Monday, June 29, 2009

gotta go...sleepy

I live in fucking mile or less to the Ocean, and still I'm pasty white. Like goth white. I also have Herpe's complex A, aka, a cold sore on my bottom lip. Thank goodness for makeup. I bought red eyeliner, and now I can make myself look sicker than I really am, so when I'm out in Fort St. looking for Xanax bars the seller will want to take the people with the most money (me) and the sickest (me)!

Its week three into the Benzo drought. The main source, whom I know, but don't really know. Like I've seen him, and even slept in the same hotel room with him once two summers ago. Back when I was slim, and lean, and sticking rigs in my viens.
Ahhhhhh, I miss those days. People keep telling me I'm sick, I have a disease, the disease of addiction, and that is why I miss sticking rigs in my viens full of brown juice called Heroin.

Heroin is a tricky drug. I'm for adults being able to choose what they put into their body. I think before they start putting drugs into their body, they should know that some of these drugs are addictve. For instance Heroin gives you one of the best feelings a drug can produce, but if you use every day for a month straight your gonna get hooked, not just mentally, but physically. With Cocain its a one minutes high, and you need another hit. Extacy is a good drug for a party, but you can never be sure whats in it, unless your getting pure MDMA you have no idea what they used as a filler in the pills.

I wonder if there is some kind of utopia, if it is achiveable? Perhaps its only achiveable with an injection of Heroin, and only lasts 4 hours? Is the church keeping us from feeling ffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff

Sunday, June 28, 2009

Another suicide in the family....

Yesterday the phone rings, its only 4am here in Hawaii. It is 9am back in Wisconsin. My Grandma's sister got a phone call from her son that he was going to kill himself. Of course my great Aunt tried talking him out of it, and called her daughter to drive the two hours to his home to check on him.

When they got there, my second cousin who is only a in his mid 40's is no where to be found. He lives in a farm house in the country, with 40 acres all around him. My great aunt and her daughter call the police. The Sheriff comes to the home, and brings a search party. It took the search party a short time to find him.

On the land there is a large pond. One of the police officer's noticed that there was clothes leading to the pond. Then all the officer's were gathered by the pond, and they saw his naked body floating about the pond. It has just turned summer in Wisconsin, finally warm enough to go for a swim.

The night my second cousin called his mom, and told her he was going to kill himself, he had told her he had took a bottle of pills, and washed them down with a bottle of booze. After he hung up with his mother, he probably cried, wrote a note, and then went for walk. I'm told Yesterday was a very warm day with temps in the upper 80's and at night the temp only dropped into the upper 70's. Warm for a person who lives in Wisconsin. A warm calm night. He was drunk, sad, lonely, scared, guilty, sick, worried, love lorn, every emotion running the gammat. As we all know Alcohol is a depressant. When your sad, you should never go on a drinking binge to make you feel better, because all it does is make it worse. The pain is still there, but you have more courage to get rid of the pain, to kill yourself.
He walked into that pond, and nobody knows what he was thinking aside from death, probably how peaceful it would be to not have all these problems. He was facing prison time, his wife of 19 years filled for divorce, he had no children, he was always a free spirit. Like everyone in my family he was a drinker. He was facing prison time because he was caught drinking and driving for the fifth time, and that means, no more county jail, but real prison.
He walked into the pond alive, because the cause of death was drowning. He maybe swam around a bit, and then went under and took a deep breath filling his lungs with water. He would have lost conscience within 3 to 4 minutes, by 10 minutes with no air he was brain damaged, which is probably when he felt an overwhelming feeling of comfort. Everyone who dies slowly, and is brought back they describe this point where everything is right, everything is nothing, and nothing is everything. The world is as it should be in that one moment. The brain shutting down, the conscience leaving the body as energy.

Rest in peace John Rice.

I feel for my great aunt, outliving her son, knowing he took his own life, and calling her to tell her he was going to do it. Its so selfish, and sickening, but when sadness overwhelms you and all you can see is the blackest of the black, nothing to look forward to, and the only way out is death.

I have the suicide genes, that is for sure. Most of my idols have taken their own lives. Hunter S. Thomson, Hemingway, Kurt Cobain, Elliott Smith. No, they don't make suicide glamours, they remind me of what a tragedy it is to leave behind the ones you love, leaving them blaming themselves. Sylvia leaving her children behind, probably living with the thought that it was because of them she took her own life. We always blame ourselves. When in reality it was their choice.

I am so sorry for everyone he left behind. You can't save someone who doesn't want to save themselves.

Anna Grace.

P.S. Don't drink booze when your sad or depressed.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Its as done as its gonna get. Beeaatch.

So here is how it all happened. It was a Tuesday morning, and I had made my down to Fort Street mall. I had 30 some dollars in my pocket, but I didn't need, need to buy, I was ambivaliant to any sort of purchase. It was only 8ish in the morning, and it was already 86 degrees, and the air thick with humidity. Every pillhead that happens around Fort St. was in the mall that morning. There was some sort of electricity in all of us. Xanax bars have not been seen around anywhere in over three weeks. Something happened to the flow of Xanax bars, even Xanax footballs. All of us were in a frenzy when we saw someone who normally is selling Xanax, we all tried to be the first to get to them, and the first to ask if they were holding. Only to hear, "No benzo's, not for at least a week". I had given up following the crowds towards the potential dealers.

I did see one of my friends sell half of his own perscription which is 30 Xanax 1mg which usually go for a dollar a peice, and he sold the 1mg Xanax for 3 dollars a peice. That is how desperate benzo addicts are at this point. After seeing my freind make this sale, I decided to take a seat, but in the mall if you have not bought anything from one of the resturantes you are not allowed to sit at a table. So either you go all the way down to the end of Fort St. where all the college students hang out, or you can sit on the fire hydrant, (I know your thinking how can a fire hydrant be comfortable, but your thinking of a fire hydrant on the side of the road, the fire hydrants in Fort St. are shaped like a T, and fit two people.) I opted the fire hydrant just to watch everyone scramble looking for someone selling benzos.

It just so happened that a lady I've knowen for a while came walking past, and saw me sitting alone watching everyone. So she took a seat next to me, and right away I could tell she was jacked out of her mind on gak, aka Crystal Meth. I just happened to ask her if she had any benzo's. Tweekers always have benzo's to bring them down. So she tells me she does have benzos, but its not Xanax, or Valium, it is Lorazapam 1mg, and she would sell me 10 for 10 dollars. I took the deal.

Remember she is tweeking, and doing everything in fast forward. She couldn't find the bag she kept the pills in, and I point out that her baggy is right here hanging out of her back pack. I put the ten dollars in her pocket and I take the ten pills. I give two away to the crowed that had sniffed us out, I always do this. Give someone sick a pill for free, I never get them back. Oh well, I hope someday it will be payed forward.

Then without even looking at the pill closely, as I usually do I swalloed the 8 pills I had left. Normally I would look closely because Lorazapam's are white little pills, almost identical to Hydromorphone, and Fenegren. I should have looked closely, but there was a crowd of pill heads all around me, and three uniforms walking past, so I put them in my mouth and took a huge drink of water. I didn't want to get have pills on me, because I planned on staying in the mall for a few more hours, just to get the fuck out. After taking all 8 pills, one of the people I gave one of the pills to, looked closely at the pill, and realized it was Fenegren. Fenegren is a pill used to stop nasuea, but when you take within fifteen minutes of your Methadone it causes the Methadone to metobolize diffrently. Probably faster, plus I had taken one of my Xanax bars I brought from home.

