Tuesday, March 31, 2009

So close, but never all the way.

It has gotten sickening living here in Hawaii. My mother is like me, she doesn't like to work...unless she lives alone and it fuels her addiction to sex, booze, whatever it as the moment. Last time my mom lived here in Hawaii, her and my father were separated. My was a bar fly, and a drunk. My dad sent me down here to get away from some legal issues I was facing back in my home state.

Of course, what ended up happening, is me and my mom would fight, because I though she was acting like a teenager, and was fucking around on my father. My father was devastated. I was in the middle. Always, I'm in the middle. Gawd, I miss my sister so much.

When it was just me and mom, we lived pretty much separate lives, except on her days off when she would go to the bar to get drunk with her boyfriend at the time, and I would go and sing Karaoke. I sucked at it, but I loved doing it. We lived in a very small place, and as always my mother does not clean up after herself, so when I got their, and it was two of us in this one place I would clean every now and again, but I'd leave for days on end, because either I was sick of my mom, or I had things to do. Like Heroin, benzo's and even some crack. I was sick of being the go between for my parents, and if I fucked up my mom would want to kick me out, and I would have loved to have been kicked out, just to see what it feels like to be thrown to the wayside. My father would never allow that, and he would talk my mom down, and then my dad would get on the phone, and yell at me, and I'd say sorry. After we hung up I was out the door, and on the bus down to China Town.

This time, its, me, mom, and dad all living together here in Hawaii. My mom can't go out and "have fun" like she last time she lived here without my father, and my father has some fucking hold over me, he gilts me into staying with them.

So at around 4pm, my dad got on my case about moving to Washington. He wants to leave Hawaii now, so does my mom because she has to work, and me and dad don't. I can understand that. Even tho my dad is bringing in the most money, its my mom's job that gives us free rent, and other free shit.
My dad laid into me, guilting me in every way he can to make me go back to Wisconsin with them. He kept saying, "you know Anna, its only because of you we are still here right now." I retort back, "Dad, I'm 26 if you leave me here on my own, I can get by. God knows I hate working at jobs I hate, but if I have to I will." I go on to try to explain that its not me that is keeping them here, but its themselves keeping themselves here. I tell them go, go, I will survive, but no they won't. I've always made bad choices for myself. I can't live on my own. I thought that I had until August to get everything in order to go to Washington to go to school, but now my mom wants to sever he contract, and leave next month or in May. Leaving me with limited time to get everything done.

If my sister were alive, this would be a non issue, but because she is dead, I'm the only thing they have to live for, or so they always remind me of, I need to be with them. Is that not the biggest guilt trip a person can be put under.

So in this discussion we were having about me moving to Washington, my dad said, No, Anna your not going to Washington, your moving to Wisconsin with us. I just looked at him and said, dad I'm 26 years old. I can leave and go where ever I want. You cannot tell me what to do. If I decided to pick up and leave today, just up and go and not tell them where I'm going to and never speak to them again, I can. I don't want to do that. I'd rather just go to school and still stay in contact.

So now they refuse to help me get to Washington, or help me pay for school. Knowing they have enough money to help me go to school, but nope they would rather build yet another fucking house. That is three houses they have built, and...wait nope, that is four houses they have built. The cabin up north the they built during Angie senior year of high school, leaving her to her own devices in the house in Wisconsin, which is where she would throw beer parties, and it is where she ended up dieing. My dad go this grant to build another house from the VA. Plus this house will be shared with his brother, my uncle Dave. Who would live in the basement.

What is in Oconto Falls for me? Nothing, except bars, and alcohol. If I can't get my hands on any kind of drug, I always go to the Alcohol, and become even more suicidal than I already am.

After the fight, after I was told that I HAVE to go to Wisconsin, it wasn't up to me, I went into my room, I wrote out a note, explaining why I can't live like my parents pet anymore, and why I have to go out and either make it or not. At least I tried, if I die trying then so be it. With my parents alive, I'm always going to be held back. They don't want me to move on. They want me to be their made, and then make fun of me for being 26 fat, and living with them. Like ha, ha, look what you did to yourself.

Yes I did this to myself, and now I want out. I want to stop doing this to myself. I want to get away from the guilt trips, and the wasted life I'm living.

Tonight I might take my methadone and all my pills and just go to sleep and not wake up. No suicide note, just let them think I died unexpectedly in my sleep. My dad would not let me get a autopsy, he wouldn't let my sister.

This life is just too much. With or without them, I'll always feel guilty. I've been guilt ed my entire life.

There is no way I'm going back to Wisconsin, unless its in a casket. That is all there is too it. Fuck them I'll move to Chicago, live in some ghetto before I go back to Oconto Falls to live.

I can always go down by Pete. I have that escape. All my parents have to do is pay for the airline ticket, and they don't have to worry about me or Elle anymore.

Fuck them. Fuck them for making feel guilty for things I don't have to feel guilty about. They just don't want to feel guilty for leaving me behind, when all I want is for them to leave me behind.

I know I'm in a swirl, I should never contemplate suicide, but fuck if this is what life is, guilt, punishment, sadness.

Today my dad said, Anna's what is holding us back from what we want to do. We are doing this for you, and I tell them go, please go, but no they won't go unless I come with them, so then the resent me for wanting to live my own life. Their worst fear is that I will die before them, but the fucking way its going, the way my mind works, they way I feel is impossible to predict when I will die. If I do die before them I hope its an accident. I can't be too selfish and kill myself.

I don't want to be near my family right now. Its not the best thing for me. When I get to Washington, maybe I can live in an Oxford house for women. You know one of those clean and sober living places. I'll look into that right now for a matter of a fact. I'll plan this move on my own, and fuck them for doubting me. Fuck them for pushing so far that I want to die.

Just Fuck 'em!

Saturday, March 28, 2009

I love heroin.

I know this is a long post, and its almost the same as the other long post I posted...the autobiography one. I didn't get alot of comments at that post because I'm sure not many people took the time to read the post in it's entirety. I sure as hell would have stopped when I got to the second paragraph. This post is a bit different. I hope it will be more entertaining. I hope you read the entire post. If you thank you...and please leave a comment. Tell me what you think, good or bad. All criticism is good, and I can learn for it.

