I’d failed. Instead of saying no, I said yes. To men, to drugs, to abuse. I’d married and failed again and again. Now instead of marriage I preferred an open relationship with the man sleeping in my bed. He was as damaged as me. I wanted to think maybe more so but I knew that wasn’t true.

Our arms were scarred by the needles that delivered our only true pleasure. Our bodies so thin our bones jutted out at obnoxious angles we’d not known in healthier days. We reminded me of the pictures I’d see of American soldiers being rescued from Chinese prisoner of war camps. POWs. Not so far from the truth. Meth is its own prison.

We’d soon need more drugs just to face each other. A sun ray snuck into the room through a crack in the shade. I watched the dust dance on its light and knew very soon, it would feel like bugs skittering across our skin without our substance. We’d spend most of the day injecting and inhaling and trying to figure out how to get more money so we could do it all over again tomorrow. Usually it meant selling me to someone else. Continue reading →