Thursday, February 26, 2009

Here I come Capitol Hill Seattle...Eleanor guilt!

Well...I've gotten the application for Central Seattle Community College, where I will go for two years, until I can transfer to a four college and get an actual degree in English Lit, which of course Seattle Central offers classes on, and now all I have to do is send in the application, which doesn't even require a essay, but plan on writing one anyway, to make up for the classes in High School I was suppose to take, but got the easy way out because I had a learning disability in Math.

Fuck, do I regret graduating highschool by the hair of my teeth. I should have worked harder, and drank less. I should have stayed away from by 20 year old boyfriend, when I was 15. YUCK! Oh God, do I make bad choices.

Another bad choice, Capitol Hill Seattle is a Heroin mecca. I'm going to be off the Methadone when I get to Seattle, and my mom is going to live in Washington for three months to get me settled, and then its just me.

Truthfully, I feel like a 18 year old leaving home for the first time. I'm 26, and when I was 17 I moved out of my parents house, and into my boyfriend's place. Which was 60 miles away. I could always drive home if things got too bad. Then my parents moved to Michigan, and that was a 4 hour drive, but still doable. Now I'm going to be thousands of miles away from my home state.

Pulse I'm struggling what to do with Eleanor. I've been a horrible mom to her. I've been a junky mom, pawning her off on my parents when I was homeless. Now that me, mom, and dad all live together, and my mom is the only one with a job, Eleanor is very used to never ever being alone. Even when we go shopping we take her in her bag(s, yes we have more than one doggy bag) with us, even to the movies. There is no way I could bring her to school with me. Also Eleanor will only let five people pick her up, and pet her, me, mom, dad, my aunt Debbie, and my Ex Peter. So when I get to Washington, and move in with room mates, Eleanor is going feel very uncomfortable. I feel like the right thing to do for Elle is to let my parents take her. Since in Wisconsin both my mom and dad will be retired, and my mom loves Elle as much as I do, and Elle loves my dad as much I love Elle. The only things she would miss is me, and at least she would be in familiar surroundings in Wisconsin, and with familiar people all day.

It will be hard on me tho. Eleanor is one of the major reason's I don't want to be a totally strung out junky ever again. ( well I do want to again someday when I can afford it) Last time I was without Elle for six months, I would sleep with her picture, call my dad ever day, and ask him how she was doing. I cried myself to sleep for the first four months. If I got drunk all I did was cry about my dog. This is going to sound stupid to people who actually have children, but leaving Eleanor behind with my parents, seems like I'm leaving a child behind. I've been with Elle since she was a pup, and the longest we have separated was six months.

At least for the first three months in Settle when my mom is there, and we are looking for place for me to live. (my mom is taking a traveling nurse job in Central Seattle for three months for me) Eleanor will be with me and mom for those three months. Maybe I can find a roommate, who works second shift, so she/he, will be home during the day while I'm at school, and then I can be home with her at night. Eleanor would need to take at least a month to trust the room mate. The dog is 4 lbs, she has to be weary of whom she allows to take care of her. She's fragile, very fragile. I love her more than I love myself.

Separation anxiety.

Oh yeah, even if I don't get accepted to the community college, which if I don't proves I'm the most stupid person ever, I will still be moving to Seattle. I'll apply at the four other community colleges in the Seattle area. I guess I could also apply at a four year college, but really...your reading this...there is no way I'd get in to a Four year University. I'll be 29, by the time I get into a four year school. I'll be 33 when I graduate University College, and if I go on to graduate school, I'll be fucking 90 before I am able to write a good literary book. Until then I'll keep pounding out these armature memoirs, and novels.

At least I have a plan. I feel so much better when I have a plan. My mind doesn't feel so scattered, and worried that I'm gonna fuck up, and end up somewhere I don't belong. Somewhere I will....?

If Sarah is reading this, I hope to see you in Seattle, I'll put SOS on my roof for you.

Sorry I couldn't talk to you. Elle has fleas...gross. So I brought her to the vet, and then me and mom bombed the house, and washed every piece of bedding in the house, washed her bed, and sprayed this shit that kills eggs, and full grown fleas. Also her anal glands were full, so she needed her anal glands expressed. The things I do for that 4lb doggy.

My mom told me that you tried to IM me, and that she told you I'd be back in an hour, but when I got back, all I wanted was to get rid of the fleas that had infested my dog, and the house. No more letting Eleanor roll around in dead animals, and no more letting her hang around dirty dogs. She hates other dogs anyway, so that shouldn't be too hard.

Okay, enough.

I'm using too much Xanax again. I gotta ween myself off to two to four milligrams a day. Son of bitch. Motherfucker. Where the fuck is my will power?

Monday, February 23, 2009

Its high time I blogged again.

I'm sorry Anna Grace, but your not going to America's Next Top Model. "Really, why can't I". "Duh Anna Grace, you eat too many candy bars, and don't workout hard enought, and burn off enough calories, so your fat, and well your face isn't exactly perfect. Plus your 26 years old."

Oh God, when I was younger, I'm talking like 6 or 7 years old, I wanted to be a model, actress. Then puberty hit, and well I was not an actractive 12-15 year old. I had to grow into my looks. I never became a drop dead beauty, but at least I didn't become a downright ugly person. At about 13 I became anit model actress. I was too cool for that. I'm all about being an outcast, and getting drunk, and escaping reality. I used pot, but of course I was allergic to something in the plant, and I ended up having a really bad allergic reaction, but of course I had to try it like for more times to make sure pot was not the drug for me. So I resorted to drinking. I was always had low selfesteem, and when I was drunk I was this beautiful, funny, WHORE. Then drinking the drinking started to make me feel jealous of other girls, and since alcohol is an depressant, it would often make me sad. I would get drunk, and start to think about all the things that were going wrong, and I'd get so sad, that I didn't want to live. Hence the at least 13 suicide attempts while drunk. I'd rather call them cries for help. Since the guy I was dating was a drunk, he didn't get the cries for help I, and just made it worst.