When you mix two Fenegren, one, 1mg of Xanax, and your Methadone, you get loaded. I had just taken 8 of these pills with my Methadone, and with a Xanax bar. When I realized what I had done, I went around to every junky I know and asked if I'm going to OD. They said, "depends on your tolerance". I have a high tolerance, and I've mixed Fenegren, Xanax, and Methadone before, and it is the closest way to get the high Heroin gives you. Of course it takes 20 mintues to 30 minutes to take hold, so I had time to get on the bus and get my fat ass home, and lay down, and try to sleep it off.

Of course when I got home my parents wanted to talk, and right away they could tell I was high. My speech slurred, I nodded out mid sentence, and did nodded out walking to my bedroom. I would be in the middle of talking and forget what the fuck I was talking about. Fenegren really fucks with your short term memory. That morning I had to go to the dentist to get fillings, which was the reason I was downtown so early, so I told ma and pa that I asked for Nitro Oxide, but instead he gave me a Lorazapam, the generic name for Adavan.

My father was so fucking pissed, and banished me from his sight. He didn't have enough money to go to the bar, so I went into my room with the computer, and tried to blog. It took me an hour to get online, then 20 minutes to get on blogger. I finally got on blogger, and got out maybe a paragrah in two hours, every now and again picking my head up off the key board, after nodding. My parents took my smokes away, because they were afraid I would start a fire, or burn myself up. Little did they know I had a pack in my room tucked away behind all my journals, and I had matches in my drawer. I started to smoke, and woke up later to find I had burned my shirt. Not just a little hole, but a huge hole in the middle. Lucky I was wearing two shirts.

I wound up high for two full days. My dad was disgusted at just the sight of me. As for myself, I have no fucking clue. I just enjoyed the high as much as I could with my dad there on my ass.

I must stop now. I=toree/ ;;; o'

Monday, June 22, 2009

Should I write a blog right now? I sort of want to delve into my sexuality, and tell if I am gay, straight, or bi sexual, but I've commented back to the comments left on my last blog. Which I ended up, bringing up what I prefer in the bedroom, and as a partner in life. Now I just don't feel like going into it too deeply. I want to go swimming in the dark in our pool with lights.

Fuck it, I'll write later. I want to feel the water on my skin, and in my hair, and in my private parts.

Love to all.

Friday, June 19, 2009

The night in the life of me. Finally finished after 10 hours.

Last night the heat never did die down. No breeze to cool you off, no rain from the heaven to shower you with coolness, just thick hot air with the smells of any metropolitan exhaust, the salt in the air, the urine of the homeless, the alcohol on the breath of the tourist passing you by on the street full of laughter, and the freedom that a vacation brings.

Eleanor my dog, and I were sitting on the patio watching from above the consistency of the city. the lights on in certain windows of the building directly across from us. The skate boards, and bikes riding to destinations unknown to me. The homeless man who every night sits on the Conner of Seven Eleven, every time you pass him he asks so sweetly for some spare change. Since I walk to the Seven Eleven 3 to 4 times a day always passing him by, whenever I have change to spare I give it to him.

Last night I didn't want to be the person looking down over the streets watching as lives are being lived, I wanted to go down onto the street, and live my life. My hair a mess without a wash in over a week pulled up into a bun at the top of my head. A light blue t-shirt with a long pink scarf wrapped around my neck in such a way it fell just bellow my breasts. I wore a pair of black pants, along with my flip flops and no bra. I took the elevator down to the lobby, and walked out of the lobby and onto the sidewalk.

Now I'm apart of the night and the city. I'm one of those people off to a destination only known by myself. I had decided to go to the bar my father frequents. As tonight he is not there, he is at home snuggled in bed with his wife, pills, and Television. I had 80 dollars on me, but I knew I could only use 20 at most. I didn't want to get drunk and miss out on all the night had to offer.
Plus I didn't want to spend the money I had saved up to buy Benzo's with.

I walk into the bar, and there are 8 different people in there. I go straight to the bar and take a seat, and order a Kiddy cocktail. The bartender, a younger man, probably 25-30 who looks over worked as if his shift is almost over, and he just wants to get out of there. He asks to see my ID, and I pull out the ID from my wallet and hand it over to him, he checks my photo, and date of birth. The photo was taken before all the fat had taken over my body. he eyed me and the photo a bit longer than he would have if I had still been the thinner version of myself.

I sat at the bar until I finished my Kiddy Cocktail, then I ordered another, and went to the Juke box. I played Fiona Apple's Shadowboxer, Leonard Cohen I forget the name, and Territorial Pissings by Nirvana. For three songs it costed 5 dollars. That was it for me and the jukebox for the night. I may as well buy drinks for the alcoholic's that cannot afford a drink with the money I could have spent on the Jukebox.

When I went back to the bar stool, I was sitting in between two men whom seemed to be having an intense conversation. So I took my drink and purse, and walked over to the pool tables to watch two men play a game of billiards. One of the men was in his mid 20's the other I would guess in his late to early 40's. I didn't watch the game closely enough to see who won. I got board of that spot, and sitting alone, so I moved to the other side of the pool table where there was a woman in her early 20's and young man in his early 20's watching the game of billiards. I believe it was a game where the winner takes on the next guy. Yet it seems as though wherever I go everyone moves. I wonder do I smell, am I that disgusting. I had not looked in the mirror before I left the apartment.

I moved yet again back to the bar, but this time to a spot where I was alone, and wouldn't drive anyone away. By this time the bar began to become more and more crowded. The younger people sat at the tables by the near the pool table and dart boards, and the older crowed who were anywhere from their mid thirties, to mid 70's sat around the bar, and in the back which is where I was sitting the youngest person in bar. No one even approached me. My self esteem plummeted. I used to walk in the bar, and men would buy me drinks all night. I would have women hitting on me. I was always much more flattered when women hit on me. I always wish I wouldn't have been such a prude and stuck with Pete. At least I had Lindsey.

I forgot to mention I had zero, none, zilch of benzo's left to go home and and take to wrap myself up in my warm blanket of nodding with my dog, and blankey. So I leave the bar, and I sit down where I know drug dealers lurk around waiting for people like me to come out of bars and are looking to score, usually coke, or ice. My drug of choice would be hard to find, and when a dealer approached me and I asked if he had any bezos, and he asked me what are benzo's that i was screwed. God bless that dealers soul because he looked up, down, and all around for some Xanax bars for me. When I finally gave up and wandered back across the road to our apartment, I noticed how beautiful our pool is at night all light up. So I went into the pool area, and pulled my pants up to my knees to stick my feet in the pool. Oh baby, did that feel good. Cold water on sweaty dirty feet. All I wanted was to jump in. I contemplated jumping in with all my clothes on, but couldn't come to bring myself to do it. So I decided I would take off my pants, and my t shirt, and jump in. Fuck it everyone was asleep except my parents who called me over 22 times in four hours. I answered 15 of those time explaining to them I'm 26 I don't have to come home tonight, but I will be home just give me some time alone.

So I start to pull off my pants, and suddenly our security guard who is never around comes to the pool and says, "The pool closes at ten miss, I'm afraid your going to have to wait until morning". Without a word a slipped my pants back on, and walked through pool door which the guard was holding open. I walked to the elevator, with my purse, and wet flip flops and feet, and made my way up to out apartment, where my mom was still up reading, and my dad was lying watching TV. Normally my dad goes to bed at 7pm if he's not at the bar. I said, I'm home, and put on some Pajamas, and watched the shows I TVod until I feel asleep which was around 3am.

I think I proved the fact to my parents that I can leave the house by myself, go to a bar , stay out past 1am not drunk or high.

That pool felt so good that night, so tonight when it gets dark out, if my dad gets home from the bar before 10, I'm going to go for a swim. Bringing Eleanor with me. Today we finally go the tags that prove she is service dog, so I no longer have to watch my argue with people when they won't me in somewhere with Eleanor. My mom gets madder than I do. The fact is I do not have disclose why I need a dog for emotional support, and why that dog is only 5lbs, and is carried in a bag half the time. According to the Person's with disabilities act of 2006, all I have to do is show the person the who is asking for proof that my dog is a service dog, I just have to show the prescription paper my doctor wrote out. Now with the tag, I don't need that piece of paper with me every where. Eleanor can come in with me where ever I go. No questions asked.

