The Ranking of Souls
Heroin Heroine
by heroin heroine
6d ago
Many years ago my private school introduced DEIJ exercises (diversity, equity, inclusion and justice) during one of our teacher training days. It was a fairly new concept at the time and we prided ourselves on being progressive. It was my day off so I missed the initial session. I was told it began with teachers lined up in a straight line at the far end of a large green field. Questions were asked and if answered in the affirmative you took a giant step forward. Questions like: Did you grow up in a two parent home? As a child did you have food security? Has your family remained free of incarc ..read more
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Adult Woman Buys Self Teddy Bear
Heroin Heroine
by heroin heroine
2M ago
Buckled into the front passenger seat of my Honda CRV is a medium size teddy bear. The scruffy kind. His golden eyes stare dutifully ahead. Even when I hit snow drifts and his ear shakes from the weight of his thick Vermont Teddy Bear tag: he remains resolute. I bought him today. At a pastel colored factory with a view of snow capped mountains and a sliver of Lake Champlain. When the little dark haired boy at the register asked me who he was for – I did not say for myself. But Bear knew he belonged to me. Upon checkout I stopped them from sealing him up inside a brown cardboard box. No worries ..read more
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Waiting for Death
Heroin Heroine
by heroin heroine
4M ago
Death is the end of living. All those biological processes – stopped. It’s hard to imagine the blood stopping its circuit, the neurons no longer firing. It’s easier to imagine the cessation of familiar parts of being – No more rising belly breath, silly rambling thoughts or winter hands in need of warming. It’s easy to imagine this in myself because I know my body, I know my age, I know the constructive and deconstructive properties of time and nature. I am nothing if not rational. But death is not welcome to touch my children. And what does one do if they dance with him continuously? If they ..read more
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Mark Rothko’s Paintings
Heroin Heroine
by heroin heroine
5M ago
You probably know them. Large color field paintings. But Rothko wouldn’t approve of this description. They aren’t abstract color studies. They are nothing like Ellsworth Kelly’s slick designer swatches or Frank Stella’s fun cyclic wheels. Rothko’s works breathe. When in front of one I am compelled to take a seat. Thankfully there has always been a bench close by. If there wasn’t I would have sunk to the floor. There is no time for self-consciousness when entranced by a Rothko. When in front of his work a vibrational transfer occurs. The somatic reaction is nearly immediate. It is curious and u ..read more
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Sure I’ll Join Your Cult
Heroin Heroine
by heroin heroine
6M ago
Sure I’ll Join Your Cult. This sentence makes me laugh. And not uncomfortably so – but in a full throttle, sign-me-up kind of way. Sure I’ll Join Your Cult is the title of a book by comedian Maria Bamford about her mental illness. The fact that the subject matter is far from funny doesn’t change my reaction. It still makes me laugh. Every time. It implores me to poke fun of the madness in my own life: Rehabs are nothing more than lock-down spas. #insurancespa Fentanyl gives you more bang for your buck! #smartaccounting Addiction is not for quitters. #winning It’s sort of funny, right? I am g ..read more
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Yet Another Eulogy
Heroin Heroine
by heroin heroine
1y ago
My daughter called me last night. The phone was filled with the sounds of blind, depthless sobbing. I will not forget the sound anytime soon. Her friend had been found dead. Her roommate. Someone she spoke with and texted daily. A week prior she had marveled at this woman’s ability to still be “trusting to a fault and ridiculously loving.” Someone, like her, who was trying so bloody hard to get to that better place. I don’t care for the saying “they are now at peace.” They may be. But we should not be. Let there be peace when we all have a fair shot at obtaining it. My daughter took half a day ..read more
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Surrender
Heroin Heroine
by heroin heroine
1y ago
Twelve years. It’s taken me twelve long years to move the word “surrender” from the abstract idea column to the action column. Surrender has become an action, rather than the absence of action. It has moved columns because I have learned it is, by far, the hardest thing to do. I have had some success with raising the white flag. I no longer have any preconceived notion of catching a thrown ball or successfully geolocating my way home from, basically, anywhere. But surrendering to the fact that I can not stop my own child from illegal drug use – that is heart-smashingly difficult. But reality k ..read more
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Love The Addict, Not The Addiction
Heroin Heroine
by heroin heroine
1y ago
This is the mantra of all SUD parents, everywhere, all the time, ad infinitum. It sounds ludicrous. Similar to “love the thief, but not the theft.” In reality it’s closer to “love the depressed but not the depression” because addiction is a form of mental illness. No question it can devolve into criminal activity: stealing, dealing illegal drugs, buying said drugs, assault and battery, prostituting, driving uninsured/unlicensed or under the influence, destruction of private property, skipping out on jobs/taxes/bills. If this feels like an unhelpful psychic dump – well, so be it. This is the un ..read more
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We Begin Again Too.
Heroin Heroine
by heroin heroine
1y ago
When a family member relapses waking moments are not fully your own. Work seems less important. Socializing seems trivial. Food loses its flavor. Affection is harder to feel because sorrow has taken up residence in your breastbone and your heart can no longer radiate. You feel unjustifiably tired. Tears hang out right behind your eyeballs. It takes a lot of effort to keep them there. This is the time when I lecture myself to “pony up” because the disease is worse for those with SUD than it is for me. At least that is how I have always looked at it. But lately I have begun to second guess mysel ..read more
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The End Goal
Heroin Heroine
by heroin heroine
2y ago
I have spoken three times at my town’s International Overdose Day. I live in Cohasset (which is Algonquian for “long rocky place”) and the town perches on the Atlantic Ocean just south of Boston. The center of our town has a historic common, or shared green lawn, that is ringed by stately 18th century homes of white clapboard. The wooden doors of these homes are accented by multi-paned transoms that wink in the light; the sort of confident wink that is completely appropriate in an upper crust sailing town. Standing in the center of the common, not far from the granite flag pole, one can gaze u ..read more
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