So graduation came, and I planned on moving out to Californa. I even packed up my car, and took all the money from my graduation party, and drove, and drove. I had a newer car, from money my grandpa left me after his suicide, that I couldn't get until I was 18. Of course instead of putting it towards school I bought a car that could get me from point A to point B. I never really cared what kind of car I drove, as long as it got good gas milage, and was safe. My trip to California was ended in Arizoina. All those hours by myself in the car, thinking, and thinking, and the hotels I stayed at by myself, where I just thought and thought. What the fuck do I want to do. I realized that I didn't want to go to Californa. I called my parents and they bought me a plane ticket home, and rented a tow truck to bring my car back. So I came back, and lived with my parents. My parents then decided that they had enough money to retire. They moved up to Northren Michigan, and built a Cabin. While the Cabin was being bulit, Angie my sister was still in Highschool. She was a senior. Our house in Wisconsin was a house hold without parents. I would drive back and forth from Michigan and Wisconsin, to get my dads Oxycontins, and Percocets. My sister was much more popular than I was, and a lot more social than I was, and she would throw parties, and I would lock the door to my room, and get high. In the morning I didn't have a hangover, but my sister did, because she was in the drinking mode I went thru when I was a senior two years before. The difrence between my senior year and Angie's was I had my parents around, and Angie was living alone. Not paying bills, working two jobs, and living like an adult. Throwing parties on the weekend at our house in Wisconsin. My parents had the house on the market, but it wasn't selling.
Then when I was 20, I went a freinds wedding, and met her brother for the second time. He was a smart, funny, attractive guy, and major plus he had been in a band, and lived the life style I wanted. Just fuck everyone, and do what I please. I admired Pete, and worshiped him. He had already done all the things I always wanted to do. He once hitch hicked across the US. One thing I always wanted to do, but since I was a girl it was a lot more dangrous for me. Plus by this time I was hooked on pain meds. I think I could have quit if I wanted to, but I didn't want to. I turned Pete onto Opiates, and we bonded over pharmacuticals. That period of my life was one the best part of my adult life. I still had an intrest in normal things such having sex, and moving in with Pete.
Then one day, while Pete and I were up visting my parents in Michigan, Angie was suppose to come up the next day. The reason Pete and I left early was to get Oxy's. During the day when me and Pete go up to Michigan, my mom and dad took up for a hike, and we went up some ski hill up this elevator, and looked over the entire North woods all the way to Lake Supriour. Then we went out to eat dinner at a bar/supper club. Then we all went home, and me and Pete snorted a bunch of Oxy's and watched movies, and had sex. Then at 4am there was a knock at the door. It was the police. They asked if Dean Young lived here. I said, "Yes, I'll go get him". While walking up the stairs, I kept think what could my dad have done to have the cops come to our door at 4am. I told Pete to up to my room, and I went up their too. I was going to come down, and find out what happened after the police left. I was halfway to my room, and suddenly I herd my mother baby is dead. I dropped to the floor, and just started crying. I knew what happened. Angie was dead. It is a four hour drive from the cabin in Michigan to the house in Wisconsin. So we had to make alot of phone calls to family, and we had to all kinds of stuff. My parents were on the phone with the funeral home, and my dad cried. I couldn't stand to see my father hurt that bad. I just couldn't think. I sat outside and smoked ciggys, until my parents told me what to do. I was to drive my car to Wisconsin, and Pete was to drive my parents car behind me. My Aunt Debbie, and Uncle Dave where driving up to Michigan to pick up my parents.
My dad had wanted Angie's room cleaned out. He didn't want to come home to a room, knowing Angie would never be back. Pete started doing it, but I just couldn't let him do it. Me and Pete got to the house before anyone else. I could tell there was a party their the night before, but it was pretty clean. So someone herd the message on the answering machine at 2am from the hospital, so someone had been at our house after Angie left, and cleaned up the party stuff before we got their. I later found out it was a guy I went to highschool with, and his girlfriend. They were sleeping in my room screwing.
After about 20 mins of getting back to the house in Wisconsin, I called my cousin's Amanda and Brenda, who were both very close to Angie and I. Then one of my dad's aunts came over, and wanted us to wash Angie's laundry, but I wanted to keep it dirty, it was the only thing left with her smell on it. Suddenly there was 10-15 people at our house, and bringing food, and crying, and I was crying, and was pissed of, and wanted to know what happend. Three hours later my parents showed up, and my mom wanted to go see Angie's body. So Brenda, and Amanda and I along with mom went to the funeral home. They hadne't put any make up to cover the brusies and cuts, and my mom went in and said goodbye to Angie, and I couldn't bring myself to look. I dind't want to see my sister dead. Just hearing my mom and Brenda crying made me cry, and I had a head ache, and I was losing it. Then Angie's friends started comming over, and all kinds of people. That day seemed like the longest day of my life. Then the evening came, and people started to leave. My parents didn't have a bed in their rooom, because all their stuff was up in Michigan. I remember my mom was wraped in Angie's blanket, and her pillow, and I remember my dad kicked out his aunt who was being bossy, and telling him and mom what to do. She left, and then it was just me mom, dad, and Pete. My mom and dad both were taking the oxycontin, and they to this day say if it were not for the oxycontin they would not have made it thru it. They gave me some too. I didn't sleep that night, and Pete didn't know what to do or say. I had this preminsion that night, I wasn't asleep, but I was high, I saw Angie on a bar stool in the bar down the road I used to work at, and the bar was all dark, and she said something about mom and dad, and told me that they were going to hurt more than any hurt they have ever felt, and then I came to, and felt scared, and sad, and guilty and worried.
The next few days my parents planned the funeral, I picked out the casket, and helped with stuff, but I was in so much emotional pain, and I was taking oxy like candy. Snorting it, eating eat, just killing the pain. Pete stayed at our house thru it all, because I didn't want to be alone. I was sort of mad at him, because he diden't feel the pain. It was just a shock to him. He had only knowen Angie for a month and a half, and Angie didn't like him. I wanted Pete to hurt as much I did. I couldn't, so I just thru myself into my parents. Ignored pete, but let him stay so I didn't have to be alone with my parents. If Pete wasn't there I wasn't sure if my dad would have killed himself, or maybe me and mom too. All my dad wanted was to be with Angie. He was so worried about where she was, and if she was scared.
Then suddenly we are at the funeral. Me, mom and dad showed up earlier than everyone else so we could have time alone with her. Again, I couldn't bring myself to go into the vewing room, and see my sister's dead body. I stayed in the hallway, and went out to smoke, and then some lady came up to me, and my parents came up to me, and brought me in to see Angie. She looked like herself. She just looked asleep. I touched her, and she was cold, and I cried. There was a vido in the back playing photos of Angie from a baby to a few days before she died. They played that song my Sara Mclaclan, that Angel song, and they played all kinds of sad country songs, because my little siter like country music, and hair band rock and roll.
After about an hour, people started showing up, at first close family, then tons of people. Everyone she went to school with, everyone that went to school with me. tons and tons of people showed up, and the line to view the body was really long. After a while I couldn't cry anymore. I took more pills, and smoked more ciggys. I sat outside with some freinds, and talked about Angie. pete stood by my side the whole time. Except for when the viewing was over, and me, mom and dad were left alone with Angie for another hour to say goodbye, because after tomorrow, when she was buried we would never see her body again. My dad had them play Johnny Cash, because when Angie was little she would sing his songs. We all loved Johnny Cash.
We left the funeral home, and I don't rememver that part. I don't remember leaving. Suddenly we were home, and people were at our house, and then at dark everyone left, and it was just us again. There is no Angie. We will never see her again, after tomorrow at the church before they close the casket. Which when they closed the casket, me, my mom and dad got up and put a blanket over her like they were putting her to bed, my leaned over to give her one last kiss, and my mom too, and me too, and we cried loudly, everyone was crying loudly. Close family was escorted out of the room into another room while they closed the casket.
After the service we drove to the cemetary, and let out doves, and there were so many people their, but the three of us, got front fow seats. I set a flower on her casket, and so did mom and dad, and the priest said some dust to dust to stuff, and then it was over. We would never see her agian.
A week later the house in Wisconsin sold, and Pete and I were homeless. We could have went up to Michigan with my parents which we did for a week or two, but then my cousin Amanda let us move in with them. Suddenly I was going cold turkey from opiates. I had buried the pain of Angie dieing in pills, and now I dind't have pills. I was crazy with saddness. I got a job, Pete got a job, and then I attempted suicide and had to be put in a nut house for while. My mom and dad came to see me, and told me Amanda didn't want me and pete their anymore. Amanda had children to worry about, and so we had to find a cheap apartment. Which Pete and my dad did. My parents helped out with rent, and we moved all our worldy possensions in to my first apartment in my name. The first time lving alone with a boyfreind, adn his name was on the lease. I got a job at The Olive Garden, and Pete got a job in Construction, and it was around Xmas, our first without Angie. Since Angie died my parents have not put up a Christmass tree.
Angie died on July 19, 2003. Pete and I stayed in that apartment for about 10 months and quit our jobs and moved back up to Michgan. Where there was pills. We stayed there for a few months, and then we moved Appleton Wisconsin, with some of Pete's freinds. I found a connect to buy pills from, and then I got a job at another resturant, and met a girl with two brothers who had HIV, and where Heroin addicts, and were getting Dilauded aka Hospital Heroin. Me and Pete moved out of the house with roomates because one night I got drink and smashed every thing in the house. Every thing that belonged to my room mates. I still don't remember doing that. I stared drinking at like noon that day, and my friends Kaycce and Katrina came to my house for one of those dildo parties. I got so drunk during the party that I don't remember tha party. The next thing I remember is Katrina getting some coacain in me and got me to come out of my drunken stuppor. Then they reminded me of what I did.
God where my room mates pissed at me, they wanted to call the cops, but Katrina and Kaycee helped me clean it up before the roomate, a girl on was done with her shift at the bar, so when she got home she didn't see the mess.
The next day I woke up, and was too embarssed to go down staris.I knew everyone was pissed at me. They wanted me out, and a month later Pete and I moved out, and so did out other two roomates. I got Eleanor, and on Dec. 23rd, 2005, I shoot up dilauded for the first time. Right after a trip from New York. I was getting a good supply from the HIV postive guys, and I was giving them good business to sell their oxy's. I found that I like the Dilauded better, because it was easier to shoot up, and gave a better high. Plus I was getting them for cheaper than they sold the oxy's for. Only real junkys knew that 8mg dilauded were better than Oxycontin, so people paid more for the oxy's. I'm talking 1 dollar per milligram. I was getting them for 1 dollar for 5 mg. So I got them alot of business.
After I put that needle in my hand, I was in heaven. I was hooked, and in love. Then life got even more compicated, and it still is.
I gotta go. Nodding.
Sorry I blogged about my addiction again. I've been trying to blog about other shit, but I think about opiates too muhc. off to la la land, night.

Saturday, February 21, 2009

Marla Singer, and sticking feathers up your ass.

Fight Club, an amazing book, but for once the movie was better than the book. That never happens. The book is almost always better than the movie. I've read everthing Chuck P,(can't spell his last name) has writen, and I love how at the end of all the books there is twist you just don't see comming.