This blog took me over 10 hours to write. I kept nodding out. I got a hold of benzo's today and yesterday. I'm using alot less now, weening myself off. I was eating 5 to 7 Valium a day, now I'm using one Xanax bar a day, and one Valium at night. Yay for me.

Must stop typeing now, nodding off, will finish when more awake.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

I hat being ripped off by a person I considered a fucking freind. Us Junkies...god damn us. We'll do anything to get high or to get money to get high

Oh my fucking god, did I go through drugy hell today. I woke up at 6am, so I could get down to Fort Street Mall and see if I could catch anyone holding any Xanax. Not a single person had any. When went up to ask someone if they knew who had, they thought I said, "I have Xanax". Which then suddenly I have every single person in the Fort Street Mall around me offering to buy 2 for 5 dollars, when normally Xanax goes for 2 dollars a piece. After I corrected everyone and told them I was just asking if any was holing Xanax for ME to buy.

Soon after that diabolical, I saw J who made a phone call on my phone, and promised me I could get Xanax from his person. So we walk down to the park, and I sit outside the park because I don't this person. I had already tried my person, but that was a bust. So I gave Jake my money, and told him if he came back with 40 Xanax I would give him five for free. He tells me to meet him in the market place. I wait 20-30 minutes, and finally I see him, he hands me this pill bottle full of pills that look no benzo I've ever seen, I mean they look NOTHING, I MEAN NOTHING EVEN BENZO RELATED I HAVE EVER SEEN. So I take the pills out of the bottle, and look at it, and read the letters and numbers on them, and right away I can tell that they are fucking Vicoden. J was like I don't believe that he, person he goes through all the time, would rip him off. So J had to call poison control to confirm that these pills were not benzo, but hydrocodone aka Vicoden. The bottle I got them in said Vicoden right on the mother fucking label. J was trying to pull one over on me, or he really was that fucking stupid. I had, had it and I was livid. I drove J to the clinic so he could NOT get away from me and rip my ass of. I don't for minute think that J even cracked out no sleep J didn't realize that those pills were Vicoden, and not Xanax bars. Any pill head, junky knows what the good pills look like and what letter and numbers they have on them, same for the fake pills . J underestimated my knowledge of pharmaceutical pills. So we go into get our Methadone, I went in first, so he couldn't dose first and then run down the stairs and hide on me. Nope I wasn't letting J out of my sight. I waited by the room we come out of after we dose. I walked behind J, making sure he got into my car, and making sure he called his guy and they set up a spot where they could meet up. I walked up to J's guy, and listen to J tell his guy that he called poison control and they told him for sure that these pills are Vicoden. Worth a dollar piece on the street. Nobody wants Vicoden. Not even people who are sick will take Vicoden, because there is not enough opiate in the pill to make them better.

J knew I wasn't going home without getting my money back or 40 Xanax bars. I was not allowed into J dealers place(which I should have made them let me in, because it was my fucking money.) Like the idiot that I am, I gave back all the vicoden back to J, and let him go upstairs to get either my Xanax or my 80 dollars back. J was up in his guy's apartment for 10 minutes.

J comes down, and we start walking towards Fort Street, the whole while I'm yelling at him what did you get, did you get pills or did you get my 80 dollars. he says wait till we get to the bus stop so we can sit down. Now I'm pissed, and I knew he ripped me off, and was the biggest loudest bitch to him, as I could be. J and I are friends, friends don't rip off friends( unless of course they are sick) J is sick! So finally we get to the bus stop and take our seats, when J tells me he could only get 60 of the 80 dollars back, plus he gave me THREE, FUCKING THREE Xanax bars, six dollars worth of pills. Now I know that J's guy had bars enough to sell, and J got the bars with his money, plus stole 20 dollars from me, because said his guy was short on the pills I gave him back. Bullshit, WTF am I going to do with his useless Vicoden. Nobody wants Vicoden. Perhaps Morphine 100s or 200's. that I could work with, but I don't want to be in the selling business.
The ONLY thing everyone at Fort Street is looking for is Xanax bars or footballs which are one milligram Xanax. Most people don't have enough money to buy 100mg or 200mg Morphine. 10 dollars a pill. 10 dollars could buy a person 5 xanax bars.
So J and I go back to my car where he left his back pack, which he forgot to mention he had a crack pipe in. The backpack was in the front so if (God forbid) a police man would have pulled me over I would get an open 5 just for that pipe, not including what was in the pipe J jumps in the car, and asks me to drive him to bum fuck Egypt, and I told him to go fuck himself. Instead I turned onto Kind St. and waited till we hit a red light and I'd kick his ass out of the car, the whole ride down King St. I was ripping J a new asshole because I knew, I KNEW that J had the rest of Xanax in his little pouch. I should have pulled over, and made J look through all things in front of me until I found his stash, and I should have took back my 20, and took a handful of his benzos. J is homeless, so he carries everything with him. I should have done all these thing to J for the shit he put me thru, but I have a soft spot J, and for all junkies. I dropped J off at the first red light, where he would go and sell his 33 Xanax bars for 5 buck for two bars, and have that extra twenty he says his guy would give me back. At this point in time Xanax is so scarce that J can get 2.50 per bar. Which is the going rate right now in the Fort Street Mall for Xanax it is so fucking scarce.
We, as myself and my family only have 38 days left on this island. Then its off to the mainland.....where I have no idea where to find Xanax, much less any other kind of benzo. So I'm going to go into benzo withdrawal big time. I won't die, goodness sake I'm immune to death after trying too many times to off myself, and putting myself at risk to become HIV+, and whatever else I've done that could have gotten me killed. I know I shouldn't take it for granted, but a suicidal depressed person does take it for granted. One day at a time, one second at a time.

Now if don't mind I'm going to go off on a totally different subject. A boring one, so beware. Also beware just because your paranoid doesn't mean they are not after you!

I truly believe that the government switched to this HD thingy so they can have small camera's put in our homes to spy on us. With patriot act there is no reason they couldn't have. The CIA who brings over the Heroin from Afghanistan puts small chips in every gram, so there know where we are at every moment. Us "useless, pointless, should be killed human beings". Thank the CIA for this country's drug problem.
Big brother is watching, and its watching even closer now. On the streets they have cameras everywhere. There is not one angle they can't pull a close up of you face, and scan it through facial recognition files. .

I'm kidding around. These things are true, and its happening every single moment of every day. Even if you have your TV off they can still watch you through the converter box, or if you have cable its in the boxes they give you.

So when your token up watching The Flintstones, or your shooting H into your veins and a TV box is near the government knows. The only reason they don't inform us of this, is because of the mass hysteria it would cause.

I may sound crazy, and I am crazy...but this, this man is true.

They are even reading this as I write it. God damn Patriot Act! They were probably doing it before, the Patriot act, but those who were hip to the government and their ways, were eliminated, but now they don't have to kill us because its not against the motherfucking law.


Tuesday, June 16, 2009

There is a safe place in view of all, but difficult of approach, where there is no old age nor death, no pain nor disease. It is what is called Nirvâna, or freedom from pain, or perfection, which is in view of all; it is the safe, happy, and quiet place which the great sages reach. That is the eternal place, in view of all, but difficult of approach. Those sages who reach it are free from sorrows, they have put an end to the stream of existence.

Well, Kurt the name of your band was better than any name I can think of for a band. Nirvana is a place we all want to reach, but few of us do...without the help of opiates. Even with the help of opiates Nirvana is reached for only a few hours. Using opiates is not true Nirvana, only those who have experienced Nirvana would truly know.

