Friday, June 22, 2012

Something is chainging in my mind. Who am I?

This blog started as a place I could write about heroin, where I could admit how much I loved it, how much I glamorized it. The things I did to get it, the process of injecting it into my veins. I wrote about every aspect of heroin and opiate pain pill use.  I began blogging back in early 2008. I first began on Myspace. At first I had a lot to write about. People who knew me, but didn't know the true me read my blog and changed their opinion me, for the good or the bad. I had never told anyone how I truly felt about things that had happened to me in my past. The majority of people who read my blog on Myspace were people who knew me in real life. People who knew me before I became a drug addict, people who knew me and knew in a way how strange I had been since early childhood. Who watched me grow into an even stranger teenager, and adult. They didn't know my thought process, and even though I was a very novice writer in 2008, I began to explain in words what I was thinking when I did certain things, and what things happened to me, and how I felt about those things. It was the first time since elementary school, that others told me I should keep writing, and should write a book.

When I moved to Hawaii in the summer of 2008 I began this blog, here on blogger. Some people who knew in real life followed me over to this blog. This blog began when I first started Methadone maintainece, and I was still using black tar heroin, and Xanax on top of my Methadone dose. I was no longer getting the complete high from opiates that I got before Methadone. It was after my first two stints in 28 day rehab programs. Which in my opinion is when getting high became less fun, and more of a need. Something that I knew was taking over my life. Hurting everyone around me. Before rehab I was having fun, I was hooked and would get sick, but I didn't feel I was hurting anyone aside from myself. Then I got into legal trouble which landed me in jail a few times. Which made getting high a little bit scary. Not the getting high part, as much as the buying heroin or pain pills part. When I was in Hawaii back in 2008, it was my second time living there. I had first moved there with only my mother back in late 2006 to later 2007. When I had ran away from court ordered rehab and if found was going to go to jail for up to a year. My parents didn't want that, so they got me out of Wisconsin and down to Hawaii. My parents were split up at this time. They were still reeling from the death of my sister in 2003. So was I. My mom was drinking all the time, and I had no rules, it was as if I was living by myself in Waikiki beach, Honolulu Hawaii. I was doing heroin, smoking crack every now and again. Doing coke and heroin together. Using every drug I could get my hands on, but every day I was using heroin. That came to an abrupt halt when my dad flew down to Hawaii to bring my mother and I back to Wisconsin. So I went back to Green Bay WI, and had to live off my  dad's Morphine prescription. Again when I got back to WI, I started writing.

After a while in Hawaii, my stories ran out, I got lazy. I became redundant in my posts. Always writing about using that day, nodding out in the middle of a long post, and not finishing posts. At this time I was also working on my book, and my book was about my life in Hawaii the first time living off my mom, with all the freedom in the world. I was telling this story in depth in the book I was writing, and it was hard for me to write posts about heroin, but I felt I had to keep writing about it. There is no doubt it was a subject I could talk, think, write about forever. I glorified heroin, thought people who were against heroin and hated junkies were complete losers and closed minded. I was only attracted to people who were in on the heroin scene. At the Methadone clinic there was plenty heroin fish. I was in my early 20's. I was emotionally only 17 or 18. I stopped growing emotionally when I started using heavily. I was in a word stupid.

All this while I hated myself. I had done everything wrong in my life, and I should have been the sister killed in an accident of some kind and killed. I was ugly, I was gaining weight, I was isolating myself. I was apathetic. All I cared about was getting high just to stop the hatred I had for myself.  Stupid, untalented, going nowhere, no will power, lost every good friend, used people, manipulated my family, an on and on in that way.

My life went on this way for years, each year I gained 10lbs or more. I had to turn myself into jail, and serve my sentence for prescription fraud so I could get my disability checks for my bi polar disorder. Which is a whole book in in itself. I did my time in jail, and was off all drugs, even methadone. For whatever reason, I guess it was that I didn't think I was strong enough to quite using drugs, I went straight back to the methadone clinic the morning I got out of jail, and was back on the juice the next morning. After one of many suicide attempts, and stays in Brown County Mental Health a doctor was intoroduced to me. He told me he could get me off methadone and onto Suboxone, get me on speed to lose weight, and get me on bi polar meds to keep me as stable as I could get. I had been on nearly every bi polar drug there was and I still had episodes. Mostly depressive.

