You know how sometimes you just need to blog? Well right now, I'm having on of those, "I just need to blog" moments.
What to blog about? Hmmm... lets see. I guess I get into Thanksgiving and then today.
Thanksgiving sucked. My mom had to work nights, so she had to sleep the whole day. Me and dad had decided to go to the grocery store, and buy one of those pre made Thanksgiving dinners. When we got there it was too late. There were non left. So we came home, and watched a movie we had rented. I forgot to mention, that on Thanksgiving morning I took 6 Zanax bars with my methadone. Hey, it was a holiday, and I knew it was going to suck. All holidays suck ever since my sister died 5 years ago. Fuck 5 years, and it feels like last year to me. All day Thanksgiving day, I could tell my dad was depressed. I mean depressed, like I get. Which is really depressed. He paced around the apartment, couldn't find anything to watch, so finally he went to take a nap. When he woke up we watched that movie we had rented. I forgot the name, but it had Will Smith in it. Anyway, during the movie I was nodding out, and ended up nodding out for most of the movie. I came back to and the movie was almost over, so I start ask my dad a bunch of questions about what happened. He got fucking pissed. He said in his most harsh, disguested voice, "if you weren't so fucking high, maybe you fucking know what happened in the movie." I just sat there, and was quiet and watched the rest of the movie. After the movie was done my dad went back to sleep.
The day before Thanksgiving my mom had pre made a scalped potatos, and ham dinner. All we had to do was put it in the oven and cook it. So while my dad was asleep, I put it in the oven, and went and bought a punkin pie, so when he woke up at least we would have a dinner and a dessert. He ended up waking up shortly after my mom left for work at 6pm. I had dinner all ready. He seemed pleased by this. So we sat and ate, and during dinner, I asked him why he is so depressed lately, and expesially today.
He look at me and said, "I'm depressed, because on of my daughters is dead, my wife of 26 years fucked around on me for a year, and my only living child is a drug addict. Wouldn't you be depressed"?
I said, "fuck dad, I went thru the same shit".
For whatever reason, I cannot bear to see my dad sad, or hurt, or depressed in any way. I mean I know what that depression is like, and knowing he is feeling it, hurts me. I have some father issues. I know this, but I'm not sure why. My dad loves me. I know he loves me. He is dissapointed in me, and doesn't understand why I don't want to live the cookie cutter, American drem life. Nothing would make my dad happier than to see me marry a man with money, buy a house in a small quiet town, and have kids. If it had been me who died instead of Angie(my sister) he would probably have that. That is what Angie wanted. Angie was the one with the work ethic. She had, had a job, ever since she was legally able to have one, which was at 14. She paid her bills, and was going to college. I on the other hand, bearly graduated Highschool, and was dating a fucking loser with out a job. Then I broke up with that loser, and found the magic of opiates.
In my entire life, I never remember wanting that cookie cutter fucking life. I wanted to live my life gritty. I wanted to break from the pack, be on my own social grounds. So when I couldn't break from the pack for fear of hurting my parents more than I already have, I turned to drugs. In drugs I found that underground lifestyle, that I so desperatly craved. I found the love of my life...opiates.
After my dad laied that "why he was depressed" on me, I had to go for a walk, because I had to cry and I didn't want to cry in front of him, and make him feel worse. So I said I had to take Eleanor my dog for a walk. It was around 8pm now. I walked and walked, and cried and cried. I cursed god for taking Angie instead of me. I cursed myself, for not wanting what my dad wants for me.
After I got it all out of my system, I went back up to the apartment, and I took my laptop in my room and I wrote 6 pages on my book. I got it out. I don't know if what I wrote is anygood, or if it even fits with the story, but its what I wrote. I remind myself its still just a first draft. Just get the book finished, and then put it together more clearly. Just get it out of me. Purge it out. So I did so.
Oh yeah, then today, I went down to when I go to pick up benzos. I got there too late, and no-one was around, so I was shit outta luck. I have to go early in the morning. Thats when business is rolling. I thought I might make it today, cause I got down there at 2pm. Not too late, but yep today it was too late.