Sunday, May 31, 2009

Off subject, on subject, and all over the place, not neat.

What's up peeps? Not that you want to know, here plans are changing minute to minute. Yesterday, I was told my parents couldn't get the loan they needed to build the house in our hometown in Wisconsin. BTW, its scary and pathetic how many people don't how to find any state but the state they live in on a map. I understand if your from Europe, but if you live in America, and can't find Wisconsin on a map you fell through the cracks of the educational system. I'm not the smartest person in the world, but I know where all 50 States are on a map of America. I can find each country in Europe and Asia on a map too. Geography people.
Sorry, about the tangent, but today my parents are telling me they can get a loan and have the house built before Christmas. So when I come home for the Holiday's I will have a new family home to come home to. Thank goodness the house will be built in the country area of our hometown, so I won't have to go into town and mingle with people I'd rather not see at this point in my life. Not because I don't like them, but because I'm pretty pathetic right now.

I've also found a way to keep myself out of jail, (knock on wood) if I do go back to Wisconsin and turn myself in, I would first have my parents go to a judge and give them power of attorney to put me in a Mental institution. Where I could be properly medicated, get the psychological help I need, for the first time in my life take all my bi polar meds as prescribed. Even my Lithium, which I hate because it takes away that spark of life I feel inside of myself. Without that spark I'm not me, I'm just some drone in Anna's body. Anyway, I believe that if I'm a ward of the state in a mental institution, I won't be transferred to jail. Where I would get none of the help I needed to become a working useful member of society. I would also get on Bupronorphine and get off Methadone, and by the time I'm healthy enough to be released from jail, I will be drug free, and have actually real self esteem. Me with self esteem, I wouldn't know what that feels like.

So I might go back to Wisco to get my record cleared up, and asap fly over to Seattle, go to school, and keep my self-esteem. Although there is a chance that my bi polar can't be medicated, and I will forever suffer from the Hypermania, and Hypo-mania. Heaven and Hell as I like to call them. Plus I'm a duel diagnosis. I have an addiction and a Mental health problem. I've never been in a rehab that specialized in duel diagnosis. which is probably why every time I got out of any kind of treatment inpatient, and outpatient. I was shooting up dope asap. IF it was outpatient treatment I'd just use clean pee from dead head stores, and while inpatient I was kicked out both time for using while in. Well I was kicked out once, and skipped out the second time because my PO told me I would never be able to go back on MMT. Which made me so angry I wanted to get a lawyer to fight the fact that Methadone is a treatment program, with better odds than a 28 day inpatient program, and that it was because of the stigma attached to MMT that I was not allowed go back on that treatment, and instead was forced to be put into a facility that couldn't help me, because I was duel diagnosis. My PO was an idiot. He had no idea what to do with someone like me, with bipolar, and an IV Heroin user. He thought if I got off drugs I would be cured of my mental illness.

I'm sorry, I've totally digressed. My parents cannot make up their mind on what to do with me, or with themselves. I have to stop writing I'm nodding. Sorry.

Me with self esteem, what would that be like?

Friday, May 29, 2009

I'm happy to say....

I happy to tell you, I am felony free. My warrent is class u misdermenor, which is low class. This means I can get Social Security benifits for my Mental illness. Yet today I called my worker at legal aid and told her that I can proceed with my claim, I also told her that I no longer want to proceed. I feel as though I can work, and want to work. If for whatever reason I get fired from all my jobs for saying innaproiate things, or for sexual harrassment again and again as I have in the past, I will apply for SS benfits again. For whatever reason my brain just doesn't have that thinn that makes me think before I talk. What I'm thinking I'm saying! Thats who I am!

The first time I was fired for sexual harrasment was at a job called APAC, it was a job where I answered the phone for a medical insurance company. At this job we didn't have cubicals, we had long rows of desks, and no divider between each person.
Fridays at APAC you could wear sweat pants to work, and as I alway would just roll out of bed and drive the 30 minutes to work, I loved sweat pants Fridays because it ment I didn't have to change.
The particular day I sexual harrassed my coworker was a Friday, and I was wearing sweats, as was my coworker. My coworker was female, and around my age. At the time I 18 and she was between 18 and 20. I don't even remeber her name. It doesn't matter anyhow.
So its Friday around 2pm, and there was a low call volume. Usually I brought a book with me to work so I could read during down time, but this particlar day I forogt my book, and in lue of the book to entertain me, I had my neighbor girl in the seat next to me. I don't remeber the exact conversation, I belive we were talking about how there were no cute guys on our shift. During said conversation I was looking at my sweat pants, and happened to notice there was a hole in the crotch of my pants. I was wearing underwear, but I turned to my co worker and showed her the hole in the crotch of my sweat pants, and I put my finger thru the hole, and said, "look at my penis, its so small like all the other men I work with".

On Monday I came into work, and I tried to log into my phone and computer and it wouldn't let me in, and then I saw my boss walking over to me. My boss asked me to accompany her in her office. I walked across the floor, to her office, and there was another person in the office. My boss asks me if I said, what I wrote above, and I said, "I sure did. Why"? Then she said, "Anna, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to terminate your position here at APAC due to Sexual Harassment". I was in shock, on Friday I was making my coworker laugh so hard she was peeing her pants, why in the world would she trun me in for sexual harrasment, then I figured it probably wasn't her, but someone around us, possiably the guy behind us who overherd our conversation, and was insulted that we didn't think he was attractive, and told on me.

This was my first time being fired for sexual harrasment. At this time in my life I had just began to experience hypermanic states, and hypomanic states. I didn't understand why I couldn't sleep for days on end, and why thoughts kept spinning in my head, and I felt so good, and artistic, and then a few weeks later I would fall into this deep dark pit of saddness, and wouldn't be able to come out of my room, much less talk to anyone. I wouldn't eat, and I would sleep as much as possiable. My parents just thought I would get the blues for a few weeks each month, and after that I was happy again. In manic states when I would get my paycheck I would go and buy a shit load of stuff I didn't need, and gifts for freinds, and my whole check was gone in one day. Classic sign of Manic Depression. It was in a depressive state I was in when I first used opiates. My dad had a script to Percocets. I took one and I thought all my problems where solved. Now I had a pill to pull myself out of my depressions, and when I got better I didn't need the pills, until I started using the percocets even when I was hypermanic.

I was not diagnosed Bi Polar until I was 23. After 4 very close attempts of suicide and dozens of not so close attempts.

Before when I was on Bi Polar meds such as Lithum, and Depacot, I would take them until I felt normal, and I would stop. Which is another sign of bi polar. Non complice with meds. At 23 I was taken off my parents insurance, and I no longer could see a phsyc doctor, or get my meds for free, my parents helped me go to free clinics, and get me meds, but when those meds ran out, and I had no more refills I would stop.

Now at 26, its the first time since my diagnosis that I've stayed compliant on my meds. Well I'm still not exactly compliant on all the meds. I don't take my lithum, because Lithum causes weight gain, so does Methadone, and Benzos, and I'm already on medication for a hypothyroid condition. I'm on .75mcg of Thyroxin, because my metabolism is slow due to my thyroid condition. The main reason I want off Methadone is because its makes me crave chocolate, and I eat only one kind of candy for a few months until I get sick of that candy and then I switch to a diffrent candy, and the benzo's make this even worse, which is my fault. I want off all the medications that are slowing down my metabolizm.

Dad and I plan on starting our morning routine again, next week. Which is, we go to 24 hour fitness and do the bike for 20 mins, the eliptical for 20 mins, and the row machine for 20 mins, and then weights for a half hour. I'm excited to start that routine again, because lately my dad has been depressed not changing out of his pj's all day unless he goes to the bar. I have to walk four times every day, first when I wake up to take Eleanor outside for potty, again to walk to seven eleven to get my candy, and then again around lunch time for Eleanor to go potty, and sniff, and again when the sun goes down for Eleanor

For some reason Anon's think I never get off the couch. When in reality I'm only on the couch between 7pm and 9pm, and then off to bed. They think to cop dope I only have to walk to the conor, no , no, I have to drive down to china town and find a parking spot which is usually at least a half mile away from where I go to cop. If my usual person is out, then I have to walk around all day looking for someone who is holding.

I am fat, and I hate it. Yet I stay on the Methadone instead of going back to using opiats IV, which I know for a fact makes me thin. So many people are ignorant to addiction. The fact that its not about willpower, it a physical addiction along with a mental addiction.