With no further ado...
Where do I start? How do I begin to tell the story of my decent in Heroin addiction? Sitting here writing this, I feel as though opiates have been apart of me subconsciously since the day I was born. Which is ludicrous because my parents had not used opiates even once before I was born. My mother had smoked pot during her formative years.
Though when my mother and father married my mom stopped using pot. Yet, both parents drank, but not at all excessively. Yet still to me, it seems I’ve known since day one that I would look for an escape, an escape from the madness of life. The meaningless I found in life as I grew into adolescents.
I was born in the 1980’s. When Pattie Smith had already led a revolution for women in the music industry. When Rainbow Brite was my favorite toy, and computer’s were still in their infancy. Madonna was at the top of the charts along side of Michal Jackson. The 1980’s were the happiest time of my life. I was a child, with parents whom loved me with every ounce they had within them. My father had a strong work ethic, and he provided for us. I never remember a time I went without. I also had Grandma Betty, and Papa Donald, my fathers parents. The fondest memories I have are with Grandma Betty and Papa Donald, and my little sister Angie. Childhood was like heaven. There was nothing mama couldn't’t shield you from, and there was no hurt grandma couldn't’t kiss away. I felt so safe, every night lying next to my little sister. Knowing mom and dad were in the next room, protecting us from monsters, and boogeyman.
I grew up in a small town, where drugs aside from pot, and maybe some Coke were scarce. In Elementary school, I remember a friend of mine snorting chalk and pretending it was cocaine. This friend wrote a note to another friend asking for the coke. The teacher intercepted this note, and thought they were talking about soda. He asked, “Okay, who has the soda”. This was my first introduction into drugs. Even though it was only chalk, the fact that you used a straw and snorted it up your nose made it very interesting. Of course it would be a number of years before I used real cocaine.
In middle school I became aware of this movement going on in music in Seattle. I remember the first time I herd Nirvana’s “Smells like Teen Spirit”, and chills went up my back. I was in Sixth grade, and at a sleep over with three or four other friends. We had all brought CD’s that we liked, but I didn’t have any CD’s because I didn’t have a CD player. One friend brought Nirvana’s Nevermind. The year was 1994, the winter of, and I had no idea that Kurt Cobain had killed himself that spring. I had no idea who Kurt Cobain was.
The next morning after the sleep over I asked my friend if I could borrow the Nirvana CD, and I got my parents to buy me a CD player. When we went shopping for for CD’s I found that Nirvana had two other CD’s, Bleach, and In Utero. I had my mom buy me all three of the Nirvana Albums. Then I found the band Hole’s Live through this, and “Teenage Whore”. I was in love. I had no idea who these people were, I just knew I liked the music they played. I liked the way it made me feel. When I decided to look closer into this band Nirvana, I found out that I was too late. The lead singer had committed suicide. I remember feeling this overwhelming feeling of anger, and curiosity.
When I was seven my grandma Betty died of Cancer, and two months later my Papa Donald killed himself in our garage. The day after they found the body of my Papa, my dad got drunk, and tried to kill himself by hanging in front of me, my sister, and my mother. I just sat there and watched. At that moment I became obsessed with suicide. In Elementary school one day both of my best friends, told me that they didn’t want to be friends with me anymore, and I tried to kill myself by swallowing a plastic bag. Needless to say… it didn’t work.
After I found out that Kurt Cobain had committed suicide, and after I watched whatever interview I could find of him, I noticed he spoke about suicide a lot in his interviews. I also noticed that he had this look, black circles around his eyes, and he was skinny and dirty. He talked about punk music, and politics. He was married and had a child with Courtney Love, the lead singer of the other band I found “Hole”.
I knew that Kurt and Courtney had a drug problem, with Heroin. I don’t want to make it seem like the reason I began using Heroin was because of Kurt Cobain. I didn’t even start using opiates until I graduated from High School. The first time I used an opiate, Kurt Cobain did not even cross my mind.
So here I was, 13-14 years old, and I missed had missed out on the one scene I could relate to was over, and I was too young to join. In middle school I was an ugly kid. I had to grow into my looks. I felt isolated, and alone. My friends from elementary school had found new cliques to join, and I was on my own. In a small town, and being an out cast was hard. I had no self esteem. It was at this age I emerged myself into music, Poe, Mazzy Star, Fiona Apple, Butthole Surfers, Nada Surf, Marilyn Manson etc… I also began to write. I wrote horrible poetry, and plagiarized a lot of that poetry from songs I was listening to while writing the teen angst poetry.
When I was 14 I ran away from home. I really just snuck out, and stayed out with “the bad kids” all night. Somehow my dad found out where I was, and he went to the girls house, and kicked in the door, and pulled the hair of the girl who was hiding me. I was in that house, but I hid myself well enough, that he didn’t find me. After my dad left, I left the house, and went home, where I cried, and wailed, and realized my parents just did not understand me as all adolescents feel. I took a bottle of Tylenol, and a half hour later I told my mom what I had done. This was my first cry for help suicide attempt. It was also my first stay at a nut house for three weeks.
When I got out, school started the next week, and of course living in a small town, everyone knew that I had tried to off myself. I remember at recess a bunch of boys came up to me with a note, and I opened the note, and it said, “next time, use a gun”. They ran off laughing. I didn’t cry, I thought to myself, next time I will use a gun.
I got thru that year, I don’t really remember that year all that well. The next year was my Freshman year of high school. Over the summer I put on ten pounds, and was around 130lbs, and I was called fat. My Freshman year was one of the worst years of my adolescents. I had no friends, and the people who were sort of like me, I didn’t like. So I kept to myself. That year I also started to drink. After I started drinking, I found some people that I didn’t mind hanging around with. There was this guy who had an apartment, and his mom was never home, so we would all go to his apartment, and get drunk. I tried smoking weed, but I ended up having an allergic reaction to it. I tried it three more times, and each time I had an allergic reaction. I would swell up, and my throat would start to close. There was this one guy there who was a lot older than us, and he gave me benadryl, and after that I never smoked pot again.
The older kids liked the same music as me, and they smoked opium. So I started smoking opium. Which really just made me tired, and gave me good dreams. I liked the smell of it. Mainly though, I just drank alcohol because it was cheap and easily available.
After I got into high school, I had a curfew of midnight. Which I rarely made. My parents tried everything family counseling, and tough love. None of which stopped me from being strange. I lost my Virginity because I just wanted to get rid of it. So I picked a guy whom I though was attractive, and I fucked him. There were two other boys in the room watching us. It hurt, but I was glad I was no longer a virgin. I was 13, and a teenage whore. People in my class found out that I got fucked, and that followed me thru out high school, and perhaps even to this day back home.
Freshman year I skipped eighth hour, and went to some kids house, and took five shots of whisky in a row, and was drunk within minutes. I was the only girl, there were four other boys. I had just gotten done with my period, and I didn’t shower that morning so my pussy smelled like fish horrible. I ended up fucking two boys, well really I fucked one guy, and the second just took advantage of the fact that I was so drunk I couldn’t get away from him, and he tried shove his cock down my throat, but I wouldn’t, so he stuck in my stinky pussy. I remember some parts of this day, but not others. I remember the guy who fucked me after I had fucked the fist guy slapped me because I was crying. I kept telling him I didn’t want to fuck him, and he kept telling me I was lucky to have gotten to fuck him, because I was so ugly no other guy in school would fuck you unless it was a secret.
That secret didn’t stay a secret for long. I truly was considered the Teenage whore of high school. My parents never knew about this.
Sophomore year came and went. I hooked up with some stupid redneck who was 5 years older than I. I was 15 he was 20, and he accepted me. He and I disagreed on music, and on everything. There was no punk rock scene in Oconto Falls WI, or even the bigger city of Green Bay WI. No one in my school created a band, it was just rednecks, jocks, preps, and greasers. I refused to join any group, and stayed an outcast. For a girl its hard to not be apart of a group. No boys liked me, which is probably the reason I dated a redneck loser.
After my sophomore year, I was still considered a Freshman, so I got put in an alternative school. I only had to go four hours a day, and I have seven days I could call in a month, for any reason. The teacher at the alternative school was always coming up with great creative ideas for us to learn from. We made a PSA that aired on MTV, and this teacher introduced me to beatnik writing.
Allen Ginsberg was my savior, I’d read his poetry and be in awe. Howl, a poem as long as a short story. Along with Allen G. I found Jack Kerouac, and Neil Cassidy, and Ken Kesey. I read Timothy Leary, and wished LSD was around, but it wasn’t. I knew I wanted to write the moment I found William S. Burroughs “Junky”. I had known before that I wanted to use Heroin, but I lived in a small town. My senior year my dad got a script to Oxycontin, and he got a lot of them. It was like it was meant to be. Opiates, tons of opiates sitting in my bathroom closet.
The first time I ate a Oxycontin 20mg, I knew, I just knew I wanted to feel that way. I had an endless supply, and I no longer needed people. If I did encounter people, I could talk to them without seeing them as associated with a group. They were just another person just like me. I had long ago gotten rid of my redneck alcoholic boyfriend, and vowed to never ever date a man who didn’t listen to underground music, and who didn’t know who William S. Burroughs.
When I was 20, I was at a wedding of a friend, we were not close friends, but we knew each other and went to high school together, and that’s all it took to get an invite to a wedding in my town. At this wedding I met the bride’s brother. He lived in Appleton about 60 miles away, and he wore a shirt with a nun on the front, masturbating, and her breasts where hanging out. I was immediately intrigued, and I could tell he was by me. We both didn’t mingle, we just sat outside and smoked cigarettes, and I was writing in my notebook aka journal. Suddenly he came over by me, as I was writing in my journal, and he pulled out his notebook’s at least four, full of poetry, and good poetry, dark, but good. He also pulled out the book “One the Road”. I was head over heals. He had been in a band, and he lived a life fueled with drugs and parties, women. He lived with 4 or 5 other roommates. He was everything I wanted to be.
After the wedding I didn’t see him for two or three weeks. I wrote about him in my journal all the time. I dreamt of him in my sleep. I wondered what he was doing every moment of the day. A few weeks later a car pulled in my driveway, and he came up to the front windows and peeked in. I was sitting on the couch listening to…of course Nirvana’s In Utero. He had brought a twelve pack of beer, and we sat up talking all night long. We drank, and drank, we went for a walk under the moon. When morning came around we were tired, and I asked him if he was going to fuck me. So he came over and sat by me.
I took off my shirt, and bra. He touched my breast softly, and then he put his mouth on my left nipple. He licked it for a few seconds, and then went to my right nipple, and licked it for a second. He took of his shirt, and I unbuttoned his jeans. He pulled his jeans off. Then he pushed me on my back and kissed me like I’d never been kissed. He unbuttoned my jeans and took them off. He rubbed his big hard cock all over my wet pussy. I could feel that burning in my loins. He wouldn’t shove his cock in me, instead he licked my neck, down to my breast, and nibbled on my nipples, then his tongue went down my stomach, and to my inner thighs. My pussy was so wet my thighs were covered in my pussy juices. He wouldn’t put his tongue on my pussy. He just opened up my pussy lips with his fingers, and blew his hot breath on my clit. I couldn’t take it anymore, I need his tongue on my clit now, and I pushed his face right in my pussy. He ran his tongue up and down from the top of my pussy to the my anus. He had stubble, and whenever his stubble would touch my clit I would come close to cumming. He inserted a finger in my pussy, and lubed up another finger with my pussy juice and put it in my anus ever so gently. He finally took his tongue to my clit, and slowly he licked it, ever so lightly. I was so ready to cum, all it took was three seconds to cum. As soon as I came he thrust his big hard cock in my wet, wet pussy. He fucked me hard, then slow, he turned me over, and fucked me from behind, while I rubbed my clit, and came again making me even wetter. We fucked for two hours, he came three time, and I came four. After all that penetrating, and rubbing, we fell asleep, and didn’t wake up until it was dark out. I woke up before him, and I took his cock into my mouth, and ran my tongue around the tip until his cock got bigger and bigger. Then I took the whole cock down my throat, and back up again, and down deep again. Then I used my hands and as I went down on him with my mouth I would twist my hand around his shaft. I took his cock in between my breasts, and let him fuck my tits, while I sucked on the tip rolling my tongue around the head, and then I took his cock all the way down my throat, and I felt his warm cum hit the back of my through, and I kept sucking, until he pulled away.
From that point on, we couldn’t get enough of each other, physically and mentally. He was so smart, and knew so much about underground music. He would bring to Appleton, and we would fuck on the porch under the moonlight, and in his room in candlelight. We would stay up and read our poem’s to each other. He would tell me stories of his past, and all the drugs he’d done. All the LSD, and of course I was so jealous that he got to trip many many times, and I never got to.