When I watch TV shows, I watch crime drama's. I can always figure out the killer/bad guy or women in the first 3 minutes of the show. You can ask my parents, they don't understand how I can possible know who the killer is. They think I've watched it before, or I saw a preview, but I haven't. Its just that the writers of these crime dramas are not the best of writers. Maybe its not that they aren't the best writer's , maybe its the Producers, or the FCC, or the American People. The American people want to watch a show that isn't too complicated. Not all the America People are stupid, and want to watch TV shows that are mind numbing, that the any person of average intellignace can figure out within the first three minutes.

There are good shows out there, or there were great shows out there. They are always on Cable. HBO's Six Feet Under, The Saprano's, and Dexter on Showtime. Now Dexter, that is a creative show. The premiss is brilliant. A serial killer, whom only kills murders, and people who threaten to expose him. The twist and turns in Dexter are great. That show they don't hide who the criminal is, they just have a charatcter, a complicated character, with many diffrent dimensions. The show is how Dexter, the Serial killer who works with the police in the crime scean unit, analyzing blood splatter. At night he kills those murders who keep getting away with thier crimes, and the justice system is letting them fall thru the cracks. Dexter is the serial killer we love, the serial killer we don't want to get caught.

Six Feet Under was another one of those Character based shows. There were 5 charaters that the show revolved around, and each of those charater's was interesting, and you wanted to watch their lives unfold in front of your eyes. These shows are by far, more entertaining than CSI, or Law and Order. Criminal Minds is a well writen show, and instead of just investigating the crime itself, they investigate the mind of the criminal, get inside his mind, and try to figure out how he or she ticks so they can figure out how to save the victim.

Sorry, I just went off on a tangit about TV shows, and characters, and a bunch of shit you already know.

I guess I in fight club my alter ego comes out, and does something increadable with myself. I just need to get out of the trappings of this materialistic world, and find a cause that I feel needs fixing, or book that needs to be writen. I need to come out of my shell of a life, and become what I want to be.

Ahhh, this blog is borning. At least its not me complaing about being suicidal, and how my parents just don't understand. That just as boring as this blog about TV shows that revolve around

For those of you wo were worried about me, I got into day treatment, so every day I go to treatment, and don't have to sit in my apartment and just htjom pgrt

Monday, February 16, 2009


First off, I've been telling my dad for weeks to start taking two percocet's a day, and he kept telling me he was off the Percocets. So I went into his daily pill thingy, and well...he's taking two percocets a day.
This obviously means that my dad is extremely stressed out, and depressed. He's taking extra opiates to dull the emotional pain. Same as I do. I don't know if I should be glad for him, or if I should feel guilty, because its obviously me who is causing his emotional grief.

For those of you who read that sad depressing, suicidal idiotic blog I wrote on Feb. 14 titled Taken. Well, I'm still blue, and I'm still sad, and I'm still guilt ridden, but I am not going to off myself. I have decided to check myself into a psych hospital for a few weeks, and get my meds straightened out, and perhaps even get off methadone completely.

I've applied to Seattle Central Community College, and to Olympia Washington State University. I also sent three chapters of my book into a literary agent, just to get feed back on what they think of my writing. I'm not expecting it to be good, but all criticism is good. The more harsh they are, the better writer I could become. The more resolve I will have to become better at this putting words on a page and voodoo screen.

My mother let my father read the Taken blog. I think I've put my dad thru enough for one lifetime, my mom was selfish to have him read that blog. My father has major depression, and is as suicidal as me. My mom is the only one strong enough out the three of us to handle what I had to say.

Now my dad feels guilty, and is going to go to Washington with me for three months to help me get settled. That is if I get accepted to school there. I wanted to go to Washington by myself. I didn't want my parents to have to yet again uproot their lives for me, and I fail. I wanted to go on my own, and to find my own way, not having anyone to rely on but myself.

In my mom's email, she was right in some parts. The part she is wrong about, is me wanting to control them. The last thing I want to do is control them. I want to stop being controlled. Gawd, we need some fucking family therapy.

No way will I give birth to a child with my gene's, I would never pass on this illness to someone I love more than own child. I can't even imagine what it would be like to watch my own child be so sad, and guilty that he or she would take their own life. To watch my own child become addicted to Heroin...feel the most beautiful feeling, and then watch the most beautiful feeling destroy your life, by becoming physically addicted to it. I'd be one of those mothers who would totally enable his or her's use of drugs. I would know how horrible it feels to need something, that everyone tells tells them they should want to live without. That they should be strong enough to overcome this addiction.

I fall in and out of complacency. I have so many things that I want to accomplish, but with all those goals, and me being very very lazy its hard to come to terms with being a complete failure at everything I set out to do.

Fuck, being Bi Polar I'm suppose to a brilliant creative master, but instead, I'm a dumb bi polar, and has never had an original idea or thought in my entire life.

But I will. I hope. So I have hope, doesn't that make me healthy. Some days I have hope, somedays I lose all hope. Deal with it.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Then just let me leave.

my mothers reaction to my blog

I read your blogs. I am so so so sorry that you feel the way you do. Gosh Anna. I hope you aren't really going to kill yourself. Christ it would be to much to bear. I don't think my brain could handle the anguish it would split in some freaked out way. I know that you are so messed up you can't really understand what your behavior is doing to us. If you could understand I know you would't do it. Because deep down inside you are a good person. It is just you are royally messed up. Until you realize you have to want to get better before you will get better. As long as you feel everything is just fine the way it is,it not going to change. You keep your Dad and I so scared of what you might do. How could anyone do that to someone they proclaim to love. It is torture. You just don't get it. You are a total control freak. You control your Dad and I through fear. You think you have it all figured out, in the end you can just whack yourself and teach us a lesson. Fuck... ANNA you are hurting us just thinking it and staying in the drugged out stupor you so crave to be in. Yes we hope you see the world as a normal grown up adult instead of a perpetual adolecence wan-na-be. We want you to mature into a normal functioning adult. There is nothing wrong with us wanting that for you. Whenever you write you always imply that we have some control over you. ANNA that is bullshit. You are the one throwing the power around. We are like puppets in your sick fucking mind game. Yes Anna you are sick. You need help. But thats not what you want. You want to fuck with peoples minds, play the suicide card and yes Anna one God-awful day you will do it. It is part of the whole game you are playing. Fuck you can be one stupid fucked up bitch. I know you know how to play me, and I can not win. You live as you are now, I lose. You kill yourself, I lose.Or... You get some help. Not this carefully calculated bullshit you have been doing. You get out there and follow the directions and do what has to be done to make a life for yourself. Just leave Your father and I out of your bullshit. Can you do that? Do you get it Anna? If you want to off yourself. Get a life of your own, away from us. Try something, you failed at a job once so now you can never work again. Getting out and doing something that gives you some pride in your self. Yes you can write pretty dam good. But people have to like you. And for people to like you you have to like yourself. Don't block out what I'm saying telling yourself I don't understand. Just once Anna ... tell me I am right. Open up and listen. You are not going to find what you want in this life until you learn to listen. And comprehend you don't know everthing. There are things you have not expirenced . There are so many things for you to learn. If you could just face that growing up is not such a terrible thing. God please, please please just try. Erin

Saturday, February 14, 2009


I have no immediate plans to take my own life. I was just writing what felt, and for some that may be too harsh, too shad, too sick, too raw, too honest. I know I need professinal help, and I'm going to dall my caseworker.

In the blog below this one, called "taken" I was just being totally honest with myself, and al of you.

Should I lie, and pretend like these thoughts and feeling don't go thru my mind, and that I don'thinkOD


Well it's Valentine's Day, and I am. In my small room, Eleanor sitting on the pillow behind me. The wind outside is blowing at 30 miles per hour, and my window has a leak, so my door keeps opening and closing. It must be the way the air flows in my room, when the winds blow at a certain speed, in a certain direction that makes my room wind tunnel. The temperature outside is in the low 80's, but with the winds it feels like a cool 70 to me.

Taking Elle outside for her morning walk, in this wind is hard to do. All she wants to do, is shit, and pee, and go back inside. She hates the wind blowing in her face, and ears. If I try to walk her any further after she has finished her business, she refuses to walk, and I have to carry her, blocking the wind with my sweater. Yes, I wear a sweater, with buttons and everything, I even now have the eye glasses on a chain around my neck, so when I take Elle out for a walk I look like a mad scientist. The reason I look mad is because I haven't showered in three days, or bushed my hair in three days, so my mane is a mess. I like it that way. When my hair gets too heavy, which does happens because its getting really long again, and it's ungodly thick, and curly, I have to put my hair in a pony tail( I never understood why they call it a pony tail) and then I twist it around and wrap it up and put clips in it to keep it on the top of my head, where it doesn't fall in my face, or make me itch while writing or reading.

