Sunday, March 28, 2010

Here is a mirrorr have a seed

My heart is broke, may I have some glue?

I'm not like them but I can pretend.

The sun is gone but I have a light

The day is done but I'm having fun

I think I'm dumb
I think I'm dumb
I think I'm dumb
I think I'm dumb
I think I'm dumb
I think I'm dumb
I think I'm dumb

Kurt Donald Cobain 1993

Saturday, March 27, 2010

Narration

I slept hard all night long until my alarm goes off and rushes me out of that sleep with loud "BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP. I open my eyes and find myself in my small bedroom on my twin bed inside our small trailer. My feet are cold, I remember turning down the heat last night after getting a bloody nose.

I get up out of bed, and outside the window the sky's are grey with the morning sun not yet over the horizon. I prey for a gray sky all day. The sunlight makes the hole inside me bigger. When the sun is out I pull my black curtains tightly closed, and curl into a ball and read until my eyes wont stay open. With sun over head I feel wounded, like a deer hit by a car with internal injures, and who wants to survive, but can feel its self weakening. Shock setting in, cold, tired. If it falls asleep death will over take the deer. When the sky's are grey and its raining I still feel the hole, but at that moment everyone around me is lazy, and feels like there is no end to the suffering that surrounds them, the suffering that is them.

I know with a new day means a long ride in the Jeep to get my dose of Methadone. I pull on some clean clothes. Clean but not nice. A pair of black pants, a white t-shirt, and my mothers hooded sweat jacket with her name on it, and her rank as a nurse (Erin RN). A sweatshirt she got while working in Hawaii. A city I miss because of the nostalgia that overtakes all my memories the moment something changes. I miss the city. This living in the country in a trailer wears on my moods, my creativity is blocked. Too much overlapping of my life and that of my parents lives.

I'm the only one awake, as I walk out the door. I take in a deep breath of the morning air. Its cold, and hurts my lungs. The birds are chirping, and the horses are up by the house waiting for my father to come out and give them their grains. I walk to the Jeep, and climb inside. I'm glad I put on my mittens. The steering wheel is cold. I turn on the car, and turn the heat all the way up, and the search for my radio station 106.7 the Zone. I hope to hear Nirvana, or Weezer, something good. Instead its new songs, songs that just don't touch me in anyway. I can tell I'm getting old and set in my ways when I listen to new music, only a few songs measure up to what I consider good music. I listen to the bad songs, because with bad come the good, and after so many bad songs a good one is even better than it normally would be.

I'm not paying any attention to how fast I'm going until a little white car passes me. I'm only doing 35 mph in a 55 zone. I'm lost in thought. Yesterday my family and myself quit smoking. I cheated yesterday, but this morning I don't have any cigarettes to cheat with. I have my elbow on the middle console where my parents keep there Merle Haggard, and Patsy Cline CD's. It feels like there is an extra CD in there that is keeping it from shutting all the way. I open it to adjust the CD, and to my surprise I find a pack of my dad cigarettes. He cheated too. I wonder how I'm going to handle this. My mom is the only one of us who actually went without a cigarette yesterday. Yesterday March 26th, it would have been my sister Angie's golden birthday. 26 years old, I think to myself, "God Ang we are getting old." I apologize for cheating on quiting smoking on her golden birthday.

After finding the smokes, I figure I will write a little note on the back of a receipt telling my dad that I found them. Then I take a cigarette from the pack, I have no lighter so I use the car lighter, and light the first cigarette of this morning. I feel a slight pang of guilt, but it passes quickly. I can blackmail my dad with this nugget of information. Something I love to do. Call me evil, call me selfish, call every name in the book and you've hit me on the head. I am all of these things. I look at the speedometer and I'm doing close to 80MPH. I'm already in Green Bay only a few more miles and I'm at the clinic.

Before I get my dose, I have to eat something. As of late I have started a diet. That diet consists of five low fat penutbutter and honey sandwiches on whole grain bread. It works, and its cheap. I only drink skim milk, and I have one Mocha Frappe a week. As I take the exit to the Methadone clinic, I pull into the gas station across the street from the clinic. I grab some skim milk, and a small package of Little Debbie powdered donuts. I would have eatin at home, but we are out of Whole grain bread. I have to eat something before I take the Methadone. If I don't it won't last as long. I'd go to any lenght to keep the Methadone's half life longer.

I leave the gas station, and pull into the clinic parking lot. I quickly eat three of the small powdered donuts, and take a big gulp of my skim milk. I shut off the Jeep, thinking to myself I'll probably miss a good song that will come on while I'm in the clinic. The parking lot is full, which means the clinic is full of people. I'm glad I brought along my book. Still reading Wurthering Heights. Pathetic!