Well, you've made it to the end. Now leave a comment. I made myself so horny writing that scean I ended up masterbating as soon as I was done, and it was 4am.

Friday, March 27, 2009

blame it on a black star!

I wish I could sound smart while talking about cosumersim and capitolizm, but I can't. I don't know enough about it.

I hope someday someone stops this brainwashing, and I hope someday drugs are legalized.

I'm so fucking sick of living with my parents. I have zero privacy. I have no time to fill the hole within me. The hole some fill with religion, other with drugs. Some fill it by buying things they don't need. There is hole in all of us. What are we suppose to fill it with. Go to a prison and you will find that the majority of the population has found some kind of religion.

What are we suppose to think about organized religion? Its caused the death of more human beings than any natrual disaster ever has. There are so many religions to choose from, how so you know which one is right?

As I've mentioned a million times in this blog, and my Myspace blog, I'm going down on my Methadone...trying to get off. I've applied at a college in Seattle...Central Seattle. My parents do NOT want to let me go, but I have to go. I'm 26, and I'm sorry.

My parents, their the ones who will be screamsing at me when I fall off the "wagon", there the ones who will be so broken down, when I realize I can't take the pain of this world anymore. I'll be the one crying because I couldn't hold on to life long enough to make art, to write something that will change the way they feel about themselves.
My parents are middle class, and I'm an only surviving child, we all live with a broken heart now that my sister is gone from this plane of existance, or perhaps any plane of exitance.

I'm worn out, I can't help to want to keep my parents happy, but it wears me out.

If i could be you who you wanted...all the time....all the time, I would, but it wears me out.

Why the fuck am I even writing any of this shit. I'll never find it, I'll always be slave to my parents will. I always be scared to go, and to me at the age of 26 having a mother and father so over fucking proctective is like haveing freinds telling to so something you don't want to do.

I can't even feel love for anyone but my parents. Everyone else is a passerby in my little world. I see them happy, and I envy, and hate them. I can't let myself be fat, I can't wear this fat suite for the rest of my life. I can't kill myself in this fat.

Am I paying for my vanity? Am I paying for uselessness? I just want someone to tell me what to do. I know what I want, I want to go to school in Seattle far away from mom and dad, and I want to be my own person. If I don't get SSD, I will have to get a job, and I'll have to work to pay for things I need. The thing I need to fill my hole, the thing that makes me fell like a child protected by my mothers whomb. I want to learn, i want to wite, and I want to run away. Leave all this behind. I'll miss Eleanor forever, but I'll kill that pain with with the help of Dr. Skag.

Why am I alive. I've done so much to my body, I should dead. Why can't I die. I know I'm not immortal, I love candy, and raindrops, and falling in love, I want to see the other side of the world.

I want to feel comfortable in my own body, I want to go to a nude beach, and swim naked without the judgment of the other nudist. I want to live without a television telling me what to buy, or what to watch. I want to be entertained by books, and I want to learn, learn, learn.

I want to paint, and even if I don't make my parents proud, as long as I'm pround. I am a black star, I am a falling sky, and the moon shines on the water so bright I can see you face as clear as if it were the sun shone behind a bunch of clouds.

