Chapter 1
This still needs to be edited so hang in there with me!
Remember me
I still feel you,
I see you in my dreams,
I still smell you,
Do you remember my screams?
Can you recall every tear that I cried?
Or did you most enjoy the moment my soul seemed to die?
Were my battered lips sweet to the taste?
Or had you even felt them in your brutally rushed haste?
Did it make you feel like a man?
You broke me for no reason other than you can!
Do you remember just how I smelt?
I do and I can recall how each touch felt!
Was I enough or did you seek more?
I hope you’re happy though after I felt like a whore,
I hope you enjoyed every moment you took,
Every kiss that you stole, Every time that I shook!
I hope you remember the devastation you caused.
The internal battle you started the life that you paused.
I hope you hear my screams each and every night.
May they rock you in slumber and hold you very tight.
I hope you recall the blood that was left.
You seemed to enjoy it during your theft.
I hope each moment is more vivid than the last,
You really deserve it.
You should revisit the past.
Chapter 1:
As far back as I can remember I’ve been a self-serving fuck up. My main goal in life was to party and get as high as I could before I came down and had to face the harsh reality that came along with being clean for more than five minutes.
The fact that my mother was a selfish whore helped play a large part in my need for relief. As did her five sugar daddies who would fuck me anytime she needed a hit of whatever drug she could get her hands on.
I was nothing more than a means to an end from the moment I was dumped into her womb by one of many of her Johns. It didn’t matter that I was her child or that I said no. She got what she wanted and I got a lifetime of pain and humiliation at the hands of whoever was around with enough cash to supply her habit.
THIS IS WHY I CHOSE TO STAY AS HIGH AS POSSIBLE FOR AS LONG AS POSSIBLE.
The bitter sting of betrayal and unworthiness couldn’t touch me if I was in a self-induced stupor to blazed to know up from down, they couldn’t touch me.... no one could touch me.
I wasn’t forced to feel the shameful brutality I’d been dealt from the hands of all the men who had shamelessly used my body as if I were their own personal blow up doll.
They had no power in my world. In my world it never rained, tears never came, and when I wanted to sleep I didn’t have to do it behind three dead bolts just to feel safe.
The clouds were always filled with burning rays of the brightest sun to ever grace a planet and all the animals that inhabited it came to me and offered the comfort I could never find in the people who were meant to protect me.
It was euphoric. Never having to hide who I was or what I felt because I couldn’t feel anything at all.
I was numb to the world and the pain that lived there.
Eventually, I hit the wall most addicts do, having to up the dose just to get some semblance of a high.
It became harder and harder just to feel good, much less being able to get high enough to visit the world I had concocted in my mind.
I was devastated, my only coping mechanism wasn’t working and I was emptier than ever. So I did what every addict does...I took more... and more... and more until I took so much the clerk from the seedy motel I barely managed to make enough money for was forced to call an ambulance because his conscience just “couldn't let me die”.
He’d always watched out for me from the first day we met, when I showed up at fourteen looking for a room and waving a fake I.D. So it was no surprise when I woke up three days later in a hospital dazed, confused, and connected to more tubes than I thought could fit on one person .
That should have been my first wake-up call, it should have been the day I checked into rehab and got my life sorted, but like I have every time I’ve screwed up I faked it to make it, allowing The nurses and doctors that came in and out to ask a million questions, they knew I would never answer truthfully, while they smothered me with looks of pity and disgust, thinking I either didn’t care or wouldn’t notice.
Because that’s just what I needed..... more people who thought I was a worthless piece of shit.
All the while I kept replaying every look and up turned nose that came into view.
I was a junkie I wasn’t blind, and while I was at least clean for the moment I wouldn’t be for long.
It just never seemed to get better and the worse it got the further into oblivion I wanted to sink, content to swim amongst the imaginary creatures and wonder falls my brain had created, while my already punished body took more of a beating than usual.
It had always been this way, ever since I took my first mind-numbing hit of a euphoric substance by the name of THC.
Those were the days.....
Endless moments of foggy smoke rolling in-between my lips, followed by trickling giggles of temporary innocence, big dreams, and the discovery that if I moved my hands fast enough I could see music. But even THC has a limit and I reached it at the ripe age of fifteen.
I soon discovered everyone has a threshold and once reached you have to move onto something stronger because it’s impossible to break through.
you can only get so high, there is only so much you can smoke before you give up and move onto something that gives you the ability to fly.
Even if it’s only for a little while....
At sixteen I had moved onto bigger and better things THC was a thing of the past, and in its stead, I had found a new drug. One that gave me wings and allowed me to fly to places I had never been before.
I had found Shrooms.
I’d like to say that at some point I wanted to get clean and that I tried but that would be a lie. I enjoyed every brain-dulling moment of being hypnotized by the power of anything strong enough to keep me numb.
Like the time my friend Ronnie and I, and I use the term friend loosely hid underneath one of the local bridges and boiled some shrooms.
The night was cold but we didn’t care, our lives sucked, and our hearts were far colder than the wind could ever hope to be. So by the light of a crescent moon with the sounds of cars passing over our heads and the smell of burnt fuel, We drank mouthful after mouthful until our heads swam and our bodies finally gave in leaving us in a semi-conscious delirium. I remember that day vividly because it was the first time I saw myself for what I really was. what I was truly capable of. I was caught somewhere between a scared little girl and the monster I was slowly bonding with inside myself.
In that moment I could see every dirty deed I had done and had yet to do, but I was powerless to stop myself. The siren call of the drugs I needed more than the ability to breath was just too strong to ignore, and I knew I had to have it no matter what.
So I did have it.
I had it every day for about a year and a half when I was well stocked due to the vast amount of homes I had robbed during the night. I didn’t care that they were affected by my need to numb my mind. I was on a mission to journey to my own secret world, and I had no room for the pain and suffering of others.
They only mattered when they had nothing left to steel and by that point, I was long gone and moved on to my next victim.
