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.