This is getting to me. Really gettting to me.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Cosumerism and brainwashing

Heroin addict unite, stop spending your money on things you do not need, spend you money on Heroin, and grow your own food. Get your freinds hooked so they stop spending their money on things they don't need, and won't make them happy. Stop consumersim, stop the brain washing, stop watching TV.

Make the economy fall, build a new society, a society where we really do get to make our own choices. Not the advertisers, and the coperate heads. Lets become individuals again. Lets make art, any kind, spray paint buildings warning people of consumerism.

The brainwashing has gone so deep, even I am brain washed, but I see it, some do not ever see it.
When the television tells you to spend money, don't spend that money. Burn your money...everyone. Give it to your drug dealers, don't give to your goverment. Your goverment doesn't care about you, they care about who is paying them the most, to vote the way the coperate head wants.

I hope 2012 is the end, or I hope it shows people the life we are living is wrong. We are all wearing a uniform. All westren society is wearing a uniform. Brainwashed!

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Start of an autobiography. I'm going for a total re write. Here is the start, first draft of first part. Gawd, this sucks, I'll never be published

Anna Grace Young was born February 2nd, 1983. Her parents were Dean and Erin Young. She was the first child of this poor young couple. Luckily for Dean and Erin, Dean’s mom and dad were still alive, and loved their newest grandchild more than life its self. Dean was working at two jobs when Anna was born. Both factory jobs, he had just gotten out of the Army, and now he was a husband and a father. He was only 25, but he loved his wife, and his daughter with ever ounce of his being, and would lay down his life if need be to save Anna and Erin’s lives. Money was tight, and if it weren’t for Dean’s mom and dad, I call them grandma Betty, and Papa Donald. There would have been probable homelessness, and hunger.
Now that you know its me…Anna Grace Young, daughter of Dean and Erin Young, grand daughter of Betty, and Donald Young, writing this, I may as well be straight forward with you all.
When I was brought home from the hospital I was brought to a trailer in a trailer park. I have no memory of this trailer, because my parents worked hard to provide for me, and before I turned one year old, my parents had bought a house outside of the small town I was born in. It was in the country, by this time my mom was pregnant with her second child. My parents worked at low paying factory jobs, and my grandparents would babysit. My mom worked at a bean factory a few towns away from our hometown, and she was working there the day she went into labor with my little sister.
Angie was born March 26th 1984. I have no memory of her being born, as far as my memory goes though, she’s always been around. Suddenly there was four of us. We had a home, and my dad found a good paying job at a factory a few town away, about a half hour drive away from home.
It was early in my fourth year of life, that I have memories. I remember my little sister, she was only 13 months younger than I was. Every memory I have of my childhood are the best memories I have. I remember that one year felt like five years, one day felt like two days. As a child time goes by slow.
We had an ideal life. We lived out in the country on a dead end road, so we could play outside all we wanted, and my mom didn’t work so Angie and I had her attention all day. She was always cooking and watching soap operas. Right before dark, my dad would come home, and we would have supper, and then watch TV, after 8 o’clock was our bedtimes, and we would go up to our room, and be put to bed. We had bunk beds, and I had the top bunk. I even remember the nightlight in our room. It was more for me, than it was for Angie. Angie wasn’t afraid of the dark, I was. Often I would wake up from a bad dream, and I’d wake Angie up, and she and I would tip toe into our parents bedroom, and we would crawl up in whatever space there was, and fall back asleep.
We called that house, our Samson house, because it was in this four corner town, called Sampson. One corner was a bar, the other corner a general store, and the other corner another bar, and a car workshop. The bar that my dad went to was called the Hill Top bar, but we called it Eddy Beata’s because that was the owners name, and the owner was usually the only bartender. My dad was still a young man, and had a wild streak in him, and he liked to go to the bar on the weekends. Sometimes we would come along, and play by the pool table or outback.
It was always fun, because I always had Angie, and Angie always had me.
Chapter 2
When I turned five, we moved to Green Bay. The big city, we moved there so my mom could go to school to become a nurse, and so my dad could get better factory jobs. Which he did. Me and Angie went to Mccarthy Elementary school. Actually I went to Kindergarten, and Angie got to stay home. My dad worked second shift, so he would walk me to school every morning Angie always walking along. I went to morning Kindergarten, so my dad and Angie would always be waiting outside when school was over, and we would walk home. Before my dad would leave for work, my mom was always home from school.
Angie and I shared a bedroom again, this time we had a giant water bed. So when you got into bed the bed was already warm. The water bed was so big we didn’t have room for dresser’s, but under the water bed there was built in dresser’s, the rest of the room space was filled with our toys.
It was around this time, everyday when I was dropped off at school, that I would become sad. I wouldn’t make any friends. I wanted my sister, my sister was the one who knew how to make new friends. So in school when play time came around, I would go over into my own little spot, and pretend that I was Michal Jackson, and I would do all these dance moves. When I finished a dance in mind I would here the roar of the crowed. I was a loner, and this followed me into my adult life.
Now, I know everyone is thinking, she wanted to be Michal Jackson? I know, I’m not sure why I liked him. I think I saw some special about him on TV and new that he was famous, and when he sang and danced everyone cheered. This was 1988, and MJ was at the top of the charts. I think it was Thriller, the song I would dance to and sing to in my imagination. I was five, and I haden’t been introduced to music properly yet. That was back when New Kids On the Block were at their height, and I didn’t even know they existed. Thank God!
At home, there were other kids our age who lived in the same apartment complex. Me and Angie became tight with a girl named Crystal. She lived with her dad Keith who was single. I remember my parents wouldn’t let me sleep overnight at her apartment, she had to stay over at ours. Then there were these two other kids, brother and sister. Sylest, and Johnny, were their names, and lived in the apartment complex across from ours. So not in the same building. Johnny and Sylest knew about this secret spot in the back of the apartment complex. There was this wooded area, not a big wooded area, but just enough so it could be a hideout. One day Johnny and his little sister Sylest brought all of the kids our age, including me and Angie down to this hide out. When we got to this hide out Johnny took off his pants, and showed us his penis. I was very intrigued, but Angie didn’t want anything to with it. She watched, but she didn’t want to touch it. Then Sylest would get on her knees and put her mouth on Johnny’s penis until it got bigger. Then Sylest would take off her pants and lay on the ground and Johnny would lick her vagina. After he finished that he would put his penis in her vagina and pull it out and push it in. This was the most fascinating thing to me. How could two kids our age know all about this stuff. Johnny was 7 at the time, and I was 5 almost 6, and Angie was 4 almost 5, and Sylest, Johnny’s little sister was 5, same age as me.
After these sessions Johnny made us promise not to tell anyone, or we would be in huge trouble, and that his step dad would kill his mom. So non of us told. Crystal never told her dad, me and Angie never told our parents, and then in moved a little boy named Ricky. He was 4, and his mom was a pill head, and an alcoholic. My mom was sort of friends with all the other kids parents. I remember once she went to a get together at Ricky’s moms apartment, and we were playing in Ricky’s room, where he had video games, like the kind in an arcade in his room. Suddenly my mom ran into the room and grabbed me and Angie, and made us go home. She never told us why until we were older. It was because they were all doing Cocaine, and passing around pills.
When my mom was younger she had a problem with drugs, but after she married my dad she didn’t use again.
I turned six, and Angie turned five, and now both of us were in school, and my dad had to work swing shift, and my mom was almost done with school. Everyday after Angie and I were done with school, we would go outside and play, and whenever Johnny and Sylest were out we would go down to the hideout, and Johnny would let any of us who wanted to touch his penis, and put our mouths on it, and he would lick out vagina's and then put his penis in it. I remember one day I decided I’d do it, Crystal had done it a few times now, and she said it felt good. So I told Johnny that I wanted to too. Angie was there watching.
I put my mouth on his penis, and I felt it grow, and then he laid me down and took off my pants, and started to lick my vagina, and it felt really good, then he stopped and put his penis in my vagina. That part hurt, but not that bad, because his penis was so small.
That night, Angie told my dad about the hideout, and what I did down there that day. Suddenly my dad went into a rage. He kept screaming at me, is this true, and I kept saying no, because I knew I was going to get into trouble. So then my dad though my sister was lying, and he told her this is a big lie that changes lives, and you have to tell me, did this really happen. My dad took a lighter and light it, and then put it under Angie’s fingers and said, “if she didn’t tell the truth he was going to burn her fingers”. When I saw what was going on with Angie and lighter, I admitted it. I told him everything. How we had been going down to the hiding spot all summer and fall. How Johnny and Sylest showed us how to make ourselves feel good.
Then my dad called the cops, and I had to tell my story to the cops, and that night Johnny and Sylest’s mom, and step dad were brought to jail for sexual abuse. The next week we moved back to our hometown, and my dad and mom would drive to work.
My parents rented this little house, and we went to Oconto Falls school. It was the summer before second grade, and my Grandma Betty found out that she had Cancer, and it was bad. I remember people were always at our house, people were crying.
I didn’t realize that my grandma was dying, and that I would never see her again. I just thought she was really sick, and she’d get better and things would go back to normal. Me and Angie would play in our room, and I remember I wanted to feel that feeling that Johnny had given me when he licked my privates. So I told Angie to get naked, and I got naked too. Then I told Angie that I was going to do to her what Johnny had done to me, except for the penis part. So I licked my sister vagina, and she felt the good feeling too, and then I begged her to lick me so I could feel it. We didn’t think this was sexual, we just thought it was like taking a bath together, and rubbing each others backs, which felt good.
One day my dad walked in on us doing this, and we both go beat with the belt, and after that we never didn’t do it again. A few days later my grandma died. I remember my papa coming over to out house, and he went into my parent room and laid down.
After Grandma Betty died, things happened fast, Papa Donald sold my mom and dad their house, and we moved into Grandma Betty’s and Papa Donald’s house, but Grandma wasn’t living there anymore and neither was Papa, all their furniture was gone, and all of ours moved into there.
Papa moved in with my Uncle Buster, in a small house on Green Bay Ave. in Oconto Falls. Papa would come by a lot and visit, and help us out. By this time my mom had graduated nursing school, and was a nurse at the hospital my grandma Betty died at and she worked swing shift, and my dad worked in a paper mill where he made good money, so we started to get babysitters. We also started a new school in Oconto Falls. It was a Catholic school, and it the first school where I made friends on my own, without the help of my sister.
Two months passed since Grandma Betty died of Cancer, and Papa Donald called all of his children to his house, and told them that he had a bad heart, and wasn’t doing well. A few days later, my parents were both working night shift, so me and Angie stayed at my mom’s parent’s house. Grandma Grace, and Papa Bob, me and Angie has stayed the night, and my mom and dad were going to pick us up later in the day.
When my parents got home from the night shift, they noticed that my grandpa’s truck was in the workshop garage on the bottom of hill, but both mom and dad were tired, so they figured he was working on his truck, and just went to bed. My dad woke up at noon, and got my mom up, because they had to pick me and Angie up. My mom jumped in the shower, and my dad noticed that Papa was still working on his tuck in the garage, so he went down there to see what was up, and on his way down the hill, he noticed that the tractor was on in the garage, and that there was tubing going from the tractors exhaust pipe into my Papa’s truck window, and there was toweling stuck in where the tubing kept the window from closing all the way.
My dad knew even before he walked into the garage what he was going to find. My Papa Donald had committed suicide. Now I wasn’t there when this happened, I was still at Grandma Grace’s, but my Grandma got a call, and said come one, Anna, and Angie, we are going to go swimming at Your aunt Kathy’s. My mom’s sister. They had a pool with a slide. I remember this as one of the funnest times I had with my cousin’s on my mom’s side of the family. Grandma, and my aunt left, and Erica the oldest was left in charge. We swam all day, we played all day, we laughed, and ran, and played hard. Until around sunset. My grandma Grace came back, and told us to get our stuff, and that we had to go home. Something bad had happened, but she couldn't’t tell us what it was. So the whole ride home from Aunt Kathy’s to our house I kept thinking the worst, that one of my parents had died.
When we finally got home, and I saw that both mom and dad were alive, I was relieved, but I saw that they we crying. It was a rare thing to see my father cry. Then my mom told Angie and I, that Papa was dead. He had killed himself this morning. When I was older and asked about what happened on that day, I found out, that when my dad found his father dead in the truck, he started screaming daddy’s dead, Daddy’s dead, and he wanted my mom a nurse to go down and try to help him, but my mom was too scared. She didn’t know how he had killed himself. She figured he had shot himself. Instead she called 911, and the while my father was inconsolable. He blamed himself for not going down their in the morning, when there was a chance of saving him.
In the note Papa Donald left, it said he couldn't’t live without his wife, and since all his children were doing well, and his grandchildren would be okay without him. Looking back, after my grandma Betty died, Papa seemed different. Like he was severally depressed, but everyone mistook suicidal depression as mourning.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Second denil. Poor Anna

