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The CrackHead Chronicles

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The CrackHead Chronicles

I have written a book called "The CrackHead Chronicles, I am a RECOVERED crack addict.? I plan on having my book published by the summer of 2013.??? I would love to share a couple of chapters with you and you to give me some feed back. Thank you:)


Introduction;?? Addiction: To devote or give (oneself) habitually or compulsively.? Ref: The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language.

This is a story about my personal ups and downs, along with my highs and lows.? This is about my own struggles and triumphs, before, during and after my addiction.? There are many people from all walks of life, all ages and ethnicities who are addicted to some form of drug or alcohol. Prostitution is also a sad yet very real problem in our society.? We must all do whatever it takes to help those who want to help themselves back on their way to sobriety, and get the young girls off the streets.? I cannot take you there, but maybe after reading about my story you will find your own path to recovery and peacefulness.
Chronicle I

??Now I Lay me Down to Sleep, I Pray the Lord My Soul to Keep, If I Should Die before I Wake, I Pray the Lord My Soul To Take??.

1. Innocence

I was born on March 8th 1959, in Los Angeles, C.A., weighing 8 Lbs.11oz.? Light, bright and damn near white, so fat I looked every bit of 6months old.? I guess I was lucky that I made it, considering my mother (a nurse at the time), gave abortions to her own self.? Back in those days, they didn??t have abortion clinics.? They had back rooms in private homes where some so called doctors or nurses, took people lives in their hands on a daily basis.

One day, all I can remember is my aunt picking my mom and myself up to take my mother to emergency. There was a lot of confusion going on, but I??d come to realize later on in life, that she had started hemorrhaging from a self-given abortion.? She damn near died.?? But when my mother got pregnant with me, I guess she figured this time she was married, so she decided to keep me.? In other words, I was the sperm that got away.

My father at that time was an insurance salesman, care-giver, and jack of all trades.? My father was an attractive man of Malado mix of Black American and White and Latino, He had light caramel brown skin, with light colored eyes and silky light brown hair.? My mother is a Black American and American Indian, (Menominee Tribe).? Her skin was an olive brown mixture, with wide hips and sensuous eyes, with dark brown almost black curly hair. You could say that I??m half slave, half slave master.? I always thought my mother might have had some Latin going on in the mix because she cooked good Mexican food and could Salsa dance her ass off.

My mother evidently loved the shit out of my father, or she wouldn??t have had me.? Real talk, sad but true.? My father on the other hand, couldn??t keep his mind or his hands off of other men??s pussy, and out of other men??s pockets.? Of all the messed up shit she said about him, she failed to mention my dad was a straight up hustler.? Not a pimp mind you, he loved pussy too much to be a good pimp.? So he gambled and schemed his way and his dick into many a lonely and not so lonely women.? I??d come to find out later on, that my father was also married to one or two other women at the same time he was married to my mother.? At that time in my life, my world consisted of my mother, my grandmother and myself.

My grandmother Juanita, since as far back as I can remember, was always in a wheelchair, she could not walk or talk from the time I was born.? They said she had a stroke due to a blood clot that was induced by a man that used to beat her up all the time.? I don??t know the real deal on that, but I do know that my grandmother and I would have tea parties from time to time with my dolls and she would read the bible to me with her fingers going across the lines like I could read the words.
Some words I knew, but I think I just liked that bond that we shared.? My grandmother and I shared the same room until my mother and I started moving from place to place.? She lived with my Aunt Pac until the day she passed away.? She was a thin, brown skinned lady, with the features of a Cherokee Indian, but come to find out she was of the Menominee Indian tribe.? Her grandmother was full blooded Menominee.? They kept her hair in two braids; it was soft and not a lot of grey.? I use to comb her hair and act like I worked in a beauty parlor.? We had a secret bond that no one could penetrate.? I loved her very much.

2. KIP, Keep It Real or Keep It Pushin??
As far back as I can remember, my mother had always told me that my father died in a car accident. She didn??t think I could handle the truth. I guess after meeting all my brothers and sisters. She felt, what the use of lying was.? Here is what really happened.

