Pam
Pam S.
My name is Pam S. I am forty-seven years old at the time of this writing,
and this is my story.
In the early years I lived in a small town with my younger brother,
Mom and Dad. My parents took good care of and loved us enough, but
they were having trouble living together. Mom was alcoholic and as
a result, Dad stayed away much of the time.
They separated while I was looking forward to the transition to high
school, greater independence, boyfriends, a driver's license, and
the usual girly girl attractions. My mother was so deep into her addiction
at that point, so the split left her to fend for herself and for us
to escape with our father to a large Chicago suburb.
Suburban life was strange and exciting to me. Living in a trendy
apartment complex, I made friends with other kids of divorce. We were
latchkey kids and pretty much on our own after school until our parents
made it home from work. I started smoking pot on a regular basis and
taking psychedelic drugs at school. I also discovered how to intercept
mail from school informing my Dad of my absences. Attendance became
such a problem for me that I never earned any high school credit in
two and a half years until I dropped out.
During the time I was partying at school I met a guy who was considered
bad news, a heavy drug user even by our standards. The bad boy image
fascinated me and we began hanging out in his bedroom mostly. How
I never got pregnant was a wonder. One of my best friends was pregnant
already and I would have welcomed the chance to have the same experience.
I discovered he had access to heroin and was using quite a bit. I
started pestering him to turn me on and since I could be useful to
him in hustling money for drugs, he gave in, and introduced me to
IV drug use.
Heroin quickly became my drug of choice, and at fifteen, getting
money and going to the city to cop was the only way, I could think
of, to have fun. I learned lots of different hustles and my boyfriend
and I stuck together most of the time. I got busted sometimes but
my age kept me from any serious consequences. My boyfriend was older
and soon went off to the penitentiary leaving me to either quit using
of finding a way to cop for myself. Other addicts and drug dealers
I was acquainted with were quick to offer helpful suggestions as to
how I could cop all on my own. I was introduced to prostitution at
seventeen.
For me, at the time, tricking off with drug dealers and apartments
full of illegal laborers was an ideal hustle that I was grateful to
have. I stayed out of trouble with the law for the most part, keeping
a low profile was easy, but the drugs and filthy lifestyle worsened
to the point where I became very seriously ill with a staph infection
called bacterial endocarditis, that ate away at my heart valves. Even
though I was very ill and near death, when I recovered I began using
again. I came down with another strange illness called thrombocytopenic
purpura.
Sharing needles at the time was common and almost necessity. There
was a large circle of addicts who I shared drugs and needles with,
many of whom were obviously ill. It didn't occur to me that I could
become sick from using infected works, or that I could infect someone
else. I drifted in and out of active addiction for a few more years.
People in my circle were becoming ill more often and using cocaine
in addition to heroin.
I became pregnant for the second time, and decided not to have an
abortion. I stayed sober during my pregnancy, but after my son was
born I became lonely having a baby without a man and sought out chemical
comfort. My son was soon living with my sister as I was off to the
races again.
Cocaine was the new big thing and I acquired a boyfriend who was
using but wanted to find a girl to settle down with and stop using.
I gave it my best shot, but I was not in love with him. When his money
and cocaine ran out I became very restless I got a job as a bartender
at a dive in town. There I met and fell in love with my first husband.
James was working in Illinois originally from Kentucky. I was totally
in love with the guy and believed every story he conjured up about
himself. The truth was that he was on the run for a burglary and rape
of a single woman near Bowling Green, Kentucky where he actually was
from. The US Marshals finally caught up with him and extradited him
back to Kentucky to stand trial. By this time we were living together
and when I became separated from him so abruptly, I got a DUI trying
to kill my heartache.
I was ordered by the court to counseling for my obvious addictive
problems. By the time I started counseling I had traveled to Bowling
Green twice to visit and during the second visit I married James in
the Warren County Jail with a female sheriff as my witness. What a
backward place. The jailor agreed to all of this and let us spend
time alone together in a cell used for a library. I was twenty-six.
I found a job and began my life as a new wife waiting faithfully
for her man to come home. I was truly faithful and dearly loved this
man. I wrote everyday and sent him any money I had left after I paid
the extra large phone bills for our daily conversations. How strange.
At the time I began my court ordered counseling. I definitely needed
some help at that time in my life.
My treatment plan consisted of group sessions and one on one counseling.
During groups we talked our addictions and lifestyle during that time.
My prostitution days cane to light during one on one sessions, and
I became familiar with what was known about HIV/AIDS. Little was known
at that time and it al seemed murky and mysterious tome. It was one
of those "it couldn't happen to me" issues. Testing was
just beginning to be offered in the clinics. A speaker came from Open
Door Clinic to teach us about the virus and make us aware of the testing
procedures.
