Day 252-258: “The first time I did cocaine….er-crack”

Initially when I moved back from SF I couldn’t handle living in Pleasantville. I’d started working at a temp agency and befriended one of the girls I worked with named Betty. I’d become accustomed to being on my own and pumped with drugs 24/7 in Frisco and missed it terribly. I had a minor meltdown and moved out for a few months into Betty’s house before returning home with my tail between my legs and hand out for money and sympathy. As you can imagine, 10 years later I’m “on my own” again and they don’t buy it.

Betty was like the older sister I never had and later found out never wanted. She was in her mid 30’s and let me live with her rent free and even paid for one of my classes that I took at NOVA. She lived in a fabulous house, had a BMW and a boat. I couldn’t believe that I met someone like her who wanted to “save me” from the strict regime in Pleasantville. She graduated from JMU and was making it in this world as a working girl… I was her fun and she was my friend with benefits. She would buy alcohol because I was still underage and pick up coke from this local dealer that she trusted. She usually got the biggest bag of coke she could get and to “make it last longer” she would bring it home to her fiancé so that he could “fix it”.

At first glance I didn’t think anything of it, why would I? I was an addict and she was my wonder woman. She insisted that “fixing it” was the best way to make the most of it and I trusted her blindly. We sat by the by the fireplace, lit it up and took turns taking hits, admittedly she knew I would love it too if I would just try it.  I remember feeling like I had just swallowed a bottle of euphoria and wanted more. The worst part about crack (aside from the obvious) is that the high doesn’t last that long and I was already hooked after the first hit. Naturally, I became a closet crack head over night and probably smoked them into debt before returning to Pleasantville.

Betty wasn’t the only fucked up fairy godmother in my life. When I was living in SF I met a girl named Amy who I became instant friends with. My roommate hated me and my boyfriend at the time left me because I decided to strip for money… What a dick!  I needed a buddy and Amy filled that void. Amy like myself was a lost soul and we worked together at different clubs on the strip. She wasn’t like the other strippers, she took to me immediately and I felt oddly comfortable with her and that I could trust her. She was from Ohio and knew how to score Meth (what else did I need to know) I was a lonely addict who wanted a friend. We hung out all the time, smoked meth like cigarettes and would head to Santa Cruz on the weekends. Essentially, we were lazy strippers and usually only made enough money during the week to buy drugs and pay bills.

Like Betty, she was able to talk her way out of anything I questioned. She convinced me that she had no money and didn’t have any support from her family back in Ohio.  Since she was my friend  it was only fair that I help her the best way I could. I literally emptied out my jewelry box and gave her gold rings and necklaces that were given to me as gifts throughout my life to pawn. I told myself that she needed them more than me and took a blind eye to the possibility that she was just using me. Ironically, she was able to convince me to tell a hospital that she was related to me to get her injured knee treated by a doctor under my plan. The injury was already pre-existing but we worked our magic and were friends. She got her knee fixed and my dad paid the bill. To this day my day questions me about that bill. My lame excuse is…. I was skateboarding and fell trying to do an ollie.

When I came back to the East Coast I was a full-blown addict and crack cocaine was right up my ally… Betty just made it easier for me to get high. There have been certain women that have come in my life and have taking me under their broken wing…. No questions asked.  I’ve accepted the offer because most women have a caring side and love to fix other people and I’m usually “under construction” and in need of advice. I don’t blame Betty or Amy for my addiction or how I let them manipulate me into believing that they were “good” people. I trusted them before ever getting to really know them and that’s my fault.

Here’s to what could have been 113-107 Days, Veronica Graham, A pretty face is just that….nothing more and nothing less.

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