My Memoir Blog

My Heart’s Tracks: Love and Loss in Addiction

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My harrowing true story of love and loss in a nasty heroin addiction. While also dealing with anxiety, depression, and codependency that each fuel my addictive behavior. Ultimately, I find redemption in a very unlikely place. 


My Novella Love Story: JackBeQuick

A love story about a college freshman swimmer, Alexis, who’s older sister was abducted and killed years ago, is attacked one night and nearly raped until a mystery man jumps out of the dark and saves her. She tracks him down to thank him but he—Jack—wants nothing to do with her.  Eventually, he agrees to show her around while Alexis find outs that Jack is battling his own demons including a nasty heroin addiction. She tries to help get sober and starts to fall for him, until she soon discovers what it truly means to be an addict.


“It’s sort of a modern day Romeo and Juliet... with heroin.” —J. A. Allison



Award-winning author, S. M. Yair-Levy states, "J. A. Allison's memoir... is so gripping and raw, I quite literally could not put it down. The story unfolds and grabs hold of you, luring you into the darkest depths of addiction and loss. It takes you through the entire range of emotions, and ultimately inspires. I loved it."


“Your writing style is one of the best I've seen! The story is really captivating! Raw and real! [I'm] Not an addict but I can understand how it is. It was a bit painful for me to read because of how real it was. Really good... Can't wait to see more!"


    —Anne Teng, Writer's Outlet

Day of Redemption

           A loud, booming sound rang throughout the halls of Webster High School, shaking every student and teacher to the bone. 

           "There's the first one," Claire whispers to herself. "And, Go!"

           She reaches into her black gym bag and pulls out her main source of destruction and chaos. The loud crash is the kickoff bell, letting her know it is time. She stands up, AK-47 in hand, takes the safety off and aims it at the crowd of classmates huddling by the door, unaware of what is to become of them. She gives out a loud yell as one boy turns to notice her smile, right before she gently pulls the curved trigger. 

           The echoes of firecrackers echo throughout her head as she makes her way out of the classroom and into the hallway, where students run like wild beheaded chickens. Each white with fear and confusion, not able to realize what is happening to their poor school. She watches them, while awaiting her second attraction to go-off. 

            They are homemade bombs she and her boyfriend, John, had made. It was a hobby of theirs to build different things they found in the Anarchist Cookbook. She didn't know she would be using them in the near future. 

             As she wanders the crowded halls, spraying gunfire at anything and anyone in sight, she yells, "It's all your fault! You did this to yourself!"

            In her head, her actions are justified. John, her best friend and lover, had been taunted and humiliated at school on a daily basis. He couldn't even come home to a loving family. His mom being an alcoholic while his dad would beat him constantly. They were completely different from her loving parents—Mom being a house mom and Dad being a teacher at her school. 

           "I just can't take it anymore," he had said to Claire the day before. "Let them pay."

           He said this before he pulled a .22 glock out of his jacket pocket and shot himself in the head. Blood spattered all over Claire's face as she wailed. 

           She ran to his house to tell his parents, but stopped at their front porch which was on the verge of collapse. She peered into the dirty, unkempt windows and watched with hateful eyes as they went on with their disgusting lives. She felt something in her pocket. Something metal and heavy. She forgot she had taken it. 

           They were her first victims in what would be what she called The Day of Redemption

           Bomb number two goes off as planned. 

Everything is going to plan, baby. You're such a genius, she thought to herself. 

           Within five minutes the halls are empty, except for the horrorshow lying in front of her. Bloody bodies lying limp. Some would spasm. Some were still screaming. Smoke floats in the air. She puts down her gun and starts to dance in it as if she is dancing with an invisible partner. 

            "This is what you wanted baby. I didn't let you down, did I?" She says to herself. 

            She is proud at what she had done. Now, she is ready to see not just her maker, but see her Johnny again. 

It is time. 

            She bends down and picks up her rifle as she hears two gunshots go off. They have a different timbre to them. A different sound from her gun. She looks down and sees a wisp of smoke coming out of two holes in her chest, then blood slowly drips down onto the tiled floor. She looks up and through the fog, sees a familiar face. Her father holding up a black pistol, with smoke exhausting out of the short barrel. 


             "I'm sorry, Dad," she manages to breathe out before she descends to her knees, then face slapping the ground.


        Our love is something so beautiful, something I couldn't live without, yet nobody must know of it. You had me when I first walked into your classroom and called my name. The gentle way you said Trevor Humbert aloud, then I raised my hand letting you know I was there. I am here, and always will be. 

        I go to sleep thinking of your brown eyes, behind those thick, black spectacles and wake up with your chestnut hair blanketing my pale face. Before I leave my house with my younger brother, Jeff, coming to see you, I grab a glass of water and glance at an orange medication bottle. 

        It's still empty. I need to remember to call-in a refill. But then again, I feel like a new man. I don't need them anymore, especially since I have you now. 

        I can recall back when I didn't know if you felt the same way the first couple of weeks here at Nabokov High School. My insecurities had taken control of me, being the new kid in a new school. That, and the fact that I was a junior and had never kissed a girl. I had no idea my first kiss wouldn't be from a girl, but a woman. My woman, Miss Dolores. 

        Now, those insecurities have fled. We've exchanged a few words with each other, but our eyes have been doing most of the talking. You gave me your hypnotic glare telling me, Yes. And from then on, that is all I want to hear from you. You told me to keep what we have hush-hush, nobody could know about us. So I start writing you love letters. 

        I told you how sexy you look in your kitty-cat costume on Halloween. You respect my decision to not dress up, for what I truly wanted to be would've got us into terrible trouble. I still dress-up when alone at home, walking around exposed in my room as—

        ...your sex slave. 


        The note I receive from you has your much-desired phone number. However, when I call, you never answer. Why is that?

        Christmas is around the corner. I can't stop thinking and dreaming of you. I'm so giddy, I feel I have to tell somebody. 

        My younger brother, Jeff, is a sophomore and see's you after lunch for English. He doesn't believe me when I tell him about you. Now, I have to show him it is indeed true. I'm dating the hot English teacher, Miss Dolores. 

       Before I see you in class, I grab Jeff and show him your letters. Your phone number, your red lipstick kisses, and passionate perfume. I tell him who every thing is from. 


        He can't believe it. He is shocked. And so am I, when he asks, "Dude, you know Miss Dolores is like seventy-years old, right? And all these letters appear to be in your handwriting, even the ones supposedly from her. Are you off your meds again?"