The Heroin Diaries Page 6

  FEBRUARY 10TH, 1987

  Van Nuys, 4 a.m.

  Today was mostly a wasted day in the sense that I didn’t achieve anything other than lying around on the sofa talking on the phone all day. But today felt good. I felt like my skin wasn’t crawling, my insides weren’t on the outside, but I also felt sorta flat…non-committed to life.

  I wish I knew what this hole in my soul is all about. Cause let’s be honest, this isn’t about now, it’s about then…no father, no mother, no memories of a childhood other than being shuffled around the country. Nona and Tom loved me and I loved them, but something is blazingly apparent…my mother and father had other things to do than raise me, other things that interested them more…

  Maybe that’s why I’ve turned out the way I have, where my rage comes from. But I don’t know how to make it go away…

  NIKKI: My father left when I was very young. His name was Frank Feranna, and so was mine until I changed it in my teens because I wanted that bastard totally out of my life. My mother is named Deana and I believed she loved me when I fit into her plans, but when I was a kid she was usually nowhere to be found. When I was young, I felt every time she met a new man, she’d ship me off to live with her parents, Tom and Nona, in Idaho because I was in the way. This was an introduction to abandonment that could only lead to bad things. The whole thing left me feeling unlovable and festered into the sores of anger, rebellion and discontent. It caused a lot of the angst that I took into Mötley Crüe and my life.

  DEANA RICHARDS: Nikki’s father was a very selfish person. The world revolved around him and nothing else. I left him when Nikki was ten months old, and Nikki and I went to live with my mother, Nona, and her second husband, Tom. I didn’t know what else to do—I was nineteen when I had Nikki, I had no parenting skills, and Frank was binging on drinking, drugging and going with other women. He never had any time for Nikki at all.

  We never heard from Frank for five years until one day he turned up out of the blue at Lake Tahoe, where Nikki and I were living, and said he wanted to see Nikki. I asked him why, and he said, “I’m planning on getting married again and the woman I’m marrying can’t have kids, so I want to see what kind of kid he is.” He had decided to check out his son after five years to see if he was worth taking.

  Nikki and I were so close when he was a little child. It was so wonderful. When he was about two or three, every time I walked in a room he would throw his arms up and shout “Darling!” and run to me. I can still remember holding him up against my chest and feeling his heartbeat, and just how precious it was to hold him.

  My relationship with my own mother, Nona, was difficult. She was a very cold woman. The first time she ever put her arms around me, I was thirty-seven years old. As a child I could do nothing right and she just always asked why I couldn’t be more like my older sisters. Later, she was just horribly judgmental. I was a little wild and I might sleep with a man without being married to him, and oh my God–that was the worst thing in the world to my mother! I was just a tramp to her.

  Nona had married Tom when I was sixteen and I was really angry at her for doing it. I felt that she had never shown me any love and yet she had all the time in the world to give to Tom. I thought it was really unfair.

  Nona and Tom were always telling me how to raise Nikki, what to say to him, what I should be doing. They were always asking me to send Nikki to stay with them for a week or a weekend at a time, and I used to do so. But I would never have imagined that they would do what they did to me. You never imagine your own family will plot against you to steal your son.

  TOM REESE: Nikki’s dad, Frank, was just a typical Californian hustler. I liked the guy, but then he went off the deep end into the drug thing.

  When he was a boy, Nikki would stay with me and Nona in Idaho a lot. It might be for a few days, or sometimes it was as long as a year at a time. Nikki was real close to Nona: he was the son she never had, and she doted on him.

  Nikki’s mother, Deana, was wild. She was always going off with guys. She’d meet some guy and just go off with him and leave Nikki. She’d go off with Italian guys, truck drivers…you name it. Nikki would come to stay with us for a while, then Deana would come back and take him. Then we’d have to go get him again, then she would talk him into coming to her, then she’d throw him out and we’d fetch him again–that was just the way it went.