Read a book people. Read a book...a memoir of a families addiction. I recomend Beautiful Boy, for family member of addicts. Those non addicts out there have no idea the grip opiates, and opiods have over our brain chemstry, and hense our actions, and why we can't stop just because you want us to.

There is one good, KNOWLEGE, and there is one evil IGNORANCE!

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Just when you think your sick of my blogs, you get even sicker of them.

Sorry no blogs for a while. I haven't even been logging on to the internet lately. Just yesterday my parents found that they cannot get a loan to build the house they had wanted to build in Wisconsin. So now they are looking for homes to rent in Wisconsin. I asked why they had to move back to Wisconsin, why not move to a different state on the mainland. What the big draw to Wisconsin is, I don't know. They grew up there, their entire lives. My parents are getting old, my dad's family has a history of dieing young. I don't think one guy one my dad's side of the family has live past 65. My mom's family on the other hand lives long long lives. My great grandma died at the ripe old age of 100 years old. My grandma Grace is now 83 and as healthy as an Ox.

The reason my mom and dad state for moving back to Wisconsin, is because my grandma Grace is getting old, and she wants to with her when she dies. My grandma has another 20 years in her. She works out every single day, eats super healthy, goes gambling with her friends. Hold parties at her house still.

Its my dad, he thinks since he hates Hawaii so much, that any other state would suck. I keep telling him that there is other states in the USofA that are alot like Wisconsin. They have spring, summer, fall, and winter...with snow. Wisconsin is not the only state in America with seasons.
Still there is no talking them out of it. They are going back to Wisconsin. Renting a house, God only knows where in the state.

I on the other hand, will be moving to Seattle. My plane ticket only cost me 211 dollars. I bought it already. I fly out August 1st. I've decided to start school in the winter semester. I need to get a job, and get the lay of the land before I go to school. I talked with SCCC and everything is settled. This also gives me time to apply for Financial aid, and grants in Washington, so my parents don't have to pay for one penny...I hope.

As for my Methadone, I was going down 1mg every 3 days, and I got to 117 from 130 mgs, and I stopped at 117 mgs to stable out. I had been having using dreams, and every night I could tell when my Methadone was wearing off, I would get watery eyes, runny nose, yawning alot, my legs would ache, and by the morning I was so sick that nothing else mattered aside from getting the methadone in my body.
Finally last week I asked the doctor to bring me back up to 125 mgs. It took the doctor a week to accept my request, because our regular doctor is on vacation, so the Methadone doctor form the big island aka the island named Hawaii is flying here to the island of Oahu once a week to take care of us methadone patients.

Another reason I haven't been on the puter so much lately is because I have been really low on my Xanax. Well actually I was low on Valium, when I last bought Valium was all that was on the street. I didn't care as long as I had something to keep me from getting sick. I had all this money saved up for my next big buy, and every time I went to see if any one was holding, or called my go to person, everyone was out. The main man who supplies all the people I go thru kept saying he was done with benzo's. It wasn't worth the risk for the money. 2 dollars per pill, when he could be selling Opiates, and get 10-20 dollars per pill. Finally the day after Memorial day, I went downtown looking around, and I noticed that all the cops that had been patrolling the streets vigilantly the past month, has died down, and now all the usually suspects were lingering around looking for someone who was holding. I went up to those usual suspects, and we were all asking each other if any of us had any benzo's, opiates, opioid, sommoas, etc... None of us had anything. So I walk away from the pack, and I take out my cell phone, and give my person a call. I had been calling all morning, and I kept getting a busy signal.

When my person answered the phone, I felt elated that I even got thru to this person. When this person said, your in luck, I was running to my car to go to the arranged pick up spot. I had 80 dollars. By the time I got to the meeting place, my person was out their waiting for me, and we made the exchange of cash and pills, and made small talk for a few seconds, and I was off on my way home.

When I got home, I felt a bunch of stress come off my shoulders. Still, I have all the stress of moving, getting a place to live. Eleanor!!!! school, getting on a methadone clinic when I get there. I've been toying with the idea of going into detox in July, and use bupronorphine to get off the Methadone, so I don't have to worry about how much it will cost to get Methadone. Of course this could be a bad thing, because then I could get high off H, and I could spiral out of control in weeks if not days.

Instead of writing about this on my blog, I've been writing about in my journal. I've written about this too many times on my blog. A person can only listen to a person piss and moan for so long until it gets sickening. I've been waiting to post when something interesting happens, or when I know more about whats going to happen when we move. Fuck its only a few weeks we have left in Hawaii, and my parents don't have a place to live, I don't have a place to live, nothing is packed. I don't have much to pack at all. Just clothes and a few books. Unlike my parents who brought everything they own here to Hawaii.

I'm glad to be getting away from my parents. That will be the best part of all this worrying, sleeplessness, heartburn, comfort eating, etc...
I will be alone with my dog, and we will make a life for our selves. Which means I can leave when I feel like without anyone asking me where I'm going, and when I'll be back, and making me promise I will not use drugs while I'm gone. I won't have to remind them that I'm already on drugs...Methadone. No more three people smoking in a small apartment with a dog with little lungs in the place. No more me and Elle locking up in my bedroom, so the smoke doesn't overwhelm us.

Oh yes, and one more thing. I got a call from Social Security offices telling me that I'm not eligible for SSDI because I have a warrant out for my arrest. My legal aid lady told me that if its only a misdemeanor I can still get SSDI, it only if its a felony that I can't get it. All this time I had thought that my warrant was a misdemeanor, but now some lady calls and tells me that it might be a felony. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Just when you think it can't get any worse.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

just an quick update, not ready for a full blog post yet. Too much running around in my mind.

Things are not going so well with tapering my Methadone dose. Seeing as I don't have the money, nor the privacy to use Heroin, I'm feeling myself on a collison course with what I am not sure?
I've spent too much time looking into the abyss, instead of gathering my pride, and selfworth, and making a life for myself, I've lost myself in abyss. These past few days I've felt as if my word is falling apart. Soon I will be out of Hawaii, and God only knows where. I've made an agreement with my parents, but that agreement scares the shit out of me. I have this awfull feeling, as if I know something is going to change, and change, well I dislike change. I've found this out about myself. Mostly I don't like change alone, by myself. No longer having my parents or a boyfriend to live off, and lean on. I'm going to be leaning on myself, and living off my own abilites. Those of which I'm afraid I don't have enough of. I need to sustain my own life, my dogs life, and a habbit. I should have put it the other way, My dogs life, my habbit, and then my own life.

I'm fearing my parents death. After they are gone, I will be all alone. The world is cold and harsh when you don't have someone who loves as unconditonly as my mother and father love me. They may even love me to death literlly.

Two days ago, when fighting about my warrents, my dad told me, he would do the time for me in a second if he could. My father loves me fiercly, so fiercly that everytime I pull away, he feels holes being poked into him, after losing on daughter, and having only one left, one who is suicidal, and a junky, with no real intrest other than artsy stuff. My dad just wants to see me taken care of. His drinking hurts me, my using hurts him.

My mother is just stuck in the middle. My mother who is so positive, I just don't know how I can be so negative. I don't think my mother would care much if I went to jail, but my dad would suffer evey second I was locked up as if he himself were locked up.

I love my daddy

Sunday, May 17, 2009

I've noticed something about Shane's writing that shall teach me.

Shane's prose is eloquent, honest, and hits the reader like a ton of bricks. Causing the reader to want to comment, and subscribe because they just cannot help themselves. I am one of those readers/followers.

I hate to admit this, but jealousy is seeping out of pours by this mans ability to take the written word, and bring it to life. When he writes about Heroin even a non user can relate. Shane was given such a great ability, that he worked on, and by reading books, and even perhaps studying the Literate, he has become...dare I say it? The William S. Burroughs of a new generation.

Shane, I make this promise to myself, I will become a better writer of prose, by both reading and studying your blog along with comments that accompany, and by reading book after book, and tossing the TV out the god damn window, and watch it fall the 14 stories I've imagined myself falling a million times in a day.

I do believe that would be very cathartic for me, but the pawn shop is a better substitute, as I could make some money from the TV, that is and has been hindering my writing skills.

Shane has 130 some followers, and my blog has a measly 40 followers, and for each of those 40 followers I am grateful beyond words, or not beyond words, because there are so few things words cannot describe, and so many things words can describe. When I say, "beyond words" means I'm too lazy to put it into words that show my appreciation for my followers.

All my kisses, and Death threats, to you Shane, and your Heroin Head blog.

Lots of Love
Anna Grace

My poor father, wanting to sheild me from everything, including life.