I walk into the clinic, and first I notice the warmth. Body heat coming off all of us waiting to get juiced. Then the smell, such a familiar smell, a smell that I like because it means I'm getting my fix for the day. Every now and again that smell will bring back the memory of the smells that come from a spoon filled with Heroin and water being boiled, this is a smell that absolutely love. To me it smells better than that of a newborns smell of sweet milk and a hint of honey. I can't let myself dwell on such things. Heroin won't touch my brains chemistry after being on Methadone for three years. No highs, no heavenly delights for me. Not unless I get off the Methadone and let myself slide down that slippery hill. Have I learned nothing from my past?

I can't pay attention to the words on the pages of the novel. Thoughts of using swirling around my head like sugar plumbs swirling through a child's mind some 80 years ago on Christmas eve. I sit in my chair, waiting for number to ring for my chance to dose. My eyes are pressed shut, my book open on my lap, my mind wondering. Times seems to fly by. Suddenly I'm startled back to reality, I hear people calling out, "who has number four, does anybody have number four"? I have number four, I jump up. Putting my book back in my purse, pulling out my take home box that is required for my Sunday take home.

I'm at the window where the nurse doles out our doses, and I'm waiting for my dose. She puts in front of me and I grab it fast and swift. I open my mouth, doors to breath, and I inhale the Methadone. I take my rinse and walk away from the window, out the door, and to the Jeep.

I race home, thinking only of writing. Writing this blog, writing another chapter to my book. My book, the only thing I can leave behind, the one thing that will say I lived, I was here on this planet, I existed. If only for a moment, if only to suffer most of the time, sweat blood and tears while writing a book. But after all the suffering, when something good happens it makes it all the more sweeter.

The sky was gray until I pulled into my driveway. Suddenly I was being swallowed whole by the hole. Ripping out my ideas, burning out my desire. I had to run inside, get into my room and shut the curtins tight. Making it black. Pull out the laptop, put a sad movie in, a love story, Eternal Sunshine of the spotless mind, I wished that I had Trainspotting. Eternal Sunshine would have to do. I put it in, but before I watch it, I sign in to my blog and see if I can write at least a bit better than my usual drivel.

I'm not sure how I did. At least I captured a moment. Not a shared moment, until I wrote it down and published the post. Today is not unlike most other days, the majority of my days. The feelings differ from moment to moment, day to day. I hope you enjoyed the narration of my morning.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

I don't want to know how your garden grows

Nobody on the fucking Internet is going to save my life. They don't know where I live, and don't know when I'll do what I want.

I am lazy, I am useless, and am a waste of space and air. I've known this for a very long time. 22 years. Since I was five.

Yesterday I wrote a long drawn out blog. Just as I'm going to post it my computer shuts down on me. That was just how my day went.

At the beginning of the day, I herd Nirvana, Smells like Teen Spirit twice in an hour. So usually when I hear Nirvana my day isn't so bad. I'm such an idiot.

So my dad takes me to the Methadone clinic, and I have two appointments at the clinic, on with my drug councilor, and one with the Doctor of the clinic. The appointment went fine with my drug councilor. I was feeling pretty good about seeing the doctor. I was hoping he would up my dose or just give me a split dose. Usually it doesn't take much prodding to the clinic to up my dose. Well I guess since I've seen the doctor last there has been a change in policy and now they have to take blood to see you Methadone levels before upping dosage. I had, had my blood taken a few weeks before, and the doctor tells me that my Methadone levels looked fine. Little did he know that I had used that morning around 2am. I had gotten my hands on some extra Methadone, because my dose isn't keeping me from getting sick. So I told the doctor what I did.

This really was the first time I had taken any street Methadone. I only did it once, and it just fucking happen to be the day before a tropht test. Which means what my Methadone levels are when they should be at their lowest. Mine was in the middle because I had used. Trying to make the doctor believe that I had only used street Methadone once was like telling him that I had never used drugs before. Yeah right an addict who only used once, and it just happened to be on the day I get my blood taken.

The doctor threatens to kick me out of the clinic, and I start to cry, he tries to calm me down by telling me that he was going to give me another blood test, a peak and a tropht. One blood test in the morning when I get to the clinic when my levels should be at the lowest, and then another blood test three hours later when my levels are at the highest. Then he will tell me if I get to stay, or get to go up on my dose, or get to split my dose.

That morning I had called my prescriptions for Lexapro, and Clonazepam in to the pharmacy, its like two weeks early, but I hoped. I still have a few Clonazepam left, but I always worry about running out, so I wanted that script filled. When I get to Shopko the closest pharmacy to the Methadone clinic, they tell me I have to wait until April 1st to refill both of those scripts. The pharmacist came out and tells me he's writing down that I came in early for an addictive substance. The pharmacies know that I'm addict because when they type in my name and birthday its to check any narcotic prescription by calling the doctor to make sure he wrote it. Due to my past indiscretions with narcotic prescriptions.