Sorry people, its come over me again, the monthly obsession with a dead rock star, who people thought was a total black star, in a band called Nirvana

I've come to the conclusion that the reason I obsess over Kurt Cobain's life and death. Yesterday in the new group I must go to on Monday's at the Methadone clinic from 9-11 where we "open up" and tell each other our most inner darkest secrets. Yesterday we had to fill out a worksheet about what keeps us using. What is our crutch that we say we can't get over, so we are entitled to use. We all wrote ours down, and then had to go around the table and read them out loud. I had no idea we would have read them out loud. I wrote about my unhealthy obsession with Kurt Cobain, and how I mourn his death more than my own sister's death. How after my sister died six years ago, I started to really not give a fuck. Life isn't fair, we all die it is inevitable. There is no reason I should feel guilty for taking my dad's pain pills, there is no reason at all, in fact for the for the three days before the funeral, and the week after, my parents were giving me Oxycontin, and sleeping pills. I had no idea how to process my sisters death. I remember sitting in her room after she died, and just smelling her clothes, and I wrote her a note that went into the casket with her.
So imagine me reading the short version of this out loud in front of a group of 10 15 people. I was the last person to have to read mine out loud, and I didn't think anything of it. Its the truth, and I was just going to say out loud the truth. When it got to me, and I mentioned that I grieve over Kurt Cobain, a person I never met, who would have hated me, more than my own sister. Someone I grew up with , and loved dearly, and whom I know loved me dearly.
Suddenly while reading this in front of everyone I burst into tears, and then sobs. I had to walk out of the room. I ended up having to breath into a paper bag from hyperventilating. Then the nurse who holds the groups, leaves the room to help me, while everyone in the room is sitting there wondering wtf came over her. Blah, Blah, Blah! I kept telling her to go back to group and we can talk after group. So she went back to group, and took off fast, and got out of their as fast as I could.
I knew why I broke down like that. I never dealt with my sister Angie's death properly. I used opiates to cover up the emotional pain I felt. Even while high I felt the loss of Angie, but I never went through the 5 steps of grieving. Neither did my father, he just used his pills more and more. My mom did though. Now she is the only one of us who isn't depressed, or Bi Polar...ah well the Bi Polar thing started before my sisters death, but still both me and my father are suicidal, and even sometimes homicidal. My dad is mostly the homicidal one. I don't want to kill anyone, but myself.

FUCK.....................I just want to be a kid again. I want to feel safe, and not trapped again. I want to between one and four again. Before long term memories began to form. Two would be perfect, because I was 13 months old when my sister was born, so I could have my little sister to play with again. We had lots of fun as children.

I have to pee,
All my love,
Anna Grace

Monday, June 15, 2009

Off with your head

I smell some kind of lighter fluid, or maybe W2-40, you know that stuff that grease things. We had to call the manager, but when I turned off the air conditioner, and opened all the windows the smell went away.
Still our Apt. Manager is coming up to smell the apartment. Now the smell is gone, and I will just explain the smell, and how I turned off the air, and opened all the Windows, and the smell stopped wafting in, in large amounts.
My theory is someone was using W2-40 in their apartment with the windows closed, and it came through the air conditioning vents, and into our apartment. People are real idiots. Using flammable fluids, in small windowless places, and not realizing that everyone who has their air conditioner on is getting the smell of the gas.
Either that it or its another attempt on our lives. If it is, this person really has it in for us. I could see why they would have it in for my dad, he's racists, and doesn't hide it. Like the white trash that he is. Sorry Father, but you need to open your mind. Please I beg of you. Read books, think outside the box, for good sake try pot. You beg for me to get clean, yet you go out and get so drunk you cannot walk at least 4 times a week. Hypocrite.

Okay about the gas, its coming from our air conditioner for sure. I shut off the air, and opened all windows, including the front door, and the patio door which causes the air to flow straight out of the apartment, and about three minutes after opening the doors and windows and Turing off the air the smell of gas is gone.
I made sure by closing the doors and windows again, and turning the air back on, and it took but five minutes for the house to fill up with gas smell. So really turning off the air is what needs to happen. Which sucks, because even now at 10pm its 85 degrees outside, and there is nothing but a slight breeze every fifteen minutes. Plus its humid, I can tell its going to rain by looking at the clouds coming over us from the sea.
Right about now, Wisconsin, Washington, I don't care as long as I get out of this tropic air. I was not made for this tropic air. Perhaps if I wasn't on Methadone, and in shape, I could endure the heat and humidity. Unfortunately unlike two summers ago when I lived here, and went swimming every single day, and we didn't have a car, so if I wanted to go somewhere I had to catch the bus, which meant sitting outside getting used to the air. I was also 50 to 60lbs lighter, and could wear a bikini. My legs didn't chafe when I walked around in a skirt, or in my swim suite. My arms weren't the size of some bull dyke. Nothing against bull dyke's, or more male like women who are gay. I like the ladies too, but I like the skinny lipstick lesbian. I know that is so Politically incorrect, but fuck it. I used to be a skinny lipstick lesbian with a girl I saw on the side when I was in a relationship with Pete.
Where ever I end up next, I hope that I look at it through a different perspective, a perspective that keeps my spirits up, and my hopes and dreams alive.
No more idols, just music I love. No more scenes, I'll make my own. For Christ Sake I am who I am, and I lived through alot of shit, I've put my body through even more shit, and still I'm here to write this post.
Then I go and read a post from a better a writer, and my hopes and dreams are crushed. Must find way to figure out how to stop that. Realize that I have potential, all I need is someone to teach me, or perhaps make up my own style of writing. As long as I convey the story, and the reader is taken in by it, then for Christ sake, whats there to change except my sentence structure, and my own style. Wait I already have my own style. I'll never get rich doing what I love, but fuck being rich, all it would do is save me from having to struggle to get high. I'm poor and sad, without methadone lovelorn. When I'm in love is when I write the shittiest poetry there is.

To every writer out their who doesn't believe in themselves, who thinks it all been said, and its all been done, show them we have more to give. To those who think we must constrain to societies idea of a successful human being, scream FUCK YOU, go back to your suburban lifestyle, and your wife you'll most likely divorce. Buy alot of shit just to carry around baggage you don't need. Off with your head.

We aren't here to build roads, and skyscrapers, we are here to enjoy life, run through Fields of flowers in the summer, and jump in piles of leaves in the fall, make snowmen in the winter, and love yourself, and everyone else, even if they don't see things your way. Even if they hate you.

Bye Kurt!

Sunday, June 14, 2009

WWKD............GET IT!

I wonder what Kurt would think of the people who have all his records, and all the books on Nirvana, and the Biography of Kurt Cobain. I wonder what Kurt would think of all the people who used Heroin because it was a glamours punk rock drug, when this person is furthest thing from glamours, or punk rock.

I've been a fan of Nirvana since I was 13, at the beginning of puberty. Could the music I listened to during this time, and the hero worship I felt towards the late great Kurt Cobain, and his widowed wife Courtney Love Cobain have brought this depression down on me. What if my hero was Cher, would I still be a Bi Polar Heroin addict?

Most likely I would be an addict since everyone else in my family is an addict. Me and Angie were allowed to drink since we 14 or 15, and my parents condoned it, and even laughed at us when we came home at 3am drunk. I moved in with a 20 year old guy at the age of 15, what the fuck were my parents thinking. I was the black sheep of the family, and I'm sure mom and dad felt they had to walk around on egg shells around me, but still letting a 15 year old live with a 20 year old. Oh how I wish that 20 year old had better taste in music. His favorite band was Pantera. I'm not dissing Pantera, but it so typical of a 20 year old. I wish he was into underground music, and would have introduced me to it.