I went into jail late 2009 right after we got back from Hawaii the second time. We had moved back to my home town Oconto Falls. I was still on methadone. I was at my fattest. I never left the house. I watched TV, I read, and I wrote. I'd take months off from working on my book. I wasn't putting my all into the book any longer. Yet, the book was the only thing I was living for. Writing was all there was for me. This blog was the only human contact I had aside from my parents. I was in my mid to late 20's. There was no heroin to be found in my home town, or in the nearest big city Green Bay. The only time I would get heroin is when I would drive down to Chicago and buy it. Which was twice. In the summer of 2010 I moved with my parents to a condo in Green Bay. I went on the Suboxone. I didn't wean myself off the methadone and the first time I took Suboxone I was thrown into acute withdrawals. I tried for a week to make the Suboxone work, and I was still sick, and mentally unstable. I went crawling back to the methadone clinic. They let me back in, and I stayed on until the winter of 2010, and began weaning myself off the methadone to go back on Suboxone. In my mind Suboxone was going to work for me. Here is were my blog got fictional, but I led the readers to believe that what I was writing was the truth. I lied about a relapse for a month or two. One day I wanted to tell people what really  was going on in my life. So I admitted to my lies. Wow, was there a backlash from the readers. People began to question everything I ever wrote. Some people thought I wasn't even a heroin addict or drug user. This one person thought this blog was being written by my mom. I don't know how that idea got started, I think it had something to do with face book. I lost a lot of readers. Still this wasn't the worst backlash I would get for lieing to my readers. The worst was still to come.

Now I'm on Suboxone, and weight watchers, losing weight, exercising, finished my book had it at the publishers. My mom had taken a three month job as a traveling nurse in Yuma Arizona. My Doc who was writing the Suboxone got his licence to write narcotic prescriptions taken away. That was all well though, I thought I could wean myself off the suboxone easily. I was already only taking half my prescribed dose once every three days. In April of 2011 I was waiting for my book to go on sale, and was going on a vacation to Yuma with my aunt to visit my mother. It just so happened that the first day in Yuma I ran out of the Suboxone. I figured oh well. I go three days without it all the time. I figured I would get mildly dope sick and not be able to sleep. Luckily my doc had prescribed me Ambien. It was going to be fine in my mind. I was ready to stop and only use occasionally. Five days into my three week vacation, I was at the ER, and lying to a doctor to get a prescription of a Dilauded filled. He gave me two week script, at 4mgs, four times a day. I only needed two to get high, or at least that's how it was before I started methadone and Suboxone. I didn't anticipate how high my tolerance had become. It turned out I need four pills just to feel better. Eight to get high. Soon I was out of that script, and off to a different hospital and got another Dilauded prescription. This time I  only got a weeks worth.  That was gone in a day and a half.

A few days later, I was in a cab, and noticed the driver had track marks on his hand, and large pupils. I figured either Coke or Ice. So I meekly asked this cabby if he knew where I could get some Heroin. He look at me stunned. I showed him my fresh new tracks from the Diluaded. I gave him 80 dollars, and he came back around 1am after his shift was done, and my mom was working night shift, and my aunt had already left back to WI. So I had a hook up for heroin. I ended up staying in Yuma a little longer than I had intended, but that was okay because I had not bought a round trip ticket.

