The night my boyfriend died, I was in deep shock. The police left, the coroner left, and the councilor left, and I was alone. I had no one to go to, and no one to come to me. Well I had one "friend", an alcoholic who was so drunk when I called her ... I can hardly talk about it.

So I pulled out the foil and the dope and I smoked and cried. And I knew I was at a crossroads. I got up and flushed a large marble sized piece down the toilet, and I went to bed. It took me three days to get up. Between being dopesick and in total shock. I had to deal with his family. It was very painful but I told them the truth. It hurt but they were grateful.

A week or so later, I got back on the treadmill, but my heart wasn't in it anymore. It was mostly so I wouldn't fly apart. I found myself on the street at the dope spot, trying to buy without getting busted, and I realized my hands were slightly trembling. I couldn't let myself just die, or spiral downward, but it was all so painful. I tried to stop for about six weeks before I really did it on Nov. 14th.

I kept clean until Dec 28, when I had a relapse. It was only $20, and one night, but it hit me hard and I was vomiting high. For the next two days I was deeply depressed. I don't think I'll ever use again.

I am mostly really happy now, but now and then I get deeply sad. I know that my relapse had a lot to do with cruising the dope spot, so I have not been anywhere near there and I have not cruised even once this year.

So that mean tomorrow is either 75 days, or 30, depending on what you do with my relapse. Life may not be perfect, but the "consequences" of things now are sure a lot less then the consequences of how I used to live.

But I'm still feeling waves of grief sometimes. I wish he was here right now. The sunset where I am is pink and beautiful. But when I get nostalgic like that I need to remember that he never gave a shit about the sunset, at all. All he truly cared about were benzos and dope. And me.