As far as being depressed since 7 years old, after watching my dad try to commit suicide while I sat on the top of the hill and watched, bending a spoon back and forth. This happened the day after my father found his father had killed himself in our garage. Good ol' carbon monoxide. Did I spell that right or is it Carbon dioxide? Whatever he inhaled the exhaust of gasoline combustion engine, and died.

Soon after that scene, my friends at school where being mean to me, and I tried to swallow a plastic bag to kill myself. Obviously it didn't work. I'm still here. Non of my attempts worked...yet.

Who knows, I might decide suicide is stupid, and I hate my grandpa for doing that to us, and I hate Kurt Cobain for doing that to his family, and to his fans. They should have just let him have his drugs, because tough love doesn't work. Its bullshit. We all know where I got that from. LOL!

So if Kurt could be alive today...never having been famous, and there was someone else in his position would he still have offed himself, or would he have lived, and thought that rock star was an idiot.

I hate life. There are so few days I feel happy, that its not worth it. Not to me. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Love and lust. I hate myself and want to die. I hate my idol, and wish he were alive. conundrum right?

Friday, June 12, 2009

water on a laptop, miracles do happen.

Oh gosh last night was a crazy night. NOT! I took way too many Valium while blogging on my Myspace blog, and ended up nodding out and spilling water all over the laptop. My dad was sitting on the couch watching me nod, and he told me to put the cap on my water, and go to sleep. I was determined to finish that blog, and as my dad had predicted the water spilled. Suddenly the screen went blue and said to call tech support or something of that nature. Instead I dried off the computer, and tipped the putter over to get any water out. Then I shut the computer down, and pulled out the internet connection thingy out. A few minutes later I turned the computer on, and nothing...the screen was black.

I was devastated. I tried Turing on and off a few more times, and finally I turned it off and left the laptop open so the water would dry out. All night I worried about this. I was worried what I would do. How would I keep intouch with Kaycee, how would I complain on my blog for people to read. How would tell gross stories about queefs, and diarrhea and have the public read them.
Mainly though I was worried about the cost of repairing the computer, or having to buy new laptop. I had spent all my money on frivolous self indulgent drugs, and now I'm broke, and just spilled water on the laptop because of those frivolous self indulgent drugs.

Thank the fucking lord, when got back from the Methadone clinic and was going to call those cars that say nerd on them, but when I went to try to turn it on, it just turned on. I was so relived, and read my email, and went straight to blogger to post this post. I got lucky.

My dad didn't even bother to yell at me for this. He knew this would be a big blow on me and my mom. We are the only two who use the computer. I am writing a book on this computer, however shitty that book maybe, its a book to me. I thankfully backed up my book on a portable USB drive, along with all of our family photos. My mom's short stories where not backed up. She had bought a portable USB, but she never got to even taking it out of the packaging, much backing up her files on it. My mom's short stories are good, because they are about her childhood, and stories I had never herd. I wanted to keep those stories for personal reasons, she was also writing a story about how it is to have a two children, one who dies at age 19, and another daughter who is addicted to Heroin, and has sever Bi Polar, and still lives with her and her husband at the age of 26. She also wrote about how I have lofty goals, and how she hopes I achieve them.

Yep mom, I read every single file you have in documents. LOL. Since you probably read every single blog I put out there, and comment anonymously sometimes when I stay something stupid, or something you think is stupid.

Today is the big day I take my dog Eleanor into the vet to find out why she has been having diarrhea for over three days, and get her up to date on her shots, along with getting her cleared for our flight. When I paid 23 dollars to they told me it could be an ulcer in her stomach or her upper colon, and we should give her 2.5mgs of Pepcid AC. I sounds crazy! She also told me to feed her a bland diet of chicken and low fat cottage cheese, and rice. She won't eat the cottage cheese, or the rice. She only eats the chicken. Its been two full days since I've been feeding her the bland diet the ask a vet told me to feed her, and have been giving her the 2.5mgs of Pepcid AC a day, and she hasn't pooped yet, and I need a bring the doctor a specimean. So now what if she doesn't have a bowel movement, and we will have no stool to show the vet.

I have to go, its getting close to vet time. Howdy do folks.
poor white trash

Thursday, June 11, 2009

I just joined write your own blog for free, and guess where they sent me. Here! Of course like all internet scams, they wanted me to "upgrade" my blog by paying so much per month. I have two blogs, I don't need to add another one. I rarely blog on my Myspace blog anymore. The one thing I like about my Myspace blog is it tells you how many people read your blog daily. Here on blogger you have no idea. I guess on Blogger I can tell myself that thousands if not millions of people read my blog a day. LOL!

Not much new in my life. Yesterday and Today I made two big buys of benzo's. Valium, nobody has Xanax right now. Of course they don't, we all just got our wellfare finacial aid, food stamps, and Social Security checks came in. I spent over 200 dollars on benzo's. WTF is wrong with me. I keep telling myself that I need that many to ween myself off. I also rationalize the purchase by telling myself its only 10mg Valium, not 2mg Xanax. The Xanax is much stonger. It takes ten 10mg valium for me to even start nodding. Of course this could be because I have been on a binge with Xanax and Valium, and my tolerance is high. Which means I should go for a week takeing only one or two a day, and get my tolerance back down. It would save me alot of money.

I also wanted to tell everyone who reads this blog my new plan. I bought a ticket to Seattle Washington for 211 dollars. I leave mid July. I haven't even bothered to tell my parents about my purchase, nor have I told them that I will not be flying back to Wisconsin with them. So they wasted how ever much it costed them to buy my ticket to Wisconsin without even talking to me about it. Now my mom finds out that the airline my parents will be flying out of Hawaii on doesn't allow dogs. Their tickets are non refundable. Since Eleanor is a medically necassary dog, and is considered a service dog to me, for my Bi Polar diagnosis. So my parents need me to be on that plane with them to get Eleanor off this island. The company I'm flying out of Hawaii on allows dogs on board without all the rigamaroll their company has. I wanted Eleanor to fly back with my parents, and then when I was ready to tell my parents where I am, be it a week, or year, I would have Eleanor flew over to Washington along with my parents so I can take care of her. Although if I wait too long Eleanor will have to suffer yet another abondment. Elle loves my mom and dad. She also loves me, aergo she wants all three of us to be with her at all times.

The thing is I need to cut the amilical cord, my parents are not willing to let me go, and cause me to go on a guilt trip every time I say I do not want to move back to Wisconsin with you. So I'm going to have to be a 26 year old runaway. I don't have much money saved. Now that I've spent it all buying benzo's. (God I'm an idiot) so all you anon's out their I already know this, there is no need to reiderate what I just said.

When I get to Washington I have no idea where I'm going to stay. Most likely I'll find a homeless shelter and hope that they have an open bed. Then I must go out and get myself a job, probably as a waitress or bartender since those are the two things I've done most my life. That and taking incomming phone calls for a catologe, and for an insurance company. I once was a CNA at a nursing home in my home town of Zero Falls. I was 16, and I was fired for sexual harassment at that job also. I just cannot keep my mouth shut when it comes to inappriate things to say, and approiate things to say and do.