  Deana was crazy as a kid. Even when she was eight years old, she would go to a show and her sisters wouldn’t sit with her because she would end up necking with some kid. Everything came easy to her. Her sisters had to work hard to do well at school but Deana was so smart, better than everybody else. She would pick up a musical instrument and in no time she would be playing it. Deana was the smartest of the girls…but she didn’t have a brain in her head.

  Nona would bend over backwards for her. What she did for the other girls, she did for Deana, but you couldn’t do anything for her. You would say, “Good morning, Deana” and she would fly off the handle at you. She’d sneak and steal and lie–we had a little restaurant and she used to wait tables for a while, but we had to stop her because she was stealing too much. We sent her to a psychiatrist, but she was cleverer than him.

  You had to let Deana do what Deana was going to do–because you couldn’t do nothing else.

  * * *

  RANDOM LOST LYRIC

  The hatred I have learned for myself Will fester in the wounds on your soul

  * * *

  FEBRUARY 11TH, 1987

  Van Nuys, 6 p.m.

  Some guy just came to the door preaching about the Lord so I told him that I worship the Devil to get rid of him. I’ve got to give it to the guy, he didn’t skip a beat, just kept on trying to save my soul. Then the phone rang and I told him I’d be right back, but I forgot he was there. I guess the dude finally took the hint and split. But he did leave me this nice little pamphlet. I think I’ll save it and give it to Vanity.

  I’m meeting Riki up at the Cathouse tonight…better order a car to drive me there…I need to order a few things…I’m running low. I’ve had no toilet paper for a week. And I’m on my eighth day without a shower.

  I am so into writing all this down. Sometimes when something is happening, all I can think about is getting this journal and writing. Crazy…

  FEBRUARY 12TH, 1987

  Van Nuys, 5:10 a.m.

  Tonight started off with a bang. I scored some old school loads from this black cat who sells porno out of his house in Van Nuys…he also had some china white. We headed out to the Cathouse and it was way cool. They only played glam rock from the early ’70s. Hearing T. Rex blaring at that volume really puts a smile on my face. I remember seeing T. Rex at the Paramount Theater in Seattle as a kid right before Bolan died. Anyway…

  Fuck, what a meat market that place is, girls galore and every sweet one ready for anything…so be it. Out to the limo and off with the clothes. A few lines up the nose and voila! Rock ’n’ roll cliché 101. Back into the club, back out to the car with a different chick…on and on…

  So how did it change? How did I end up crouched behind my bed with my gun?

  WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME??????

  I’m glad nobody from the club came back here with me…who knows what might have happened.

  Cocaine sucks but I love it. I need to have a couple of drinks and try to sleep. I’m supposed to meet the decorator tomorrow to look at some gothic English desk. I hope I’m not too hungover again…blah blah blah…

  TOM ZUTAUT: I first realized Nikki had gone beyond the point of hard partying one night in 1983 when Roy Thomas Baker threw a big party for Mötley Crüe at his house after remixing Shout at the Devil. Nikki went for it all night–too much sex, a huge pile of blow and gallons of hard liquor, not to mention whatever pills he might have ingested out of his own pocket.

  At one point I mentioned to Roy that it would be a bad idea for anybody to leave, as it was clear that no one was in any condition to drive. Roy pushed a button and
I heard the sounds of a prison lockdown: doors closing, gates swinging shut and dead bolts clanging. RTB explained that he never wanted any of his invited guests to get hurt, so when everyone was too high to navigate home safely, he simply locked them in and insisted they spend the night and stay for breakfast.

  Nikki decided he was going home, and must have come to me a dozen times asking me where the door was. Eventually he would find a door, but with the house in lockdown mode and Nikki barely conscious, there was no way he was getting out…or so I thought.

  The next day we sat down for breakfast and only one guest was missing–Nikki Sixx. We found his car a few blocks away, wrapped around a tree, and eventually we found him at his apartment with his arm in a sling, a survivor who somehow had definitely beaten the odds, given the condition he was in that night.