Yesterday morning was horrible. All I wanted was for my dose to take effect and put me to sleep, so I could get the damn day over.

The day before Yesterday, I had my two second cousins over. They Kennedy, and Carly both under 12. I painted their finger nails, and toe nails. Put make up on both of them. Then they wanted me to read them my journals. So I did, I edited what needed to be edited for such Innocent ears. Still they were riveted with my boring life. I got board reading about my boring life, and brought them in to watch New Moon. I wanted to start reading them the book instead of watching the movie, but they wanted the movie. So I gave in. All in all, I had fun with the kids.

Today is nothing special but the first day of the rest of my life. I'm broke, I'm dumb, I'm ugly, I'm fat, I have an obsession with Kurt Cobain, I don't want to hurt my parents, so I'll keep myself just numb enough to not end it all.

I'll probably go into the bathroom, turn off all the lights, sit in a corner and crawl into a ball to comfort myself. It works for a while.

Friday, March 19, 2010

spoild child/adult

Lastnight I did think about suicide, but talked myself off the ledge. If I'm going to do it I have to use my own Methadone. I cannot take my fathers Oxycodone's. So those of you worried about my killing myself withing the next few days don't worry. I have a few weeks if not a couple of months to save up my take homes.

While I'm waiting on killing myself, I'm going to make plans to go on with life. I'm going to apply on line to Hawaii Pacific University, in Honolulu. I've been told that SSI would pay for my schooling, but I'm not positive of this. I have not seen any offical papers saying the goverment would pay for my education. I would be a returing adult student. Perhaps school will lift my spirits, and let me do my art, let me learn, give me a reason to go on.

I'm also writing my living Grandmother, and asking her to borrow 7,000 dollars to get on my feet. I've writen the letter, but I have to re write it as I think I went into too much detail about why my parents cannot help me get on my feet. I went on and on about how they don't want me to move out, and want to keep holed up in a tralior house too small for three people.

If I have school as a reason to live then I guess that is a good thing. What a contridiction, I give myself a limited amount of time to live, but in the meantime I make plans for a life free from the chains of my mother and father.

I'm still without self esteem, without talent, without self worth, without the ability to stand up against my parents. Still acting like a spoiled child.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

What will happen

What shall I say today. Well first off I'm reading Wurthing Heights, and it sure is a sad love affair. Really I wouldn't call it a love affair, because so far all they do is hurt eachother. Although they are in love with eachother, yet neither will admit their love to the other. Its painfull to read. It makes me angry and sad.

Not as sad as reading that damn Kurt Cobain Biography. Even after reading every book on the subject of Kurt Cobain, Nirvana, Courtney, Hole, the book simpily called Kurt Cobain, tells the same story as all the other biographies I've read. It reads almost identical to Heaver than Heaven. It made me cry in from of my father making me feel like a phycotic obsessed fan who can't get over the fact that we'll never meet and fall in love.

I do think that Kurt and Courtney were soulmates, but drugs were involved and even if your with your soulmate, Heroin will make sure it takes over as your soul mate. Courtney got kocked up, and when she found out she was knocked up she probably went to the Methadone clinic secretly, or she did it cold turkey. Courtney was going to be a mom, and from what I hear the knowlage that you made a child with the person you love, you want to do whats best for the baby. Kurt wanted to experiance what Courtney was experiencing. He was somewhat obsessed with the birthing process, the conception, what happens in utero, ect... he was extreamly excited to be a father. No one, but Kurt and Courtney know how much Kurt use H while she was knocked up, we do know that he was in rehab in the same hospital Courtney gave birth to Frances Bean Cobain. So he was using. OMG, why am I going on about this. That was somebody else's life. I was around 10 years old while this was happening among the Cobain family.

Two years before Kurt and Courtney had Frances Bean, my Papa Donald commited Suicide in our gurage. I was seven. My Grandma Betty had died of Cancers a couple months before that, just before Easter. My Grandfather's heart was so broken he couldn't go on without the love of his life. Although he left my father to find his lifeless body, and in turn my dad was upset. He along with his brother's and sister's went to a family bar and got drunk. Good way to deal huh! Anyway when my dad got home from the bar, he tried to kill himself, while I watched. I didn't cry, I just held a spoon in my hand and bent it back and forth. My mom made me go down the hill to the garage with my little sister who was six and had us try to get him to stop what he was doing. He just told us to go back up by our mother, and go inside the house and go to sleep. Of course we didn't do that, we stood at the top of hill, until my oldest cousin who was 18 at the time forced my dad to stop trying to kill himself. I swear my dad tried every way in the book to kill himself. Exept a gun.

