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Pills were expensive.   And now that Ger was living with me it was double.  I no longer had to come up with $30 for a fix, we had to come up with $60.  As if that wasn't enough, $30 each wasn't enough to do the trick anymore. There was no more "Oh well, we can survive a night of being sick".  It was "We CANNOT be sick....it's too painful....what do we do to get what we need".
The infatuation with Ger was still there, but life was becoming stressful in my head. I loved him very much.  As we spent more time together I got to know him more.  He had demons of his own that he was battling.  He had lost his parents at a young age, not too young, but as a young teen.  He had never processed the grief.   It was something that came up quite often.   He had some deep wounds and had a very hard time dealing with them.  He was angry.  He missed his parents. He felt jipped out of his time he got with them.  It hadn't been enough.  He needed his mom.  When they died he had stayed with different people....families.  Some were good for him and some were not.  He also had two children.  Younger than mine.  He didn't see them.  He loved them and spoke about them all the time. But he wasn't allowed to see them unless he was clean.  He was in so deep and so hopeless (in his addiction) that he couldn't just not use for a weekend so he could see them.  He would be too sick ......and thus, the vicious cycle.   The self hatred....the hopelessness, the failures.  Addiction to opiates is such a horrible thing.   Becoming well is not like becoming wired or tweaked or drunk.  It's becoming WELL.  Normal.   Not sick....not high.  When you get to that point where normal every day survival is dependant on a pill to be normal....you are fucked.  Well is sober.   High is high and sober is sick.  So anyway, Ger, in all his glory, was a very sad, depressed, and very stuck person.   We found each other.  We understood each other. We loved, we laughed, we hurt, and we ran.  We fucking RAN. Together.  As far away from our pain as we could.  Yes, the running was adding layers upon layers of new pain, but at this point it hadn't caught up.  We were out running it.
The stress was real and it was heavy.  We had a drawer in the bathroom that we would take completely out and there was a small surface in there where we kept our needles and spoons.  It was the only bathroom in the house.  I was always worried the girls would find it.  I was also worried about the girls seeing us sick.  It wasn't pretty.  Ger held back in front of the girls, but not as much as I did.  He would not be super vocal and he tried to put his best foot forward but it wasn't enough to actually protect them from it.  It started resembling my relationship with Damion......in a completely different way, but the dynamics were feeling familiar.  Me constantly trying to balance everything out and keep everyone happy and hide things from the girls.  It Began to feel like a heavy burden. Ger and I spent alot of time in the bathroom.  Alot.    I knew that it was weird to the girls.  But I never excused it.  I just acted like.....nothing, I guess.  But I felt like a failure.  If only the pills came in abundance and we just stayed high and happy.  Ya.....if fucking only man.  I was never really a weed smoker, but that became the "cover up", the excuse.  It was better than the girls thinking worse, right?  Ger didn't have a car, so every morning when we needed our pills, I would send him in my car, no licence, with my money to go get some and bring home.  I would wait.  Sometimes hours.   Sometimes he would bring me back an actual pill....other times he would being me a rinse.  (A wash). Sometimes he would be gone one hour.  Other times he would be gone the whole day.  This wasn't working.  I would argue with him when I didn't get a pill.   So I started just going with him.   Telling the girls that we were going to get weed, or some other lame excuse as to why they couldn't always go.   I took them more than I should have anyway.  They liked hanging on the block.  We were all "family" there.   But when we would get our "weed" we always had to stop at a park and go into the bathroom together to shoot up (smoke) and the girls would sit in the car.  We always did our best to make it "fun".   Blast the music, be loud and crazy to distract the girls.   Half of the time both of us or one of us would have to stop and puke on the way home.  That was always weird and I always felt so uncomfortable but always had a reason as to why we were always throwing up. And truthfully, I'm trying to make it sound better now as I'm writing, (not even intentionally, but some of this stuff really sucks and I naturally want to convince myself it wasn't so bad) but my brain was fried and it mostly was just our normal lives. It's what we did and the girls just.....lived it.  If they had reservations at this point, they hadn't voiced them.
