Alright, as promised; more book material.
This next story happened previous to the one I posted yesterday. My addiction was fully out of control, but I wasn’t at the point of wanting to take myself out because of it yet. I didn’t care about it or anything else. Life was a joke and nothing was real. I used to survive and survived to use. I had it down to a science.
My life was cocaine, booze and pills. Nothing else mattered.
From, “There’s No Good Campfires Left In Hell”
LITTLE FISH
“She’s so little,” said one fish.
“I know, it’s sad,” said two fish
“There’s so much glass in her feet,” said three fish.
“Has she been up to radiology yet?” asked blue fish.
Oh wait, what the fuck?
Not fish at all. But nurses fishing glass out of my feet as I lay strapped to a gurney in a bright white room. I was in the hospital most likely; but I didn’t know why.
“She’s waking up,” said one fish.
“Give her another shot then,” said two fish.
And that was that. Back out.
I woke up to a woman jabbing a pen into my leg.
“Kathleen, Kathleen? You’ve been cleared for release, you have to go now. You can’t just sleep here.”
I had no idea how long I had been out or what the fuck had happened. Apparently some kind of drug induced coma. From how many days ago I didn’t know. I asked the pen jabber what day it was.
“It’s Sunday night. You came in early Saturday morning. There’s some sheets there at the end of the bed for you. Give them to the receptionist on the way out. Your clothes are in a bag there.” She pointed at a bag next to the paperwork.
“Where’s my shoes?” I asked.
“You didn’t come in with any.” She replied flatly while looking at a clipboard.
“Well, what am I supposed to do?”
“That’s not my problem.”
And she walked away, pointing to the direction I needed to head. I wasn’t anything foreign around these parts and my kind didn’t seem too welcome.
I sat up, head spinning and throat and mouth dry as a desert. My nose ached. Upon rubbing my face dried blood flaked off of my nostrils. Alcohol. Check. Cocaine. Check. Judging by my lack of direction and major disorientation I’d also ingested some form of a downer. Most likely Xanax, Percocet or both. Probably both. Pharmaceuticals. Check.
I grabbed my bag of shit and pulled out my jeans. Blood stains on the bottom. Nice. So much for those. I’d only worn them once. Looks like I’d have to bust out the peroxide when I got home, (gets out blood stains like you wouldn’t believe), also nothing new.
As I dropped the hospital gown off, I turned to see a nurse looking at me funny. I guess she wasn’t used to topless women standing around the ER. I gave her the finger and put my pants on. I threw on the crumpled, white tank top, also blood stained. Looked like a nose bleed and my feet were bandaged. That explained the bloody jeans.
I walked down the hallway the asshole doctor had pointed to, flipping through the paper work the woman had given me. “Treatment options for Substance Abuse,” read the top one. I dropped it on the floor and kept walking. The next one was one for a twelve step program, that also hit the floor. Depression, floor. Financial Assistance, floor.
Someone yelled at me that I had dropped something and I just kept going. I may have even laughed. At this point in my life, I didn’t give a shit about anything.
I must have looked like a total fucking nightmare because the look the woman at the check out desk gave me was something else.
“What?” I snapped.
“Ah, nothing. You have your papers?”
I threw the remaining paperwork on the counter and looked outside. Fuck. It was snowing.
“Will you be making a payment today, Kathleen?”
“Nope.”
“Did you want to set up a plan with our financial assistance office? It says here you don’t have insurance.”
Fucking doctors. Of course they got that out of me somehow in my drugged out stupor and likely overdose.
“Nope.”
“Do you have a coat? It’s snowing out.” This woman was looking at me like I was walking on a tightrope over hot lava. It was starting to piss me off.
“I can see that. Sucks. Thanks.” I said as I made my way to the door.
“Do you want your copy of your release forms?” she hollered after me.