Now that I'm older and have went over and over this in my head, I think my dad was just crying out for help. Both his parents died within two months of eachother. He didn't know what to do. He was a mamma's boy and was devestaed when Grandma Betty died. Then he finds his beloved fathers lifeless body in his truck after using carbon dioxied to kill himself. I don't blame my dad for any of the things he did. He was hurting, and wanted it to stop hurting. Same for my Papa Donald.

I get sad at times, and wished I had more time with both Grandma Betty, and Papa Donald. I wonder how diffrent my life would have turned out. It takes a villiage to raise a child. If they were alive I would have had a villiage. My mom's parents never really took a vested intrest in either me nor my sister. They did babysit when my parents both worked swing shift, but it was nothing like being at Grandma Betty's. Grandma Betty was like a second mom, and Papa like a second dad. There a million what ifs.

The past two nights I've wanted to kill myself. My plan is wait until both mom and dad go to bed, then take all of my dad's Percocets, and all of his Clonazepam along with all of my own Clonazepama, and then take a whole bottel of Tylenol PMs. The problem with that idea is my dad wouldn't have any pain meds or even Clonazepam to calm down. I would have to write in my suicide not that when they take my body to the hospital, he should tell the doctor that I had taken all his pain pills and anti anxiety meds, and that he needs a refill.

I'm also worried that my dad would kill himself when he found me, because he's told me that is what he would do. Plus he would be disgusted with how I chose to kill myself. By taking his pain meds. How selfish and disgusting I had been. He thinks I'm disgusting because I'm an addict.

My other plan is to save up all my Sunday Methadone take homes, and not take any of my Clonazepam in my next refill, but I can never seem to find the will to not take my dose. If I waited until April 15th, and started getting more take homes, I'd only go to the clinic 3 times a week, and I could save up like ten or fifteen bottels of my methadone, and then take all of my Clonazepam. Still to not take my Methadone is a struggle for me. Maybe I should take half my dose, and save up 20 or 30 bottles. That would be like 2,000 mgs or 2 grams of Methadone. I hope my tolerance isn't so high that all it would do is put me in a coma for a few days, and then I'd be alive and everyone would be dissapointed, and the Methadone clinic wouldn't take me back. Then for sure my parents would never let me move out of state, much less within 30 miles of them.

I've taken too many of my Clonzapem this month, and they are going to run out way before I can refill them, and I've taken way to much of my dad's where hs's going to know they are missing. Along with his Oxycodone, I've taken like 20 of those, and he's gonna run out of them, and I'm going to get the cops called on me, or he will call me every name in the book, and scream and yell, and tell me that I don't love him or I wouldn't do this to him, and he might even leave. He did say the other day if I ever used again that he would take off and leave me and my mom. Why he would leave my mom I don't know. Maybe because he blames her in someway. My dad is my payee, which means all the checks go into an account with both our names in it, and only he can draw the money out and dole it out as he see's fit.

I'm such a contridiction. During the day I make plans for my life, but at night I just want to die. I think at I realize what I want will never happen, and I'll end up unhappy forever. I'd end up killing myself later on, so why wait for the dissapoint any longer and just get it the fuck over with now.

Whine, whine, whine, whine. I feel so bad for whomever is reading this. All I ever go on is about killing myself, writing about Kurt Cobain or Robert Pattinson, complaing how horriable my life is, when in reality I have it very good. I do realize that. I just have a frame of mind that is selfish, and thinks I should get what I want now. My brain knows if you want something you have to work hard to get it. Work really hard, single minded, and pursue it.

I just want to run off and use Heroin and fall inlove with a man who shares the same intrest. I can never tell my parents this. I could, but my father would do everything in his power to keep it from happening. My mom would think I'm crazy. How could someone's deam be to use, get money, buy dope, use, over and over again. Proably getting HIV, or some other disease's you can get from dirty rigs.

If a non user happens across this blog I expect comments like, just do it...kill yourself, or you need to get a life, or your a fat ugly horriably writer who doesn't deserve the family you got. That is the truth I don't deserve the family I have. I don't deserve to be so loved, and cared for, and taken care of.

I thik my dad has a sixth sense, because today I was talking about moving back to Hawaii, and he said, " Your just going to get back on drugs, and wind up in jail, or rehab, or instutionalized. Or oded.

Friday, March 12, 2010

exersize

I actually had an outting today. My aunt Debbie took me out to the gym, then of to lunch, then off to a hour facial. Now that I have a gym membership, and am only eating Nurti-System's food products I should be thinner soon. Six months or so I should look like the 18 year old Anna. Even the 23 year old Anna.

They have a tanning bed at the gym, and I don't belive in tanning, but I do belive that Vitamin D is essential to my emotional state, and so I plan on slathering on sunscreen and do ten minutes in the tanning bed.