This is what I'm writing about...come on Anna!

I'm sorry people, I've become so apathetic that its really starting to cause my parents a great amount of grief. I've no become uncaring that they want me to go back to Wisconsin, and if I don't have a plan for Washington by August that I'm going to be trapped in a place I don't want to be, and I've come to the conclusion, that if this forcing of me to move with my parents to Wisconsin were to take place, that I would indeed take my own life. Not to punish my parents. It is no way their fault, it is my own, for not planning things out, and getting shit in order. It is my fault if I were not to be accepted to any schools in the Washington Seattle area, (why I capitalized Seattle, and not Washington is beyond me.

This move is going to be a huge turning point, either way. Washington, Wisconsin. Either way something is going to happen. Something is going to change, and really the only thing I care about is Eleanor. I feel I can't take her away from my parents, even tho she is my dog, and I love her and take of her, she still loves my mom and dad...trusts my parents more than me. I've been selfish with Elle, and I've moved her around alot. After me and Pete broke up, we had split custody of Elle. I was homeless, so she stayed with Pete most of the time. Even thinking about leaving her with Pete at Pete's dad's house where she wasn't loved or taken care of, I feel my heart break into little bits. Which in turn makes me want to move to Washington, fuck school, and get hooked on, and strung out again on Heroin. Too much guilt is inside me. That of pawning Elle off, when I knew that she hated to be away from me. ( She will not let anyone, but me, mom, dad, and Debbie my aunt touch her) unless she is being held by one of us, then she will let a unknown person pet her head or something, but not for long.

I know that, like my parents, Elle wants all three of us too stick together, and fuck if that is to be possible, I would need assurance that I can stay on Methadone, at any dosage I want. That I can get a doctor to prescribe me Xanax, or that I get off the Methadone, and my dad lets me take his Percocets.

I'm going to be as honest as it gets right here. I only wake up each day to see Eleanor, to be with my parents(even tho they annoy the living fuck out of me), and to get my methadone dose.
Methadone comes first in the order, then Elle, and then mom and dad.

If I were to die, I'd leave Elle in good hands with my parents. I'd ask my parents in my suicide note to take care of Eleanor, not to follow me, for it will be like having your blood on my hands, and leaving Eleanor with no one she trusts to take care of her. Many parents have gone on after losing both children.
I know after I'm dead, my parents will say, we should have just let her have her opiates, just kept her happy, and let her live, but while I'm alive, they will not give up hope that suddenly I will change into this perfect daughter, who marries a handsome hardworking man, and has 2.5 children. Me raising the children, while my husband is off at his job where he makes a million dollars a year, and I stay at home with his children, taking care of them, teaching them, and writing my books.

All I can see when I think of this life, is Sylvia Plath's head in the oven, Virgina Wolfe's dead body floating down the river she drown herself in.

Is it really so selfish to take my own life. I have no children whom I will be hurting, no children growing up without a mother. After I die, my parents probably have 30 or 40 years left in them, and they can live on without me.

Actually, I know if I killed myself, my dad would for sure kill himself, even if in my suicide note I begged and pleaded with him not to follow me. It would be my mother who would learn to live on without us. I just hope and pray that she takes care of Eleanor. If not, and I can become a ghost, (they say dogs can see ghost's), I will stay here and make sure Elle is taken care of.

Then I wonder...would it be easier for me, if I just took Eleanor with me. If she and I died at the same time. Then I'd only have my parents to worry about, and they've already live a full life. I've become very close with my mother and father. Much closer than most 26 year old children are with their parents. I feel as tho I give them purpose to go on. I'm their reason to live.
I often wish, that after Angie died, and my dad wanted to kill us, and himself, if I would have better off.

Whatever reason I'm being kept alive, even after knowingly injecting HIV+ blood into my veins, three times, with three different syringes full of the HIV+ blood. I did this 4 years ago now, and still every three months I get tested for HIV it comes back non reactive. Even my Hep C has no viral load, which means, my immune system fought it off, and I have no viral load, and am not contagious. No matter how many hundreds of Aspirin I take, I wake up in a hospital bed. My body just will not give out on me. No matter how much I want it too. Every day I play Russian Ru-let with my life, taking so many Xanax and other benzo's with my high dose of methadone. Still my body takes the beating, and my heart keeps on ticking.

Now that my body is aging, I'm hoping that easier it will be to "accidentally" take too much Heroin one day.
I have a suicide note already written in case that were to ever happen. Its more of an apology note to my parents, and friends, and extended family. I explain to them, the emotional pain I'm in everyday. I explain that its my own fault for being so apathetic, and careless. That I love them more than any person can love another, and that I hope and pray that go on without me.
I explain that I want to be cremated, I do not want to be embalmed and put in some casket delaying the natural process of decaying. I want my ashes spread in four different places...the places I was happiest, my house at 453 Sherman St., and in the yard of the house we lived at in Gillett on the corner of Degantown Rd. and Rose Rd., and in the yard of the house we lived in, in Sampson WI, on Sigler Road., and lastly on the family plot where Angie, is buried, and where my mom and dad will be buried.

All those places I have the fondest memories of my childhood. Even tho some were mixed with some of the worst emotional losses I've ever had, still the life, and love we lived in those homes was something I hold dear. Its wear I want my ashes to be spread.

Oh yes, btw I don't think my Bi Polar meds are working at all. I thought so at first, but I was in a manic state, and I love being in a manic state, but lately I've felt myself slipping...deeper, and deeper into a depression so black, I feel as tho I may never recover.

happiness turn to sadness everytime.

Today, Friday the 13th, my best friend's sister is having a baby boy. Suddenly I'm getting nostalgic about childhood with Kaycee(said best friend), and her sister Amanda, Kaycee's older sister.

Amanda is three or four years older than me and Kaycee. When Kaycee and I were younger we were inseparable. Every weekend we would sleep over at each other's houses. When I stayed overnight at Kaycee's I shared a room with Amanda, because Kaycee and Amanda shared a room for a long time, and they had bunk beds.

I have this one fond memory of all three of us, trying to get to sleep and I was on the top bunk bed with Kaycee, but I had been laying in Amanda's bed on the bottom before Amanda came into the room. When I was down there, I noticed this gigantic booger on the wall. I didn't say anything until Amanda came in the room. I crawled up by Kaycee, and asked Amanda about the huge booger she had wiped on her wall. She was so embarrassed, she would not admit it was her booger, and tried to blame it on me. If it was me, I would have admitted it. I remember laughing all night about that god damn booger.

I wish I was like the younger me, easily amused.

Now I think everyone is gay, and I can't write, because I don't have the right.

Everything is my fault, I'll take all the blame.

So now Amanda is Married, in the sun, living in San Francisco, and one day she will be buried in the sun.

Man, I can find any excuse to use Kurt Cobain's lyrics.

I don't want to grow up. I don't want to watch my children turn into me. I just want to finish up one thing, and then get strung out again, and wait until my tolerance kills me.
I'm on a down swing, and now palms hurt, they hurt really bad.

I'm sad all the time, nothing makes me smile, and I never feel the excitement. Even in moving to Washington, I find no excitement, I find it's all just a pain in the ass. Figuring out how to pay rent, figuring out how to get dope, writing the next great American memoir, all this before Feb 2nd, 2010.

I just want it all to end. I'm sick and tired of being me. Ever wonder what it feels like to be me?

I'm lick a lilac that grows in California, it loos like a lilac, but there is no smell. I'm just a image with no soul.

I find cigarette hole in all my close, and in every piece of furniture in the apartment, even on the floor. I just want to go away. I just want you to go away.

I can't apologize to my parents enough for being so weak. I wish I had the strength, I wish I never got caught in this trap, but here I am, and I can't take it anymore. I'm on my way out, and I'm too sad to complain, so just remember its not your fault. I'm going to the Leonard Cohen after world.

I'll never enjoy the smell of baby's breath, and I'll always be who I am. No outlet for my pent up aggression, and anger, and sadness will ever be enough. Not with a guitar and amp, not with pen and paper, not with making jokes, or painting a ugly picture. All these things I do, and I feel better for the moment, but then I remember where I am, and who I am, and realize I just wasn't meant to be.

Every time I see someone walk past me, I wish I could jump into their skin, be them for an hour, rape them, and leave them.
I'm not one of the beautiful people anymore, and my beauty is only found in Heroin, and you don't want me to destroy my life with that junk, but fuck...I am that junk. I want to die, and you can't talk me out of it, and you can't take me away from it.