  No one knows to this day how he managed to get out of Roy’s house that night, much less find his car keys and drive home. It made me realize that Nikki was willing to cross the line and put his life in danger with excessive drug and alcohol abuse. But that said, he also seemed to be indestructible.

  * * *

  Ragtime fast lane–another overdose You know James Dean wasn’t playing the role I said hey, you, what-cha gonna do When time runs out on you.

  * * *

  4 p.m.

  Fuck. Just woke up…what’s my excuse today?

  Maybe I have the flu again…

  FEBRUARY 13TH, 1987

  Van Nuys, 5 p.m.

  Been listening to music and playing guitar all day.

  Heroes–why do we look up to them? Is it their music or their lifestyle? For me it’s both. I’m 29 years old, they say you grow outta loving rock ’n’ roll but it’s such a huge part of me. It feels like music raised me, adopted me, saved my life.

  * * *

  TOP TEN THIS WEEK

  Aerosmith

  New York Dolls

  Mott the Hoople

  Sex Pistols

  Sweet

  Stooges

  Queen

  Rolling Stones

  Ramones

  T. Rex

  * * *

  FEBRUARY 14TH, 1987

  Van Nuys, 6:20 p.m.

  I’ve decided I should do something for Valentine’s Day to mark the anniversary of the day that I died. I think I’ll call Vanity.

  NIKKI: I had overdosed in London exactly a year earlier: Valentine’s Day 1986. We had played Hammersmith Odeon, and the second we left the stage I caught a taxi with Andy McCoy from Hanoi Rocks. He took me to a heroin apartment in a real shabby neighborhood. I was drunk, and I remember I was very impressed that the dealer had clean needles. When he offered to shoot up for me, I let him. Big mistake.

  The problem with street drugs is you never really know exactly how potent they are from dealer to dealer, so I OD’d on the spot. My lips turned purple: I was gone. The story I heard was that the dealer grabbed his baseball bat and tried to beat the fucking life into me. He couldn’t, so he flung me over his shoulder to dump me in the trash, because nobody wants a dead rock star lying around.

  Then I came to…and I guess I had yet another dark secret to never tell anybody.

  Let me tell you, I felt like shit. When you die, every single muscle in your body hurts. Your body has closed down because it thinks it’s done, and when it gets rebooted, every inch of you hurts. Plus I’d had the shit beaten out of me with a baseball bat. The second show at Hammersmith Odeon wasn’t the happiest gig I’ve ever played.

  TIM LUZZI: Nikki started taking heroin with Hanoi Rocks in Britain on the Shout at the Devil tour. Hanoi just weren’t looking right; their eyes were off. But Nikki was a most willing participant. He was always destined to get hooked on heroin, and if it hadn’t been with the dudes from Hanoi Rocks it would have been someone else.

  FEBRUARY 15TH, 1987

  Van Nuys, 2:15 p.m.

  What the fuck was that about? Even by Vanity’s standards, last night was insane. When I called her she didn’t want to come over, and invited me to her place instead. I soon found out why when I got there. She’d been smokin’ coke for hours and looked pretty fucked, so I thought I’d join in.

  Vanity was doing her crazy Art shit and we ended up doing base all night, then when it got light out she told me she felt hungry. That seemed weird because nobody gets hungry on coke but I said OK, and drove out to get bacon and eggs and orange juice. Then when I got back 10 minutes later, the guards wouldn’t let me in the gate to her complex…they said she wasn’t there. I was telling them fuck you when two black guys drove out in a Cadillac…that was weird…there are no black people there besides Vanity. She drove out 10 minutes later and I chased her down in my car and asked who the black dudes were. She said they were just friends.

  Weird night. She always finds a new way to mess up my head.