Its been cloudy, raininy, foggy, and warmer out as of late. My favorite type of weather. If I lived in Washington I could have this all winter long. To get some Vitamin D just to the sunscreen tanning bed while living in Washinton in the winter.

Aside from that, exersize has lifted my spirits a bit. I still am having cravings for dope all the time. I asked the nurse to talk to the doctor about me getting a split dose. So I would take half my dose in the morning, and the other half at night. So I have no fucking cravings at all. The Clonazepam is a whole diffrent ball of fire all together. I will give myself props for not being as hooked on benzo's as was in Hawaii. I don't seven 2mg Xanax everyday. I did once take 10 Clonazepam when I first got my script refilled. Its in the middle of the night when I wake up with bad cravings for opiates, I take 2 Clonazepam probably twice a night. Which means my script will be out before the end of the month. Joy fucking joy.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

This mornings drive to the Methadone clinic was somewhat unique. My dad took my to the clinic, we left around 8am, and I brought the new Biography of Kurt Cobain to read. I've read everything about Kurt there is, this particular book is called Kurt Cobain. I read every book on Nirvana also. This biography is almost identical to Heaver than Heaven by Michale Azzard. Some details are diffrent, but not much.

I read all the way from our house to the clinic. I was as far as his childhood, into adolecence. When I went into the clinic, I brought my book, but I found the conversations more interesting. The clinic was packed, no seats. The computers were down, so the nurses had to hand pump out Methadone with a syringe. I got there and the number I picked was 36, and the sign with numbers on it said 5. I knew I was in for a long wait. So I read some more of the bio. Someone got up from their seat, and I jumped at the chance to sit in a chair. While in the chair I put the book down, and listened in while all the patience complained about how long the wait is, and how cramped the waiting area was. The guy I was sitting next to had his son's first evaluation for school, and he really wanted to be there. I offered him my ticket, I had nowhere but home and sleep to go. He refused because he had driven someone there and he would need someone elses ticket to give to guy whom rode with him to the clinic.

I didn't catch the name of the guy I was talking to, though I've seen him every morning for the past 2 years I've been there between my living Hawaii. He was talking and he told me and those around us that he had a son, and had adopted the daughter of his girlfriend, whom he was engaged to. Then he asked me where I'm from, and I told him Oconto Falls, and then he asked is there any places to rent here in my hometown. I said yes, and asked why he would want a one bedroom apartment in Oconto Falls when he has a family. He then told me that he and his girlfriend had broken up. He mentioned that it was four years together, and then a they broke up. I mentioned that both of my serious relationships lasted four years, and ended. Its like four years is the curse of the non soulmates. Perhaps even the soulmates.

Anyway, my number was called, and I went up to the nurses station and got my dose. I said goodbye to they guy I was talking to, and got into the Jeep with my dad. On our way home we stopped on the Indian Reservation to buy three cartons of ciggeretts. While he was in the gas station I read some more. When he got in the car I read more, and half way home I put the book down, and my dad noticed. He asked "why aren't you reading your book". I said,"Its making me depressed". He asked what the book was, and I told him a bio of Kurt Cobain. He said, "Haven't your read every book there is on him and his band, and I said "yes".

My dad proceeded to interigate me about what I knew about Kurt. His birthday, his parents names, his daughters age and name, why he supposably killed himself. I answered all the questions, and on the last one I said he was sad, and Courtney had an intervention for him where everyone told him if he didn't stop using Heroin he would loose everything, and then Courtney told Kurt that he had dropped Frances on her head a few days before while he was high. I went to explain how he went to rehab, but jumped over the wall, even though he could have left throught the front doors. My dad said, " I wonder why he did it", and I told him he had a family history of suicide.

When I said that, for whatever reason I teared up. I tried to hide it from my dad by rubbing my eyes as if they itched, but he noticed, and asked why I was crying. I was so embarrased. What the fuck! Why am I crying after saying he had a family history of suicide. Then I realized, I too have a family history of suicide, and I agonize over weather to kill myself every night. I don't tell anyone except for this blog about my suicide idations. Sometimes I will tell my mom how I want my possesions dispersssed after I am dead.

It was then I realized I wasn't crying because Kurt shot himself. He was a great musican, and an interesting man, but he wan't the reason I couldn't stop the tears from dripping. I was mad at myself for saying their family had a history of suicide, because he knows we also have a very song history of suicide in our family. In essence I told my dad that I was suicidal, and want to die. I hurt him. He tried everything in the book to get me to stop crying. Changing the subject, not looking at me to so as not see the hurt in my eyes.