In 1961, my father went to a woman??s house with my mother??s gun, (my mother at some point before I was first born, used to be a sheriff) to help out this woman who was being threatened by her husband. I??m sure my father was fucking her as well.? Supposedly this ladies husband called the police and said a white man was holding his wife and children hostage in his home.? He claimed that when he tried to go in his home, my father pointed a pistol through the window and shouted for him to step back off the porch.? When the police told him to come outside, my father shot out the window at the police.? Come on now, what nigga?? you know in the 1960??s, light skinned or dark skinned for that matter, is going to shoot a gun out the window, when I??m sure, he could clearly see at least five police cars out side.? I??m sure they were shouting loud through a bull horn,?? Come out! You half White Nigger!? Why would he shoot at them first?? The next thing my mother heard was a police officer on the phone saying my father was shot and killed by the police in a mistaken identity shooting.? I guess instead of an officer coming to our house was out of the question, since there were so many other homes they??d have to go to tell the other wives and baby momma??s.

The Los Angeles Sentinel read, the police shooting of Marvin C. Aldridge last Wednesday night, may have been ??a mistake??, but it was also justifiable homicide.? They had an inquest of the police officer that shot him and even gave his name.? Of course that??s when they decided to call it justifiable.? That??s probably where they got the say, Justice is Just Us!??? And when they called the husband of the woman to see if he was?the man who was holding his wife and kids hostage? The ladies husband said, ??No, he was no stranger, he was a family friend!?? And they just let that shit go.? And so did my mother.

I have newspaper clippings.? All of the women, including my mother, who had his children, should have all gotten paid.? It was a damn shame.? It destroyed a lot of lives, including mine.? The funeral from what I heard was a hot mess as well.? All of these women and children filed into the church and the truth was out.? There was my older sibling??s mother and another mother who was still pregnant or my little sister was an infant.? I was 2yrs. old.? Now that my father was dead and gone, he didn??t have to lie anymore to anyone.? Only lying he was doing was lying down.

Later on in years, I would snoop in my mother??s dresser drawers looking for clues of my fathers existence, I would eventually find out that I had 2 brothers and 3 possible 4 sisters. The first 2 were boy??s and 1 was a girl by their mother, then me by my mother, a girl who was born in Germany,(never met) and I have a sister by another mother that is 2 yrs. older than I am, and then there is my younger sister, who is 2yrs younger than I.? My mother was working for social security, and she had brought home a print out of all their names, and their mother??s names. I am just as nosey as she was and I think she left the sheet?of paper exposed on purpose.? I saw all these names that had the same last name as I.? So I asked her about it, and she told me the truth, (for once).? She told me the real story of how my father died and about his other children.? All of us were receiving Social Security from my father. I guess you can say he was paying child support from the grave.

14. Never Learned How to Love
I left the house at 17yrs. old; I told my mom I was off to sing with a band. She handed me a check for $15.00 and said, ??Bye??.? I was going to sing alright.? It was more like, singing for tricks to stop, ??Hey baby!? Can I get a ride?? I was lost and turned out to the thought of being in the Game, Fast Life, however you want to try and glamourize it.? I remember at one time I was telling my childhood girlfriend to stop whoring and go back home, the next thing I knew I was lost and turned out.? Yes just like the song goes, I was all that.? I never really learned how to respect neither my body nor my dignity.? I felt it didn??t matter, I didn??t matter.
I now understand why my mother sent me off with a check for $15 bucks, it was so I could ask her for more later on, and it was sort of her way of keeping in touch.?? To this day I wish I had of, but I didn??t.? The first time I got busted for prostitution, I lied and told them a false name and age.? At the time I looked older than my real age, so the police believed me.? I was too scared to tell them I was only 17yrs. old.? I think that I was more scared of my mother than the police.? Not until I turned 18 and invited her to come to my condo that I was sharing with my stable sisters, (other whores who worked for the same pimp as you do).

I hated flat backing (fucking) when I first turned out (started whoring). That was all I did for about 6 months or so.? To me it was way too much fucking going on with two to four men a day.? The other whores called me a No money making Bitch.? So eventually after choosing several different pimps in one year, I decided to stop paying a pimp; I would work for me and me only. It is called, ??Being an Outlaw??.? That??s what I was, there??s no sugar coating it.? It is what it is.? I would eventually I become a cold ass thief.? I learned how to pick a pocket with my toes and any other part of my body that could peel out the money from a tricks wallet and leave him smiling.? I learned that craft from several black whores.? But they were usually hooked on heroin.

