Riiiight

-Pam Carter


//For fuckssake I'm not going to get addicted.

You sound like I did.

Seriously. I'm not. Stop trying to be my mother//



I've helped a few people fall over, along the way. I know better now. I'll never introduce anyone to a dealer again. I think. I hope. Who knows. My promises aren't worth much.

Addicts are dropping like flies over here.

Jim died last month with a pick in his wing. I missed his funeral, and it makes me cringe. I hope someone went. He was one of the good ones. Brought me a huge, messy bunch of flowers he'd stolen on his way. Thought I was beautiful. Always ready to help. Always wanting "to borrow" ten bucks. Always around. I keep thinking I see him, on K road. But then I realize no, he's dead too. His best friend gave him the pill. One pill. The police went round to his house and searched it, after finding Jim's body. Any excuse, really. Even strip searched his teenage daughters. He'd just been trying to help out a friend. Terribly low tolerance. Who would think you could die from so little? At least we'd seen him the day before and I'd given him a hug. Old Jim. Sweet old Jim.

Terry was dead for a week before they found him, elements still burning. Sarah gave herself HIV, gave it to her boyfriend, probably gave it to numerous johns who brought it home to their wives.

Those that don't OD, who want to quit, they kill themselves. It's all too big. Every day without drugs looms massive. There's no way to describe it. It's in your cells. Relapsing is terrifying. So is abstainance. Every second of everything is fucking terrifying.

But I'm still here, and I'll try to update more often. No resolutions. Just... try.