What your asking of me, to stay alive so as not to hurt you, is really just to much. I want you to comfort me inside, I'm not meant for this grown up stuff. I belong in an insane asylum. Not wandering the street seeking my next emotional rape. Heroin give me the comfort I need to stay alive, and when that comfort kills me, oh well. At least I was happy for the time I was alive. I find a comfort in being sad, and I find a comfort in sticking needles in my hands, arms, legs, feet, and injecting opiates.

I know I'm dumb, and I know I'm doing this to myself. My heart is broke. May I have some glue?

All I do is plagurize other words, twist into a mumble and jumble, until I can sleep.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Eleanor Rigby

It's such a beautiful day here in Hawaii. Its gray, and rainy outside. I woke up at 7am on the couch, and I went into my room to sleep some more. When I woke up, and came out of my room, my parents where gone. They left a note that said, they went to Barns and Noble, and to lunch.

I took my Methadone, and 6mg of Xanax.

I don't have anything to write about. I'm not feeling inspired, and I'm not doing anything productive. I'm gonna read my book, and lounge around. Take Elle for a walk in the rain, which she hates, I have an umbrella, but Elle doesn't understand to stay under it. Poor girl, and I just gave her hair a trim, and a wash, she's so soft right now. I don't want to get her all messy, but she has to go outside, and get some exersize. I'll figure something out. Go to the park where the trees cover the sidewalk, so the sidewalk stays dry.

Its raining, but its fucking still hot and humid out there. Gawd, I hate Hawaii. I wish it was 65-70 degrees, gray skys, and rain. I have to take the bus to the Libaray, because they have a book I asked them to get for me. I really want to read it. I'll take Elle with me on the bus. She likes the bus. She stays in her back pack, only peeking her head out to see whats going on. If someone tries to pet her she dives back in the backpack, and I have to tell them that she's afraid of other people, and she doesn't like to be pet. I always feel bad telling people this, but its true. She only lets me, mom, dad, Pete, and Debbie pet her.
Where did I leave off? Well, I was nodding, because I took 14mgs of Xanax, mixed with my 100 and some milligrams of methadone. So I was in la la land. I can't believe how good I did on my previous blog considering the state I was in. I seriously couldn't keep my head up for the more than 10 minutes at a time.

So, I went early to the Mall, and got a good hook up for my benzo's which should keep me from keeling over from benzo withdrawl. This morning I really did luck out. My usual "people" where no where to be found. Lucky I went upstairs to the McDonalds dinning room, which really isn't a dinning room, its more of a place where junkies go to sit and nod out, while eating sweets. I got there early enought that the person I saw, wasn't so fucked up he didn't know who he was, where he was, or what he was doing. I had bought off this person before, and he was so out of it, he claimed that I had ripped this person off. This person diden't even remember that little scandel he caused, because he sold me the goods, and I was good to go.

I left the mall, and went to the clinic. I noticed that the group room was filled with candy, and places to sign up for diffrent types of groups, which would be good for me and my welfare. Which in turn would be good for me and my social security disablity. I sat around for a while, signed up for a group on Monday's 9am to 11am. Then I sat and talked to this guy in his 40's who was on Methadone treatment back in the 70's, when it first started. He was at the same dose I'm at, and he just quit cold turkey. He said that he's been clean ever since. He was trying to save a junky. Its like captin save a ho, he was captin save a junky. I sat and listened to his story, and told him mine, as much as I could in a half hour.

I had to get out of there, because I had an appointment with my pschycitrist, to get my Bi Polar Meds upped. The appointment was at 11:45, and I had to put gas in the car. So I stop at a gas station on Dillingham, and I put my parents debit card in it, and it says declined, and I went in and gave the cashier the 8 dollars I had on me, and put that all in gas, to get me to Waikiki, so I could go to my appointment, then to Longs Drug store to fill my script. While at Longs I went on a bit a shopping spree. I got Elle a few of her favorite bones, and some of her fav treats. I got her some expensive pee pee pads, that boast no smell. We put the pee pee pad in the bathroom at night and during the day so if she has to go, she goes on the pad instead of on the carpet, or the tile. I also got another ashtray, because we only had two ashtrays for three smokers, so it we were always fighting over ashtrays. Then I got some scors bars, and some Vita water. Liquid herion that boasts health benfits. I swear I love that vita water, and those scores bars. They are what is keeping me fucking fat. I'm going to need to start working out 6 days a week, instead of three days a week.

When I finally got home from all my running around, my dad was in a pissy mood. He had wanted to workout this morning, but he was waiting for me. So when I got home I went on the internet, and started blogging, and then I started to nod, and I went into my room so my parents wouldn't notice. I wound up falling asleep until dark, which is around 6:30pm here in Hawaii.

When I got up, my dad had already left for the bar. He's still gone. I'm expeting him home anytime now. He'll be pissed up, and be passing out on the chair next to the couch, and I'll have to get mom up, and get him into bed. So I can watch TV here in the Living room, until I'm too tired, and need to go in my bedroom. Which is usually around 3 to 5 am. I always end up watching Another Day in Paridise. For whatever reason that movies, whenever I watch it, it inspires me to write. Mostly about Heroin, and Xanax, and Methadone. Yet sometimes, it inspires me to write about other things, like my depression, my suicide that I plan on commiting after my parents die. All that shit.

Although, I think my dad is going to live to be 80 or 90, because, they say when someone has something to live for they hold on for as long as they can to make sure that whatever it is they are living for is taken care of. I worry if I got clean, that my dad would stop worring about me so much and would die sooner rather than later.
I hope both my parents live a long time. I hope that all that time they live, I'm not going to be a depressed, suicidal, maniac for the rest of my life.

What else can I tell you? Not much. I need to work out more. I need to stop with scores. Today I would say I ate about 6 scores bars, and drank three vita waters. Mother fucker. The only exersize I had was walking thru the mall, and back to my car, and up and down the stairs to the clinic, and taking Elle out for her walks. Non of which got my heart rate high enought to burn off all the calories I took in.

I need to make an appointment with my PCP, to get a pap smear, and to get back on my thyroid meds. Maybe I can get a script to Adderal, or Ritlan, or Dexadrine amphetin. (spelling.) I used to be on Adderal for my ADD, and it helped me get shit done, and it took the pounds off fast, because I never ate. The only time I ate is when I would get a head ache from not eating. I stopped taking them, becaue I was never able to sleep and it made my depressions worse. I tried to off myself by taking a whole bottle of my speed pills. Ever since then, I haven't asked another doctor to perscribe me ADD meds. I even tried the non narcotic ADD meds, but they made me piss the bed. Poor Pete had to pull me out of the bed when he realized I was pissing the bed. We had just gotten a new thousand dollar bed from my parents. When I was on those meds, pete was always trying to wake me up when he noticed I was peeing. I never did, so all he could do was pull off the bed, and let me pee on the floor, and let me clean up after myelf in the morning.

Pete must have really loved me. He's seen me at my worst. One time after anal sex, I had shit all over my back, and it was green. Whenever I drink grape soda my exerment turns green. Not sure why. I should google that. He's seen me drunk, and fight him fist fight, naked in a bar, infront of all his freinds. He's seen me almost rob drug stores. He's put up with me stealling money from him for drugs. Which he did break up with me for, but he ended up taking me back.

If it weren't for Pete being tied down, I'd probably still be with him. Even tho we broke up, and all that stuff. When we thought we had to be out of Hawaii by Feb.28th, Pete offered me a place to stay with him in Flordia. All I had to do was have sex with him again. The last time I had sex was with him, December of 07. So its been over a year. I wonder if Pete's had sex since then? He would tell me.

I'm sure he's had the chance, but sometimes Pete's picky, but when he's drunk, he'll literlly go home with anyone. A drag Queen if he was drunk enough. Expesially if he was on benzos. He has no memory if he drinks and takes benzos. No memory at all. I used to drink myself into blackouts ever night when I was homeless in Oconto Falls. I would wake up with Josh, or Pablo, or Pete in bed, and have no idea how the fuck I got there. I was only getting 30mgs Morphine every now and again. So when I didn't have opiates, or benzo's I would drink myself into a blackout, so I could forget my problems for a while, the problem with the drinking was, it made me even more depressed, and after a few weeks of blackout drunks everynight, I would be suicidal. Telling everyone who would listen that I wanted to die, but I didn't have the guts to kill myself any way, but with a gun, and nobody would give me a gun. ASSHOLES.

One day, after the guy I liked alot feel inlove with a woman I introduced him to, I packed up and moved back up to Michigan where my father was living, and where I new doctors where willing to perscribe me Dilaudid. HMMMMMMMMMMMMM..........I miss Dilaudid. MMMMMMMMMMMM............ I miss Heroin. Damn I hate this Methadone, mixed with benzos. It never makes me feel as good as a shot of Diladid, or Heroin does.