I sent out three chapters of my book to three literary agents. I just did on a whim, book not even edited, grammar errors, spelling errors etc... still in those chapters. I've gotten two replies now, one from an unknown agencies and the second to one of the major agencies

Dear Anna,Thank you for sending along to us sample chapters from your memoir.Unfortunately, this project just didn't quite pull us in enough. One of the criteria we apply is that we only represent projects about which we feel a strong sense of personal commitment. While we can of course be wrong, these chapters did not inspire us with the necessary enthusiasm to undertake its representation. You deserve to be represented by an agent who is excited about the book and who can devote to it the time and attention it deserves.Many thanks again for sending this along and we wish you the best of luck with your book.Best regards,Zenya Prowell Janklow & Nesbit Associates
s, and this is what Janklow had to say about my book.

I'm showing this to you guys just because. I know I can get better, and this is inspiration to get better, although the first agency said they liked the book, I just needed to work on technical areas of my writing, and start earlier in my addiction, and then send them the book, this acency is nice about it, but this time they straight out tell me they don't want to work with me.

They are right, I don't have enough personal commitment at this time. FUCK. I need to commit to writing, lock myself away for a month, and just fucking write.

Glendwood was my inspiration for sending out my "book" to publishers, he's the one who told me about Janklow, I thank you Glendwood. I have one last agency to hear from, and I'm willing to bet, they are going to say in some nice terms, I need to dedicate myself more to the writing. Someone who really cared about their project would have AT LEAST EDITED THE DAMN BOOK.

Anyway I'm starting the book anew. Then while I'm waiting to go to school I'm going to write everynight for at least 5 hours. NO more blogging, and no more journaling all the time.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

to be fucked...........