The reason I was fired from my job as a CNA at the Nursing Home in Oconto Falls, was because I worked with this guy, probably two years older than myself. At this job we were not allowed to wear jeans, and we had to wear these really ugly cloth pants. Mind you I was sixteen, and to wear something that made me look like fat old I am now was a big NO, NO in my eyes. God I hate consumerism, and fashion magazines with models stick thin, making all of us normal sized 16 year old think we are fat when we weigh 135lbs and are 5'8. If only I was 135lbs now, I'd be wearing a bikini everywhere I went.
There was this other CNA, and of course he was a male CNA. Something you don't see alot of in the midwest, where women do women's jobs, and men do men's jobs. I don't remember his name, but I remember that he got to wear jeans to work evey day, and I brought this issue up ever evening I woked with him, and every weekend morning I worked with him. Why did this 18 year old CNA get to defy the dress code, and when I did so I was sent home to change into appropiate clothes, and writen up? Sexist...right? I thought so.
One day me and dress code violater were on lunch together, and we both happened to be spending our lunch outside because it was a warm spring day. He and I started a conversation. I didn't hate him or anything, I was just pissed off at the supervisor about the fact he got to wear jeans to work.
I told Mr. jeans that I felt like shit that particular day, because I had been drinking the night before. It was a Saturday, and Friday the night before I went to a beer party, and ended up blacking out. Without warning, Mr. jeans said to me, " I feel awsome this morning, I gave myself a coffee enema before I left for work, and it gave me the juice I needed to get in the mood to help the elderly." He then began to tell me about how Jesus Christ saved him, and his family. He doesn't drink cofee, but he can put it up his ass in an enema. He went on and on about how he doesn't use deoderant, or any such thing, just some baby poweder under his arms and that does the trick. Mind you this Mr. jeans always had BO! I mean major BO, even the patients in the nursing home would talk about it during arts and crafts.
After Mr. Jeans stopped telling me about his live as a born again christan, and all the positive that comes from being a good christan person, I said, " So Mr. Jeans why do you have a woman's job? Are you gay, I mean I know you like to stick things up your ass every morning, and you are a CNA the only male CNA at the nursing home."
Suddenly he got all huffy puffy, and while walking away from me, he was saying something about gay people being an abomination, and God doesn't make me gay for giving myself a coffee enema every morning. I followed him in and apoligized over and over, told him I didn't mean anything by it. It was just a question.
The next morning my supervisor calls me into her office after my shift is over, and tells me that Mr. Jeans came to her and told her that I ask his what his sexual oriantaion was, and that I implyed that he was homosexual. I was then told that this is considered Sexual Harrassment, and my position at the nursing home was terminated, and that I needed to give back my scrub tops, and my name tag, and I won't get my check until I have returned all these items.
I remeber I cried while she was fireing me. That job paid good money, and it was easy. You just talk to and play with the elderly, and wash them, and get them in bed by 10, and after 10 it was bed checks every 20 to 30 minutes. The rest of the time I spent reading and getting paid for it.
I was also worried that my parents were going to give me whooping with the belt. I haden't gotten a whippen since I was 13, and that was for running away. I was gone for at most 10 hours. Now here I am 16 with a boyfreind who was as redneck as they come, and a drunk to boot. Yet my parents liked him, because he worked in construction, and he bought me nice things, and when he came over for family gatherings he was queit.
When I got home, my dad was still at work, working the night shift. My entire middle school, and highschool life my dad worked swing shift at a papermill. So I told my mom that I got fired from my job for sexual harassment. Mom took it like a champ. She knew me, and knew that I don't have that natural sensor most people have where they think before they speak.
When my dad found out, he wasn't mad at me at all, he was mad at the(and these were his exact words) "Queer for complaining to our supervisor, when I asked a completly legimit question".
My dad is a bigot with a very thick skull. Nothing gets in or out anyore. Everytime I hear him say some kind of derogitory remark I cringe, and I try to get him to look at the situation from a diffrent perspective. He will sit and listen, but it son't dv'///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////c

Saturday, June 6, 2009

Happy Birthday Eleanor. The big 4.

Good Morning all. Its my dog Eleanor's birthday, she is 4 years old. I just got at around 7am, its 8:30am here in hot as hell Hawaii. I took Elle out for her morning walk, and I let off leash longer than usual this morning, then when we got home she got to eat soft puppy food for breakfast her favorite. Then I gave her to my dad, because in the morning she loves to get rough pets from him. She really loves it when he scratches just above her tail, and in between her shoulders. After that I gave her my pets, and then I gave her a birthday bone. The bones that make her constipated so we can only give them to her once a week. Then I put her on the bed with my mom, and sniff at her like I'm going to take her bone away, and we play this game. Its an annoying game for my parents, because Elle is growling, and running all over the bed like a wild animal snapping at me. The bone is too big in her mouth for her to really bite me, but she tries. Then when I want her to settle down, I play with her like a real dog plays. I sit a few feet away from her, and then I look at her, until she growls, when she growls I look away, and then slowly and slyly look back, until Elle puts her ears down telling me to stop, and I look away again, and this goes on for up to a half hour until she starts to chew on the bone, or she gets board and lays down to sleep.

As far as Elle's health I've been worried. I know her hind legs hurt her because she was born with knees that go in and out of joint all the time. Which is why she doesn't like to walk alot. Sometimes we will go outside for a walk, and she will refuse to walk, and I chalk it up to her back legs, and I give her a half of a baby aspirin. After I give her that, we go back out a half hour later, and she is happy as a pig in shit to walk and run.

Lately I've also noticed that she has a second bald spot growing on her side towards her belly. There is a sort of scab on it, which I clean out daily with peroxide, and alcohol, and I put some salve on it. She itches at it constantly. Now this is the second bald spot she has gotten. She has a big on her back over her left shoulder. She got that one when she was around two years old. It wasn't too bad when I left for Hawaii the first time two summers ago, but when I got back it was a huge bald spot that looked like a scar. My dad chalked it up to a dog bite, but he never actually saw the dog bite her. So now I'm starting to think she has some kind of skin disease, or something. I want to bring her to the vet, but my dad...the fucking idiot asshole he is, thinks I'm worrying too much about her. So I told him I'm going to spend my Financial aid money to bring her to the vet. He said I couldn't. I was like, "Who the fuck do you think you are? Eleanor is my dog, and that money is my money, I can, and I am taking her to the vet to find out what is going on with these bald spots. She also has a small lump under her ear. Which I'm going to show the vet.

Elle still needs to be fixed, and there is a surgery they can do on her back legs to stop them from hurting, and she needs her teeth to be scraped, because she has black building up on them, and its too much for a dog her age. Our vet back in GB told us to feed her more hard food. She ate hard food her entire life, until last year when I noticed that she wasn't eating very much, and she was only 3 and half pounds. So I started to have my parents buy her soft food. We soon found out she only eats Caesars dog food. She won't touch any other soft food. So now every day we feed her half a Caesars plate of soft food in the morning, and the other half at night. She always has hard dog food out. Because Elle is so small she has to have dog food out at all times, because her blood sugar can drop so fast, and she might need that food at any given moment. She always has to have water out. Clean water.

I don't know what I'm going to do for her big gift today. Perhaps go to the park this evening when all the other small dogs are out, and try to get her to play with them. She loves the park, but she hates playing with other dogs. Yet she loves to sit on my lap and watch the other dog play fight each other. These dogs are almost all little chow wa dogs that are 5lbs or less, just like Elle. She has no reason to be afraid of them, but she is. When any of them try to sniff her she snips at them and growls at them. Its cute, but embarrassing.

Thursday, June 4, 2009

To the move, and to the people who get pissed on.

My life in Hawaii, on the island of Oahu is coming to an end. Unbeknownce to me, my parents have bought three plane tickets to the Midwest. They didn't even consult me to see if I needed time to get a doctor lined up in the Midwest to treat me for Bi Polar, to get all my meds refilled, tell my case worker that she dosen't need put in the application for me to get an apartment for 1,100 dollar per month, and I'd only pay 10% of my income, and I could then go to school here and the credits I need to transfer to Evergreen University in Olympia WA, and then move to Washington. Staying here would be better for my mental health because I have free health insurance, and I could put myself into Castle Mental Health hospital when I get depressed, where I could take a break from the real world when I needed it. I would still have my case worker keeping an eye on me, and while I'm weening myself I can get my Methadone for free, instead for 100 dollars per week at the clinic in the Midwest.

