A brief summary to catch you up… Shitty relationship with physical abuse + Shitty relationship with emotional negligence = Self hatred. Take that total for self hatred, and multiply that by heavy meth use. Your answer should be negative. Now you’ve got a self-hating victim strung out on crystal. Add a dash of ex-boyfriend fucking, […]
Just put my piece of shit soul in the dirt already. I’d rather be a rotting, numb corpse.
We are addicts. We understand each other. But we can also kill each other without even meaning to.
Lovely little reminders of what a piece of shit I am.
Once a meth whore, always a meth whore, amirite?!
It was in this magical moment my soul shattered, and Dam smoked the shards…
GREAT PROCLAMATIONS!!!
“I, Sir Dam of NoWhere, foresobeeith of my utmost will to dub thee, Whore of MethVille!!!”
“I am so immensely gracious, may I succumb to your tool-etry?” I whispered to his toes.
Deep thought for thick skull.
“NAY WOMAN. KEEP THYSELF ON HARD GROUND! Dost thou dareth stand?”
I stay.
That shit-eating grin makes his oily, constantly sweaty cheeks plump, the candlelight never hides.
He licks his lip in that slow, creepy way he does when he’s twacked.
His soda can chub is rising in his gym shorts. Dam awkwardly and loudly takes a breath that he forces into a moan at the end.
“Right on. Let’s fuck.”
Break out some more lines.
As drug addicts, we push limits. Our own limitations pertaining to amounts. How long. How much. How many. How intense. How is our body/mind going to react when intensity reaches peak? And lastly, how much are we willing to give up? Everything. Even if we don’t admit it.
This was it. The last moment of seeing my plug… i didn’t know at the time it was the last. I remember I was super annoyed with him, because we’d been at that house way too long. He didn’t even realize he was being lured into a setup.
He had my shit, my most important things, in his truck, and on a trailer he had hooked up to his truck…. my car was packed to the brim. And I had two of my three petrified cats in tote.
It was so motherfucking hot that day in dead summer, mountain town. We had spent early afternoon repacking his truck and the trailer, in blazing sun rays. Catherine needs to hurry up with my plug’s cash so we can get the fuck outta here.
“One more sale?! That’s $300 of MY money she’s got!”, he said.
“But, King, you haven’t eaten in… I can’t even remember, please let me feed you first! That’s a 45 minute drive! Can’t the bitch just Uber here?! Like damn that’s ridiculous. No one in the parking lot to give her a jump?!” I did raise my voice. The hot sweat on my forehead was fucking annoying.
“Here, write this down, go to McDonald’s,” he says in a scruff, his phone wedged in between his oily golden waves, shoulder with 3 day-worn shirt, and his ear which… No.
And with that, he unlocked the trailer of my stuff from his truck. Threw out the biggest things in backseats of truck and jumped in driver’s seat. Lil’ Buddy climbed in the cabin, too. He wanted to be Catherine’s hero.
“I gotta go now, I will eat when I come back I promise. It’ll be real quick. Don’t worry.”
Then he left.
Everyone was gone.
But this was the list of items I had to get at the McDonald’s.
Unpaid bills. Decaying mindset. Increasing fear of whats to come. Yet here I am, thinking about rolling my last bowl.
Drugs are a very real thing in a very fake world. When someone asks about a stance on drugs, there are three possibilities: For. Against. Curiosity. Those that are pro drugs obviously partake.
Diaries of a Former Meth Whore. 