Today I got a comment, suggesting that I have never done anything and have just let life pass me by. This person said I should do less journaling and reading, and "live my life". I'm 29 years old, and I've seen, done, and been through things most people would never in 10 life time’s see, or do.
For the past few months I've settled into a routine, I read and write every single day all day and night until I sleep, and I stop on Sunday’s at 8pm to watch True Blood. During the week, and on Saturday I stop reading or writing at 9pm to watch The Office reruns for an hour. After that I usually stick my nose back into a book until I fall asleep. I leave the TV on the TV land channel. I wake up in the middle of the night a lot, and I like to wake up to Roseanne, which I watch for a few minutes until I fall back to sleep. I write about these things on my blog because that is what happens to be going on at the moment. Sure it seems boring, but to me it’s a nice break from the chaos, and upheavals that are my life.
I just ended a chapter of my life, where I was hardly ever at my parents, and was using heroin, and pretty much any drug put in front of me. I stopped living really hard at the end of September of 2011, but I was still living pretty hard on the razor edge of life up until about a month ago. The evidence is in my blog. I started blogging again regularly just a couple of weeks ago. That's not because I've just been sitting around doing nothing, it’s because I was busy going places, meeting people, doing things. Most of those things involved drugs, not all of it.
The majority of people I know have lived in the same place or within 20 minutes of that place their whole life. They go to the same bars, and hang out with the same people they have since childhood. Then they marry someone they have known all their lives, and sooner rather than later get knocked up, and that's really the only interesting thing that they will ever do in life. They will raise those kids, and when those kids grow up they will end up doing the same thing. Sure some go away to college for 4 years, but the majority come back and lives within 20 miles of where they grew up, and end having to work at whatever job they can find in their field. Not that there is anything wrong with that. That's just a different type of life than I’d want for myself.
I've been writing this blog since the fall of 2008. I've lived a lot of life in just those four years. I moved five times since then, and one of those moves was to Hawaii, and back to Wisconsin from Hawaii. Before I started this blog I had already done and seen enough for a lifetime. I moved out of my parents’ house when I was 17, and in with a boyfriend, and then with a roommate, then to South Carolina with a boyfriend who was working down there. I came back to Oconto Falls and finished high school. I graduated with my class even though I missed a full semester living in Myrtle Beach South Carolina. A few days after school let out and a week before the graduation ceremony I told my boss I was going to take a couple of weeks off from the bar, and do something. I told her I would call her if I wasn't coming back. I had my first credit card, and a little over 500 dollars saved. One night I packed my car with all my belongings and my first cell phone (an old one) and without telling a single soul I was even thinking of leaving much less that I was leaving. I had it in my mind I was going to go to San Francisco, but first I was going to drive to southern California, and drive all the way up the Pacific Coast highway. Long story short, I made it to Phoenix Arizona, and realized there that there is no way I had enough money to pay for gas and food, and a motel room once every in a while. Even if I slept in the car the entire way to San Francisco, and just paid for gas and food, by the time I got to San Francisco I would only have enough money to survive a two days at most and that’s without opiates. I had taken 10 Oxycontins with me, but in Phoenix I ran out. I wasn't very badly hooked then, but I was mentally hooked for sure. I ended up calling my parents, and I used the rest of my money to help pay for a plane ticket back to Wisconsin. My car made it back a couple days later, when my uncle a cross country truck driver went out west to drop off a load, and on the way back to WI he towed my car. I got home in the early morning hours before my graduation ceremony. When I showed up at graduation I was the talk of the town, for "running away".