Guess what "great" idea my father has come up with to save me from the savages of a jail cell for seven months or longer. He wants me to fly back to Wisconsin with them, purchase a criminal attorny who "will fix all my legal problems", and I will only be in jail overnight. My dad is sure of it. He doesn't realize how the legal system works. There is no way the DA or judge will grant me singature bond, it will be cash bond probably between 2,000 dollars, and 5,000, or they could not grant me bail at all. Which would mean I would sit in jail awating for my time in court, which could last up to six months. Which is longer than my original sentence of seven months with good time, would be 5 and half months.

As those readers who are on Methadone treatment know, the withdrawl from Methadone can last from 1month up to 3 months, and I've even herd horror stories that their withdrawl from Methadone lasted a full year. A full year of insomina, dreams about drugs when you do catch a wink of sleep. Without sleep for seven days your brain shuts down, and you die. So you will sleep, but no good, and not for long, just long enough to keep my brain alive. Anyway, I will be living inside a body whos brain is not producing enough dopamine, and other such endorphines to keep me the least bit positive. My parents time line for us moving back to Wisconsin, doesn't leave me enough time to detox properly, so I will have to suffer throught the tourters I brought upon myself by becoming an addict in the first place.

In stead of wasting my money I'm getting from Finacial aid on Xanax, I'm gonna save it up to buy my own plane ticket to Washinton. I'll go to couch, and stay with people, until I get a job, and make enough money to rent an apartment. Perhaps I'll live in Olympia, and just sit in on Evergreen State College English Lit classes, and learn how to write from them. Also I'll buy my first cheap, pawn shop electric guitar, and I will only call my parents after they realize that they don't need me to live.

It is what I have to do. I'm going over to Washinton states healthcare website, and see how I can keep getting my bi polar meds, and see a therapist. See if I can get my meds for cheaper if not free. I'm going to look up Methadone clinics, and see how much it cost to be on Methadone per month. Just find out everything about Washinton State as I can. Even if I have to put off going to school in Seattle until the winter semester. I have to what I have to do.

Oh yes, and there is a way you could help me make clicking on the ad I have in the margin on the right of my blogs, the same side as my pictures. Every day its a diffrent ad. If everyone who reads my blog on a daily basis, clicks on my ad I could make pretty okay money. At least enough for food, and the such while on my treak to find myself. Don't worry to those of you who think I'm going to start using H as soon as I get their. I won't, I can't. I can't afford it finacially, or mentally at this point.

Living without my dog Eleanor is going to be heartbreaking to me. I will feel like I've abondonded her yet again. If only Eleanor liked people and other dogs, but she doesn't. She hates it when people try to pet her, and she only lets dogs sniff her after she has sniffed them up and down. Couch surfing with Elle, would be too much on her, plus she would miss the daily routine my parents and I have set and she is used to. Elle turns 4 on June 6th.

God, my book is going to about all the times I've let Eleanor down. With no time to make it up, by the time the book is done.
I need to write some fiction, see if can do it. See if I can do it well, and readers want to read it. We will see, won't we.

I have more to write, but will not do so right now. I may post again later tonight. Remeber I'm on Hawaii time, 6 hours behind Eastren time. I have no idea what time zone London is in. Wish I did.

To everyone who reads this post, and to those who have read most my posts, thank you are words, that don't express what it means to me. The people who comment, giving me advice, and keeping me from going into the black hole of my mind. You are what I'm living for right now. Your what is keeping me alive. Keeping the breath in my lungs, and words in my head. I love you. I need you, I'm happy to have you.

All my love,
Anna Grace

Friday, May 15, 2009

A negative post, so don't get on my ass about it please. I know what I've done, and I know what I'm doing, and I know its my fault.

Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse! I'm sound asleep in my room, peaceful as can be, when my dad walks in and hands me the phone. I ask who it is, and he shakes his head, I don't know. I take the phone, and its a lady from the Social Security Disability office, she informs me, I'm not eligible for SSD because I have an outstanding warrant for my arrest in Wisconsin. Until that is cleared up there is nothing I can do to get SSD, even though I qualify for it.

I tell my parents who the phone call was from, and my dad is on my ass to "GET THIS ALL SORTED OUT". Now as you may or may not know there is a reason I'm in Hawaii. It is because of this warrant. If you read my blogs that are part of the book I'm writing, you know some of the history. I was caught writing out prescriptions of Hydromorphone 8 mgs 60 tablets BID, which means twice daily. I went to court for those fraud charges, and was given 1 year probation. I was on Methadone, I had just started the treatment, and I didn't know that Methadone blocked opiates from getting you high, and I still wanted to get high, so I started shooting coke. I had been in rehab during the court proceedings per my lawyers request, to show I'm getting helped. I ended up getting kick out of that rehab 6 days before I was set to graduate. I was kicked out for taking Benadryl to help me sleep. I had to be in treatment for the DA to make a deal, so I went on Methadone treatment. It worked and the deal went through, 1 year probation.

So here I am homeless for a month after I got kicked out, and just getting started on Methadone, and was still getting loaded of the Methadone dose everyday. I thought it would be like that the whole time. As long as I kept upping my dose. Then after two months, I stopped getting high off my dose, and the doctor wouldn't let me go up. So I started to level out on the methadone, and was at a blocking dose. In rehab I met a crack, and blow dealer. He relapsed around the time I stopped getting high off the Methadone. So I had a hook up for coke, and I started using it. The thing is I hate hate hate coke. I hate the way it only last 20 seconds, and after that its just chasing that next high, thats never as good as the first. I hate the way it makes my moods swing even more violently than they already do.

One day I was so sick of using coke, and I wanted to stop, and I didn't know what to do. So I called my counselor at the Methadone clinic and asked for help. She told me to call someone from NA. Everyone I knew in NA was using. The next morning I go in to get my Methadone dose, my counselor calls me in her office, and tells me she had call my PO and tell him I was using Coke. Which was grounds for revocation of my probation, and I would go to jail the remainder of my time on probation. 7 months, so that day my PO, puts me in jail. I was at 140 mgs of methadone, and was taking 50 mgs of Valium a day, plus my coke habit. All this I to stop cold turkey and withdrawal in jail. The worse place a person could be for withdrawals. Then my PO comes in and tells me instead of making me stay in jail for 7 months I could go back to rehab. The same 28 day program I was kicked out from just 5 months earlier. I was just happy to be getting out of jail.
I get to rehab, and my PO tells me I can never go back on Methadone. I had to get clean, or go to jail for seven months. I was not ready to stop using. I wanted my opiates. I needed my opiates. Its all I thought about all day. During every group I asked why I had to do a 28 day program which is proven that it only keeps 1% of people clean after they get done with inpatient treatment. Where as Methadone Treatment has 20% recovery rate the inpatient 28 even 120 day programs do. Every day I told my counselors, now that I know methadone keeps the opiate cravings at bay once you get at a stable dose, and the fact that I called for help to stop using coke because I hate it so much, and I know I will never touch that drug again, why can't I go back on methadone, and get a job, and go to school. Of course the treatment center which is based on the 12 step program was like, "thats your addiction talking", I was like, well my addiction is telling me that I can use methadone an opioid to stop these intense cravings, and my plan of suicide, and get back to a functional member of society. I argued the fact that the government is paying 6000 dollars for my 28 day stay in this rehab, when I could be paying for my own treatment at the methadone clinic, and I could have a reason to wake up in the morning. It would be better for the economy. Still no go, finally I said fuck it, and since I had been using Valium my roommate gave me, and my UA's were pos for benzo which I could blame on my use of benzo's in jail which they did give me for three days, and since I was habitual user it stays in your system for up to a month and a half, because like pot it is stored in your fat cells, unlike coke, and heroin which stays in your system for 72 hours at most. I knew I was going to end up in jail, and I had fantasied on the cop coming to get me, and before he could handcuff me, I would pull his gun out of his holster and put in my mouth and blow my brains all over that useless 28 day program.
In stead, I snuck out in the middle of the night, and have been on the run since.

Now my parents want me to move back to Wisconsin, go to jail, face the 7 months, plus whatever other charges they added to my sentence. By the time I go out I'd 28, 29. NO way in hell am I moving back to Wisconsin, a state I don't even want to go back to, and sit in jail for the help I asked for two and half years ago. Instead of moving to Seattle, and going to school, and getting a job, and living my fucking life.

I may as well flush my 20's away, and I know I did this to myself. I'm not asking my parents for a single dime, just to leave me alone, and let me move where want, which is not Wisconsin.