I wasn't doing well in school, but I was hanging on.   The priority was getting well every morning and evening.  Period.   That came first because if it didn't I was too sick to function.....to go to school or do anything.   Most of the time the majority of my day was dealing with drug dealers and running around trying to find something.  If I found something early in the day by the evening I needed more.   Even if I bought several hits I did not have the will power to keep some until the next day.   What I had on me was done that day. No matter how little or how excessive.  The joy I felt when this all started was definitely dimmed.  Missing Poppy wasn't as forgotten anymore.  To me it was just life......everyone has struggles....and this was mine. Quitting wasn't any kind of a reality in my heart.  I needed the high.   And Ger was right......I was chasing after it every second of every day.   When I got my next school check (several thousand dollars) we had allready had a deal set up ahead of time. We bought....I don't know.....like 19 Dilaudid. (8's) They weren't my favorite, but they rushed like a morphine. Pins and needles.   We had talked about being smart with them.   At the price we got them for, we could flip it and sell a few of them at a higher price and then the ones we took would essentially be free and we would have all our money back.  Ummm......ya right.....we did every single one. The day we got them.  Those times would feel like when we first met.   So high and so happy.   On top of the world.  We would take the girls out and do family things during times like these.  When there was no fear of becoming sick for the rest of the day.  We could relax enough to know that if we took the girls shopping or to the beach or something we would be okay.  Fun family times were centered around what was available and how much we had to spend.   Alot of broken promises happened using this system.  Too many. ****  Ugh.  Hard to write. ****
It wasn't long before we had no food in the house. (At this point it wasn't literally bare cupboards....but having enough food to last was a struggle)  When we were hurting we would take our food cards and sell them for half of what they were worth. Like if my card had $400 worth of food stamps on it I would sell it to someone for $200 cash and they would get $400 groceries.  I always insisted that we get some groceries before we sold the rest.  (That juggling two different worlds thing) That $200 would be a day or two worth of pills. If we screwed up real bad with the card, Ger would steal food from the store for the girls to eat.
  Ger started getting unemployment so we had that as well. That ($440) would be gone the day we got it, just like any other income.  It was out of hand way before I understood that it was out of hand. I was always trying to stay on top of things, but I was losing the battle. When you get to this point, as a junkie, you get creative.  Everything takes a back seat. It has too.  Here's where the story gets messy.  (As if it wasn't allready) Alot of this (all of this) is going to take guts to admit.  But this......these words, this testament is the true life of a junkie.
As I said, I wasn't doing well in school.  I also was falling behind on rent. It was always, "After I get my fix, I will pay the bills with the rest of my money."  In reality it was, After I get my fix, I will spend the rest of my money on another fix. I knew my mom would never let my girls go hungry. Or go without.  So their needs were taken care of......to a degree. At the barest of minimum.  There was never a kitchen full of food and snacks for them and their friends.  I made sure to always hint to my mom that I was financially struggling paying all my bills and gas and necessities.  It was always a hard choice when she would give me a $20 for gas......when I truly had no gas in the car but needed the whole twenty for drugs, but couldn't go get the drugs without gas in the car. Those times Ger would walk around and steal gas cans people had in their garages and carports.  This all felt heavy,,,, but not heavy enough to think I may need to quit.  Just annoying. ...like .. Im sick of the struggle but it is what it is. This is my life and what I need to do and deal with to get what I want. The most difficult part of all of this was always the same.  Somehow keeping up appearances and keeping the girls and their friends in the dark about my habit.  The balancing of a life portreyed and of the secret life. Collette and Holly still tell me that back then they had no idea what was happening.  They knew I struggled and had a hard time coping with the trauma. They knew I was eccentric and had ups and downs.   But the huge struggle of being that good mom and loving my girls against feeding a horrific addiction in the closet payed off to a degree because I somehow managed to protect them from it for as long as I could.