I denied that I was crying, and my dad said yes you are. Even though he knew I still denied it. I hate to make my dad feel helpless. To feel like there is nothing he can do to make me feel better. Even though he knows that when my sister died the only way to numbe the pain, to keep himself from offing himself was to take extra oxycontin. In his mind he knew the only thing that would make me feel better in the momment, but he knew, and knows that I can't use/ Not even once.

Are there other people out ther whos only friends are nobody not even themselves?

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Instant Gratifaction

Instant gratification is my problem. I want to move now, I want to be skinny now, I want to win the lottery now, I want to find my sould mate NOW, I WANT EVERYTHING NOW! Mainly I want to use Heroin now, so I can forget about everything I want now, and just be in the moment of the high.

What if tomorrow I bought a bus ticket to Washington, just told my parents I'm leaving they can send me my stuff in the mail when I get a place to stay? Or they can just keep it if I don't find a place to stay. I just afraid to do it by myself, and I don't know anyone who wants to just pick up and leave at a moments notice.

I know someone who lives in Seattle, my best friend from 3rd grade to 8th grade sister. Amanda, and her husband along with there one year old child. I don't want to intrude on their family with my unhealthy lifestyle. I'm scared to look on Graig's list to find a travel mate, who knows if I'll end up like that girl who was killed by some guy she met on Graig's list. If it was a girl maybe.

Facts are, I just don't want to break my parents heart. I only 675 dollars a month +85 dollars from state a month. I would have to set up with a diffrent health insurance program, and food stamps. Plus my dad is my payee, and he can dole out my money as he see's fit. As of now all my checks are going to him to pay him back. Fuck I hate having to pay back my parents. They never made me do it before, but now that I have some sort of reliable income they take all of it.

Oh yes, and tomorrow I have drive an hour and a half to get two teeth extracted from the back of the left side of mouth. The last two teeth. I've been taking my Clonazepam too much. I took ten in one hand full the other day, and today I took six. At this rate I'm going to run out even faster than I did last month. I'm going to have to go four or five days without any. Who knows if I'll go thru withdrawls again. Why? Why do I do this to myself. I withdrawl from Xanax and Valium when I first got back from hawaii, and I withdrew from the Methadone while in jail. Instead of even trying out sobirety I just go straight back to the clinic, and get a script for Colnazepam. WTF is wrong with me?

I just can't deal. I have no copeing skills. I sleep my days away, trying to hide it from my parents that I sleep from 11am to 5pm and go back to bed at 9pm and sleep all night. I made a promise to my parents that if they quit smoking on March 26th (my sister Angie's birthday)and stay off until April 26th my dad's birthday that I will quit the Methadone. My parents have tried quiting many of times, but they never had such high stakes as me getting of Methadone if they make it. If they go back to it then I go back to it. A deal is a deal. It just sucks that now I'm getting the Methadone for free, and all my perscriptions for free, and now my parents want me off of it.

Fuck it I'm going on Craig's list to find someone who wants to travel to Seattle with me, and find a place to stay. Nothing nice. Just a place to sleep. Elenaor has become my mom's dog since I went to jail, so I don't have the thought of losing her to keep from going.
Wow I talk such big talk, but do I really have the guts? What do you think?

Monday, March 8, 2010

rant and raving

What can I say? Nothing much has changed aside from my hair color. I've also been flat ironing it, so its straight.

I am hell bent on losing weight, with weight watchers. I hope they have alot of sweets on their menu, because thats all I like to eat while on the Methadone. I have a spot on feeling that my depression is due to my body image, and the fact that I don't leave the house for any other reason than to go to the Methadone clinic. Sometimes I run to the grocery store for my parents. I sleep all the time, and take too many of my clonazepam's. Why? I don't know, it dosn't get me high, it just puts me to sleep, but thats all I want to do. I have a life in my dreams. In reality I have my parents, once and a while my dogs attention, and the trailor that all four of us are living in.

I signed up on the www.plentyoffish.com website to find a date. Pathetic. The only people who send me emails are 50+ and all they want is sex. Imagine that a man just wanting sex. I guess there isn't anyone on the dating website that wants to run away with me and use Heroin. Someone who dosen't want to run with the herd of sheep American's have become. With jobs they hate just to make money to pay their bill, and give their children a better life than they had.

Everyone in American wants to become famous, almost everyone at least, and since only what...3% of the population becomes famous actors, singers, writers, directors, so on and so forth. I'm one of them, I want to be a famous writer, but I know the odds. I'll end up self publishing, and the book will sell 80 copies total. Most of our dreams will be dashed. Sexy girls who want to be famous in the movies will end up in porn, and stripping. Nothing wrong with that, but I'm pretty sure its not the dream they had on their way to Hollywood. I can't speak for all, there are some who want to be sex workers, and there is nothing wrong with that. Whatever floats your boat. Even the people who want to be in porns arn't likely to become Jenna Jameson.
I would do a prono if I had the body, but I'd do only girls, unless Robert Patterson was the man in the prono with me.