My parents are so fucking flaky. When we first moved to Hawaii, my mom was going to do a year here, and then we would go to New York where my mom would do three to six months depending on if she wanted to stay in New York. Then my dad said he would not live anywhere except Manhattan in NYC, because he thinks everywhere else just trash.

To give a quick idea of what my dad is like, I will describe him to you. He's 6'1, with dark brown hair, blue eyes, a goatee. His hair is turning gray on the sides, and he is scared that he will die before I am off Methadone, and before I'm married to some clone of him. He drinks every other day, but when he drinks he drinks alot. I guess he would be considered an alcoholic binge drinker. He never drinks at home alone. He takes Percocets for his back, which he swears on my sisters grave he needs because his pain is so bad. The reason his back hurts so bad is from when he was 82nd Airborne Ranger, and he was sent to Panama, and Columbia to do recon on the drug cartels. One night it just so happened that both my dads men and the drug cartels were doing boarder watches, making sure no-one was watching. One of the guys from the cartel spotted on of my dad's men, and a gun fight ensued. A few my dad's men were captured and taken as prisoners, where they were tortured for information. The men that got away, waited until the next night to go in and re capture their men. Which they did, and in the mess of this my dad ended up shooting a man in the head, and then lost his weapon and was in hand to hand combat with a guy from the drug cartel, the drug cartel guy grabbed a shovel and hit my dad in the lower back and broke his back. He could still walk, but it ended up that more military men were called in, and it ended up almost all the 82nd airborne lived except one guy who was tortured, and then his throat was cut. My dad got out of there along with the rest of his men, and he returned home, and a few months later he met my mom, who was a pot head, and acid eater. My dad only drank...NO DRUGS! To this day my mom thanks my dad for breaking her from drugs. When in reality all she did was smoke a some pot and eat LSD every now and again. After my parents met, they dated for a few months and my mom got knocked up with me. The day my dad and mom went to the doctor to get the blood test to see if she was really knocked up, and the results came back pos. my dad proposed to my mom. They ended up getting married, and my dad started working at factories, he always had a strong work ethic. After my sister was born, and my mom got over postpartum depression my mom went to school to be a nurse. My dad landed a good paying stable job at Georgia Pacific, at the time it was called Fort Howard. He worked there for 20 some years, and then his back started acting up, and he started applying for benefits form the veterans, and SSI, and SSDI. Which he ended up getting. He is 100% disabled from the veterans, and he gets 3,000 dollars a month from them.

Before my sister died, my parents had built this house in our hometown when we were around 11 and 12. Now that my dad was retired, and my mom didn't need to work because of both of their 401ks, they decided to build this massive house on a lake up in the UP of Michigan. They put down both their 401ks, and took out alot of money in loans to build this dream house. This is back when the banks were giving out loans to homeless. So my dad sells our family home in our hometown that was two years away from being paid off, and build this massive log cabin on the lake. The house payments where 1,500 a month. My dad was only bringing in 3,000 a month, and he had put all his back up money into the house. Suddenly the payments got too big because the interest started to get higher, and my mom had to take a job. She started taking traveling nurse jobs. So my mom would move to a different state for three months, make a bunch of money to send home to help pay for the mortgage. One day my mom got a traveling job offer to Hawaii. This was in 2005. It was suppose to be only 3 months, but my mom liked Hawaii, and found a boyfriend, and stopped sending money home to help pay the mortgage. Suddenly my dad was drowning in debt, and my mom was cheating on him, i was stung out on Heroin, and his other daughter died two years ago. In the winter on lake in Upper Michigan there is nobody around, and the only place to talk to people was the local bar, and my dad was lonely in this big house he built for him and his wife to retire in. This house they had put all life savings and then some into. Suddenly he was falling behind faster and faster, when one day the bank calls and tell him the interest rate is being raised, and his monthly payment was going to 2,500 a month. Leaving my dad 500 dollars to live off. It lasted more than 500 bucks a month to heat the cabin, much less electricity, cable, hay for the horses, act..., so my dad ended up having to foreclose on the house, and lost over 500,000 dollars of his personal money. Now he looks back and thinks if he would have just stayed in the house in Oconto Falls, my sister wouldn't have died, my mom would have never cheated, and who knows about me, I was already using his pain pills.
Now my dad wants to build another house in our hometown, on my uncle, his brothers land, which my uncle would be selling to my dad for 1 dollar. My dad would build the house, and put in a full basement, where my uncle David would live. My dad got a 50,000 dollar grant to remodel the house for a wheelchair, and make handicap excessible. He feels like if he doesn't build a house, he's throwing away 50,000 dollars, but my uncle is pushing him into building the house on his land, and he wants to borrow 25k from my dad so he can retire from the truck driving business, and live in our basement. Then when my parents are dead, and my uncle are dead, me and my cousin will have to either buy each other out. Somehow though my cousin get more of the money than I do. When its my dad who is buying the house, paying for him to retire, and to live with him and my mom, and possibly me.

I know my dad is being pressured by his older brother into this, and since my dad's horses are out there on David's land he feels like he owes my uncle this since Dave has taken care of the horses since we have moved to Hawaii, even though my dad sends my uncle 800 dollars a month to pay for the food, and then some for the labor.
Since my dad had a house foreclosed on him less than a year ago, its gonna be a while until he can get a loan to build the house. So now my uncle wants my dad to move into my uncles dirty little trailer, and have my dad pay 500 dollars a month, while my uncle lives in a nice apartment building with a pool, and workout room. My dad is willing to do this. Live in a smelly old trailer for three years so my uncle can screw us over, and when my uncle dies he has something for his son to inherit.

My dad is easily manipulated by people he loves. I keep trying to explain to dad from my point of view how wrong this is. My dad could buy a house with some land, and then remodel it how he sees fit with 50k, and he can bring the horses out to his house, and take care of them himself, and David can work hard like my dad did to retire, and leave his son something except for a filthy small trailer, and ten acres of land. The 10 acres is a worth alot of money. My uncle has to sell my dad one acre of the land the house will be on for the bank, because he has to own land to build his own house. Which is why he is selling it my dad for 1 dollar.

Now my dad wants me to move to with them , and live in this trailer that is smaller than this apartment, and its really really dirty, after a man with no woman in his life has lived their for 15 years. The trailer is not worth 500 dollars a month. Its probably worth 350 a month at most. Maybe if he put in those fake hard wood floors, and updated the kitchen, and remodeled the bathroom, it would be worth 500 a month.

My dad is getting fuck over. I'm sorry, this post was not well thought out, and I just ran with my thoughts. Which is why my writing is not nearly as good as those of you who can write out is story, adding details, and emotion, and a lead in, a lead up to, and a climax, but mine has nothing like that.

I have to go, I've lost my train of thought a few hundred words ago.

All my love

P.S. some names have been changed to maintain some privacy for family

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

A bike ride in the sun on a Monday. What fun?

What's happening in Anna Grace land you ask? Well, well lets see, Monday was a pain in the ass. I got up early to go to the Methadone clinic, because I now have to attend a NA meeting at the clinic every Monday morning from 9am to 11am. If I don't go to these meetings, I'm not sure what will happen, but I'm sure something bad will happen. Anyway, I woke early but not early enough. I had no time to walk Elle, so I threw on some clothes, and ran out the door to get to the car. I get in the car, and put the key in the ignition and what do you know...the engine dosen't start. So being thinking it would start if I kept turning the key I kept turning the key until I realized it just wasn't going to happen. By now I only have a half hour to get to the clinic. So I walk the half block from where our car is parked, up the stairs to our lobby, and then push the button for the elevator. The elevator takes its time coming down, as if its trying to piss me off. Finally the door opens, and I get in and push my number. *Sigh*, but oh no, the fucking elevator stops at every floor to let people in on our ride up, so what normally is a 48 second ride up to the 14th floor, took 2 or 3 minutes. By now I'm not just peeved I'm fuming. I forgot to mention that it was 100+ degrees outside not including the humidity. Even our air conditioned apartment was hot because the damn sun shines directly into our living room in the morning.