I put a hand up and walked out onto the street. Luckily there were cabs out front. I checked my pants for money. There was a hundred dollar bill folded up in the small front pocket. I only bought jeans that had this pocket for this particular reason. You never know when you’re going to need the, “oh shit” cash or something to snort drugs through.
A hundred bucks can get your ass out of just about any pinch, cover basic bail and as far as snorting drugs through it goes, less people have handled it. Health precautions.
Luckily the cab driver had change. I was in no shape to go in anywhere and break the shit. I looked in his mirror as he was getting my money together. I had hair matted to my face and black circles of makeup around my pin pricked eyes. Road kill.
I got out of the cab and stepped into the snow. I think I was still too high from whatever they knocked me out with because I don’t remember caring or being cold.
I got in my house, thank god I had my keys in my other pocket, even though I didn’t need them. My door knob had been nocked off. Looks like the paramedics or somebody had smashed the door in.
I picked up a copy of the Village Voice off the cocaine dusted coffee table, stepped over a shit load of broken glass and plugged the hole where the door knob should have been.
There was a broken vase and an empty six pack smashed all about my living room. Glass was stuck in the wall and someone had spray painted fuck you on the wall. Or had that been there?
I kicked at some of the glass on the floor. Bent down and snagged my phone from under the couch. Somehow it always ended up there.
Couple missed calls from Jimmy Black and a text from my dealer wondering if I needed anything. I licked my finger and ran it across the powdered covered table and applied it amply across my gums. I text him back that I was fine for the evening.
I cleaned myself up, walked my dogs and headed back out. I needed a beer.
And I’m pretty sure that’s what started that whole mess in the first place.
So again, if that was somewhat tolerable; don’t forget to read the prequel. The rest of this mess will be out soon enough…
Buy Hi, Have You Met Me? on Amazon today! http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00B009W1M
Check out the blog on it's home site @
www.hihaveyoumetme.com for previous writings and more.
Don’t forget to stalk me further at https://twitter.com/#!/hihaveyoumetme orhttp://www.facebook.com/authorkatemonahan
This next story happened previous to the one I posted yesterday. My addiction was fully out of control, but I wasn’t at the point of wanting to take myself out because of it yet. I didn’t care about it or anything else. Life was a joke and nothing was real. I used to survive and survived to use. I had it down to a science.
My life was cocaine, booze and pills. Nothing else mattered.
From, “There’s No Good Campfires Left In Hell”
LITTLE FISH
“She’s so little,” said one fish.
“I know, it’s sad,” said two fish
“There’s so much glass in her feet,” said three fish.
“Has she been up to radiology yet?” asked blue fish.
Oh wait, what the fuck?
Not fish at all. But nurses fishing glass out of my feet as I lay strapped to a gurney in a bright white room. I was in the hospital most likely; but I didn’t know why.
“She’s waking up,” said one fish.
“Give her another shot then,” said two fish.
And that was that. Back out.
I woke up to a woman jabbing a pen into my leg.
“Kathleen, Kathleen? You’ve been cleared for release, you have to go now. You can’t just sleep here.”
I had no idea how long I had been out or what the fuck had happened. Apparently some kind of drug induced coma. From how many days ago I didn’t know. I asked the pen jabber what day it was.
“It’s Sunday night. You came in early Saturday morning. There’s some sheets there at the end of the bed for you. Give them to the receptionist on the way out. Your clothes are in a bag there.” She pointed at a bag next to the paperwork.
“Where’s my shoes?” I asked.
“You didn’t come in with any.” She replied flatly while looking at a clipboard.
“Well, what am I supposed to do?”
“That’s not my problem.”
And she walked away, pointing to the direction I needed to head. I wasn’t anything foreign around these parts and my kind didn’t seem too welcome.
I sat up, head spinning and throat and mouth dry as a desert. My nose ached. Upon rubbing my face dried blood flaked off of my nostrils. Alcohol. Check. Cocaine. Check. Judging by my lack of direction and major disorientation I’d also ingested some form of a downer. Most likely Xanax, Percocet or both. Probably both. Pharmaceuticals. Check.