OH yes, and all the treatment I am getting here in Hawaii for my Bi Polar, I would have to give up if I moved back to Wisconsin, because they don't have any kind of medical for me, so I go to Wisconsin, no medication for my bi polar, no methadone( because my parents think its time for me to get off as if they know better than the doctors) and go to jail where I will be suffering from not just my regular bi polar, but the blackest, deepest, depression of withdrawal.

I know, I have so much life left to live, and things will get better, and I got myself into this, and I fucked up my own life, and now since my parents feel guilty I live with them no matter how much I don't want to, and let my parents remind me daily of how much I hurt them by using drugs, and how it should be easy to get off drugs, after everything its done to you. You have no will power. Your fat, and your gonna get fatter, because we are going to guilt you into living with us for the rest of our lives.

Every day my dad asks, "when I'm 70 and can't move, and need help wiping my ass your going to be there and do that for me right?" What am I suppose to say? No dad, I'm going to leave to rot in your own shit because I choose to use drugs.

They are right everything is my fault, and I will take all the blame. I'm sentencing myself to death.

There is no other way I can make my father happy. My mom on the other hand she gets it. She doesn't let my addiction rule her life, like my dad does. She knows their is nothing she can do for me, I have to do it for myself. Yet with her, she doesn't have the ability to say no to my dad. What he says goes, and even if they have to take me with them back to Wisconsin kicking and screaming, as soon as I get to the guns, I'm turning it on myself.

I see no other way out. Angie left me with a crazy father, who is now even more crazy and overprotective than he was before she died. This is my punishment for being the black sheep of my family. For not following society's rules.
I don't want to belong to society that keeps knocking me down, to a family that is insistent that live the life they want me to live.

No, no, no, no, no.

I love my parents, I know they did everything in their power to make my life better, and I know that my dad thinks he is doing the right thing by keeping me in a mental cage, and next a physical cage, and then again a mental cage taking care of my elderly parents, because they took care of me my entire life.

The cycle never ends. I'm sure from the outside looking in, your all like just leave, get over it, be who you are, and don't let guilt rule your life, I suggest you step into my shoes and then tell how simple it is, how easy it should be for me to say fuck it.

I just wish I could get high before I have to die.

I hate this life, ever since Angie died I've been in a living hell. Not physically but mentally. If I kill myself, or die, and go to hell it will be this life right now over and over. This feeling, this emotion, over and over, like ground hogs day, which is my birthday.

Sorry so negative. I know I'm bringing this on myself, and I know I should just face the consequences of my actions. After that, I should be a good girl, but really I just want to get high really high.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

In loving memory of Nancy and Angie.

I can't even read the post I wrote lastnight. I tried to before I left a comment to all the nice things everyone had to say. It makes me, I only cry when mad. That post makes me mad. Mad that I let such a vunerable part of myself be strewn across some voodoo screen.

Yesterday, I had just this feeling that I only have a few hundered days left to live. I was driving to the clinic in the morning sun. It was only 9am and I had to turn on the air full blast to cool off. I'm not made for tropical climates. Expessially when I'm on Methadone which makes me sweat more than roofer on a 120 degree day.

By the time I wake up in the morning, I NEED my morning dose. I already hear that voice in my head telling me I can't live without it. Yesterday was no diffrent, well maybe since I'm lowering my dose, the voice is getting louder, and more clear. I didn't even bother to change out of the clothes I slept in, didn't bother to brush my hair( I never do brush my hair). I just woke up, and got the keys to the car, and jumped in and drove to the clinic. On the way to the clinic, I was hitting all red lights. So I turned on the radio, and here they don't have very good radio stations. Its all Bob Marley, and Jimmy Buffet shit, I don't mind Bob, but every minute of every day hearing his music gets under my skin. So far this day isn't going too well. Not a single song I like. By the time I get to the clinic, I go to park my car, and I see the cars reflection and the reflection of me driving the car, in the window on the left side. I am startled by this reflection, because the car we have right now looks like the car my sister was driving the night she died in a car accident. I always swore to myself that I woudn't drive a blue car, but the rental place gave us this blue car, while our other car is in the garage getting a tune up. As soon as I saw the car a few days ago, I reminded my blue cars. They said they forgot. How the fuck do you forget that we don't drive blue cars after the accident, and resulting death of a daughter and sister?

I tried not to look at the reflection, but I couldn't look away. Now that my sister Angie is gone, I can see the resemblence in our faces. I look at our senior pictures, and you can see we have a few of the same features, even though when she was alive, I never noticed that we looked alike in the least bit. I couldn't take my eyes off the refelection, it was as if I was looking at my sister in her car on the way to her death. I'm sitting there and in my mind trying to look away, when the song Angie by the rolling stones comes on. When I hear this song it always makes tears my heart to peices. For that song to come on at that exact time was too much, and I sat there and listened to the whole song, and watched myself in this blue car, and what I was really seeing was my sister sitting her car looking at me crying.

The song ended, and I opened the door to the car and jumped out so fast you wouldn't belive it. I must have looked like a crazy person to bystanders. This fat girl crying in her car, while staring at herself for 4 minutes, and then jumping out of the car like it was on fire. After getting out of the car, I ran to the elevator, and it was taking too long so I ran my fat ass up the three flights of stairs, and walked very fast thru the hallway to the clinic.

I walk into the clinic, and everyone is on break, and then I notice this picture of one of my counclers at the clinic, and all these flowers surrounding it. Then I saw golden lettering, in loving memory of Nacy. I couldn't believe what I was seeing, I just saw Nacy on Monday, today is Wendsay. I don't cry, I can't. I just have this lump in my throat, and now a throbbing headache. All I could think about was death. How I have to so many things to do before death stops knocking at my door, and walks in and takes me. I felt so overwhelmed by everything I have to get done. I have to leave so much more behind for who survives me in death. I've only just started what I have to do.

Break is overwith, and the room is full of patients. I had herd them talking about Nancy and her death, speculating about how it happened, but I didn't see them. Then I herd my name called out, and door buzz meaning its unlocked for me to go get my dose. I ask what happened, and all Kessa at the front desk knows, is that she died from Pnemonia. I asked what kind of Pnemonia, was she HIV+, or was it walking Pnemonia? I don't think she was HIV+, she was an RN, she was chunky, healthy. How could Pnemonia kill her in just over 48 hours. When I saw her on Monday she look as healthy as an ox, and now she is gone.

Kessa tells me to go to the doseing window, there are alot of people behind me. So I go over and get my doses. Then I think about this Swine Flu, what if the goverment isen't telling us everything. Keeping us from panicing. Perhaps it is more deadly than they say. Maybe its a media black out, and the goverment is feeding us inaccurate info. All these thoughts roll through my head, as I walk slowly down the hall way to the elevator. I decide I'm being parnoid. For all I know she could have been HIV+, I never asked her, and she wasen't obligated to tell anyone. Although if she were alive, I know if we asked she would tell us. She was always very open and honest about her life, and what she thought about our lives. She was funny too. Maybe she knew she was sick, and her Viral load was high, and her CD4 count was low, but she didn't want to...speculation. I stop myself, and get in the car, and keep my eyes on my hands so I don't see my reflection.

On my drive home, I hit all green lights, and The Doors, light my fire plays on the radio. I like the doors, and this song is long, so I might be able to handle everything going on in my head. Waiting for the methadone to kick in.

I get home, and take only one Xanax, trying to conserve. I read my book almost all day. I'm getting to the end, and its one of those endings where the son is clean, and working the steps, after his thrid relapse, he feels his son is on the track, taking it one day at a time. This pisses me off, so I stop reading, and try to sleep. Normally the Methadone makes me sleep, but not now. I'm getting low on my dose. Still high to most people 87, but I was at 130 and comfortable. Its like they are taking my safty net away, and making walk a tight rope.

By 9pm I am overwhelmed and I write lastnights post. I take another Xanax, and some herbal sleeping pill. We are out of over the counter sleep aids. I have a hard time sleeping. I want to take my take home dose now, but I konw it will just make today hell, and the next day even worse.

I go into my room, and fall asleep, and wake up to some movie my dad is watching that is too loud, and the apartment trashed.

Now here I am, and I'm done posting for today.

All my love to everyone

Anna Grace

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

This is how it ends...

I watch as the smiles drain from their faces, and I wonder why. Is it sad to watch me die? I know I hurt you a million times, and hurting you has hurt me more than any word can express. I am guilty, too guilty. I ice and my family is fire, and they have melted me. I'm now just a puddle on the floor. They never see me when I cry. I keep it way down, so far down, and when it comes up I don't know where to put it. I try to bury it again, but it won't go down, and I'm forced to face it.

