I Choose Real Enemies Over Fake Friends

I have never been good at making friends. No, untrue. I have never been good at keeping friends. People like me and I like them, at first. But then, it has always been my perception that they wrong me and I find it necessary to retaliate to show them that God might not have my back but I have my own back. Hurt me, and I raise the stakes, was my motto. Wouldn’t you know it, but after I got mad and acted in a way that seemed like the only reasonable path to travel, I’d wind up alone. It took years to see the pattern and relate my lonliness to my anger. But I never trusted the world enough to let go of the ability and desire to cause people think twice about hurting me. What gave people second thoughts was associating with me, an unintended consequences of what I called my coping mechanism.

Another factor in my isolation is that I have mood swings so extreme it’s like I am different people. Or so I have been told. Personally I don’t see it, but 208 people can’t be wrong. “Everyone I talk to about you says they don’t know who you’re going to be each time they see you, ” said a long time associate just this weekend. Really? Another person who has known me over a long time once said, “Moody? Not you. You’re straight Sybil.” He likened me to the woman whose psych history was presented to the public and put “multiple personalities” into the average person’s lexicon, I think in the 1970’s.

All in all, through what I did or failed to do, whether I was aware if it is not, I never knew how to keep friends. I was called loser in 7th grade by the other kids. To this day people make fun of my unpopularity. But the dope world is safe from that form of shame. You’re not expected to have friends, only associates. People would think me a fool if I believed friendship was possible. What was once called isolation is regarded as intelligent independence. Like how rich single people are called recluses but poor single people, rejects. In the dope world, I am not embarrassed to always be seen alone. I actually choose people who I know dislike me so that when they walk away I am not devestated by shock, but I admit it still hurts. How hard would it be to return to a world of non drug users that expects me to have a support network or go out with friends or travel with companions? How do I answer the inevitable Monday morning questions about my weekend without revealing I shared it with only a cat? Journal entry, 2008

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Published by X-Streetwalker Turned Sex Talker

Caroleena used to be a drug addicted hooker on streets of downtown Honolulu in the early years of the 21st century. She was not the only learned streetwalker among the sex worker addicts. This group would have been a liberal college admissions officer's dream of diversity seeing as how they represented such a wide range of ages, races, family types, locations of origin, education levels, and gender identities. The two constants were trauma and dependency. Everyone out there had experienced life altering trauma which spurred them to seek refuge in drugs. Addiction was the unexpected phenomenon that kept them stuck in the dope. This downtown area was different from other drug saturated areas of America in one important way. The U.S. is the most violent country in the world, but in this corner of the nation there were no street gangs, no gun violence. You wouldn't get shot but you were probably going to be beaten up and robbed at some point. Interpersonal violence between intimate partners, friends, and family members was viewed as a natural part of being close to people. "Domestics" was something an individual brought upon herself or himself by causing problems in an interpersonal relationship. Caroleena, the perennial pariah even among society's rejects, had no intimate associates who might harm her. Prostitution was not as risky on Oahu as it was most everywhere else because the island was just too small. Everyone was somehow connected to everyone else with only something like two degrees of separation. You commit a crime, someone will know who you are and someone else will know how to find you. Hookers rarely got killed. Honolulu's relative safety allowed Caroleena over 10 years of street longevity until the scene ended when authorities started arresting men for allegedly soliciting undercover police for sex and posting their pictures on the evening news. ExpertEscort2018.com/ tells Caroleena's adventures during her decade of addiction and its consequences--homelessness, prostitution, drug dealing, incarceration, family destruction, the list goes on. Every story relates events Caroleena experienced, witnessed, or imagined. The tale of this outcast is skillfully and paradoxically told in the language of the elite. The wording of the posts is itself a testimony to the wide grip that addiction has on all levels of society, even impacting the privileged who were previously thought to be immune to the troubles of the lower class. During these days of opiate addiction maybe she can answer some questions and present applicable solutions. If not, you are still in for a hell of a good read.

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