A Confession of Nothing Secret - Just Truth

It has taken me days to feel the ability to publish this.  It's not for anyone but me.  But it was scary to go back and face.  I'm not this person that I write about but I'm lucky that at one time, I was. Despite the actions and details - - -

I'm just remembering as I watch this Breaking Bad... about my youth.  My stupid but fucking fucked up fun youth.  Let's say adolescence.

I did my first line of coke off the drop down glove box of my 1989 Blazer in 11th grade.  I didn't think it was that great.  I remember I was wearing red lipstick and fake eyelashes.  Eventually, I did many/many/many lines of it and I still hated it.  Mostly always in a car - in a secluded corner with tinted windows.  Shit makes me sleepy and I hate it.  Haven't touched it since 2008.  Stuffy nose, boring shit.

I did my first line of speed off of my pink skull n'cross bones metal cigarette holder that I used as a wallet, quite conveniently [for this random/unexpected occasion] in the newly developed girls bathroom at Costa.  That one add on, that was next to the football field where the trailers used to be.  Also 11th grade.  Ironically, I was with one of my friends from preschool.  We had reacquainted ourselves during our office helper period.  I don't even know what that shit was called.  But I got to run notes to get people out of class, or tell them that they were in trouble at the office.  But I mostly fucked around and doodled in this black notebook that everyone always wanted to look at - but I never let them.  Well, some people got to see it.

During lunch, I tried to not want to talk to everyone and anyone about whatever the fuck I could think of.  I kept saying "shut the fuck up" to myself but I couldn't.  I talked and talked and talked.  Which was the most retarded thing I could have done, but I didn't know that yet.  That line lasted 2 days.  I wrote my best Government paper on that shit.  Marx gave me an A+.  That man was the best thing ever at Costa.  I ran into him years later when I worked at Sloopy's.  He didn't remember me until I told him that I was the one that wrote him the letter about how he was the only teacher I really ever learned anything from and that I hoped parents stopped giving him shit for being hard on students - for actually making them think.

Sidtracked.  Speed.  I loved it so much, I stayed away from it for 3 years.

Then, we reunited -- unintentionally.

I tell myself that I wouldn't have done it if I was around my Mom at the time.  I know that part is true.  She was 1,000 miles away and I was 20 years old.  The stress of living on my own and paying all my own bills caught up with me.  Promotions at work, 5am wake up times, 11 hour days.  I started making excuses for using.  It started all so innocently.

And then the dark shadow happened.  A drug dealer moved in.  From there, it was beyond my control. Then it was in my control but I didn't care.  I wanted it.  And as much as I hated all of it - especially myself - I also never wanted it to end.  But deep down, even from the beginning, I knew it had to end.  I would never have let myself hit the bottom.  I always have known I was worth more than that.  I would stop eventually, I always told myself that.  I know I would.  And fucking right I was.  Just not yet.  Just not then.  That's when my method changed.  I won't go into it.

During this time, I decided I wanted a dog.  I had to have a dog. I knew that I needed something to make me look outside of my morbidly dark and retarded existence and make me want to live again.  Not live as in I ever wanted to really die but live as in have something other than myself to live for.  Everyone told me I shouldn't get a dog.  Everyone told me my druggy ass wouldn't be able to take care of anything - I wasn't even taking care of myself.

But I searched high and low for the dog that ended up being mine.  I searched online, I searched the PennySaver, I searched at pound after pound after pound.  I almost got a baby pitbull, the sweetest little girl but she was going to end up too big.  I wanted something small but not too small.  I knew it's name would be Taco.  Boy or girl, it didn't matter.  I didn't fucking care.  I just wanted it.  I knew it would save me.

One day, I almost gave up.  I said I had to check one more pound, the furthest one.  North Los Angeles.  405 to the 10 to the 110 to the 101.  It took forever to get there, I was so anxious - so many cigarettes.  I just kept hearing this voice in my head.  It may have been from no sleep, it may have been real.  Either way, it was happening and I listened to it.

I arrived at the North LA pound.  I had no idea where I was.  Walked through the door, searched the whole outside lot of dogs.  Nothing. Nothing.  Nothing.  Not the one.  I started my sad and depressing walk through the hallway to the exit.....

And in a small glass box, in a secluded room off of a big long white hallway, I saw this little brown dog with a black nose.  It was laying in the corner of the box with this ugly poodle jumping all around it.  It looked miserable and I asked if I could hold it.  It, ended up being a little girl.  A Welsh-Corgi mix.  "Mixed with what?" They weren't sure.  My little baby girl. I held her for 10 seconds and she put her paw on my shoulder and looked me in the face.  She didn't look miserable anymore.  And I stopped being miserable at that same moment.

"I'll take her".
"That will be $72 dollars.  You can pick her up tomorrow after we've sent her to the vet to be fixed"

It was the best $72 dollars I've ever spent.  And it was the longest 24 hours that I've ever experienced.  Picking her up from the vet that next day was like picking up my soul from the floor.  It was like refilling my heart with the blood and desire to put myself back together.

I've never been happier than that ride home.  With her sitting in my lap.

Unfortunately, I was unable to quit right away.  My relationship with those nice icey crystals lasted almost a year (yet only 4 months after getting Taco).  Until Thanksgiving.  My boyfriends (EX now) parents had cooked an amazing dinner and I had spent the entire day using.  I wanted to eat their food so bad but no cell in my body would allow it.  I realized that I needed it to end.  I didn't want it to but I knew it had to - our run was over.

I told Taco that night that she would never have to stay up late with me, watching me write endless poems and stories with all the lights on and no intention of sleep.  I told Taco we would only cuddle and watch movies and Mom would only smoke weed and take her for long walks.  Drives to the beach.  Trips to the dog park and toys galore.

That's when I all ended.  Cold turkey.  JUST FOR HER.

So when people tell me that I'm obsessed with my dog.  That my dog seems to be the only important thing to me.  They are right.  She entered my life at a time that I needed something to remove myself from myself.  She saved me from myself.  She allowed me to become a responsible human.  She did it all without talking or words or scolding.  She rescued me more than I ever rescued her.

Everything I do is for her.  Even from far away.  And I don't even care that she is temporary.  Because, just like everything else - she will only last for as long as she does.  But that doesn't mean she can't be my reason to live.

Among many others.  But Taco, she is the one that saved me.  I owe her my life.  And I'm no longer ashamed of the entire journey that led me to her.  A completely unseen, unimaginable, uncharacteristic journey that had I had not - I would not have my heart.

I wouldn't change a thing.