When I did go back to WI, I called an old friend, and she ended up hooking me up with a dealer through her boyfriend. Who was Jose'.  My dad left May 5th, to Yuma until June 1st. I was left to my own devices, and a check book full of blank checks. The heroin in Green Bay was much more expensive than it ever was in Hawaii, Chicago, or Arizona. So I stole money. My friend and Jose' broke up. Jose' moved in with me for a few weeks. My mom and dad came home from Yuma, and Jose' moved to a shooting gallery. I ended up moving in with him for a few weeks.  Then Jose' ended up committing armed robbery, and the cops came to my parents house thinking Jose' was still living there with me. I was lured to my parents house with the promise of money. When I got there I was grabbed by the arm, and pulled onto a chair. The condo was swarming with cops. I was questioned about Jose' for over an hour. Jose was calling me, and the other people who lived in the shooting gallery were calling me. They were calling to tell me what I already knew. There was a swat team behind the house, and all the roads to the house were blocked off. Luckily the only one at the house was Jose' waiting for me to get money. He had no idea the police were coming for him. I had no idea he robbed a store at gun point that morning, but I did see he had a gun that day when he got home. I asked him about it, and he told me to never mind. He told me he only had 200 dollars, and he wanted to buy coke, and I needed heroin. My dealer wasn't answering that morning into the afternoon. I was hoping when I got to my parents and got the money, by then someone would answer, or I would go through a middle man with a different dealer. Well, needless to say my plan on getting well were thwarted. After Jose' was taken into custody, and the house searched, the police left, and promised to be back if they found I had anything to with the robbery. I knew I was in the clear with that, because I had no idea.

My parents were sick of me. I had done shit like this too many times in the past 8 years. They made me check myself into Brown County Mental Health to detox, and then go to another 28 day rehab. Turns out I had to stay in detox longer than I had expected. The doctor brought me to court and I was made to stay in the nut house until the doctor found me mentally stable enough to attend 28 day inpatient treatment.  I don't remember how long I was there. When I finally got out, my dad came and got me. My mom was still angry with me and didn't want to see me. My dad has a soft heart and just wanted me to be better. So I had a half hour to pack and be at the rehab on time to check in. I packed fast. Forgot tons of things. Most of all I had no make up. I had left it at the shooting gallery and the police took it for some reason. They also took my digital camera, and all it had was one photo of Jose' that I took to put up on a dating website. I still haven't gotten that back. I got to rehab, and it was my fifth time in inpatient rehab and my second time at this particular rehab. I was still mentally craving heroin. I still had diarrhea, I couldn't focus, I could barely get out of bed. This rehab had you scheduled to be in some kind of group therapy every hour of the day with fifteen min. breaks in between to smoke. I couldn't bring myself to talk in rehab because all I wanted to do was get high and talk about getting high. Not recovery. Finally the day ended, and it was after 7pm and we had free time until 10:30pm when we had to be in our rooms. I just laid in bed and listened to my MP3 player. Elliott  Smith songs over and over.

Early the next morning I got up before everyone, I packed my bags and called my dad to come get me, or I was going to the homeless shelter. Mom wanted me to go to the shelter, but my dad said I could come home, but I was to have no freedom. Somehow I got around that, and would call my dealer to meet me outside our condo, and I'd say I'm bring my dog Eleanor out to go potty. I'd buy enough for three days. I only took two shots a day. One when I got up, and one about two hours before I went to bed. My parents could tell I was high, but they didn't want to believe it, and I told them it was because of my Clonazepam. Then my parents realized I was stealing checks. I had been for 5 months, and they just noticed. My parents threatened to call the cops. Instead I promised to give them all my checks from SSI until I paid back the 1,500 dollars I had took in checks. They thought this had stopped my use, but when they weren't looking I would take their debit cards, the ones I knew the pins to, and I would get the money out with them, that way they couldn't be sure it was me taking the money out. There is an ATM machine just across the  street, so I'd call my dealer, and get the money from the ATM and was getting high.

One day, I just got fucking sick and tired. My book had come out the day I went into rehab for a day. I decided I was going to buy a large amount of dope, and end it all. I figured this was the best way to die. Then I would get high, and not feel like killing myself anymore. So I had enough of feeling good, then bad. Going sick for a few days until I could steal a debit card. Finally I called the Methadone clinic, and got back on it. So here we are 2012. I had tried to kill off my blog, by killing myself off on the blog. I posted a post written as though someone else had written it, and said I had killed myself, and that's why I hadn't posted in months. That's when shit hit the fan on my blog. People where googling obits, my local news, checking mine, and my families facebook pages. Finally after a few days, I realized no one believed it. I wrote a short blog and told everyone to fuck off, except one person who I have always felt a kinship with on the blog. I was so self involved that I forgot about all those people out there who read my blog often, and felt like they knew me. Had been reading my blog since I started. People I liked. People who in a weird way cared about me. I royally screwed them. It took hundreds of comments from these people and many others to realize, I was an idiot. I finally gave a apology, but it was too little too late. No one trusted anything I wrote any longer. Even Gledwood doubted everything I wrote. So I just gave up, and started lying, and putting in little truths here and there to make it semi believable. No one trusted me. I lost hundreds of readers. Before the suicide fake, I was getting around 200 unique hits a day. Now I get around 30 unique hits a day.