What have I become? Just another one of you. Thats all I am. Thats all that you are. We exist a few thousand days and then we die. Some have fewer days than others, and some have more days. Either way it ends. Then what? I have to face the things I didn't do, write a song, and play it for an audience, publish a book, and paint your protrait. I never got to live in Seattle, or New York, only here and there.

The only thing is, I've dissapointed you, all I do is dissapoint. When you remind me of all the dissapoinment I've put you thru, all the sleepless nights you endured worrying about me. You always remind me, and I cannot forget, even if you don't remind me.

I wish I had done it all right, and you would have been proud if only for a moment. Tomorrow I could be gone and so could you. I moving on, and moving out. Its hard, and somehow I know your right, but I need to be alone. I'm letting too many days pass, without doing what has to be done.

So takecare of yourselves, and try your best not to worry. I moveing on.

Methadone is like castration to me.

Does everyone see that there is a scheduled outage at 2am PDT on Wednesday 5/13? I guarantee that I will come up with the most entertaining, well written blog on that day at that exact time, and I'll go to post, and won't be able to. I've had ample warning, so my subconscious is going to remember this outage, and then bring forth a blog that belongs with the dead sea scrolls it is poignant and eloquent.

That is just how my life is. At least I have a paper journal, and if comes to me then, I can write it down and post it later.

This morning, I just didn't want to wake up. I could hear my parents walking around, making coffee, and eggs, and watching morning TV, but I made myself fall back to sleep. I just wanted to sleep through the morning. Except when my parents woke me up with there morning business, I opened my mouth, and it tasted rancid. I had to get up and brush my teeth. So I jumped out of bed, rinsed my mouth out, brushed my teeth, all with my eyes only half open, and jumped back in bed.

In the morning I seem to have more REM sleep than during the night, or at least I remember my dreams much better when I sleep in later. This morning around 10:30am I was having this amazing dream. I was in this bedroom, with one wall painted red. I've always wanted to have one wall in my room painted red, but I've never done it. When I looked out the window of this bedroom, I could see that I was in Washington State, because it was cool out, and the sky was gray, and I just knew rain was on its way. I also knew that the rain would last a while, but afterword, the smell of spring would be in the air. Flowers blooming everywhere. I knew when I walked out of this room, and out of the house this room was in, it would be the perfect temperature. I could read all day long on the grass outside after the rain stopped, and while it rained I work on my book. I knew I had friends I looked forward to seeing. Then I realized I felt like I had just injected the perfect amount of Heroin the vein in my upper arm. I was high in this room, and watching the grey clouds threatening rain, and feeling the air temperature cool. I was so happy in this dream. It was as if my brain while asleep allowed a rush of endorphins, just as if it would after a shot of H.

Suddenly I wake up to Eleanor barking to get on my bed with me. I realize that my feet are freezing. A rare feeling here in Hawaii. Which is probably why my dream put me in that perfectly cool room, with the gray sky, and the feeling of being high. I got out of bed, and went into the living room where both my parents were watching "Driving Miss Daisy", and my mom had pulled the love seat from my parents bedroom into the living room so she could lay down on a couch, just like my dad. So I had a overstuffed chair to sit in. I watched the ending of Driving Miss Daisy, and then my mom went in her room to take a nap, and my dad to the bar. Leaving me alone. I got my book out and read. Its called beautiful Boy, it a book from a fathers point of view about his sons drug addiction. It mentions Kurt Cobain a number of times. Which started to make me angry, but then I realized, Kurt Cobain is a famous person of who drugs overtook his life, and tough love just didn't work. As we all know. While reading there was a sentence about Leonard Cohen, and suddenly I had this overwhelming need to listen to his music, and read his poetry. Now I have this overwhelming need to buy one of his novels.

I went on Rhapsody and found Leonard Cohen, and I sat and listen for two hours to every song on two albums. I seriously lost myself, and found myself. It was a visceral experience. I just knew...I now know something I didn't before, and I feel like I needed to find this out before I could go forward in my life, in this world, and with art. I have it now, and I know what has to be done. I just have to get it done. I am a lazy person, but I have to do it, and I can't be this lazy. When it comes to something I love I will do it, because I have to do it. Writing is something I love, and music is something I love, along with painting.

As far as Heroin in my life, well that is still up in the air. I just wish I could be a functioning addict. I must write, and make art before I loose myself to my one true love.

I must go now. Thank you for reading. I so want to get high, I hate this Methadone...its like being castrated. I'm not kidding.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

A Leonard Cohen Afterworld

I've never listened to Leonard Cohen's music before, until today. Why did it take me 26 years to find him music. I've herd of him a million times, mentioned in song, and book, and in poems.

I'm just lying here, blocking everything except his voic, and words, and every song is beautiful, ever lyric wonderfull. I close my eyes, and my mind wonders back to when I was just a child. When everything was so exciting.

Now, I'm writing this blog, just because I'm mad, mad that I didn't know about this before today, mad I've been to lazy to look him up, even though I ment to many times. I'm hungry I have to go, and make myself lunch.

I just wanted to let you know that he was right, I hope there is Leonard Cohen afterworld.

I'll write more later, but hunger has overcome me. I must go.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

I'm trying a new font, but it doesn't look any fucking different. Whatever!

So your probably wondering whats on my mind tonight. Well it is a full moon. I know because I keep track of it on my google homepage. So at around 8pm Hawaii time, I went outside and admired the beauty of the moon. The colors behind the moon, how the sky looks iridescent, and when clouds pass by it looks utterly stunning. I can't take my eyes off it.

At 8pm is when my dad got home from the bar, so I was able to leave the apartment. Not that I want to, because my mom tried to cut my dog Eleanor's hair with a electric cutters yesterday, and shaved almost all the hair off her legs, and cut her neck and chin. Now Eleanor is lethargic, and in pain. I gave her a half of a baby aspirin hidden in her food so she can get some sleep. I also put this salve on it, and keep her from itching her neck. Poor baby girl. When she hurts, I hurt.

So with Eleanor sleeping, I told my father I was going to Seven Eleven, and thats when I noticed the moon was in an optimal viewing spot from outside our door. I stopped, and took it all in. All my surroundings. The smell of the air, the look of the sky, the look of the sky scrapers all around our building. The slight breeze coming of the ocean, leaving just a lingering sent of salt water. The traffic below leaving the smell of car exhaust, and the drunk people wandering the streets on a Saturday night, leaving the smell of alcohol behind them. I can even smell the hot thick air, it smells like sweat, not body sweat, but earth sweat. Here in Hawaii, there is no spring, we go from the rainy season, with temperatures in the 70s starting in November to temps in the upper 80's starting in April. Oh how I miss the mainland, and the seasons. Still I couldn't help but take all these sights, smells, and sounds in without feeling like when I leave Hawaii hell I will miss it. Unfortunately we see our past in rose colored glasses. Not the way you truly felt almost each day living here. Too hot, too many people, most of whom don't speak English, too many tourists asking for directions, not enough grass, just cement as far as the eye can see, except for the football field size parks they make every 15 miles or so.

I've come to realize that I hate the daytime here, but I love the night time. When it cools down, and the traffic isn't a constant sound running past us every second, and the Sky Scraper being built right across from our apartment with its jack hammers, and cranes, pounding, pouring, and just constant loud annoying noises.

Tonight all I really want to do is ride my bike to the beach, and watch the moon over the ocean. Normally I hate sand, but late at night, and early in the morning I love the beach. Probably because no-one is there yet. By 9am there is thousands of people on the beach. Just taunting me. The sand is hot, and after swimming, it is sticky, and gets into ever curve of my body, and right now my body has many crevasses. Just to be alone on the beach watching the moon, and then the sunrise, would be a wonderful feeling. Free from my passed out dad, and free from the morning when I wake up in a pissy mood, and my body hurts because my methadone has worn off.

I'm afraid if I go to the beach alone tonight I get all sentimental, and start to wonder why life can't be like this all the time, and then I take off my sandals, and walk into the water, and swim out in the dark, and then just let the water take me where ever it wants, and then I go under and inhale a lung full of water, and drown myself. Everyone who knows me would be like she shouldn't have read that biography of Virgina Wolfe. Really I've never read one of Virgina's novels which is probably why I spelled her name wrong. All I did was read her biography. Although she didn't drown herself in the ocean she did in a river if I remember correctly.

I have to pee, and I don't want to get up and go, because I'm afraid I'll loose my train of thought, and suddenly this blog will be about something else entirely. Fuck this blog is sucking ass, so I am going to go pee, and when I get back hopefully the blog will be much better.