Then again, if you work hard, have single minded want. It is true if you work hard enough dreams can come true. That's why I write so much. Practice, I read and re read my book, just trying to get it perfect. I am single minded in my pursuet of writing a book. I'd like to act, and who knows if I have a talent for it. I've never acted. I tried out for a play, and tried to impress the director by having memorized the script before tryouts, and when it was my turn to read, my knees started shaking, and the lines just flew out of my head like humming birds.

I'm good at doing two things, naming types of cars just by looking at them, and naming actors, and actresses who are in what movies. Not old movies though, but I have been getting into old movies. Thanks to my dad who is constatly watching Turner Classic Movies"TCM".

When I was a little girl I would dream of having long straight blonde hair, with a perfectly oval face with big blue eyes, and a beautiful body that men and women desired. I wanted to be in the movie Home Alone with Mcully Kulkin. I think that was my first famous person crush. In bed at night I pray that my cruly mousey brown hair would turn light blonde, and my face would look like Kim Bassinger's, and have her body. Or like Rodger Rabbit's wife. Although she had red hair, her body was what I coveted.

Is anyone perfectly happy with who they are? Before children do we all have goals that are lofty, but realisitc to us because we want it so bad. Suddenly a baby comes along and your no longer the center of the universe. You child is, and now you want for your child what you wanted for yourself, for their wildest dreams to come true.

I'm a total pessimistic person. I need to turn my outlook on things. I need to get off my ass, and stop complaining. Pay my parents together, finish the book, and save up all the money after I've paid my dad back in July 2010. If I wait for 2012 the world could come to an end, and I will be pissed off, because I just started to let in some hope for myself, and suddenlly its taken away.
They is my pessimistic side comming out again. Damn it Anna change the way you think. Think positive. Get up off my fat ass, pain my fat self potrait. As anonymous wrote. Thanks anonymous you really know how to hurt a person. Kicking someone while they are down is not something to be proud of. Asshole.

Friday, March 5, 2010

I'm watching Jesus's Son right now. Its about two Heroin addicts. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for saying this, but I have to tell the truth. I can't lie to myself anylonger. I hate myself for writing this, I want to use Heroin for the rest of my life, unintruded, just me Heroin, and a guy who shares the same intrests, and goals as I do. If I could just get my book published I'd be set. I could go off to Washington, get lost in Capitol Hill in Seattle and be just a no-one. Just another junky who dies early from HIV, or some other disease that afflicts the needle users.

Fuck all you who say stay off drugs, its my life. I'm going to hell anyway. If I could just get to Chicago. To a big city where Heroin is avaliable. The shitty thing is my father is my payee. The SSI checks are made out to me and my dad. They go into an account where only my dad can take out the money. If I move I'd have to find someone I trust to be my payee. I can't trust another junky. Thats for sure. If I was someone's payee and still on junk I'd probably use a little bit of it to get high, intending on paying that person back, but it would get worse and worse. Suddenly their whole check would have gone to my drug habbit.

Someone out there please rescue me. Some attractive 30 year old poet/writer, who just wants to get out of the situation they are in and travel. Someone who has money perferably, or at least SSI comming in. I know there are alot of pill heads out there who want to make the transition to H because its cheaper, someone who could love me. We could bond over drugs, and books. We could just be ourselves.

My dog has taken to my mom, and won't even lay by me anymore. I wish my parents would let go of me. They have this hold on me. This hold I cannot explain. I don't want to hurt them anymore, but if I were to tell them what I want out of life they would balk and cry, and scream, and chain me to the house.

I'm sure there will come a day where getting high would get old. I would probably be too old to turn my life around.

What would my life be like if I had never tried drugs? What kind of person would I be? I'll never know. I can't even speculate.

I'm crying, I just want to forget everything, everyone, I want to be selfish. I want to please my parents and family, but I want to please myself too. There is no way I can do it. I just want out. I can either break my parents heart by getting strung out again, or by offing myself. I don't want to do anything else. I'm finished. I hate myself and want to die. I really do.

I'm so sorry, so sorry that people will be sad, but people get over loss. I'll be forgoten in 20 years. All those who truly love me will have forgotten all about me. My mom, my dad, my aunt.
I can't stand people. They just push that rock up that hill everyday, and are fine with it. I'm not fine with it. I want to disolve into a million little peices. There is a price to made for dreaming.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

my 200th post

My 200th post. In these posts I tell anyone who reads this whatever is on my mind. I'll tell you how uncool I am. I've mentioned before that I watch the movie Twilight over and over, read the book twice in jail. Well I've cut my hair to look like Bella(the main character), I had my mom curl it to look like Bella's hair. I even put in brown contacts. I feel like if I look like Bella, then Edward,(the male lead character) will find me, and fall in love with me. He doens't have to be a vampire.