Today I realized something. I am sick of heroin, and opiates. I just need methadone and a councilor, and physc docto,r my bi polar meds, and I'm okay. I'm not great, I'm not so depressed that I just wish I would die. I wouldn't mind dieing, but I'm not going to kill myself. I realized that my book, no matter how bad it is, it is something I finished. I am ashamed and disappointed in myself because I didn't take my time and put all I had into my book, I would take a few months of not writing a word on the book, and then I'd feel like I needed to get it done, and I'd write 10 pages. Not write again forever and quick through down some words telling my story. I got sick of it, and one day I sat down, and wrote the ending in one day. I just left the my life as an addict hanging. Writing a quick epilogue trying to bring the reader up to where the book ended. So my book is the worst thing I've ever written, and the only thing I've ever accomplished.

The title of my blog no longer fits me. At least not right now. I'm not strung out again. I haven't used in weeks. I still don't like my looks, and I really wish I could get the hell out of WI, and to NYC and live life. Until then I'm focused on reading, and examining every author's techniques, sentence struckters, grammar, character development, theme, and I'm even trying to get metaphors.

In conclusion, if there is anyone who still reads my blog and has been reading since the beginning, I have changed. I am growing up. I'm trying to stop my apathy. I am embracing my strangeness, and ugliness, and hone what little talent I do have. I've written bits and pieces of other books, never getting more than 20 pages in. When I feel ready, and the story is ready to be told I will write another book, this time putting my all into it. This time getting it published the traditional way. I used to tell myself I can't do this, no one will like it, or read it. Now I believe I can do it, and people will read it, and I can become the one in one hundred and thousand author's who sell more than 50,000 books in a life time.  I'm still Anna Grace Young, and I still think you should just read my words. Come back if you like, or never come back. I can say I will not write a post about myself that is not the complete truth without notifying the reader at the top that the post is fiction. I started as a writer who had only one subject to write about...dope, and I'm blossoming into a writer who can write about many different subjects. Those of you who love to read drug stories, you can buy my book by click on the title of my book in the picture of it at the top of your screen, or if your on your phone and can't see it, Its called "I Hate Myself and Want to Die", by Anna Young. The cover is light blue, and the picture on it is of a hand and wrist with cuts on the wrist, the title in baby pink letters. If you don't want to buy the book, go back to the 2008 to 2011 early 2012 posts and read about heroin all day. Plus I am positive I am bi sexual, and prefer women.


Anna Young said...

See, I didn't take my time with this post. I move from year to year, state to state, and the reader can't tell what time period I'm writing about. I so want to rewrite this post, but it took me an hour and half to write it, and 20 minutes to do a skim edit. I'll rework it later after I smoke some cigarettes, drink some lemonade, streach, maybe even read a couple of other bloggers posts.

I forgot to end my post with, Live long and prosper.

Bev said...

You been through a whole lot.The best news is you seem like you need writting more then drugs now and that is great!Hurray for you and a big hug.Do you really like woman better?I am only in to men and in a big way to;-)

Dawn McCoy said...

Well lol. Finally Anna Grace! You might just be all you are, after all. And btw, I didn't stop reading, even after the fake death.

Anna Young said...

Thanks Delta Dawn...weekdays that flower you got on? Could out be a faded rose of days gone bye?

Thanks Bev. I wish I had your self esteem. You'er very lucky.

Anna Young said...

I ment Delta Dawn WHAT'S that flower you've got on? Could it be a faded rose of days gone by. I herd you say we were meetin him here today to take you to that mansion in the sky.

Thank you Dawn, for both the compliment, and for reading even after I told everyone to fuck off. You are one of the few who stuck around. I only know of two others. I'm not sure if the people who emailed me when I started a new blog, were new readers, or if they had been reading even before my fake suicide.