What to do, what to do.
I got to go, my father just go home from the bar, drunk, and of course he sat on the chair next to the couch, eathing like a fucking pig. I gotta get him to go into his fucking room.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

roses. coming up roses, so you got in a kinda trouble than nobody knows

I am my own parasite, I don't need animals to live, we can share off of our endorphins.
Look on the bright side suicide, look on the dark side I'm on your side

I own my pet virus, I get to pet and name her, her shit is my milk, my milk is her shit.

So I'm done with plagiarism, and I'm moving onto smoking ciggies, and listening to my MP3 player, writing on my blog, whilst my father is sitting on the couch to my left, watching some bullshit television show. He's in a shitty mood, he had plans this morning, but I fucked them up. This morning I had to wake up early to go the Methadone clinic. Before going to the clinic I stopped in the Mall to see if anyone is around. I was quit early in the morning, I'd say 8:30am. Usually business starts at the mall around 6am, and by noon everyone has cleared out of the mall.

When I got to the mall, there was no-one around, that had what I needed. As I mentioned before I'm always worried about my stash being low. So I'm always looking to keep it full. So I don't have to hurt. So I walked around the spots they are usually at, and no-one. In the morning alot of the people I know, go sit upstairs at Mcdonalds, and watch the three LCD TV screens they have up their always turned to CNN, and Fox News, etc...
I just happened to go up their, and I seen someone I know, and I asked if he had seen someone I know, and he said yes, but he's not sure where his at the moment. Then the guy comes over to me, and asks, "What are you looking for?" I whisper back, "Bars, I've got fifty bucks". He tells me he will give me twenty for the forty bucks, and to sit right where I am, and he'll be right back. He went over to his table, and got the goods, and walked over to me, and said, "Here, here's 25, I take the fifty dollars. He said count it, and I said, I'll take your word for it.

I put my goods in a safe place, and I said goodbye pleasantly to my the guy, and I walked outside, and went towards where the car was parked. It was a few blocks away, so it was a paranoid walk as it always is. I got to my car, I had put a buck fifty in the parking meter thinking I was going to be in the mall longer, but as fate would have it, the one time I put enough time in the parking meter, I have 45 minutes left over. Not that I'm complaining I hope the person who parked their after me.

I got in my car, and drove my ass to the methadone clinic. I went up the elevator to the third floor, and I noticed that their was something going on in the group room. It was all set up, and we were suppose to go in, and pick out a group that we wo.................

I'm sorry I'm going to have stop writing now. I'm going off into fairly land, toodeloo.
write more later, maybee.
Sorry. I'm a stupid junky, and I don't need your permission to bury my love under the cycle cell.

Monday, February 9, 2009

Disregard last blog, I was high. I said too much, should kept it too myslef.

The blog before this one, is well rambeling. I had nothing speical to say, and was just worried about giving my money away to junkes.

I'm also nodding out, and in the last post I nodded out for a half hour, and I can't re read it, because I can't keep track of the words, and its hard for me to write this. So I'm done.

Am I letting him walk all over me. I don't love him, but he is my friend, and he is in need.

Right now I'm at the VA hospital with my father. He is going into see the Dentist to get a cleaning, and one filling. I figure I'm going to be here for a while, so I decided to bring the laptop. I don't have much battery left, so I'm might not have long to write this blog.

I've pretty much given up on my Myspace blog, because every time I write a in depth blog, and go to post the blog, and it is deleted, because of Myspace error, so I guess blogger reader's lucked out because myspace technical difficulties have sent me here to blog more often.

This morning, I when I woke up, I went to look thru my benzo collection, to see how much I had left. As I've written before, there is a drought with benzo's because first because, its the beginning of the month, and all us addicts get our welfare, and buy the sellers out, and second the mall where the sellers usually are, is hot.

When I counted that I only had at most six days worth of benzos. Which could be worse, but it could be better. I have no idea when the drought will be over, and Xanax will be back on the Market.

So today, my dad didn't want to drive me to the clinic, so I drove myself. I of course drove thru China Town to see if I could find a good parking spot to see if anyone was around holding. No parking, so I went straight to the clinic. I walk in the clinic, and Jake was sitting there. He was benzo sick, and looking very depressed. As always I have a soft spot for Jake, and all addicts in general. I asked Jake what was wrong, and he said, "Oh, nothing, I just want to get off this Methadone, and it feels like I'll never be able to do it."
I didn't say anything back, I just looked at him, and my looks said I know honey, I know! I waited for a few minutes to get my dose, and then I told Jake I'd give him a ride to the bus stop. When we got in the car, I asked Jake if he had any money. He said he didn't. Which I'm not sure if its true or not, but I said lets stop at the food court at the Pineapple factory, and I'd get him some money out of the ATM. I got 60 dollars out, and gave Jake 20. ( I felt bad, because Jake was benzo sick, and I had bought all his benzo off him the other day. So in reality I'm the reason he was benzo sick. After I got the money out, I told Jake I'd drive him to the Mall. So I did, and I parked in a parking lot that cost five bucks per hour. I had to be home by 11am because my dad had a Dentist appointment, so I had to make this fast. I had decided to just go in the mall and see if by chance anyone was holding. No one had Xanax, but I just happened to come at the right time to buy some Valium, 10mgs. Which I bought 20 of, which cost me 40 dollars. I gave Jake two, and some other lady one, because she's helped me out before.
So I came home, with 17 10mg generic Valium which is called Diazepam. I paid 2 dollars a piece for, which I should have only paid 1 dollar a piece for, but if I would have paid 1 dollar, the middle person, who is my usual person I go to wouldn't have made any money off the deal. So now I have...I hope, knock on wood, enough benzo's to get me thru this drought.

I don't know why I gave Jake 20 dollars, and two of my Valium. Although on our way to the mall, in the car, we were talking about how hard it is to get off Methadone, and Jake was feeling really caught. He wants to be able to get high off a shot of H, and not have to pay a hundred dollars just to get high, or even more. Jake, was feeling like there is no way out of the situation he is in. Homeless, working, and for cash on boats, and sleeping on those boats, and using anything and everything to keep the depression from getting the best of him. Then he said, " I'm thinking of getting a revolver, and get off the dope that way. I don't have any kids, and I'm pretty much dead to my parents, so the revolver would be a good way to stop using."
I looked at him, and I said, "you mean suicide". In his sentence he never used the word suicide or killing himself, he just looked at it as means to stop using. Stop the methadone, which blocks him from feeling the Heroin, which would make him happy for at least a little while.

I totally know exactly what Jake is feeling. I feel that way almost everyday. Then Jake says, " I would like go back to the Main Land, but I'll never be able to gather enough money to get there."
I told Jake, about my plans to move to Olympia, and he looked at me, and says, that's where I want to go too, he said he has friends up there.

I would love to help Jake out of the situation he is in right now. He's stuck in a box, and he can't get out. I thought about offering him to come with me in Sept, but then I thought again, and said to myself, "I have to take care of myself, and Jake...Jake, need a lot of taking care of more than I do. I couldn't have him living with me, as friends, because we'd end up using together, and I'd never accomplish my goals. I want to see Jake happy, and see him accomplish his goals.

It's just too much. I'd be willing to fly to Washington with him, get him out of Hawaii, and then we'd go out separate ways. Him getting off the methadone, and me getting off the methadone, and work on making myself a better writer.

I'm not in love with Jake, its just I relate to him. IN every way. I feel like when I help him, I'm helping myself. I gave him money which I guess if I look at this way...less money for me to spend on benzos, and in turn it is helping me. Its hurting Jake tho. I hope that Jake will take the two Valium, get well, and spend that twenty bucks on something other than drugs. Maybe he'd get a good dinner, or save the money for when he really need sit. Still us junkies are all about instant gratification, and that money is going to burn a hole in his pocket. He will buy something sweet, to satisfy his opiate sweet tooth, and then he'll go out, and buy something to stop the depression he's in for at least a few hours.

did I do the wrong thing. Money...the root of all evil.

I help people, even if I hate most people, because its the right thing to do. No matter how down and out that person is, no matter if he is wasting his life, or if he is mental unstable. They are all human, and that could anyone of us someday.

We could all think that will never happen to me, I better than that, but in reality you never know. I hope it never happens to you.
I'm lucky to have such great parents. Such a loving family. I'm lucky in many ways. I'm thankful, and Will always be thankful for everything good in my life.
I got to go, some bitch is snoring next to me, in the waiting room.