I suck at this writing thing. I had fooled myself into believing that I had some kind of talent for the written word, but fuck it, I have to face the facts, and realize that I have NO talent whatsoever. I'm about as useless a human being as can be.

I like to write, and its the only constructive thing I do, read and write, but I'm not good at, I'm not even average at it, I suck at it.

Please anyone who reads this, do not say I'm good when you know I suck. Don't try to make me feel better.

I plan on going to school to make myself better at writing. That is if I can even get into school, and pay for it, and stay off dope long enough to learn anything about writing to make me a better writer.

I've run out of my Bi Polar meds...the ones that keep from getting depressed, and I only have the Lithium left which keeps me from going into a mania.

I can't go back to Wisconsin, I can't go back to Wisconsin not on Methadone. I just feel like there is NO fucking meaning to life, and who knows the world may end December 21st 2012.

I'm so sick of this, this excuse of a life I lead. I want to change my life, but I'm being pulled back to Wisconsin, where I do not want to go at all.

Sunday, March 15, 2009

What is this hole in us?

I'm sure everyone who has been reading my blogs lately...wait...I'm sorry I've been blogging on Myspace more lately. Just to see if I could my readers back. I used to get 200-300+ hit per day on my blog, and now, if I'm lucky I get that many in a week. Someday's I only get 9 hits per day. I try not to care, and try to blame it on the contents of my blog, which is me writing about me totally self absorbed in me. Its all me, me, me, me!
Usually the the blog is about how much I want to get high, and get off the methadone, and in the second paragraph I write, I want to get off methadone and stay clean, go to school clean, write the second draft of my book clean.
Now that I'm on Bi Polar Medication, and when I get off the Methadone I hope that I don't have those I don't go into a mania for a month or two, fucking evey man or woman who gives me the least bit of attention, because once I get off the methadone I'm gonna have a sex drive back, and its going to come back full fucking force. When I got put in jail on 140mgs a day of Methadone, and had to go cold turkey I was in hell. It worst thing I've ever experienced. Being sick, not able to sleep, having using dreams for the few moments of sleep you get, and trying to find good books in th book bin, but the book bin is only full of romance novels, and well I started to read those romance novels, which normally I hate, but I was sooooooo horny that I would read these porno for women, and I'd masterbate on my top bunck, tryting to descreat, but the woman on the bottem could feel the bed shaking, and my moans and groans that I tried to hide, because my clit was so sensitve that I could cum from just reading a really erotic part of the book. In jail masterbation was my only salvation. I had to masterbaute like ten times a day, because it would replace the endorphine high I would get immediatly after taking a nice juicy shot of H. I even would think about a really sexy women, or a really sexy man shooting up, and I'd masterbate to that.
Thank God I was only in jail for 13 days, until I got placed in a inpatient rehab for alcohol and drug abuse. Sicne I was an IV drug user, and in Green Bay WI, IV drug users are a rare breed, there was no one else in rehab with me that had an opiate addiction, and I'm a drug snob. I was in with mostly crack heads, some coke IV users, but mostly alcoholics, who would look at me and the other person who used drugs IV, like we were scum. They were alcoholic snobs, and anyone who did real drugs was below them.
I was happy to be below them. Alcoholics seem to be able to hold down jobs, even tho they are drunk at work, and the only time they aren't drunk is when they wake up, which most of the time they are still drunk even when they wake up. Still the alcoholics were, (I hate to put lables on people), but they were either rednecks, or they were rich over acheivers, who worked at IBM for istance. They tried to live the American dream, and they found that the american dream didn't fullfull them. It didn't fill the hole in them that needed to be filled. Some people fill that void with faith, in some sort of God, some fill it with trying to make their dreams come true thur their children.
Alcholics, Heroin addicts, Coke heads, Tweekers, and all the other addictions, including gambeling...the think that we all have in common is that we have a hole in ourselves and its not filled.
AA and NA try to push a higher power on you, that something all knowing, and all forgiving will fill that void, but I just can't believe that some higherpower or some god is going to fill my hole. My hole wants opiates, my hole needs to be filled, and as I keep going down on my Methdaone dose, I'm going to see what I cling to in lue of opiates and benzos.

Of course AA and NA do not push god, they push a higher power, and that higher power can be the NA/AA group its self.

I have to go, I don't know where I'm going, and I'm watching intervention on A&E.

Its only after we've lost everything are we free to do anything

Fight club...what a great book, and an amazing movie. Tyler Durden, said that. Actually Chuck Panalchack, spelling of his last name I don't know, but that's how it sounds. Anyway, he's the authour of Fight Club.

I feel if I was free of people to please, and things to take care of, and bills to pay, then, and only then would I be truly free.
Alot easier said than done. I love my family too much to just up and leave them, my dog is something I take of, and I love her, like really love her. It hurts how much I love her. Possesions mean nothing to me. What I can in my pockets is good enough for me, but for my dog Elleanor I need more, stabilty. Ahh fuck. I'm never having kids. I can't imagine how much that would keep me from doing what I want to do with life.
Life is so fucked up.
I want to loose everything in a way, but I don't want to loose everything in another way. I don't want to hurt anyone just so I can be free. Someday...I will be truley free. I can build a life without possesions, no more than needed, and just be.
Maybe take a few bricks of Heroin with me.
I'm gonna go in my parents bed room and pet Eleanor, because I love her, and I want her to feel that I love her.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Just updating...

Good bye Papa it's hard to die
When the birds are singing in the sky
now that spring is in the air
little children everywhere
When you see them I'll be there

We had joy we had fun we had seasons in the sun
But the wine and the songs like seasons have all gone....

I really like that song, "Season's in the sun". I'm can't remember for the life of me who sang the song. I could go Goggle it, but fuck that, I'm way too lazy. I've always like the song "Season's in the Sun", but when I bought the Nirvana box set when it came out( I couldn't afford it when it first came out, but a few months later Pete bought for me for my birthday.) In the box set, there was home videos of Kurt, and Kirst, and Chad(one of their drummers, I think the first) , it also showed his rise to fame, and at the end of the compilation they show Kurt on the drums, and a microphone so he could sing, and he was singing "Season's in Th Sun. He played the song alot lower than its written, and he tuned it down a bit, but that is all that was different.

I started going down on my Methadone dose. 1mg every three days. OMG...I know its not very much, but slow and steady is the way to get off Methadone. I'm going the safe route possible, and if I get down on my dose, and start to feel sick, I can ask to stop going down, and get steady at the dose I'm at, and when I'm ready I can start to go down again. If things go good, I go down faster...like 1mg a day.

I still haven't herd back from Seattle Central Community College. I'm scared that I'll be denied. Than what? I should a plan b, and a plan c. Instead, I'm just counting on plan A. Still Washington is where I want to be.

I have to go, I have an appointment to make. Wish me luck, its for my welfare benefits. Bye!