  NIKKI: I found out later from her sister that the two guys were dealers delivering coke. One more cute thing about Vanity back then: her car license plate said HO-HO-HO. When Prince had finished with her, he’d told her, “You ain’t nothin’ but a ho-ho-ho!” and she liked that because…she had a thing about Santa Claus. That sort of made sense in Vanityworld.

  EVANGELIST DENISE MATTHEWS: I was the glutton for punishment [with Nikki] and also the punisher punishing. It wasn’t easy being high all the time and relating to another human being. He could have related better with a pet rock.

  I won’t pretend that I was always there. If our relationship had been examined by a professional at that time, his diagnosis might have read, “Intensive care is much needed for this mad, neurotic, paranoid, psychotic, disturbing relationship, with egos at large coming through the door.”

  I believe there is a whole phi-sod to the ph-sod of being an idol, don’t you think? We take on the mysterious role of its origin. Everybody else traveled the same road so we might as well follow the drugs, the sex, trash the hotel, the crazy parties, grow your hair longer, look the part, wear the makeup and act crazy until it kills you. The rest is simple…boy meets girl, girl gets yucky, both get woozy and call it love, oh yes…sick!

  * * *

  LOST POETRY

  Her love is like a swimming pool Winter comes and it’s no use to you Her love is like a suicide Lose your faith and it takes your life Her love is like a merry-go-round Spins you in circles then it knocks you down Her love is like cheap alcohol Morning comes and you don’t remember at all Her love is like a Cheshire cat At first so friendly but at you it laughs Her love is like a passionate kiss At first so sweet then it takes your breath Her love is like the stars above Your guiding light always leaves you lost Her love is like Jesus Christ No matter how much faith You still die on the cross

  * * *

  FEBRUARY 17TH, 1987

  Van Nuys, 1 a.m.

  Today I didn’t drink, mostly because I’m pissing blood again. It will pass–it always does, right? I think I’ve done pretty good today.

  I am reading a great book called Junkie by William Burroughs. I never really cared for Naked Lunch.

  FEBRUARY 18TH, 1987

  Van Nuys, 2:30 a.m.

  Slash came over today. We were playing guitar and having a few drinks and watching MTV and I went for a piss. When I came back, Slash was looking at me funny. He asked me why I still have my Christmas tree up with unopened presents under it. That’s a good question…

  SLASH: My first memory of Nikki was seeing him playing with his band London at the Starwood. I was about fourteen at the time, and he was just this charismatic glam punk bass player who made a real big impression on me. Then I remember him coming to my high school and giving out fliers to a Mötley Crüe show at the Whisky A Go-Go to all the hot chicks.

  Mötley Crüe was America’s Sex Pistols. On a musical level they had some catchy songs and cool lyrics, but they were all about the attitude and the image. They were the only band coming out of the LA scene, apart from maybe Van Halen, who had any sincerity and took what they were doing seriously, and it was all down to Nikki. He jus
t had this focus, a real sense of direction.

  I hung out with Nikki at his house a little in ’86 and I found a sickening allure in his lifestyle. My worst junkie years were behind me by then, but I was drinking like fuck: I’d start the day with a Jack and coffee. My junkie years were dirty and sordid, but Nikki seemed to me to have found a cool, glamorous way to be a junkie.

  Guns N’ Roses still hadn’t taken off then so I was still a street kid, but let me be honest…if I’d had Nikki’s money, I would have been living exactly the same way that he was.

  FEBRUARY 19TH, 1987

  Van Nuys, 6:15 p.m.

  Just got back from antique shopping. Bought some old books. Tonight I’m gonna read one called Five Years Dead…it seems kinda fitting.

  What is it about antiques that intrigue me? There’s a feeling of history, a story not so plain to see, that seeps from the wood. It somehow makes me feel comfortable. I almost bought an old coffin today, but I couldn’t think where to keep it in this house. The house is shrinking.

  Midnight

  I’ve lost so much weight. None of my clothes fit anymore.