Okay I'm back, and nope I didn't wash my hands. Ha ha mom, and swine flu. Wouldn't it be ironic if I died from swine flu, or am I an idiot and don't know the meaning of ironic? Alanis Morrisett didn't know the meaning and she made a song about the word, and it made her rich, so fuck yes it would be ironic. Correct meaning or not!

While I was peeing I queefed. For those of you who do not know what a queef is, I will explain. It is when air gets into a woman's vagina, and the woman sit down, or a guy pulls his cock out after doing her doggy style, and she pretty much farts from her vagina, but its not a fart, it just sounds like one. Really its just air being released from the vagina.

I fondly remember the first time I queefed during sex. I was 15, and my redneck alcoholic boyfriend who was 20 was doing me doggy style, and he was doing me hard, then he came, and pulled his penis out of my vagina, and suddenly I felt my vagina bubbling, and making this loud farting noise. I tried to hold it in, but the harder I tried to hold it in, the more that would come out, air that is, along with his cum. He looks at me like, are you really sitting on my bed naked blowing ass. I know my face was beet read with embarrassment, and I tried to explain to him what a queef was. How a 20 year old man had never experienced such a thing I do not know. Then again he was a 20 year old dating a 15 year old highschool Sophomore. I doubt he got laid much before I came along.

After my first queef, I noticed it happened during doggy style positions mostly, I even queefed while a man's penis was inside of me. ( I wonder what that felt like for him). Still it was embarrassing having this man behind you thinking your blowing ass right in his face.
I've even queefed while a guy was going down on me. Pour guy, a rush of air, and pussy juice comes flying out of my vagina loudly, but he was a trooper and kept on going down on me until I climaxed, and after climax I let out the loudest queef I've ever herd. Even after masturbation sometimes I'll let out a long wet queef.

Women sure do have it hard. I've even queefed while on my period. Blood blew all over this guys mattress. He told me to go get some soap, water, and a towel and get my "pussy blood" off his mattress. I pretended to do as he said, while he jumped in the shower to get the blood off his cock and ball, and instead of cleaning up my mess, I snuck out the house and jumped in my car a speed home. Needless to say, he never called me again.

This is when I was much younger, and queefing was new to me. I thought something was wrong with my vagina, until mentioned it to a friend, who assured me it happens to all women, and its usually because of small penises. While they are pumping their small peckers in and out, air is going in with it, and it has to be let out somehow.

I haven't had sex in over a year, but nowadays, at the young age of 26, I could care less about a queef, or air being forced out of my vagina after sex, because its apart of sex. It happens. I once gave a BJ to a guy, and while he was coming he farted really loudly, and it stunk, but did I say anything to embarrass him? Nope, I just laughed, and so did he. I was a bit disgusted, but what can you do. Bodily functions aren't always pretty. As we all know when we have "the trots", or "the runs" aka diarrhea. Anyone who has been dope sick knows bodily functions can be brutal.

On time while in jail detoxing off of 140mgs of Methadone, and after attempting suicide so they would put in a hospital. Which they didn't, and instead they put me in a Solitary confinement naked, where I had shit coming out the bottom end, and vomit coming out the front. Sometimes I'd have my head in the toilet with the dry heaves, and suddenly I would feel my underwear, and orange jumpsuit fill up with liquid excrement. I had to push the button with a speaker attached to it, and let the Corrections officer know that I just shit my pants and I need more pepto bismol, which didn't work at all. I was also coming of benzos, but I had not mentioned this when I was being booked, so finally when the nurse came to see me, and give my whatever medication they could to help with the withdrawals, she ended up giving me Librium...a benzo. Unfortunately she only gave me enough for three days, and then it was all those blood pressure pills that supposedly help with withdrawal symptoms, and other such pills that they believe helps curb the withdrawal process. I just wish that those CO's could have been dope sick before, and know what I was going thru, instead, they laughed, and kept telling me its my fault, I did this to myself. I wanted to make them bit the curb, and take my foot and smash their teeth, jaw, and face into the sidewalk curb.In moments of weakness I think about such things, in reality I would never wish that upon anyone.

After the detox, sickness was over with, the depression set in. Really the depression was their the whole time, but I was so consumed with the sickness, that I didn't have time to think about it, but afterward, when the insomnia kicked in, and the thick black sadness overwhelmed me, I still to this day cannot believe I made it through that stay in jail alive. I thought about suicide every minute I was locked up. I thought about suicide and getting high, and getting out of jail. That is all. Anxiety attacks were a daily occurrence, and not sleeping was causing delusions.

Ignorant people say, think, scream, yell, she's a junky, instead of helping her, we'll punish her. I bet fundamental christians think that Heroin, and Morphine, and all other opiates are the devils doing, but when they have a toothache, or just had major surgery and are getting a Hydromorphone pump they aren't complaining. So if there is a god, did he put opiates here only for physical pain, or did he put it here for emotional pain too. Opiates taken daily for a person's entire adult life, causes no damage to any organ in the human body, it doesn't' cause bone loss, or tooth decay, if a addict had a lifetime supply he could live a long healthy life, as long as he/she didn't keep upping his dose to get so high he or she is nodding out all the time, which would lead to an overdose death. Hence Methadone Treatment...aka MMT.

Okay, enough is enough. I've gone on about three different subjects, and all of them random. Its Saturday night, and I wish I were sitting out on the beach watching the moon's reflection on the water, but instead I'm sitting in my apartment on the couch with the TV on mute, listening to my father snore, as I write a bunch of nonsense on a voodoo screen.

What ever it takes I'm moving to Washington.

I apologize in advance if I disgusted anyone with my queefing, but it is a fact of life. I'm sorry if your embarrassed, I was too. Now I'm just embarrassed of my naked body, except for my big boobs. Thank God or whomever for making my boobs big while I'm fat. I hope when I lose this weight they won't sag.

Anon, just leave me alone. You piss me off, and fuck 'em! Leave a comment, but don't call me names, and just be plane mean, and rude. Opinions are like assholes everyone has one, and everyone thinks everyone else's stinks. Still leave your opinion, stinky or not.

All my love to everyone out there who comes across this blog, and follows it on a regular basis.
Anna Grace

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

almost falling by accident, and nobody believes me. Its like the opposite of the boy who cried wolf too many times.

I'm almost out of Benzo's. I've called who I'm suppose to call, no answer. Left a message, no call back. Of course today is the day everyone gets their welfare/financial assistance, I'm sure I'm not the only one who left a message. What I should have done, was got my ass in the car and drove downtown. I don't want to do such a thing. I was there yesterday, where I was told to call tomorrow. Well its fucking tomorrow, and I'm down to four flippen Xanax bars, and then what. Go without, see if I do have a seizure. I doubt I'll die. I have yet to die.

Which reminds of last nights incident.

I woke up around 6pm after my afternoon nap. The sun was just going down, but the air was still hot and thick. I got up out of my bed, and walked around the apartment, to find I was all alone. Mom was at work and Dad was at the bar. It was a Monday night, good TV shows were on, so I wasn't too pissed that I was locked in my house, no way out until my dad got home with the keys. Eleanor was sitting on the couch, and looked so depressed. She always looks depressed when I'm not playing with her, which make me of course feel guilty for not playing with her all the time.

Since my parents weren't home I decided to watch the nights TV shows in their room. Their room has a ceiling fan, and a stand up rotating fan. We do have central air, and its cranked as high as it can go, but still its hot in the apartment. If my parents would have closed the shades when the sun was high in the sky, and shining directly in our apartment this place would be at least a bit cooler, but of course those types of duties are left up to me.

Before my shows started I made myself a plate of spaghetti. I could feel my methadone wearing off, and my body started aching. My mind started wandering, going to places I try to keep it from going. Places like, what would it be like to die, I wish we had all my fathers guns here in Hawaii with us. Stupid suicidal stuff that I would never act on.

My shows started, and the first one was House, which was a really good episode. Then I watched Medium, my favorite show at the moment. For some reason when I watch medium I get this strange feeling in the pit of my stomach that goes all the way up to the top of my head. I hate how just when the show is getting good, it goes to commercial break. I start to get all worked up, and ended up having a panic attack. I was low on benzos, so I could only take two, and I stole one of my dads Kpins, I also took two, two hundred mg morphines to keep the sickness away. Don't ask where I got them, I just got them for just in case situations, now that I'm going down on my Methadone. This is the first time I had to use them.

