “the bad kids” all night. Somehow my dad found out where I was, and he went to the girls house, and kicked in the door, and pulled the hair of the girl who was hiding me. I was in that house, but I hid myself well enough, that he didn’t find me. After my dad left, I left the house, and went home, where I cried, and wailed, and realized my parents just did not understand me as all adolescents feel. I took a bottle of Tylenol, and a half hour later I told my mom what I had done. This was my first cry for help suicide attempt. It was also my first stay at a nut house for three weeks.
When I got out, school started the next week, and of course living in a small town, everyone knew that I had tried to off myself. I remember at recess a bunch of boys came up to me with a note, and I opened the note, and it said, “next time, use a gun”. They ran off laughing. I didn’t cry, I thought to myself, next time I will use a gun.
I got thru that year, I don’t really remember that year all that well. The next year was my Freshman year of high school. Over the summer I put on ten pounds, and was around 130lbs, and I was called fat. My Freshman year was one of the worst years of my adolescents. I had no friends, and the people who were sort of like me, I didn’t like. So I kept to myself. That year I also started to drink. After I started drinking, I found some people that I didn’t mind hanging around with. There was this guy who had an apartment, and his mom was never home, so we would all go to his apartment, and get drunk. I tried smoking weed, but I ended up having an allergic reaction to it. I tried it three more times, and each time I had an allergic reaction. I would swell up, and my throat would start to close. There was this one guy there who was a lot older than us, and he gave me benadryl, and after that I never smoked pot again.
The older kids liked the same music as me, and they smoked opium. So I started smoking opium. Which really just made me tired, and gave me good dreams. I liked the smell of it. Mainly though, I just drank alcohol because it was cheap and easily available.
After I got into high school, I had a curfew of midnight. Which I rarely made. My parents tried everything family counseling, and tough love. None of which stopped me from being strange. I lost my Virginity because I just wanted to get rid of it. So I picked a guy whom I though was attractive, and I fucked him. There were two other boys in the room watching us. It hurt, but I was glad I was no longer a virgin. I was 13, and a teenage whore. People in my class found out that I got fucked, and that followed me thru out high school, and perhaps even to this day back home.
Freshman year I skipped eighth hour, and went to some kids house, and took five shots of whisky in a row, and was drunk within minutes. I was the only girl, there were four other boys. I had just gotten done with my period, and I didn’t shower that morning so my pussy smelled like fish horrible. I ended up fucking two boys, well really I fucked one guy, and the second just took advantage of the fact that I was so drunk I couldn’t get away from him, and he tried shove his cock down my throat, but I wouldn’t, so he stuck in my stinky pussy. I remember some parts of this day, but not others. I remember the guy who fucked me after I had fucked the fist guy slapped me because I was crying. I kept telling him I didn’t want to fuck him, and he kept telling me I was lucky to have gotten to fuck him, because I was so ugly no other guy in school would fuck you unless it was a secret.
That secret didn’t stay a secret for long. I truly was considered the Teenage whore of high school. My parents never knew about this.
Sophomore year came and went. I hooked up with some stupid redneck who was 5 years older than I. I was 15 he was 20, and he accepted me. He and I disagreed on music, and on everything. There was no punk rock scene in Oconto Falls WI, or even the bigger city of Green Bay WI. No one in my school created a band, it was just rednecks, jocks, preps, and greasers. I refused to join any group, and stayed an outcast. For a girl its hard to not be apart of a group. No boys liked me, which is probably the reason I dated a redneck loser.
After my sophomore year, I was still considered a Freshman, so I got put in an alternative school. I only had to go four hours a day, and I have seven days I could call in a month, for any reason. The teacher at the alternative school was always coming up with great creative ideas for us to learn from. We made a PSA that aired on MTV, and this teacher introduced me to beatnik writing.
Allen Ginsberg was my savior, I’d read his poetry and be in awe. Howl, a poem as long as a short story. Along with Allen G. I found Jack Kerouac, and Neil Cassidy, and Ken Kesey. I read Timothy Leary, and wished LSD was around, but it wasn’t. I knew I wanted to write the moment I found William S. Burroughs “Junky”. I had known before that I wanted to use Heroin, but I lived in a small town. My senior year my dad got a script to Oxycontin, and he got a lot of them. It was like it was meant to be. Opiates, tons of opiates sitting in my bathroom closet.
The first time I ate a Oxycontin 20mg, I knew, I just knew I wanted to feel that way. I had an endless supply, and I no longer needed people. If I did encounter people, I could talk to them without seeing them as associated with a group. They were just another person just like me. I had long ago gotten rid of my redneck alcoholic boyfriend, and vowed to never ever date a man who didn’t listen to underground music, and who didn’t know who William S. Burroughs.
When I was 20, I was at a wedding of a friend, we were not close friends, but we knew each other and went to high school together, and that’s all it took to get an invite to a wedding in my town. At this wedding I met the bride’s brother. He lived in Appleton about 60 miles away, and he wore a shirt with a nun on the front, masturbating, and her breasts where hanging out. I was immediately intrigued, and I could tell he was by me. We both didn’t mingle, we just sat outside and smoked cigarettes, and I was writing in my notebook aka journal. Suddenly he came over by me, as I was writing in my journal, and he pulled out his notebook’s at least four, full of poetry, and good poetry, dark, but good. He also pulled out the book “One the Road”. I was head over heals. He had been in a band, and he lived a life fueled with drugs and parties, women. He lived with 4 or 5 other roommates. He was everything I wanted to be.
After the wedding I didn’t see him for two or three weeks. I wrote about him in my journal all the time. I dreamt of him in my sleep. I wondered what he was doing every moment of the day. A few weeks later a car pulled in my driveway, and he came up to the front windows and peeked in. I was sitting on the couch listening to…of course Nirvana’s In Utero. He had brought a twelve pack of beer, and we sat up talking all night long. We drank, and drank, we went for a walk under the moon. When morning came around we were tired, and I asked him if he was going to fuck me. So he came over and sat by me.
I took off my shirt, and bra. He touched my breast softly, and then he put his mouth on my left nipple. He licked it for a few seconds, and then went to my right nipple, and licked it for a second. He took of his shirt, and I unbuttoned his jeans. He pulled his jeans off. Then he pushed me on my back and kissed me like I’d never been kissed. He unbuttoned my jeans and took them off. He rubbed his big hard cock all over my wet pussy. I could feel that burning in my loins. He wouldn’t shove his cock in me, instead he licked my neck, down to my breast, and nibbled on my nipples, then his tongue went down my stomach, and to my inner thighs. My pussy was so wet my thighs were covered in my pussy juices. He wouldn’t put his tongue on my pussy. He just opened up my pussy lips with his fingers, and blew his hot breath on my clit. I couldn’t take it anymore, I need his tongue on my clit now, and I pushed his face right in my pussy. He ran his tongue up and down from the top of my pussy to the my anus. He had stubble, and whenever his stubble would touch my clit I would come close to cumming. He inserted a finger in my pussy, and lubed up another finger with my pussy juice and put it in my anus ever so gently. He finally took his tongue to my clit, and slowly he licked it, ever so lightly. I was so ready to cum, all it took was three seconds to cum. As soon as I came he thrust his big hard cock in my wet, wet pussy. He fucked me hard, then slow, he turned me over, and fucked me from behind, while I rubbed my clit, and came again making me even wetter. We fucked for two hours, he came three time, and I came four. After all that penetrating, and rubbing, we fell asleep, and didn’t wake up until it was dark out. I woke up before him, and I took his cock into my mouth, and ran my tongue around the tip until his cock got bigger and bigger. Then I took the whole cock down my throat, and back up again, and down deep again. Then I used my hands and as I went down on him with my mouth I would twist my hand around his shaft. I took his cock in between my breasts, and let him fuck my tits, while I sucked on the tip rolling my tongue around the head, and then I took his cock all the way down my throat, and I felt his warm cum hit the back of my through, and I kept sucking, until he pulled away.
From that point on, we couldn’t get enough of each other, physically and mentally. He was so smart, and knew so much about underground music. He would bring to Appleton, and we would fuck on the porch under the moonlight, and in his room in candlelight. We would stay up and read our poem’s to each other. He would tell me stories of his past, and all the drugs he’d done. All the LSD, and of course I was so jealous that he got to trip many many times, and I never got to.