I grabbed my bag of shit and pulled out my jeans. Blood stains on the bottom. Nice. So much for those. I’d only worn them once. Looks like I’d have to bust out the peroxide when I got home, (gets out blood stains like you wouldn’t believe), also nothing new.
As I dropped the hospital gown off, I turned to see a nurse looking at me funny. I guess she wasn’t used to topless women standing around the ER. I gave her the finger and put my pants on. I threw on the crumpled, white tank top, also blood stained. Looked like a nose bleed and my feet were bandaged. That explained the bloody jeans.
I walked down the hallway the asshole doctor had pointed to, flipping through the paper work the woman had given me. “Treatment options for Substance Abuse,” read the top one. I dropped it on the floor and kept walking. The next one was one for a twelve step program, that also hit the floor. Depression, floor. Financial Assistance, floor.
Someone yelled at me that I had dropped something and I just kept going. I may have even laughed. At this point in my life, I didn’t give a shit about anything.
I must have looked like a total fucking nightmare because the look the woman at the check out desk gave me was something else.
“What?” I snapped.
“Ah, nothing. You have your papers?”
I threw the remaining paperwork on the counter and looked outside. Fuck. It was snowing.
“Will you be making a payment today, Kathleen?”
“Nope.”
“Did you want to set up a plan with our financial assistance office? It says here you don’t have insurance.”
Fucking doctors. Of course they got that out of me somehow in my drugged out stupor and likely overdose.
“Nope.”
“Do you have a coat? It’s snowing out.” This woman was looking at me like I was walking on a tightrope over hot lava. It was starting to piss me off.
“I can see that. Sucks. Thanks.” I said as I made my way to the door.
“Do you want your copy of your release forms?” she hollered after me.
I put a hand up and walked out onto the street. Luckily there were cabs out front. I checked my pants for money. There was a hundred dollar bill folded up in the small front pocket. I only bought jeans that had this pocket for this particular reason. You never know when you’re going to need the, “oh shit” cash or something to snort drugs through.
A hundred bucks can get your ass out of just about any pinch, cover basic bail and as far as snorting drugs through it goes, less people have handled it. Health precautions.
Luckily the cab driver had change. I was in no shape to go in anywhere and break the shit. I looked in his mirror as he was getting my money together. I had hair matted to my face and black circles of makeup around my pin pricked eyes. Road kill.
I got out of the cab and stepped into the snow. I think I was still too high from whatever they knocked me out with because I don’t remember caring or being cold.
I got in my house, thank god I had my keys in my other pocket, even though I didn’t need them. My door knob had been nocked off. Looks like the paramedics or somebody had smashed the door in.
I picked up a copy of the Village Voice off the cocaine dusted coffee table, stepped over a shit load of broken glass and plugged the hole where the door knob should have been.
There was a broken vase and an empty six pack smashed all about my living room. Glass was stuck in the wall and someone had spray painted fuck you on the wall. Or had that been there?
I kicked at some of the glass on the floor. Bent down and snagged my phone from under the couch. Somehow it always ended up there.
Couple missed calls from Jimmy Black and a text from my dealer wondering if I needed anything. I licked my finger and ran it across the powdered covered table and applied it amply across my gums. I text him back that I was fine for the evening.
I cleaned myself up, walked my dogs and headed back out. I needed a beer.
And I’m pretty sure that’s what started that whole mess in the first place.
So again, if that was somewhat tolerable; don’t forget to read the prequel. The rest of this mess will be out soon enough…
Buy Hi, Have You Met Me? on Amazon today! http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00B009W1M
Check out the blog on it's home site @
www.hihaveyoumetme.com for previous writings and more.
Don’t forget to stalk me further at https://twitter.com/#!/hihaveyoumetme orhttp://www.facebook.com/authorkatemonahan