Dear Nikki, Trixie Belle [ereader iphone .TXT] 📗

Dear Nikki,

The chances of you actually reading this are probably around a trillion to one. If it ever gets sent, that is.

The truth is, I've had this letter running around in my head for days now, and the only way, I figure, to get my mind to shut up is to capture it on paper. Whether it actually finds its way into a post box is another story.

And before you roll your eyes and think, "Oh great, MORE fan-mail," that's not what I intend it to be at all.
Let's just say that writing letters is merely an outlet I use to express myself.

This whole thing started five days ago.
It was a Friday morning.
I was sitting in class when all of a sudden, a book landed on my desk. Examining the crinkled cover, my brow creased in confusion.
"The Heroin Diaries" it read, by Nikki Sixx.
I looked up, a grin ablaze on my friend's face. "Read it!" She mouthed.
The book disappeared into my bag.

I thought nothing of it until Sunday night.
It was the usual; wallowing in loneliness and boredom. I opened the book still buried in the bottom of my bag, and decided to give it a go.
And so it began.

It wasn't long before I realised I was reading something I could easily have written. Minus the drug-induced hallucinations, that is.
I'm constantly swatting away thoughts of worthlessness, loneliness, and feeling unloved.
Alone.
Even though I'm surrounded by people, I still feel so alone.

And I hardly had a pristine childhood, either.
Dad was always away at some drug deal, unless he'd taken me with him, of course, and the time I did

get with him, he was off his mind on meth.
I love him to bits, but that guy has some serious issues.
And as much as I love and adore Mum, it's hard to deny that she has a problem with alcohol.

And can you believe that Dad didn't think we knew about the drug business until the custody battle?
You see, we wanted to leave New Zealand for Australia, but we were dragged through the courts first.
Being 12 at the time, it was the hardest thing in the world to tell a lawyer that you'd seen marijuana all over the house, every day of the week.
But I really wanted to go to Australia; it was the golden country, after all.
Except it wasn't.

Seeing the effects drugs had on my family, I made an oath long ago to stay straight edge.
Except as a girl of 16, when vodka seemed to be the only thing that made sadness go away - made me feel normal - it didn't seem like there was much of an option.

And that's when your book fell out of the sky into my lap and gave me the slap I needed. It warned me of the destructive path I'd set out on, and I took heed.
And for that I can only thank you.

Regards,
A very grateful teenager.

Publication Date: 05-10-2011

All Rights Reserved