Medium ends up being a special two hour episode, and druing one of the commercials I got this wild hair up my ass to go out on the patio, and see if could see my dad walking home from the bar. I couldn't see him. While looking for him I was sitting on this green plastic table, with cheap green plastic patio set. I got in my head to stand on the this table. So I take on foot and step onto the table, and I take the next foot onto the table. Two seconds after I got on the table, It fell to pieces under my weight, and in the crash I suffered a number of injuries to my feet and legs.
As soon as I got back on my feet, they hurt like I they just been hit with a switch ten times. I ran back into the apartment and turn the bath water on cold, and put my feet in their, and I noticed alot of blood coming from my feet. I looked on the bottoms of my feet and I only had one scratch. I couldn't figure out where all this blood was coming from. So I took a wash cloth, and put a bit of soap on it, and I washed my feet, and I found the source of the blood. It was on the back of my foot just above my heal. More on my ankle. I had a huge gash their. I looked like I might have needed stitches. Except I could leave the apartment, and I didn't have a phone to call anyone. So I got out the bandaids, and made a butterfly bandage, to close up the wound best I could, and then I put more bandaids over that, and then wrapped it tight with an ace bandage.

I swear on my sisters grave, I wasn't even thinking about jumping, I just wanted to stand on the table and see if I could see over the seven eleven to the bar where my dad was. I knew it was dangerous, and if I had feel forward I would have fallen fourteen stories to the cement below. Instead I fell straight down. I hadn't had time to lean over and see before the table gave way to my fat ass.

So while I'm patching myself up, I'm watching Medium still, and still getting frustrated everytime a commercial comes on. I got so sick of it, that I pushed pause on the DVR, so I could fast forward thru the commercials. Why I didn't do this earlier, I don't know. Oh yes, I remember because I was in my parents bedroom, and they don't have a DVD in their room, only in the living room.

Not 5 minutes after I pushed pause, my dad comes stumble thru the door drunk. I ran in his room and grabbed my blanky before he passed out on it. Then I told him I'm going down to buy some smokes, and a butterfinger. Which I did, I took Eleanor with me for her nightly walk. Oh fuck did my feet hurt on that short yet long walk over to seven eleven. It was on that walk that I realized I was pretty fucked up from taking those morphine, and benzo's. I didn't feel high, but I was nodding out. Eleanor would stop to piss, and I would be startled awake by her pulling on her leash.

I got to Seven Eleven, and got what I needed, and walked to the counter to check out. I set my candy and bottled water down, and nodded out. The clerk...whom I've become friends with after seeing her three time a night at most, and at least once a night. She asked what was wrong, and I said, ohh yeah, I cut my foot and my dad gave me a percocet and now I feel really tired. ( I have told this particular clerk about my addiction, and methadone. I, of course left out the benzo use, and such. Her name is Roselyn. She thinks I'm a recovering addict doing really good. Which I am. I could be alot worse. After I gave her the wrong the card for my food stamps, she was said, "Anna, your high as kite. What are you doing, I've never seen you like this. Your slurring your words, and you eyes look glassed over, and you look pale, with bluish lips." By now I just wanted out and to get back home. I didn't feel high, as in the euphoric, warm happy childish sense, I just felt wasted. I had no control over myself, and wanted to get Eleanor home without incident. So after she found my food stamps card, and did all the transaction for me, and started to give me the third degree, and though I was ODing, I got my ass out of their. Didn't even say thank you or good buy. I just fled the scene. I knew I wasn't ODing, I was out and moving, I was just intoxicated by taking too much opiates, and benzo's.

When I got home, my dad had already passed out in his room. I pushed play to watch the rest of Medium, but there was no way, I was nodding, and would wake up, and find I had left a cigarette burn in my pants, and in my shirt. Oh God, I though for a second, my parents know when all my clothes have cigarette burns in them I've been using. They will check my arms for tracks, which they won't find, because I ingested them. finally I was out, and didn't wake up until 4am when I went in my bedroom.

The next morning I was worried they would know that I had used. I had forgotten about the table on the patio incident. Both my parents are convinced I was trying to jump, but I wasn't. Now they are acting all weird around me. Feeling guilty, when they have no reason to feel guilty. I tried to explain it to them, still they don't believe me. They want me to call my theripast and tell her about what happened, and be taken inpatient in the physc hospital for undetermined amount of time. Finally I just admitted I had taken a panic attack, and I took a Xanax. I left out the Morphine part, that would just cause even more unwanted attention. After I took all my manipulative behavior to get the to stop thinking I tried to off myself, and for my mom to go to bed, she has work again tonight, and my dad to go lay down and nurse his hanger over. So my dad takes the couch and falls asleep. I go do my laundry because I have nothing to wear, and while down the hall I called who I'm suppose to call for my meds. No answer.

So now here I am. blogging about being scary low on my Xanax.

I got to go now. Thanks for reading this post.
Lots of love to everyone.
Anna Grace

Monday, May 4, 2009

A life worth living, or is it?

Today, what do I have to say about today? I had planned on calling a certain person to buy some Xanax, but I have enough left to keep me satisfied for the next two or three days. So its a Sunday, a day to relax, millions of people didn't do anything interesting today. I shouldn't feel so bad about laying around eating butterfingers, and sleeping my life away.

The thing is its not just Sunday's that I do nothing. The one thing I look forward to is taking my Methadone dose, and even that has become mundane, so I take six mgs of Xanax with my Methadone. After I've taken my dose, I take Eleanor for her walk, go to Seven Eleven pick up smokes for the family, and my daily dose of sweets. Then I watch a bit of morning television to keep up on current events, and after that its off to one of the bedrooms to read a book. After I start to nod off, I try to keep myself awake by logging on the internet, and checking my emails. Replying to comments. After that its off to la la land for about 8 hours. I sometimes wake up if I'm craving a sweet. I'll look all over the house for something sweet to eat, and after finding nothing, I end up walking over to the seven eleven yet again for two more butterfingers.

When I walk outside, I see all these happy people, wearing nothing but a tiny weeny itsy bitsy polka dot bikinis, and in my mind I think wow, I wish I could look that good in a bathing suit, I once did...only two years ago. I should go down to the internet cafe and scan a photo of me two years ago in Florida wearing a med size bikini as my before shot, and then a photo of me in my new swimsuit, which is a surf top which like a t-shirt that is made of swim suite material, and pair of biking shorts. I feel as though I just don't belong. Last summer living here I belonged, i was thin, using, had something to do everyday.

Now that I'm on Methadone, and fat, I don't belong. All these things I cannot blame on anybody but myself. Now that I'm getting off the Methadone, I feel like I have to make a major change. I can either stop using all together, move back to Wisconsin face my legal issues, go to jail for seven months. On the other hand I could move back to Wisconsin for one month, let my parents help me get started in Seattle, go to school, struggle to stay clean. Back in Wisconsin after I get out of jail, I could always just start using my dad pain pills again, and relive the past 6 years all over again. Both states will be hard to move to. Living with my parents is just something I do not want to do anymore.

I'm not ready stop using, opiates are number one. I hate to say that. It makes me a horrible daughter, a horrible cousin, niece, grand daughter, a horrible person.

All these changes, all these changes need to be made, but in reality I'm not making them for myself. I wish I was, but its my father who is making the decisions on how my life should work out. I feel like once I'm free of my father I will be free to be me.

How could I say that? He only wants the best for me, but I'm not like them. I don't want those things. I want to be thrust out into the world on my own, nobody to answer to, get SSDI, or get a job. Go to school, meet people, make words, and songs, and paintings.

I hate to say this, but if by the time I turn 27, and I'm in the same position I'm in, living my life for my parents, I think it is time to turn the guilt on them. I'm trying hard, I'm pulling myself out of their spider web, and trying to make it on my own. I've made mistakes, I've made big mistakes. I've learned from these mistakes, and after I'm on my own, what happens is my doing.

I want to make a life for myself, a life I enjoy. I could die in my sleep tonight, never even getting a chance to more with my life, than the goal I set of becoming an Heroin addict.

I feel like when I hit my 30's it over for me. All I have claim to is the fact that I was, or perhaps still am a using Heroin addict. With my luck I'll live to be 100 years old. I'll out live everyone. I'll be the old made listening to Nirvana, and blaming my parents for my life of worthlessness.
Which is a lie, I am holding myself back.

Anna Grace, get the courage to make your decision, go against what your parents want you to do, and do what I want to do, or go along with my what my parents want me to do, and let the chips fall where they may.

Sorry, nothing exciting to write today. Just needed to get this off my chest once again. I keep having horrible panic attacks whenever I let these thoughts roll around in head over and over, and over, until I can't breath, and I'm in my closet crying. Trying to keep my sadness a secret so I don't make my parents feel guilty.

