Maggie – How It Began

(Contains profanity, sexual content, substance abuse.)

It started with oxycontin. Well, the opioids started with oxycontin. I guess “it” really started with feeling like I didn’t belong in this world. With sometimes running from playing with a group of kids to hide under our deck and not knowing why. That’s the thing people don’t understand. There’s no “why” to this shit. It’s never BECAUSE of something. You know, it really fucking annoys me when people say shit like “well, I’ve just been depressed cuz my grandpa died and we were really close.” You’re not depressed, motherfucker, you’re sad. You GET sad and then you come out of it after a while and you feel better and time heals all wounds and all that bullshit. But you knew WHY you got sad. Imagine feeling the kind of really deep fucking heartbreak you’d feel if your best friend died. Now imagine that just kind of building in you for a few weeks until its unfuckingbearable except NO ONE DIED. You just feel that way. IDK maybe cuz ur brain chemistry ‘s fucked or your dad was always punching your mom in the stomach when she got back from the bar only it wasn’t cuz she left you and your sister and brother in the car for four hours while she drank, it was cuz he found shed been fucking someone else last weekend when she said she was working. IDK, it doesn’t even really matter. The point is you’re twelve years old and your heart is just fucking broken for no reason and you just want it to stop so bad. So you drink cuz it helps. And then you smoke pot cuz its fun. And then you run over people’s trash cans when you get your license and every decent pair of panties you have is shoplifted and you don’t know why, you have no idea why, but that all that crazy shit, all that “risky behavior” makes you feel better too.

So coke happens and meth happens and you find a doctor that just makes you take some stupid computer test and gives you a prescription for xanax and you REALLY like that stuff except it doesn’t go well with booze! LOL! So pills are awesome – klonopins and valium and all the benzos but xanax is still my favorite :). And then all the sudden everybody’s mom has this oxycontin shit for her back and you all figure out you can just crush an 80 and rail it and get, like, REALLY fucked up. Like, its super fun. And then OMG, fucking opana. I cannot tell you how I love that shit. He thinks I’m crazy when I say it but I’d rather have that than H any day. You know, it was so consistent. So reliable. Yeah H gets you fucked up, I’m not saying that. IDK, it’s just not the same. But then they made everything anti-abuse and it was a gel pill or it would just mush up or something if you tried to crush it and pretty soon everybody was wanting fucking ridiculous prices for that shit anyways. So I went to the clinic and got on methadone but they fucking tapered me down to like 30 MGs til I wasn’t even feeling it anymore. So H was just what was around. That’s still what’s around. Tho you gotta watch your ass with all that elephant tranquilizing shit they’re putting in everything now. Thank god my tolerance is so high. I woulda been dead fifty times, all that shit floating around.

He always says I shouldn’t have to say I love him. That it should be obvious from my actions. He always says love is sacrifice. I don’t know why he doesn’t see that I would die for him! I fucked up – no shit. Welcome to planet Earth. Aren’t I there though, when he calls? You can’t tell me you don’t see the smile on my face when I think of him! You see? You see what I mean? It’s fucking destiny. Motherfuckers got me fucked up, they think somethin’ else! Look, I know I’m a crazy person. Not in the weird, wacky way people usually say that kind of shit, but, like, I’m on abilify, lamictal, and prozac. I don’t believe for one Goddamn second he doesn’t KNOW I LOVE him. There’s no way I can feel what I feel and be around him and he not see it. No fucking way. He’s pissed. I get it. He blames me. I get that too. But it’s kind of bullshit. Grown-ass man and all, ya know, but I get it. I’m fine with that too. Ya know? Nobody’s dead yet, ya know? God, I wish he would just believe me! When I think of him, I smile and cry. I never meant to fuck anybody’s shit up. Obviously, right?

I shoulda dimed a motherfucker when I caught that case. Fuck. I didn’t have a good name! I was ready to out those motherfuckers! For real! I was like let’s make a deal! Fuck them. But those fucking narcs wanted people up the chain and all my connects then were bullshit street level guys. Fuck. I shoulda just done drug court. I know that’s what fucked shit up. You can’t figure somebody’s gonna hold you down while you do five months on a state year in buttfuckegypt and not expect them to expect you to be perfect when you walk. It’s not fucking fair though! I told him all the bad shit about me within five minutes of hitting on him. ALL the bad shit. I guess I wasn’t quite at “the tail end of a really bad drug addiction” LOL but, what, like I MADE him hang with me? Fuck. I told him everything. Shit’s fucked up. He coulda walked. But he hung around. I know he thought he was helping me. He doesn’t think I appreciate that? But I’m the one with no empathy, whatever the fuck that is anyways. WTF? Fuck.

I’m sorry, I just can’t make myself feel responsible for his drug issues. I mean, how much can a grown man really blame his shit on a girl? I can just imagine him telling somebody “Well, I met this girl …” And I’m not saying I don’t feel bad about how things went – how far out of hand the whole thing got. But he could’ve walked away anytime, you know? I gave him fair warning! I told him when we met that night at The Keepaway everything he needed to know to decide if it wouldn’t just be better to stay away from me – about the drugs, my sounds-worse-than-it-is criminal record, the baby I gave up, my housing situation, my boy situation, the fact that I was a crazy person – I told him EVERYTHING. And I did it so he could come into things with his eyes wide open. He needed someone to love and I gave him that. I seriously don’t know what else I could’ve done. I can’t be another person, ya know. So I’m not saying I’ve been good for him, but fuck, I didn’t make him crazy. He was that way when we met. And I didn’t turn him into an alcoholic either, that was his thing from the get. I guess maybe I kind of wore him down on the drug thing but I wasn’t meaning to get him into shit. That was back when I still had my xanax prescription and, well my roommate would get me some off the street too, but the point is I always had plenty of that on me and I just honestly think it’s super rude to be fucked up around someone and not offer to them. He would say no at first but he got into those pretty quick and who doesn’t like to smoke weed before they fuck? I was getting liquid methadone off the street and I figured he’d think that was fun so I just started him off with like 20 MG or something. And we did have fun! Man, we had so much fun. Fuck yeah we did!

Fuck.


Author’s note:
Please keep in mind this is a narrative voice excerpted from a larger piece of fiction I’m working on. You may find it offensive, but his is how people talk, just not the people you know. I believe this country’s working and underclasses should have a voice in its art and that voice should be both stylistically and substantively authentic. Maggie, the character narrating, is not the villain. Rather, she suffers from a few mental health issues, which are often comorbid. If you can figure out what those are, then I’ve succeeded, at least along that dimension.

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