One day we met Bobby D in town.  He and Ger had been talking about a bike (street bike) Bobby D owned and was selling.   They talked for a while and came up with a deal. Ger was going to pay him so much money out of his unemployment each week in exchange for the bike.  I was so excited!   Omg!  More risky behavior!  More thrills and more danger.   Plus it turned me on to ride on the back with Ger gettin it down the freeway. He took my for the ride of my life that day. We did a big load each and hit the highway.   He would take it up to 100 mph, weaving in and out of traffic. I'd be wearing shorts, a tank top, and sandals.  I would close my eyes and feel the wind and just lose myself. I was never afraid....all though I should have been very afraid.
Our minds were always working overtime.  How can we get ahead?  Who can we rip off or borrow money from.  When we would be at the block waiting for something sometimes people who weren't part of the "family" would come by wanting a pill or something.  If we knew that they were new to the game and ignorant we could easily scam them...either on price or product.  Easy prey.  We weren't selling but we would take their money and add it to what we were buying and give them less than what they should get and give ourselves more. Anything to make sure sickness wasn't in our future. Our "friends" were also very aware of the state we were in.   They watched us turn from pill popper to junkie practically over night.  They knew the desperation and definitely took advantage, knowing if we were sick we would pretty much do anything for a fix.  Give rides, help with elaborate set ups, give collateral, or give them what nice things we had left.   There were a couple of guys in the same way we were.   They would lie, cheat, and steal at all costs. Knox was one of those guys. (The one who had previously ripped me off for all the Dilaudid). He was a mother fucker.  You had to watch your back....and everything on it when around him.   I hated him.  But if he had something that could help me, I didn't hate him so much. He and Ger had lived together at one point and had gotten into a fight over some pills and knox had actually chased him around the house with a butcher knife. Life.  Knoxs parents had taken Ger in and loved him and tried to help him.  They were such kind, really great, loving people.  Always hoping the boys were doing well.  Knox was always stealing from them and like us, terrified of the sickness.   Burning bridges was the way of a junkie.  Even if you didn't want to do something with your whole being, you did it anyway to be well.
One day when Ger and I couldn't find anything a lightbulb went off in my head.  I used to take my dad's pain meds.  He has tons of pain meds!  We went up to visit my parents and I had to casually look around for them.   They were no where to be found.   They had hidden them before I came up.   I was upset but a huge part of me was also relieved.  I did not want to fucking do this.  Knowing what I felt like when I had nothing was the same my dad would feel if he had nothing.  Only he wasn't a junkie.  He was a chronic pain patient who would be in a world of hurt without his pills.   Ger wasn't happy that I couldn't find them. I wasn't either but fuck man..... I just couldn't go there.
I started feeling less than and looked down on from my friends.  But at this point it was all my own guilt. We were still getting invited to BBQs and parties by the girls friends parents.  We would go if we were well and we were always treated the same as everyone else. We always had fun and were part of the group when we went.  I always just had this nagging feeling that I was a piece of shit.  Especially when I would see some money sitting in an open purse or something and really want to take it. I held back though.   But I could feel the pull to help myself becoming harder and harder to resist. I wanted so badly to be one of them. They were all so cool and so fun.   Their kids had everything and I knew I was fucking my girls over.  My girls.  My amazing wonderful daughter's. My self hatred was seeping back in.   How could I be turning into this?   Not turning into.......how could I BE this person?  The financial thing ate at me every second of every day. My girls deserved so much more.  And they were happy at this point.  How could they be?  They didn't have what their friends had, but they always were happy to just have us.   The three of us.....we loved each other and looked out for each other.  We were ride or die. Me and my girls.  I was as honest with them as I could be.  I told them how I felt and how much I loved them constantly.  We still cuddled and hung out and laughed. But I knew I wasn't giving them everything they deserved.  To hear them tell me "It's okay Mama we understand, we know life is hard", or "We don't need that, it's okay", fucking killed me then and it fucking kills me now.  They were such good girls.   I fucking hated myself.  But from my past I knew how to keep a smile on my face and I knew how to survive.