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

That's me in the corner, that's me in the spot light losing my Religion

What right do I have to write? I’m getting sick of this blogging, in turn the readers are getting bored and sick of reading my blogs. I haven’t much to say these days. I had hoped a move to Hawaii would get me to work on my book more, but instead I’m stuck in a small apartment with both my parents.
You see, I’m trying to live in the moment. Just the moment, like right now, as each word goes onto this voodoo screen, is a moment in my life that I cannot take back. I can erase what I’ve written, but I can’t erase the time it took to write it.
I’ve found after practicing this “living in the moment” thing for a few days now, that everyone is pushing me to live in the future. As if they are so sure my life is going to last long enough, and that I should use up this moment to make sure my future moments are better than this one, when in reality I only have the here and now. I can’t undo my past, I can’t bring anyone back to live, and change the way my life has turned out so far, at this moment.
I think the rat race that is our daily lives, is making our, or most of our lives meaningless. I haven’t any children, I have no reason to make the future a greater place. All I can do is make my hear and now a great place.
Seeing as how, in my past I used opiate, which in turn changed my brain chemistry, and now I need those opiates to function, and I go to the Methadone clinic diligently, and I take my dose, and do so because it will make better future for myself.
Fuck that, I want to use Heroin, I want to get high, and feel the warm, euphoria envelope me. I want to feel the best feeling in the world. I want that moment to last as long as it can.
So, I’ve officially started going down on my dose, 1mg every three days. Now don’t laugh, or boo me. My body is so hooked on that methadone, I need it to not blow my head off. I had thought about going down 1mg a day, but that seemed a bit much. The instant I begin to feel sick, I’m going to stop the going down on my dose, and go back up, that is unless I’m so far down, that the methadone no longer blocks the Heroin, well then I’d go out and buy myself some Heroin, and life in the moment.
Even if my body looks as though death has taken over, at least while I’m high, I’m in a place you can’t reach me, a place you can’t take me down from.
I admit with good comes the bad. There will be days of sickness, and days of no money, and days of many sorrows, but to live in the moment of that pain, and those sorrows, is to grow, is to make me a better person, to make me a better writer. To hopefully make one person understand. Not to make them understand that you should use Heroin, and life will be awesome, no, no, not at all. I’m just saying don’t put your life on hold, so that your future is better, because then your missing out the best bits. The kisses from a lover, the butterfly that lands upon your hand, the snow that falls quiet, and beautiful, and the city is quiet and beautiful, and you just want that moment to last forever. Those moments, are the moments that make up our lives.
As children we lived in the moment, that’s why life seemed to go by so slowly when you were a child, and now as an adult life seems to fly by. Your no longer living moment to moment.
I think I’ve made my case, and I’m sure I this point of view is not going to be shared by all, but at least I have a point of view.
Every morning I wake up, and I take my dog for a walk, and since I started this “living in the moment” thing, I’ve enjoyed the walks so much. The smell of the ocean breeze, the people walking past going about their lives, while I walk my dog lazily about, letting her sniff whatever it is she likes, and taking her to the park and letting her run off the leash, and lying in the grass looking up at the sky, memorizing this moment, because it is my life.

Friday, March 6, 2009

God save the Queen

My arms are fat, my belly is fat, my ass is fat, my thighs are fat, my face is fat, and my fingers are fat...even my fucking feet are fat. Ever since my last suicide attempt with the aspirin, and the next week I took thirty 1mg Kpins, I've been swollen, and taking on weight faster than I can take it off. My thyroid is fucked up, and tomorrow I'll be picking up the prescription to keep my thyroid in balance. I was also put on Lithium yesterday, but I haven't taken it. I've been on Lithium before, and the shit made me gain weight back then, and I was only 16, ten years ago. Now that I'm morbidly obese, taking lithium might just fucking kill me.

I'm worried I'm gonna get diabetes. I eat 10 days worth of sugar in one day. This is not an over estimation, if anything its an under estimation. I know the only way for me to get rid of this sweet tooth is get off the Methadone. I should have them take me down 5mgs a week, and weening myself off the Xanax should be easy enough I've done it at least 10 times on my own. If I were to have a sesiour, well I guess, I'd deal with that when it happens.

I sent out my application, and had my transcripts sent out to Central Seattle Community College for the Fall semester. I want to be off the methadone by the time I get to Seattle. So if the 5mgs a week isn't enough to get me off by August, I'll have to do rapid detox. Which will suck, but its what I have to do. I think I should have some Xanax tho if I go thru rapid detox, because when I get off the methadone completely, I'm going to have panic attacks like seriously YOU CANNOT IMAGINE, to the point I tear out my hair. I would only take them when the thoughts of getting high off opiates get so bad that I go out seeking H, I can pop a Xanax, and relax a bit, get myself gathered let myself be reminded that the Heroin is only going to make things worse, and I need to stay clean for school.

My mom will be living with for the first three months I move to Washington, and she will have a job, so I will have to get acquainted with the city especially Capitol Hill area, and I'll have to do it fast, because three months is not a long time. Fuck I'm moving to Seattle in less than five months. Those five months are going to go by fast.

I have to keep in mind that I might not get accepted to this college. If I don't, I'm still moving to Seattle, and I'm going to live off what ever I can, until I get SSI, and hopefully welfare, and food stamps.

If I do get accepted, I'll have to apply for financial aid, and all that stuff, and hopefully I'll get some grants, because I'm a 26 year old going back to school a community school to get my qualifications to go to a University in Olympia Washington.

I so full of mixed emotions. You have no idea how badly I want to get high off H just one more time. We all want that "just one more time", which you into a full blown junky in a few months. Then it would be back to Methadone, and then I'd be fat again, that is if I even ever lose the fat I have on me now.

I have other legal things to worry about, which is why I cannot go back to my home state.

One moment I believe in myself, I can do this. Get off dope, go to school, learn, deal with my mental health, but then what if I don't get SSI, or Welfare, or food stamps, and I don't get accepted, so I don't get financial aid, or grants, then I'm homeless in a foreign city. If this were to happen there is no way I could take Elle with me. I can't put her thru being homeless again.

Just the thought of moving to Seattle, and it being just me and Elle, is a scary prospect. Eleanor LOVES my dad, and mom, she likes the routine we have right now. If I were to change it up on her, I just feel so bad, I don't want her to feel how I do.

I so wish I was a trust fund baby, and I could move to where ever I wanted, and not have to worry about money. I'd have a place to live, money for the essentials. Money for the non essentials. Look at me, the one who is always saying money doesn't buy happiness, even if I had money I'd still be me. I'd still be a recovering junky, living in Seattle, with money to burn. I'm gonna go now, and look and see how much it is for rent in Central Seattle, and even tho I know its were Kurt Cobain was last seen buying dope before he shot himself, I can't help feeling that I'm being drawn there for some other purpose, not the dope, but....? I can't be sure why. The gray skies, and the rain. The season changing. Nature is a whore. Spring is here again.
I have to go there. I have to be there. If I can't handle it, I'll move closer to the Midwest, where I'm from. Where I know, or I could go to Florida where Pete lives, and....?

I want stability, Eleanor needs stability, I want a girlfriend, I want to loose the weight, and I want to stay clean for at least a year, two years would be glorious, but we all know the odds for us Opiate addicts. Suicide might be my only way out.

Should I or shouldn't I take the Lithium my Dr. prescribed me yesterday. I'm suppose to take it twice a day, and its at the lowest dose that is potent. I can't be numb and be a writer.

Oh yes, my book is going to label a fiction novel, because in the book I reveal alot of illegal things I did, and the literary agent said, the popo can hold that against me in a court of law, even tho it would be hard to prove, but the part about my escape well that won't be hard to prove, and it can give them ammunition against me.

Where in the world will I be, what in the world will I do. For the first time in my life, I'm going to be on my own, after my mom leaves. Even when she is there it will be like I'm on my own, since she works nights, and sleeps during the day, and the days she has off are shopping days, and cleaning days.

