May 29, 2020:
There was a girl who acknowledged her drug use. That was shocking. Not the drug use, the acknowledgment.
Something, I think, had happened. She was outed, by an event or an informant. Perhaps she was busted in the infamous Modoc Massacre, when armies of cops closed the street at both ends and swarmed through houses and yards across the middle. Nowhere to run to, baby; nowhere to hide.
I don't know the answer, because I didn't know her. It turned out that like me she was doing speed and alcohol, from her discussion it sounded like daily or near-daily. The rest is very faint. I remember vaguely her size and deportment, but aside from that not even her name. I have no idea what became of her once her drug use was known.
I couldn't begin to comprehend admitting it. It seemed like she wanted to use her admission to be better understood. Perhaps to become closer with people she cared about. The last thing in the universe I wanted was to be understood. I wanted to be hidden. Invisible would be best. Days I inadvertently turned up when cameras were present were grave defeats. I wanted to have no presence, leave no record. For the most part I succeeded. I greatly regret my partial failure.