Downers unite

Downer girls and boys unite. We are the future of Heroin, and all opiates. We love to feel no pain, emotional, nor physical. We love to feel like a child being held by mommy, safe and sound, falling asleep in her arms, waking up to smoke a ciggy, and accidentally burning mommy's belly when we nod back out.

Speed still sucks, and makes crazy people even more crazy. Speed is for people who are not naturally crazy, and amped at all times. They need to use ice, speed, crank, crack, blow, feel as we do on a normal day, except for the initial rush of endorphins, and dopamine, and the such, all you are is wired, and sleep seems to never come, and you back at your original state. Wide awake, thinking, and thinking, mind won't stop. Speed freaks, are my total opposite.

Yet, I'll use speed, ice, rock, if I have no opiates, or benzos, and NEED to feel something other than what I'm feeling at that moment. Don't get me wrong, I love a speed ball every...chance I get, but uppers just aren't for me. I'm wound tight naturally, I don't to be wound any tighter, because I'm sure I will break.

So downers, I love you. You give me what my brain can't normally give me. Before I found opiates, I was unable to take a nap, and I only slept for 4 hours at most a night. My mind just would not stop thinking, no matter what relaxation techniques I tried.

Just thought I talk about my favorite drug. Explain why I went down the downer road, instead of upper road. I'm a downer kinda gal.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

First off I'm going to state a few facts. First, my favorite book is Catcher in the Rye. I live in Honolulu Hawaii, where I am reciving psychiatric help for my mental illness. I am obsessed with a dead rock star, Kurt Cobain. I idolize him, and write about him, and think about him, and research him. In a way I want to become him. Except I have not learned to play music. So I write, I write about myself, and my flaws, and my thoughts, and every other thing I can think of to write about. My mom works as a nurse in Hawaii. My dream is to move to New York, and live as a writer.

Okay, now I'm moving on to the man who shot John Lennon. First off his favorite book is Catcher in the Rye. He is from Honolulu Hawaii. His name I can't recall...the man who shot John Lennon. He too was obsessed with a rock star, John Lennon. He was mentally unstable, and idolized The Beatles, and excpecially John Lennon. John Lennon's killer, read every thing he could find about John Lennon, and he had this thing about coincidences. Nothing can be a coincidences he thought. John Lennon's killer considered himself a writer. He flew from Hawaii to New York, where John Lennon lived, and he waited outside his building three days to see John Lennon. He keeps reading "The Catcher in the Rye", and he believes himself to be Holden Caulfield. Holden Caulfield left school, and traveled around Manhattan to find himself, which John Lennon's killer thought himself to be doing.

OMG, I'm a fucking crazy person who is just as crazy as the guy who killed John Lennon.

Right now I'm watching the movie Chapter 27, the movie about the guy who killed John Lennon.
John Lennon's killer's mom works at Castle Hospital as a nurse. She is still alive and working at that hospital, a hospital my mom worked at last time she lived here.

I'm not going to kill anyone. I would never kill anyone, well perhaps myself, but never anyone else. I've had psychotic breaks before, and have been hospitalized twice because of it. All my violence was always focused on myself.

John Lennon's killer was schizophrenic, and I'm Bi Polar, with hallucinations that happen when I'm in a hyper manic state for more than week or two. I hear voices, Jody is real, but I after I come back to a lucid state, I realize that Jody is not real.

I'm not like John Lennon's killer.
Kurt Cobain killed himself, and I am not Kurt Cobain.

Mark David Chapman is the name of John Lennon's killer.

I am not Holden Caulfield, and I will not kill a living thing ever intentionally.

I will never watch this movie again, and there are such things as coincidences.

Crazy people make for the best writers, and well I'm crazy, now I just have to learn how to write like one.

Saturday, February 7, 2009

falling, screaming, flying, dieing, being....

I'm seems like there is no end to the tunnel I'm falling down. I'm not scared, I'm more interested in what will happen when I hit the bottom. What will death be like? Will it be like a dreamless sleep? Will I be judged at the Pearly gates? Will I burn in hell? What will become of the matter that makes me, me?

I'm falling, and flying, now I'm scared, where will I land? Who will I end up with, and what will I end up with? Is my heart going to be broken? Will the only person I love die, and leave me behind? Will Heroin stop taking away my fear? Will my tolerance kill me, will I die before my parents, and in turn killing them?

I want a breeze that smells like lilacs to come over me. I want to close my eyes, and feel an inner peace, a peace nobody can take away from me. I want to find Nirvana. I want the grass to be green and tall, with flowers everywhere. I want to sit in the tall grass, smelling the breeze, feeling the elusive happiness forever. I want to look into the abyss and get lost forever.

My words on paper, on screen, I want them to be read, and felt. I don't want to wash away, without being remembered.

Will I point a gun at someones head, will their blood be on my hands and face? what would it feel like? Will a gun be pointed at my head, and the trigger pulled, bang I'm dead. Will paranoia take over and will I be afraid of ever noun?

I want to smoke my cigarettes, and watch the sun set over the Atlantic Ocean, while it pouring rain. I want to be so skinny I'm a bag of bones. I want veins that stick out, ripe waiting to be punctured. Waiting to be severed. I want, I want, I want..........and the narcassim grows, deeper and deeper inside. I feel more and more guilty, until I can't stand it. Vanity kept me from writing, when I lost my vanity, I turned to words. I was never the most beautiful female, and my words will never be the most beautiful.

Lust comes over me, and I cry myself to sleep, and I go to my old haunts, wanting, wishing, praying, stopping, and now I can't feel it. Now I'm too numb, to be alive, to feel the most intense pain, is what makes the most beautiful words cum out of my head, and jump onto a page, and methadone keeps me too numb to write. I need the sick, high, sick, high, emotional rollercoaster to write like a wounded soul. To burn your heart with my words, to sear my words into your head, its all I want.

Its time for my confession, Its the hour of my sleep, and there is a voice within me, waiting to scream, until deaths comes to take me away from the words. To take me away form the love of my life. Death are you welcome, or shall I fear you like a title wave? I can smell the salt water, and I know sharks swim beneath me, and death is at my door.

I hate this post, but I will post it.

Thursday, February 5, 2009


I hate facebook. Its not like myspace, where you make your profile, and can tell about yourself, and write blogs, and yadi, yadi, yada. Facebook, is a place for people who can maintain close friendships, relationships with people, and they can leave comments about whats going on in there life, or where they are going to meet tonight and get drunk, or carpool.

Really, I was just on Facebook, because I'm still getting a bunch of happy birthdays, and I got one from a girl I went to highschool with. Her name is Ashley G. Ashley is beautiful, thin, smart, popular, happy, hardworking, able to maintain healthy relationships with other human beings.

Ashley had left me a happy belated birthday message, and I decided to go look at her photos. She has something like 200. In every photo, with or without makeup she is so beautiful. She has perfect teeth, big blue eyes, pout lips, and she is always surrounded by friends, and her boyfriend. The photos with her and her boyfriend she is kissing him on the cheek, or lips, or they are cuddled together. She looks so perfect, she looks so happy, and successful. Did I mention that she went to school for broadcasting, journalism, and she now works at television station, or new station. I'm sure she will someday be on air talent.

In highschool, Ashley was the sweetest girl, popular, athletic, funny, and dateing the funniest guy in school...Clayton. Her relationship with Clayton wasn't a perfect relationship, Clayton was possessive, and jealous. He one ran her off the road while chasing her in his truck, and he once slashed her tires. I'm sure their fights were drop down drag out fights. So love goes, if you love someone its hard to walk away from it. Even if the relationship isn't healthy. Then Ashley went away to College, and Clayton got a good job at a trucking company. The dated for awhile while she was away at college, on and off, but eventually they parted ways for good. I think Ashley will always be Clayton's "one that got away". of the seven deadly sins. I have two best friends that after highschool became successful, and are still thin, and drop dead beautiful. Kaycee and Katrina. I keep intouch with Kaycee more, thru myspace. Katrina is very busy, she works alot, and she party's alot, but I love both so very much. Ashley was friends with both Kaycee and Katrina too. In highschool I was a floater, I just hung out with whichever group liked the same music as me, and liked to escape from reality with drugs and alcohol as much as me. I ended up getting into a relationship with a older guy, and really I stopped hanging around with anybody else. I'm like that, I always have one person I'm close to, and whom ever that person is, its just me and that person. We rarely let other people into our friendship, and before I was on drugs, I wanted to hang out with others. I wanted to party, get it out of system. I wanted to be in a band, and be cool. Instead, I let the relationship stay more important than my social life. I was afraid of being alone.

