Heroin Addiction-The Lifestyle-The Recovery
I’m not a celebrity or a model. I’m not rich or famous. I’m a hooker, a hustler and a junkie. It’s not like I chose this lifestyle but something inside of me took over my entire being. I became reckless and out of control. I wanted to party and get high. I needed excitement. I thrived on it. I wanted to fit in somewhere. I wanted to belong and most of all I wanted someone to love me. Little did I know, that what I left behind would be the one thing that I longed for the most. At 18, I left the love and security of my family for a nightmare of drug addiction and crime. Struggling on the streets of Los Angeles and too ashamed to go back home, I submitted to a subculture of misfits that held me captive in more ways than one. Would I ever find my way out out this self-produced nightmare??? Was I destined to live my life in hell??? Only time would tell…
Targeted Age Group:: YA and Adult
Heat/Violence Level: Heat Level 3 – PG-13
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
During the seven years of my last prison term, I saw many young women inmates riding the revolving door of the system. I am hoping to lead by example and to show other’s that anything is possible. I want to educate and inspire not only the younger generation, but also I want to give hope to the family members of an addict. After decades of addiction and crime, I am living proof that no matter how far you fall there is always hope.
I broke out in a cold sweat and I tried to cry. The tears wouldn’t fall because I knew in my heart that I had no one to blame for my situation but myself. I came from a good, loving family. I was never beaten or abused. We went on family vacations every summer. My childhood years couldn’t have been more perfect. What was wrong with me?
I looked closely into the mirror and I saw the dark circles beneath my eyes. I was underweight and my long blonde hair was thinning. I quickly looked away from the mirror and I sat on the cold, tiled floor of a cheap motel bathroom.
My hand shook a bit as I held the spoon full of heroin. I cooked it up with a blue lighter. I dropped in a small piece of cotton and I drew up the liquid with a syringe. I injected the heroin and then I fell slowly back against the wall. The tile was no longer cold and my life didn’t seem quite so hopeless anymore…
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