Well, you've made it to the end. Now leave a comment. I made myself so horny writing that scean I ended up masterbating as soon as I was done, and it was 4am.

1 comment:

Melody said...

Hey hey Miss Anna, thanx for your comment on my blog.
First I want you to know that you have no reason to look down on yourself. Alot of people might say that being an addict is reason enough but those people are assholes. Everyone has issues and nobody is perfect, it's funny how often people forget that.
I worry for you, you are letting yourself get sucked under by despair and it doesn't have'to be that way. Don't hate yourself for having had a difficult life, it's that life that has made you into a stronger person, stronger than you realize.
You once said that you admired my confidence so I'll give you some insight into my philosophy and what works for me.

1) Do away with guilt! It is one thing to have regrets and feel that you would have liked to do things differently but NEVER let guilt override your life. Don't obsess over things you can't change, you will just make yourself miserable and for what? Don't block it out but don't let it keep you up nights either. For the most part the past should stay in the past, you can't embrace tomorrow if you live in a world of yesterdays.

2) Don't live life in anticipation of approval...from anyone! People are fickle by nature and you can never please everybody. Don't even try! I'm not advocating selfishness by any means, I am advocating self preservation. If you go through life trying to please the people around you, you will wring yourself dry..of emotion, of happiness, of life. Worry about making yourself happy first, when you've conquered that, you can conquer anything and then you can concentrate on others. Right now I believe you need yourself more than anyone around you does.

3)Learn the 2 most important words in the english language : "Fuck 'em!"
When you feel like negative opinions/remarks are dragging you down...fuck 'em! If you start to feel insecure about the way other people percieve you...fuck 'em!
Alot of people will take pleasure in knocking you to the floor and then add injury to insult by kicking you while you're down. The best way to keep this from wrecking you is to give them NO more than a passing thought. They are not worth your time, NOBODY who tries to make you feel inferior is worth your time...fuck 'em!

I could go on and on but I won't, I think you get the idea. I don't know how the anons are in your neck of the woods but the ones on my page are spiteful, vicious and generally don't know what the fuck they're talking about. You may just get a comment telling you what a moron you are for even considerering advice from a loser like me, if that comes to pass, refer to #3 of my philosophy...if you want to, that is. #3 applies to everybody, even me, so if you feel like I should shove my sage advice up my ass, by all means, tell me so.
So now that i've written a mini-novel on here, I want to sum it all up by saying thankyou (for your compliments) and good luck (with everything) you deserve good things Anna and don't ever let enyone tell you different.