I get to the my apartment, I through the keys at my dad, and shout, "the cars not starting, and I don't have time to tell you about it". I run into my room, grab my bike, and get the bike out of my room, whilst spilling the dogs water bowl, and food bowl everywhere, and Eleanor is barking like I'm leaving her alone at auschwitz. So I get my bike down the hall to the Elevator, and push the button, I wait another, what seemed like hour for the elevator to pick me up and bring down, and of course the elevator that stops for me is full, but I said fuck it, and I just rammed my bike in there, and ran over toes and whatever was in my way to get me and my bike down to the ground floor, so I can ride it to the bus stop. I saw the dirty looks everyone was giving me as we went down that elevator shaft. I didn't care, I was sweating like pig, sweat was getting in my eyes, and burning them. I didn't have a free hand to wipe the sweat away with so I just dripped my bodily fluids all over that damned elevator.

We get to the ground floor, and I'm the first off the elevator, and down the stairs to the sidewalk. I jump on my bike, but my purse in the basket, pull out my buss pass put it around my neck and ride my bike to closest bus stop that takes me straight to the Methadone clinic. The bus rolls up, and its time for me to put my bike on the front of the buss in the rack. I've never done this before, so here I'm standing in front of this bus, trying to figure out how to drop this bike rack, and the sweat is pouring even more, because now I'm nervous and embarrassed. The bus driver is honking his horn at me, so I get the bike on the rack, and start to board the bus, only to find the bus driver telling me I have the bike in wrong, and I need to go out and put the front tire here, and pull out this lever here, and put over the back tire here. So I get off the bus, and mess with bike rack trying to get my bike on the rack correctly, and this takes me at least five minutes, but it felt like an eternity. I just kept imagining someone ~like me~ who has to be at an appointment in 10 minutes, but this stupid ass can't figure out the bike rack.

By the time I get the bike in the rack correctly, and am on the bus, and the bus is in motion in route to my destination I take a seat at the front of the bus. I read the bus clock, and realize I have five minutes to 9am. I'm fucked. That entire bus ride I swear we hit every single red light, and every person getting was a tourist who didn't know where the fuck they were going, and were at the front of the bus with a huge map open, blocking the other passengers who need to get on from getting on, and there is not a single thing I can do about it. Except watch as these tourist's get on and off the bus leisurely without a care in the world. At that moment the only good thing I could think of was that it was blazing hot outside, and those tourist who were going sight seeing were going to be in a world of heat stroke by noon.

The bus arrives at my stop at 9:20am. I'm 20 minutes late, and am terrified I won't get to dose because I missed this NA meeting. I ride my bike the four blocks from the bus stop to the clinic in record time, I locked up my bike, which was tricky, and made me even more pissy. Then again I pushed the elevator button, and waited, and waited. Finally I just run up the three flights of stairs, and down the hall to the waiting area, wear Kessa is seated talking on the phone. I motion to her to hurry it up, I'm in a hurry, I need to get into the NA group asap. She of course takes her gay old time on the phone, and gingerly hangs up the phone after a few laughs with her mate. She buzzes me in, and I grab my card, and ask her if I get to dose, and she yes! Now,*SIGH*! BUT, when your done doseing you have to go into the meeting and stay until its finished. By its a few minutes to 10am, the meeting is over at 11am.

I go get my dose, and then I walk to the meeting room, and no-one is in there, its smoke break. I tell myself to calm down, I'm here, I got my dose. I'll just go smoke a ciggy, a gallon of water to replace the water I lost while pouring sweat all morning. I walk slowly down a flight of stairs to the second level where the smoking area is just as everyone is going back to the meeting. Again I feel the rage build inside of me, but I tell myself I'm here I got my dose, I only have an hour to sit here, and its air conditioned in the meeting area. I ask Kessa to open the "kitchen" door, so I can buy a bottle of water. She does. I drink said water in two gulps. Suddenly I feel nauseous, and uh oh, BLAH...I vomit all that water I just drank all up and all over the table the meeting is set around. Everyone looks at me in disgusts.

After I puked, I felt light headed, and had to lie down, or my knees where going to give out. So one of the nurses comes and gets me, and gives me some water, and tells me this time take sips, don't slam it. She asks me if I'm on Ice, and that was the straw that broke the camels back.

Here I am at this NA meeting I was told I HAD to come to every Monday from now on, or else?, and today I pretty much had to push heaven and Earth to get here, and now the nurse is accusing me of being high on Ice.

I look that nose straight in the eyes, and scream, "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING ME. You have no idea what I went through to get to this NA meeting this morning", and I go over the whole story to her, the whole while crying, because I'm so frustrated. The nurse lets me sit in the makeshift doctors office, with all the water I can drink, and in front of a vent blowing out cold air. While sitting in the Dr. office I can here the NA group break up early because I just puked all over the table, and it smells like vomit in there, and they need to get a janitor in there, and get it cleaned up.

At 11:30am I am told I have to leave, doseing hours are over. So I walk slowly to the elevator, and push the button, and I wait the five minutes for the elevator to climb three floors. I just wanted to stay in the air conditioned room. Then the elevator doors open, and I get in. The elevator is hot and stuffy, and it smells like a homeless shelter. Those of you have never slept at a homeless shelter and don't have the pleasure of knowing this smell, I will describe it to you. It smells like body Oder of 100s of people, dirty socks, dirty underwear, shit, piss, vomit, dog, cat, and bleach. The Oder is intensified by the heat and humidity. When the doors open to the ground floor I'm practally pulling at the doors to get them to open faster.

I walk over to wear my bike is, and struggle to unlock it. Its in a weird position, so I have it just right or the key won't turn. By the time I unlock the bike, I'm already a sweaty mess again. I get on the bike, put my purse in the basket, and instead of riding my bike back to the bus stop, I ride my bike the mile to...Chinatown...Fort St. Mall. I'm low on Benzo's and I'm hoping someone will be around. I get to the mall, and everyone I know is down there, looking for the same thing as I am. Plus one guy, who I met at the clinic, and his doctor cut his benzo script and I told him about Fort St. Mall. Suddenly he's on my ass to introduce him to the right people. He won't leave me alone. I'm not about to introduce this guy to someone who has, and leave me without. No way Jose'.

So this asshole is standing next to me, when one of my people come up to me and asks me what I need, and this fucking idiot tries to budge in and tell this person he has 10 bucks and would like to buy kpin. IDIOT. My person just ignores the idiot, and I walk away from both of them to a place where I'm alone, and finally my person comes up to me again, and I tell this person I have 60 bucks, and would like Xanax. Unfortunately this person only had 20 dollars worth, so I bought up those Xanax, and I hopped on my bike, and rode it to the bus stop five blocks away, and then caught the number 2 bus, put my bike in the rack, no problem this time, and went home. Where I treated myself to too many Xanax, and now I'm running low again.

Tuesday, I just did my usual routine, or walking Eleanor, reading, writing in my journal, walking Eleanor, fighting with my parents about whats going to happen when we leave July 20 something. My parents bought me a ticket to Wisconsin without even consulting me first. Not even on the date we are suppose to leave. So again, I take more benzo than I should to counteract the anger/rage that is building up in me, and I walk Elle one more time, and I go to bed at 8 o'clock.

Then there is far it hasn't gotten any better than the last two days.

Such is life.