When I would go to parties, I was always the odd man out. I'd say hi to people, but everyone would go off in their groups, and I didn't have a group to go off into. I felt left out, and unwanted. I wasn't funny enough, or pretty enough, etc...
If a guy paid any kind of attention to me, I was floored, and of course fell in love right away. Afraid that no one else would fall for me again. My first boyfriend reinforced this in me. Always telling me I was nothing without him, and all that shit. When I ended up leaving him five years later, he was devastated. I found Pete, who was everything I wanted. A guy in a band, dirty, his taste in music was totally Midwest death metal cliche'. My first boyfriend like the same cliche' music, but Pete was into more obscure music, and his taste was more eclectic than my first boyfriends. Last time I saw my first boyfriend, it had been like 5 years since we broke up, and he told me he was still in love with me. Now when I think back on him, I'm totally disgusted that I ever went out with him. He was a lowlife redneck. Lowlife is a bit harsh, but he wasn't going anywhere in life. He couldn't hold down a job, and he killed deer. I told myself I'd never date another man who hunts, unless he was hunting to feed his family because we lived in the woods far away from civilization.

Now, I'm 26, and single. I've gone thru two long relationships with men who had as poor a work ethic as I do. Me and Pete, well we worked, because we had too. We had to pay rent, and buy food, and drugs. Pete and I loved watching movies. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, oh what a perfect movie. Its about falling in love, and then falling out of love. Then erasing your mind of the person you loved so it didn't hurt so much after the break up, but in the end the happen across each other again, and fall in love again.

Your probably asking, how I went from my jealously of Ashley G. to falling in love...with another human, and not a drug. Although the drug will always be my mistress. Right now I'm so not ready for love. I have to get the fuck out of this unhealthy living situation, and get away from my parents go to College, and get thin again. This will be hard for me. I'm a Heroin addict, and I'm on methadone. I'm afraid of living without the methadone, and relapsing, and throwing away any future books I have in me.
If I don't get out, I wont have any life, lived to take from to write about. My memoir is all about my adventures living out on my own, or with a boyfriend. Nothing interesting happens living with my parents. Yes, Kaycee, this is because I've reverted back into a child like state. Letting my parents take care of me, and enabling me to do nothing. The best thing they could do for me is to make me leave. When I get accepted into a community college out of State, they should just let me go. I'd still call them everyday, and visit home for the holidays, and they could come visit me. I just have to get back out on my own. I have to convince them, that just because they let Angie live alone so young, 19 she was, when they left the house to her, and she threw beer parties, and one night she got drunk and drove, and ended up dieng. Now my parents are literally terrified of letting me go. They want me in the same state at least, but I need to get out of the same state as them. I need to live my life. Maybe study abroad in the UK. Maybe find someone to love. There is so much shit I'm missing out on right now, trying to keep my parents happy, and keeping them from worrying, that if it keeps going this way, I'm going to have missed out on life. I'll start having to write fiction. OMG, and have an imagination. I do have an active imagination, but to put it in order and write it out, and then make a book out of it, seems too daunting. Just writing a memoir, of my life as a drug addict is/was daunting. Getting everything organized in my mind, and finding the words to convey the way I felt, and the things I experienced was hard enough. I totally need a bigger vocab. I have a pretty good vocab, compared to the average person, at least I think. To the average person who went to highschool at Oconto Falls highschool. This is not a dig at Kaycee, Katrina, or Ashley, but at all the rednecks who quite highschool sophomore year. Alot of kids in my class didn't graduate. The drop out rate in my old highschool was above the national average. I'm not sure where it ranks now.

I don't want to blame my parents for anything. I love them dearly, and know they brought me up the best they could. They loved me more than anyone could ever love another person. They always got me what I asked for, my dad especially. Its just they never really taught me how to live in the real world by myself. How to pay bills, save money, leave the nest. I try to break away, and all hell breaks loose, and I'm guilted, or pushed into doing, moving, going, living, someplace I don't want to. Going out on my own, tho, I could do if I just had work ethic, but with only a highschool education, I'd have to work at a job I hated, to make money to live. So to go out on my own, I'd need help from my parents. Like rent payed, and utilities payed until I got grants and loans. Which they could help me with. My parents make good money, but they don't know the meaning of saving money. If they have the money they spend the money. No one ever set up a college fund for us. Well actually when my papa killed himself in his will he left all us grand kids 4 thousand dollars for when we turned 18. Which instead of investing in school, I bought a car with. Now that car is being driven by my uncle. I had to ditch it when I was running from legal problems.

Anyway...point is, looking at Ashley's facebook photos, makes me so envious, it all comes so easy to her, and here I am. It all so not easy for me, or maybe it is, but I'm making it hard for myself. One thing is for sure, Ashley was, and is alot smarted than I am. She's making her dreams come true, because she understands that to achieve anything you have to put effort into it, and work hard, as hard as you possible can, because it not going to be handed to you. That's for sure.

My next post might be about my secret. I'm ashamed of this secret, but I like Sex and the City, even tho it about consumerism, that they don't need. How pretty all the actresses are, and thin, how perfect their lives are, even tho they have trouble in the love department, which is one of the problems I too have.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

It's official, I'm a full fledged adult. I'm 26 years old. I've lived a life full of the beautiful, and the ugly. I've lost a sister, I was seven when my papa killed himself at our house, and the next night I watched as my father tried to kill himself. I'v fallen in love, and felt butterflys in my belly whenever he would come by, he's fallen inlove back. I've fallen in love, and he never fell in love back. I've been hurt, and I've hurt others. I used almost every drug there is, and I fell in love with one...opiates.

Each year that passes go faster and faster. Each year that passes suicide seems like a more viable option. Such selfish thoughts. I should appreciate each and every moment, experience I've had, and will have. I do appreciate each and every experience I've had. Good or bad. I lived to tell about it. After I'm dead, what would I have to expereince, aside from death? I could wast alot of talent, (lol), I could waste myself, and hurt everyone whos ever loved, or cared about me.

I herd a line on a TV show today, and it said something like, "Artist suffer because they expect instant gratification, and if that gratification isn't as good as they buildt it up in their head to be, they are beyond dissapointed. They question life itself. They question why the fuck am here? To Suffer, so others can read, see, hear....share in my suffering. Instant gratification. We talked alot about that in rehab. In order to over come our addiction we have stop expecting instant gratification.

All will come to those who wait patiently....I can't wait, I'm nodding, and can't finish. Bang, Bang

Sunday, February 1, 2009

One more day, and....

Holy fuck, I'm going to be 26 years old tomorrow. Groundhogs day, and Anna Grace's birthday. I don't want anything big for my birthday. All I ask for is a pair of reading glasses. My eyesight is fine, actually I have very good eyesight, but now that I'm offically in my mid twenties, I want to look a bit more sophisticated. So I figured reading glasses, on a chain. You know what I mean right? Like the teachers in the fifties, with cat eye glasses hanging around their neck. That is what I want, although my glasses wont have a prescription in them, they will still represent something to me. I'm sure while I'm wearing them I'll always feel in the mood to read, and while reading become inspired to write.

Right now I'm not feeling at all inspired to write. I'm just board, and refuse to waste all time watching television. I just finished a book called "Medical Apartheid", about the dark history of Medical experimentation on Black Americans from Colonial Times to the Present. It is a very good read, one of those you can't put down. Its so repulsive, and horrid, that you have to read it. What we humans have done, and still do to each other is down right wrong. In the book, there is this on line that reads, "we doctors in those days, did not look at negro's as humans. They were Animals to us". I gaged when I read that. Just because the doctor's skin was white, and the patients skin was black, they rationalized the inhumanness of their experiments by calling black people animals.

What is wrong with us? Why are we so sure that people with white skin are superior to every other race? We should be considered the worst race, the way we treated, and still treat other ethnic groups is repulsive. Thank God, that Barack Obama won the election, and is now our president. A black man is the head of the most, or one of thee most powerful countries in the world. Hopefully this will send a message to the raciest asses who live in this country, and in other countries around the world.

If only we could stop racism and religious rivalry. Mohamed, Jesus...why oh why is there so much blood shed over who believes in the right "god", and who believes in the wrong "god"?

This book really stuck it to me. Every time my father makes a raciest remark, I'm going to slap his face. If I hear others using raciest remarks, I'm going to practice my own medical experiments on them. Although you can't fight hate with hate. To bad Ghandi isn't still alive. I've never watched the movie Ghandi. Perhaps I'll go to Diamond Head video rentals, and rent that movie. I've read a biography on Ghandi, but that was back in highschool, I need to refresh my memory. So I'm going to spend my birthday, reading a book about Ghandi with my fake reading glasses . Happy birthday to everyone else out there who's birthday I've missed, or is coming up, or is the same day as mine. Its just another day closer to death. I'm still dieing in the Sylvia Plath sense of the word.