I was many people this decade.

I was a university student, with a 4.0 GPA. Lauded for my sensational writing and my artistic vision. I started making money off of my writing—-that was a dream come true. I was also a college dropout, holding my ex boyfriend’s hand on San Pedro and 6th street, downtown Los Ángeles, Skid Row. Buying $500 worth of heroin and crack on a near daily basis. Would you believe me if i said that was a dream come true too?

I was in love. Ironically with men who’s names all started with J. On paper, the variances in their character would make you think they were all vastly different. Looking back, they were all broken in some fashion. Some were broken in temporary ways, others have pain coursing through their veins. Well rounded men have never been attracted to me, at least, not unless they have a secret voyeur side that longed for something unconventional. Loving the crazy girl is a fun story to tell at the dinner table years after the fact. But it’s not the girl you marry. I learned that the hard way.

I traveled around the world, met a lot of people. Some I found deplorable and others who were my best friends, if only for one night, on lease. I was in Cancun during spring break and New Orleans during Mardi Gras. I was also clinically depressed, with unmedicsted PTSD. Convinced I would be assaulted at the grocery store. I was locked away from the world for months at a time. I only traveled from the bedroom to the bathroom. I came to resent the sun.

I was on a road-trip with the love of my life for 4 months. Everywhere from San Diego to Humboldt county. Finding our favorite songs along the way. I was then in rehab, unable to get ahold of him. Worried he’d gone to jail again or worse, found a new girl.

I moved back to my hometown of Portland, and learned it’s true that you can never go home again. I came to love Salt Lake City for all its authentic weirdness. The love child of cartel members and Mormons. I lived in Los Ángeles. But not the version you see on TV, something much better. I miss it still.

I made new friends, and managed to keep some from the previous decade. A few of them promised to never give up on me, and the best of them never did, even when their were seasons where they were disconnected. They still loved me from afar. I had moments where I gave them my all. I also had moments where I robbed them blind. Thank God many of them are better people than I, and filled with forgivness. Maybe it’s because I make them laugh.

I was a party girl. I was popping ecstasy pills and snorting cocaine at 15. I had a DUI at 18. I crashed my car off the side of the interstate. It was the first time i should have died. I was over it at 21 when everyone else I knew had just started going through their own party phase. I found heroin, pure hell disguised as love. All my life I wanted to be able to say that I didn’t care what people thought of me. Heroin made that possible. A sensory deprivation tank for the soul. I fell in love with a feeling that’s not even real. I experienced the greatest euphoria on the fucking planet, and I paid the price each time I was dope sick, ripped off, hit on by the dealer. Everything desperate people do for dope? I’ve done. It made me a better and worse person.