Nothing more to say right now. Soon the change will be made.

Thanks for reading my blog.

Lots of love,

Anna Grace

Friday, May 1, 2009

Its not a secret anymore insert famous person here, that the majority of ppl said I should keep anon, after outting him as an addict.

What I'm about to write, no-one is going to believe, and I don't blame you because if I read it on somebody else's blog I wouldn't believe it either.

As most people who read my blog know that I live in Hawaii on the island of Oahu, in the city of Honolulu. Lost is filmed here, and my dad got a part as an extra on the show Lost. Along with show Lost, any number of movies are being filmed here on this island. My dad saw a movie star once, Shilo LaBuff(the guy from Indiana Jones new movie). As for myself I have never seen a movie star while here on this island, in this city...UNTIL TODAY!

This morning I woke up late, and this morning I had to be at the Methadone clinic to get my daily dose, and my take home doses. The clinic closes at 11:30am, and it was almost 11am when I woke up. I'm not quit sure what woke me up, but thank my lucky stars I woke up, because I would have been out of Methadone for three full days.

After waking, I had no time to do usual morning routine. Instead I splashed some water on my face, and gave Eleanor four treats to keep her occupied while I left without her. (poor baby) I got on the elevator and it seemed like forever on the way down, even though I know it takes exactly 28 seconds from my floor to the lobby. Once out of the building I ran as fast as my feet would take me to the car. I get in the car, and its sweltering HOT. So I turn on the air conditioner, and what do know, its not working. Not only is the air conditioner not working, but my hazards were on, and I had no time to figure out how to turn them off. So I rolled down the all the windows, and, zoomed out of the parking lot, and blew thru the traffic on my way to get my fix(s).

I get to the clinic with 5 minutest to spare. So I park run to up the stairs and to the clinic, and I get in right away, and go to the doseing room, and get my doses. Now I can breath a sigh of relief. I could dry myself of the sweat pouring out of my body, and find a cigarette to smoke. I look thru my purse on the elevator ride down, and there are no smokes. I cursed, and got out of the elevator.

I walk out of the elevator, and I see the usual crowd of junkies who gather around looking for Xanax, Blue heavens, baby blues, so on and so forth. For good measure I went and said hello to my fellow Methadone addicts, and ask if anyone had a non menthol smoke I could bum. This is the first time I look around at all the faces in the this group. I looked straight across from me, and I'm eye to eye with insert (famous person name here). For those of you who don't know who (insert famous person's name here) is, he is the guy in all of the Adam Sandler movies. Now you know who I'm talking about?

At first my mind told me it had to be a look alike. There is no way a famous person would be mingling amongst us opiate addicts, making shady deals for all different kinds of prescription drugs. As this man who looks identical to Rob Schneider offers me a smoke, I just keep looking at him trying to keep my weird American gene from overcoming me that makes me want to get his autograph, or even ask him if he is who I think he is, and then tell him I think he was the best in some movie he wasn't even in.

I was also alarmed that all these methadone patients don't realize that there is a famous comedic movie star among us looking for pain meds. The only thing I could figure was everyone was so engulfed in what they were doing to notice who was in the crowd, except for the person who was carrying the pill they are looking to buy.

So here I am, I just got a smoke of (insert famous actor's name here) in the middle of a frenzied drug addict crowed. I muster up the courage to ask (insert actors name here) what he is looking for. He looks at me, and says I was told to come here if I wanted to find any kind of Morphine, or Oxycontin, perhaps even Heroin. I looked at him with a big smile on my face, and said, "I know exactly where you can get grade A Heroin". I had memorized all the numbers of dealers I used to buy from when I lived here last summer, and was still using H. I didn't have a cell on me, but he did. The first number I called was the guy who had the best H, but he only sold 100 dollars at a time. At this moment I feel like I'm living this experience outside my own body. I have (insert famous person's name here) IPhone in up to my ear listening to a certain drug dealers phone ring. I let it ring probably 8 or 9 times, and as I was about to hang up and go onto the second dealers number, and the guy answers. I tell him who it is, and he wants to have a conversation about where I've been, and how I've been, and I have to break in, and say I have someone looking to purchase some of your (code words) and when can he have it ready and when can we go to pick it up. He tells me 20 minutes and I'll meet at such and such bus stop.

So I hang up, tell him what he's getting, and that I can give him a ride to the bus stop where you will meet him. He said no, I have my own car, just tell which bus stop, and I'll meet him there. I was like, wait, I just vouched for you. He doesn't know you. He will want me there to make sure I can vouch for you in person. Then he said, "I think when he See's me he will know I'm not a cop, and I'm not going to rob him. Finally I had confirmation it was the famous comedic actor (Insert famous person's name here) here at my Methadone clinic looking for a fix. Now that I had confirmation that it was Rob, I told him if he wants to go alone, I have to call the guy again and let him know I wont be there at the hand off, but when he gets there he will know who this person is, because he has seen him in Adam Sandler movies. I didn't say his name over the phone, so my old dealer is probably thinking this is some kind of trick, or who the hell is this famous person is, and why is Anna calling me for him. Which is exactly what I was thinking too.

So I made the call to the dealer, and he said he would still go thru with the deal. I gave (famous person) the directions, but to my surprise he knows downtown chinatown better than I do. As soon as I said the bus stop across from this school, and this drug store, he know exactly where I was talking about. (famous person) then said, "Thanks for the help, and please don't go around telling everyone who will listen that you just told a movie star how to get Heroin, no body will believe you. I have a publicist, and it just wouldn't be worth it for you." I said, "Of course, its my ass just as much as yours if you get caught." What I didn't mention is I have blog, and hardly anyone reads it, so I'm going to blog about it.

(Insert famous person name here) gives me his pack of Marlboro Reds, and puts a 20 dollar bill in my hand, and goes off to a black Mercedes, and gets in the back seat. While I was on the phone we had walked away from the crowed of addicts so I could hear. After he was gone, I went back to crowd of people that had thinned out a bit, and I said didn't you guys know who that guy I was with was? They all said some guy I have never seen before. That's why I didn't sell him any of my pills. I looked at this guy who denied (insert famous person's name here) drugs, and told him who it was he wouldn't sell his pills to. Then everyone was like I thought I recognized him, but his hair was longer, and he had a beard. Then I realize if (famous person's name) had worn sunglasses with the hat he had on, I probably wouldn't have noticed who he was, but he wasn't wearing sunglasses. He had his sunglasses on his hat.

I was still in a state of awww, when I pulled myself away from the crowed, and the swealtering heat, and the sun beating down hard upon my pasty white skin. I got in my car, and remembered the air conditioner wasn't woking, and my hazzards were on. I was back to reality. I had to get home, and tell my mom about this odd, 1 in a million chance that I met a movie star who uses Heroin, and happen to be told if he goes to the Methadone clinic, he would be certain to find someone who could get him either pills or Heroin.

When I got home, and told my mom, she was like whatever this didn't happen. So I showed her the pack of cigarettes, and the 20 dollar bill. Finally she was like OMG. Then I asked her if she thinks it would be okay for me to blog about it. It has been a while since anything really interesting happened to me, having to do with drugs. My mom was like heck yeah you should blog about it, its not like anyone who knows Rob is going to read this, and even if they do, I can say its pure fiction.

So here I am blogging about my first famous person sighting, and he happened to be an opiate addict just like me. It was like it was meant to be. I never wake up that late, except today. I rarely am there for the frenzy after the methadone clinic closes, where the junkies sell and buy prescription pain meds. It just so happens I'm the only one who noticed him, and my old dealer still had the same number, and answered the phone. The odds of this happening are in the billions.

This totally has to go in my book, but I'll have to say "someone famous" instead of (insert famous person's name here)

This is honest to God cross my heart something that happened to me today. In the life of Anna Grace.

I have some more stuff I want to get off my chest, but it can wait, this couldn't. I'm an American, famous people are like royalty, its hard to imagine they are humans just like us, but today I found they are humans just like us. Not at all perfect. So go suck it to those people who say that you can't be a functional Heroin addict.

Thanks for reading. Comments welcome, haters and non hates welcome.

P.S. I should have not let anons comment. I ended up not sticking to my guns and using his name. I will give you a clue tho, First initial R. Last inital S. has been in all of Adam Sandler's movies after Billy Madison.

Oh yes, and the anon who said he/she was glad their were not in the lime light...yeah fucking right! LOL!

Lots of love to everyone,
Anna Grace