We had spent all our money except for our rent.  We were allready behind a month and I knew we were screwed.  I held on to it for as long as I could and then I gave in. $700 cash.  I bought food and pills.   I did not pay rent.   I knew it was a matter of time before we would have to leave our home. I didn't know what we were going to do.  But really, I never knew what we were going to do.  The only definite thing in my life was that I would start looking for pills the moment I woke up every day.  We were not having much luck this particular morning.  We hardly had any money.  So we took off to see what we could come up with......we headed to the block. Sometimes things just worked out right....sometimes they didn't. We weren't feeling well so we were looking for anything.  We ended up going to Mike's house and getting a morphine to split.  Morphine was never anything we sought out. The rush was good but that was it.  It only kept you well for like 10 minutes. We drove to a parking lot and (always had our rigs on us and a spoon) did our thing.  I was still rushing when I started driving out of the lot.  I pulled out and something went over the hood of my car.   It was a fucking guy!  I hit a fucking person.  Ger started yelling at me of stop the car and jumped out.  He ran up to the guy who was getting up off the ground "Are you okay??!!"  The guy told him "Ya I think so..."  Ger started apologizing up and down.  I didn't even fully understand what was happening.  This was a busy street and I cannot believe the cops didn't show up.  The guy was fine.....let's get the fuck out here.  Ger was asking him if he could do anything for him or if he needed a ride or anything.  He appeared to be a homeless man.  Ger reached into his pocket and got his money out.  I was thinking Nooooooooo.  Don't give him our money!  No!  But he did.  We only had $12 but I knew I was going to be sick again soon and that $12 was important.  I watched him give him our last $12 and make sure he was okay again and I was fuming.    Then all of a sudden my heart felt like it stopped.   Dude....I just hit a guy with my car....we have rigs in the car....and I felt dazed.   Ger told me to get out of the driver seat and he hopped in.   I questioned him as to why he would offer him our money.  He said "Dude..... Miss.....do you realize what just fucking happened?!".  I pouted and knew I was just going to be fucking sick.  Awesome.
Ger started gambling with the little bit of money we would come up with.  He taught me how to play a game that we almost always at least would leave with what we started with.   Quite often we would make our $5 or $10 into enough to buy something to get well.  I Immidiatly loved it.  We started hanging out down at the local tavern playing the machines always in hopes for a good day.....maybe even enough to get high.....not just well. (Still chasing) what a fun New thing!   A new addiction!  Gotta win!  I just wanted to get high man.  To feel the way I felt when all of this was new.  Ger had been chasing it longer than me.  It was such a frustrating game. Such a fucking sick game.   One that when you start you aren't aware that the finish line is nearly impossible to reach.   Most people die before they get anywhere near the end of the game.   A sudden game over.  Happens all the time. I knew that was a possibility.  I used to think that if I die, at least make it to where I reached that high for a even a moment so that it would be the last thing I remember feeling.  That euphoria.   Not a bad way to go, right? An overdose.......where I finally found the rush......the high I had been chasing.   It would be such an amazing rush that it would take me out.....while I was happily numb.
I couldn't pay rent and I voluntarily moved us out of our home.  I didn't want an eviction so I just ended it.   My home.   We loved that home.  Haunted and all.   What a let down.   The disappointment the girls must have felt .....ugh.....yuck.   I told my parents when I got my next school check I would get into another place.  We moved back in with my parents.  Ger sort of did too.  The girls moved back into our old room upstairs and Ger and I slept in the living room. It was a horrible time.   Being sick at my parents was just...horrible.  It also opened up opportunities for Ger and I that took me immidiatly out of the high class junkie category (I had put myself in) to straight JUNKIE.......nothing good about me......straight fucking low life junkie.

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