Bye, bye, my dearest methadone. 5mgs a week shouldn't be all that noticeable. Right? God help me, and save the Queen.

I need some feed back, someone to tell me what they think I should do or not do. Am I doing it right, or am I doing it wrong.

There is a girl that I want to be there, but she can't be there, so I won't have her. Better that way, I'd rather her meet the thinner me, than the fattest I"ve ever been me.

God save me. God help me. May the universes will be done unto me, and God wills be done unto me. Look after my family immediate, and not so immediate, take care of my dog(s) all that I ever had. Tell me when I should go, how I should go, and what, when, and where I should go?

I'm crazy. I'm a crazy fan. A crazy writer, and with no talent, and no self esteem. God help the Queen.

I'm sorry for this rambling post, but fuck its fast to type it out on here than put it in my paper journal. I want to read my damn book, but I've taken too many benzo's and I keep falling asleep, but not before I go and get a Butterfingers. Yep, thats right I bought about 15 butter fingers because there was a sale, get two for 89 cents, so I went on a binge, plus I got my food stamps today. My dad owes me 60 dollars. I must remind him of that.

HELP ME. SHOULD I CHECK MYSELF INTO A DETOX CENTER? I do have insurance now, so if I wanted off the methadone now would be the time to detox here in Hawaii. I can't make up my own mind, and this is not a good thing. I need to be told what to do. No wonder I've always had boyfriends, and now I want a girlfriend to be in Seattle with me.

I love you all for reading this hastily written blog.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

What kind of man would want to date me? Seriously they would have to have some f'd up reason. I'm nutz.

I've been busy lately. Today I had a three hour phone conversation with Social Security Disability, and Social Security Insurance. I doubt I'll get I it. I have to wait six months to find out if I even get it, and if I get denied, I won't even be in Hawaii to go back to Legal aid, and get help me appeal the denial. Then I went to work out, this evening, after getting a phone call from a guy I met on the myspace. He's in the army...like every 20to 30 year old white male is here on Oahu. After he is out of the army he is going into med school. He emailed me a week ago, and said something to like, "I would like to get to know you, your interesting, and honest, and I like that. So I replied, Who the fuck is Joe, and did you not read my profile, I'm on methadone and I have sex drive. Of course I wrote him a long email, telling every reason under the sun that he would not want to meet me, or even be my friend, much less have sexual relations with me.

Still he persisted, and even gave me his phone number. Then I convinced myself that he was a serial killer. I seem to attract serial killer types. He's obviously brilliant, and he read in between the lines of my blogs, and figured out how I could please my father, the one thing I want to do more than anything. Its something I think all girls want to do. Daddy's little girl. (that is if your father was present during your childhood, if he wasn't then girls have even worse daddy issues.)

This guy is in the Military...Army, he is smart, he's going to med school, he is my dad's dream guy for me. He doesn't use drugs, he smokes ciggies, and I'm sure he drinks, but no like a fish. He seems like my total opposite. So this morning I was going thru and deleting all the emails that had amassed on my myspace inbox, and I read his emails again, and I decided to write him one more time, and I gave him my mom's cell phone number. I told him to call me tonight after 5 so it would be for sure after my phone appointment with SSI, and SSDI didn't expect him to call, but sure enough he did. We had, a short pleasant conversation, I told him I'd call him later tonight if I felt like going out, but after my workout I was tired, sweaty, and had to do my laundry. I had nothing to wear out. So I didn't call him. I plan on emailing him, and meeting him at a Internet cafe, because he only has Internet on his phone, and he cannot add me to his friends list, which is private. He says he can't add me, so I'm going to take him to an Internet cafe and getting him to add me to his friends list, so I can read about him.

I've seen his photo, the one he has as his profile photo, and he looks cute, handsome enough to me. Still serial killers look just like everyone else. I also her that everyone in the military are fuck ups, and they enrolled into the military because they had no other options. I've considered the military, but my father would not allow it.

I know that my dad had to do something with the drug cartels in Columbia, and that he was taken prisoner and tortured, and that he had to blow a guys head off. He won't talk about, but one day, after my suicide attempt, we were driving to feed the horses, and I asked what happened, and he said, he was commander or whatever, the lead guy, and they were watching what the drug cartels were doing, keeping at a distance, but on a routine check of the area by the cartel workers they found my dad and his Platoon or whatever its called. They took my dad and one other guy, the two people who had the most info, and tortured them for it. The only reason he lived is because one of the guys got loose he took his gun and literally blew the head off the guy who was torturing my dad, and my dad said that at least once a week since that happened over 26 years ago. He said it looked like a watermelon exploding. It was the most terrifying moment in his life. Even after my dad was done be tortured there was more hand to hand combat until back up came in, and medivacced my dad and three other guys away, and two of the guys died. My dad feels like it was his fault that those two men died. He feels that he should have been at a further distance so that the cartels people wouldn't have noticed that they were surveying them.

Gawd, I always digress while writing. This blog was suppose to about this guy who wants take me out on the town. I told him that I'm not really into guys, and I really more looking for a friend. He said that was fine by him. So tomorrow, I'll probably call him tomorrow,and tell him to meet me at the Internet cafe by my parents apartment.

I guess if he is a serial killer and raper, I'll have to take my chances. Maybe I'll bring my dad along so he doesn't try to make a pass at me. LOL!

Ahh shit, I have to go to a pysch appointment tomorrow. Well, the cafe is open till 10pm. If its meant to be, it will happen, if not then it won't happen.

I'll update those few of you who are listening to this rambling.

Sunday, March 1, 2009

It's been awhile, and I'm sure your all so not excited to know whats going on in my life. Not much new here. I've started to play a game with my methadone and Xanax...you know, see how far I can push it and not die. How many I can take at once, and how long it takes me to nod out. Today I slept 18 hours. Yesterday I took my methadone, and then I took 8mgs of Xanax, and then when it gets dark I take another 50 to 60 mgs of Valium at night. I also take my Bi Polar meds at "bedtime", and I take Tylenol PM, without the Tylenol. Which might explain why I sleep 18 to 20 hours a day.

I hate sleeping so much. I feel like I missed out on somthing...like life. So today I took my methadone later in the day, and only took 2mg of Xanax. The only reason I took the Xanax is because I didn't want to have a sesiour which probably would have happened, because I've been popping bezo's like candy, and if I were to stop abruptly, it would be like takeing a hard core alcoholic who drinks at least a liter of Vodka in a day, and stop giving him that alchohol. He would die if that would happen, and I'd probably die if I cut myself off Xanax right now, I'd likey suffer the same fate as the alcoholic who stopped drinking abrubtly.

Which would be considered an accidently overdose, and my parents might feel less guilt. Well, I don't want to die right now. I have plans. I want to move to Washington and go to school and start the second draft of my book, "I hate myself and want to die", catchy title huh?
I need to leave a legacy behind. I need to know when I die, that I will be rembered by more people than just family and freinds. That I'll be missed as much I miss Kurt Donald Cobain. I want to people to aspire to write better than me. (which will be easy)

There are alot of junky stories out there much more interesting than mine. Its just those junkies haven't the...whatever it is in me that makes me want to do whatever it takes to get this book out of me, and read by others. Others like me, and other not like me, but might learn something from my book, and perspective.

So its off to Seattle I go. To study English lit.