There are parts of me that people closest to me don't even know, or I am unaware they know. Parts of me that family nor friends know. Parts that I have buried in hopes that it can be forgotten, really I feel like a fake by doing this, not healed like I thought I would.
My past isn't pretty, I do regret it, would I change it though? I don't know, parts of me would but a part of me says I wouldn't be who I am today without it - although at times that really wouldn't be a bad thing.
Jealousy is something I find creeping into my life a lot. Looking at people younger than me who own their own home or have build, own nice flashy cars, have been to university, nice furnishings and savings. I have none of that, I'm 27, I rent, my car is 20 years old (toyota landcruiser thankfully they're built to last!), I have studied but not at a university level just a tafe level, the only nice piece of furniture I have is my new bed and that won't last long with my kids and I'm lucky to have a dollar by pay day let alone savings. It often feels like my sister rubs it in and often makes me feel like a failure. I have a safe, secure roof over my children's heads isn't that important? I may not own it but we have a great relationship with our landlords and the only thing that would force us to move was if they were to sell the house and they certainly have no intentions of that in the future, maybe we can even own/build our own house by the time they make that decision.
Another part of my life that I have never told exactly how it is to many people, I think my husband is the only one who knows the 100% truth. This is a massive part of my life and one that has changed everything forever. I was always a rebellious child, smoking and drinking by age 13, experimenting with drugs by 14 (only weed and prescription pills at this stage), boyfriends my dad didn't like and being sexual with them (not intercourse). I met let's just call him D at 14 and began seeing him as well as my boyfriend let's call him A, I couldn't pick between the 2, my parents hated both. D's grandparents lived across the road he was easy to see, he was a bad boy, it made him attractive to me, he had lots of money and showered me with gifts, I loved the attention. A was sweet, he cared, he was gentle, very different from many 16 year olds, his family were also lovely and very accepting of me, I felt safe and wanted. I know being with the two was wrong, I was young, having issues at home and not feeling the emotional needs I should have from there I guess is my only reason.
D lived with his step dad, his step dad gave off a vibe I didn't exactly like but was really nice to me and encouraged D to spend time with me and spend money on me. He would buy my cigarettes and alcohol everyday, he supplied my pills, it never occurred to me at the time how he would get them, I didn't care.
About 6 months after I met him I discovered both D and his step dad were heroin addicts, I had never picked it, I didn't know what the signs were. My own addictions were the only addictions I had ever been around (excluding cigarettes), not long after I discovered it D asked if I'd like to try it, it was a day my dad and I had a huge fight, I was upset and hurt, D said the heroin would make me forget it, how could I resist? The first few times he injected me until I was confident enough to do it myself. A few people I have told this story too have judged me, how can a 14 year old afford to be a heroin addict? As I said before this family seemed to have endless supplies of money, it didn't take long for me to learn how they could afford my habit as well as their own.
Fast forward now to shortly after my 15th birthday, walking home from a friends house late at night, a neighbour, the school nurses son came out from his house and grabbed me, he raped me and told me he would hurt me if I told anyone, he also told me he knew things about me that he would tell my family if I told anyone, why would I tell my parents anyway? They wouldn't believe me, they never believe anything I said. Heroin numbed this out for me and became my way to cope, my way to sleep without nightmares or flashbacks. Helped me not feel dirty. I spent more and more time at D's house and used more and more. This is where I discovered why his family had money and could afford our habits. I was now told I had to start contributing. How could I? I wasn't allowed to get a job. It was 2-3 months after the rape, I was still using, I was stupid, I was numb, I wanted to ignore it all so it would go away.
We will teach you tonight how you can earn your keep or you'll have to stop coming around I was told. Stop coming around? I couldn't do he hat, I didn't know anywhere else I could score from. A already wanted nothing to do with me, I'd lost all my friends, D was all I had left.
The next chapter begins, one that I never tell anybody. I am now deeply ashamed of this part, at the time it was a matter of survival, a way to feed my habit. I was told to dress nicely, which for me at 15 was when I look at it now provocatively. We drove to a part of town I had never seen before, it wasn't dark yet but it was just before dusk. D's step dad stopped the car, D held my hand tight, he was shaking, he even had tears in his eyes, I still had no idea what was going on. D's step dad told me to get out of the car, I did, he wound down the window and said I'll be back in a few hours, here is what to charge, if the cops come keep walking.
The note he handed me read this:
Blow jobs £20
half an hour £50
Nothing without a condom.
I'll never forget that note, forever etched in my mind, his scrawl with those prices on it, I panicked, what do I do? I wanted to run, where was I? Then the addict in me kicked in, I can't run, I have to do this, I can't score tonight if I don't. This is where I began selling my body for heroin.
D's step dad took everything I earnt everyday and gave me heroin in return, making a profit for himself of course, I later learnt he had a number of girls doing this for him. THIS is where the money came from, this is how they could afford a habit.
I was getting into a lot of trouble at home for never being there, skipping school etc, then a few months later my parents moved us to australia where I had to learn to survive on my own, a heroin addict and pregnant. I've been called a lot of names for using whilst pregnant, only a true addict gets what state of mind my head was in at that time.