Normally I don't go for men that are more attractive than I am. They are more likely to cheat, and beak my fragile little heart. This guy who plays Edward, his real name is Robert Patterson, and he is drop dead. My heart flutters just seeing him on my TV screen.

Please dear god, I know I've been a bad girlfriend, cheated on both of my longterm boyfriends, and was vain, and everyother horriable thing I could be to my boyfriend. I believe I should still have a chance at love. Maybe not with a movie star whom millions upon millions of women are pineing over. Still someone who will take me out of this one horse town.

Someone help me get over this obession. PLEASE!

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo

Today is another crawl into a small space and die. I have become obsessed with fucking Robert Patterson. What the hell is wrong with my brain, why do I become obsessed with famous people? I have no chance in hell of ever meeting much less having sex with him, or Kurt Cobain. Kurt is DEAD. Long DEAD!

I need to get out of this house, get out from under my parents thumb. I have to pay them back for the lawyers, and after that I've made up my mind that I'm going to Seattle. I'm giving up on everything, and going back on H. Thats what i want out of my life. I'm not going anywhere in life anyway.

Don't worry I'll still blog until I pawn it off for another shot of heaven. No one on earth is going to want to be with a 30 year old Heroin addict who lives off SSI, and state SSI wich is like 85 dollars a month. Then there is the food stamps. Wow, am I fucking special. So fucking special, I wish I were special. I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo, I don't belong here. Sorry Radiohead, but you put it so perfectly.

I guess the reason I'm obsessed with famous people, is because I see them in movie rolls and wish I had someone in real life to love, fuck, hate, ect... I need to get a life.
Lastnight was a hard night. My parents were watching American Idol. A show I despise, and they were laughing pretty hard at something, which peaked my curiosity so I came out and wanted to know what they were laughing about. My mom told me to look at this guy singing. He had longer blonde hair, and big blue eyes, and I guess one of the judges has a crush on him, and said something funny to him. I quick glanced at this man on American Idol, and thought aloud, "he looks like Kurt Cobain".

I then went back into my room and looked a picture of Kurt that I glued to the wall beside my bed, and realized he looked nothing like Kurt. Then I felt this overwhelming urge to get high. To loose myself in the oh so lovely high Heroin produces. To make myself feel better about being non talented, and about knowing that Kurt's dead and gone. Gone a long time now. This made me feel terriable, I just wanted to shut off all the lights and TV, and crawl into a ball. I often did this in jail. So I shut off the lights and TV, and pulled out my MP3 player. I couldn't bring myself to listen to Nirvana, so I listened to Elliott Smith. I took some Clonazepam to calm myself down. and ended up falling asleep listening to Elliott's soothing voice. I only slept for at most an hour.

Then I woke up and started my self portriate. IT SUCKS!

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Useless

I have no artisitc talents what so ever. I have this 30*fourty streached canvas, and all these paints, and bushes, but I can't draw shit. I tried drawing my own face from a photo, and found that my brain just can't figure out how to put lines, and shadows, and placement together. Look at the paintings I've put on my page. Any three year old could have painted them. I also have three 11by fourteen canvases, and I want to paint a self potriate of myself. So I'm practicing very hard to draw myself.

Most people I know have this ablitity to draw and paint, and play instruments, write music, write words that sound beatuiful and have meaning. Me though, me I'm a talentless hack. I'm an imitatetor, and not a very good one at that.

I'm lazy, unsocaible, unconcolable, ununderstandable, mundane, pathetic, procastinator, lier, thief, talentless hack. I've had it with myself. I gave myself until 27 to do something with my life. I wanted to live in NYC by the time I was 25, that never happened. I've visited NYC, I've never lived there. If you can make it there you can make it anywhere. I so wanted to test myself. See what I had. Did I have it in me to live in a huge city that could eat me alive, and come out unscathed. I will probably never know.

I promised myself that I would kill myself at age 27 and its here. I've been 27 for a month now. Fuck I can't kill myself at 27, that would be offensive to all the really talented people who died at 27 and now belong to the 27 club. You know who I'm talking about. Janice, Jim, Jimmy, Kurt, there is more. Those are the four big ones. I should wait until 28 so I'd be in the talentless group of suicides. People like me who should kill themselves. Not people like them that shouldn't have ODed, and or killed themselves, those people made a diffrence in the world. No matter how small in the big picture, they made a diffrence.

I'm so sick of me. I want to be someone new, someone cool. I might die my hair platnium blonde, or pitch black, maybe even blue. Changeing the outside isn't going to change the fact that I have no purpose in life. I have no reason to exist. I want climb back up that amblical nuce.