My counselor strongly suggested that I get tested given my background.
I was reluctant because of the inconvenient location for testing,
and because I felt AIDS was a problem on the west coast and the east
coast, not here. Of course I was a prime candidate for AIDS but I
could not see myself as such. But I had to do it to placate my counselor
and keep myself from further problems with the court.
Imagine my reaction when I tested positive. I was stunned. Of course
I felt I had received a false positive. There was some kind of horrible
mistake. Was going to die now before my husband got out and I could
be happy with him? How would my family take it? And when this did
kill me how could they bury me without revealing this nasty secret
about me? Denial began to take root in my thinking of myself with
this disease. Then I told my husband. I was so relieved when he was
unconcerned about the whole thing, commenting, "You don't look
sick." and "I gotta go somehow."
So I was off the hook. All I had to do was stay with him for the
rest of my life and I would be OK. He tested negative himself so I
hadn't hurt anyone. All he had to do use a condom from now on. The
denial became stronger. I could just sweep this under a rug and hope
for the best. I could get away without suffering the consequences
for my using. I didn't have to subject my family to the embarrassment
and terror that revolved around a positive test at that time. What
about my son? Did I give it to him? He was six years old at the time
and was back living with me. Who would take care of him if I died?
Denial kept me from having a breakdown. I used it as a defense mechanism.
Life went on. When my husband came home on parole after serving two
years in Kentucky, he didn't want to deal with the reality of the
AIDS scare and refused to use a condom or even acknowledge the fact
that I was infected. He soon began cheating and staying out after
work. One Friday, payday, he was due home and didn't appear so my
son and I took off to the drive in by ourselves. It rained out and
when we arrived home my husband was taking a shower. He had left the
car parked in an odd position, and didn't even interrogate me about
where I had been. It was very unusual. Four days later he failed to
return home from work again. Instead one of his co-workers appeared
at the door to inform me of his arrest.
A rape trial followed with a conviction and ten year sentence in
an Illinois prison. He actually assumed I was going to stand by him
during another bit, and again my son went off to live with someone
more capable of raising him than myself, my father this time. I didn't
divorce my husband until I met someone else I wanted to marry. My
second husband was just coming out on parole for dealing cocaine.
We got married in the hope it would cut down on the breakups we kept
having. He was also of the "gotta go sometime" school of
thinking, and my having the HIV virus was not the biggest concern.
Condoms weren't necessary for his protection or for the women he was
supplying with cocaine during our break-ups, which for some odd reason
continued.
We were divorced after two months. At this point I had a whopping
coke habit, and had emerged quite crazy or damaged, and definitely
pissed-off from eduring life with the men who had made two divorces
in one year the legend of my experience with marriage. Prostitution
again became my remedy for the inconvenience of having to purchase
the substances I had become so fond of. The difference this time was
that the low profile was not as important this time and I put my business
in the street as they say.
Coke had become very popular in Aurora at that time and I was joined
by many other "players" downtown. So much activity in the
small area on LaSalle Street between Galena Blvd. And North Avenue
became concern, not only for the homeowners in the area, but for the
Aurora Police Department as well. I was soon well known by both groups
and considered a nuisance, needless to say. The lifestyle was all
consuming, I seldom retuned home to shower, eat, sleep, change clothes,
unless I was completely exhausted or forced by the APD to disappear.
When I did go home my weight loss and obvious lifestyle was alarming
and disgusting to my family so I stayed away as much as possible in
order to continue in my addiction without much pressure or guilt.
I began to accumulate misdemeanor prostitution cases when my status
was discovered by a Vice detective. I was shocked to learn I was committing
a felony, knowingly soliciting for prostitution with a positive status
for HIV/AIDS. Knowingly being the key word in the statute for Criminal
Transmission of HIV. A Class Two felony that carries three to five
years in a state penitentiary. It was probationable, though many consider
it murder. I violated my probation on more than one occasion, and
was caught twice, which bought me a ticket to Dwight Correctional
Center. I went down with five years.
I served twenty months of a five-year sentence with the benefit of
days off earned by participating in drug treatment art Gateway, and
by going to college for Business Occupations offered by Lewis University.
I learned a lot about myself while doing that time, but it still seems
odd to me to say it was the best thing that could have happen to me
at the time.
There are many more particulars to my story that I have provided
here. Most are horrible memories of participating in the most negative
behavior the time when I was at my sickest level of addiction, or
most miserable in love relationships. War stories.
I still struggle with addiction, as I can become recovered but never
cured. For the most part, I have come to terms with my responsibility
where romantic relationships are concerned. I enjoy healthy friendships
with people I can talk about my experiences so far. I'm hopeful for
the future that what I've been through in the past can be the base
for me to be of some use or comfort to those find themselves in situations
similar to mine.