There was a whore I call her Misty, she was the baddest thief I??d ever met or even heard of.? Following her lead I was good to go in less than a year.? At 18 yrs. old I was a seasoned thief.? One day I decided that I wanted to leave California, so someone told me that they had been to Las Vegas, and the money was forever.? I had never been there before, so I moved to Las Vegas. That was the town for me.? I was a hustler and I was good at it.? No drugs, I hardly drank.? I??ve snorted cocaine, occasionally, I didn??t like that shit. I always loved smoking weed. I never liked cocaine up my nose.? I stopped doing any kind of drugs for a while.? Just got tired of that same ole?? scene.? That would only last for a little while.

I eventually got a sugar daddy (a good ass trick) who was the doctor a high class hotel on the Las Vegas Strip. He had his own supply of cocaine he kept in a nasal bottle mixed with water and he snorted it while having sex.? I still didn??t like it.? It didn??t turn me on and neither did he.? He kept passing me off as his house keeper.? I lived in his house for about a month or two.? I think he was worried about his neighbors were thinking about his 19 year old house keeper that lived with him, so he got me my own apartment.? It was furnished but had no TV. So he gave me his, out of his office.? I lived lavishly, I was young, pretty and game struck, but I had got myself 86??d (banned) from most of the high priced hotels, (probably because I wasn??t paying the concierge or whoever).? So I ended up getting a job at a clothing store in downtown Las Vegas.? I enjoyed it.? But even then, I felt something was missing.
18. If Jimmy Cracks Corn and Nobody Cares, Why Does He Keep on Doin?? It?

In 1982, while I was still in Hawaii, I was introduced to rock cocaine. A petty cab driver friend of mine was asked by a couple of Black pimps, did we know where to get some cocaine, my friend said yes and off he went to get them some.? They went into the kitchen of their room and started cooking the shit. They called it, free basing, why, I don??t know, because the shit was never free. You had to pay for it, one way or another.
I didn??t even get the high at first.? I remember one nigga was on the balcony talking about he was horny and me and my friend immediately left the room.? I never saw them same nigga??s again.? But eventually I will run into more people who tripped on that same thing and more.
Later on I would see plenty more dope fiends, that were not only pimps, but there would be lawyers, doctors, and of course entertainers, people from every walk of life.?? .

From Hawaii, I went on up to Alaska for the first time. It was cold as hell.? I went up there just to make money and that??s what I did.? Then my dumb ass saw an old partner of mine that I was with when I first started dancing in Seattle, WA.

Like a dummy I fell for his same old dumb shit and got back with his white girl loving ass.? I stayed with this fool for about 6 months.? Couldn??t take him or his other silly bitches, so the club owner that I worked at, took me to get my clothes.? He didn??t want to argue with the club manager, he knew she had connections up there that he couldn??t dare touch. And we left.? I stayed there for a while.? It got too damn cold so I went back to my aunt??s house in Los Angeles.? That time that was a big mistake.? That??s when I fell into the crack cocaine game hard.? There was no turning back.? I was hooked.? For some reason I always had a dude who sold it and smoked it. There was never one that just guy who sold and tried to get me off that shit. There were maybe one or two who tried to help me, but I wouldn??t give it up.

This Story of Hope was created in celebration of recovery and to let families know that there are pathways to hope and healing. The Partnership for Drug-Free Kids is the only nonprofit organization dedicated to helping families who are struggling with their son or daughter's substance use. Please consider sharing this page so that families know where to turn to for help, and that there is always hope.

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2. Nancy
What a great idea! How many times have you stood up in a wedding only to be told by those who are selling you the dress, "Oh you can wear this dress to anything." (Yeah, right) I always thought of throwing a party where you wear that dress at least one more time. Glad to see someone actually did it. Sounds like fun and a good way to raise money for any good cause.
3. Edward Latimore
I really enjoyed reading this. I wonder, did your book ever get finished?