After that whole episode, I moved in with a couple of friends from Green Bay. I worked and partied, and every chance I got went on road trips, and took E. I kept up with the pain pills just by using what my dad wasn’t using. Life passed by fast. Then when I was 20, my sister 19 we were both living in the house we lived in since middle school, but our parents lived in Michigan. I had moved back to Oconto Falls and my old house spring of 2003. No rent and I had an easy job as a bartender at a bar I knew like the back of my hand. I had met a boy, who ended up becoming one of the two guys I think of as serious relationships. I was best friends with his sisters. I had partied with him when I was younger. May of 03 he quit his job in Appleton, and we lived in between Oconto Falls and Appleton. I was going up to Michigan to get pills regularly. On July 19th my sister, my boyfriend, and myself were going to drive up to my parents. I was low on pain pills, so my boyfriend and I drove up two days early instead of driving up with my sister in her car, and staying for two days. We got up to Michigan late at night on the 17th. We got there and went straight to sleep. We woke up the next day, and we went sight-seeing with my parents all day, and called my sister that night to make sure she was still coming up on Saturday the 19th. She said yes.
That night my boyfriend and watched movies, got high, had sex. Meanwhile my sister was throwing a barrel party at the house in Oconto Falls. It turned into a huge party. My sister got drunk, and got a call from her boss at her job that there was an after bar party at the bar, and a guy my sister liked was there, so she got in the car to drive there. Less than 3 miles of our house she was killed in a car accident. It was 2:30am July 19th. At 4am there was a knock on the door in Michigan. It was blue outside because the sun was about to come up. Pete and I were lying on the living room floor high and talking. I answered the door; it was the Michigan State police. They asked if Dean Young lived here. I said yes, and they asked me if they could talk to him. I was perplexed, I thought maybe my dad had an unpaid ticket, or illegal cable, or worse, I also thought fast could this be about me and his pills. By the time I got up the stairs, and woke up my mom and dad, and said the police are here. They both jumped out of bed in a flash. Before I woke them up, I had told my boyfriend to go into the guest room. My parents both went downstairs, and I was too afraid to go back down so I stood at the top of the stair case, and a second later I heard the most gut wrenching blood curdling scream I had ever herd, and I made out the words, "MY BABY IS DEAD". I fell backwards and slid down the wall, and I screamed the most gut wrenching scream I've ever screamed. I got to my feet, ran down the stairs, and saw my mother on her knees trying to get to her feet, sobbing. Two policemen were standing in the entrance way, my dad was just looking at them blankly all the blood drained from his face. I looked around at everyone, and it seems to me like none of us said a word for a full minute just sobs. The policeman's mouth was moving, but I didn't hear the words. When I snapped out of it, I heard the policeman saying sir, sir; will everyone be safe if we were to leave? My dad just sat down, and I heard him say, “I always knew something like this was going to happen". I calmed myself enough to speak, and I asked the police, how did she die, was there anyone with her, where is her body now, has anyone else been notified, how did they find out where my parents lived, are they sure it was my sister. My dad got in on the questions, and he told me to start calling the family, first I had to call my aunt. My mom calmed down enough and called her mom, and she fell apart when she said, “Mom, Angie my baby is dead.” And she fell down again. I picked her up. The police were still there and wouldn't leave. They asked if we needed a grief counselor, and if it was okay for them to leave. They just would not leave until my dad said the words; I will not hurt anyone or myself if you leave. I later found out that when the hospital and police couldn't find my parents or me, they called my dad's brother, and that’s how the police found us. My uncle had told them to not just give the notification of death and leave, because my dad has been known to try to kill himself when something like this happens. My uncle was afraid my dad would kill my mom, me, and himself so we could all be together. He was afraid of this for good reason, back in 1990 when my papa, my dad's dad was found dead of suicide in our garage, my dad had tried to kill himself. All of which I saw him do. He also had threatened to kill his three girls. So we could all be together. My dad's mom had died only two months before papa killed himself. Wow I'm going into just this one story way too in-depth. It’s one of many stories; it’s just the one that has affected me the most.
After my sister died, I lived in Wisconsin, all over the state, Michigan with parents, New Hampshire, Arizona, and eventually Hawaii with my mom, and then Hawaii with my mom and dad, and then back to Wisconsin with mom and dad. I've never shared any of the stories of New Hampshire on my blog, none of Arizona, none of Florida. I have mentioned the visits to these states, but not the living there for a few months. Oh yeah, and Boston for a month. Arizona and was with a boyfriend, New Hampshire was with a friend, and Boston was alone. I've traveled and stayed in Florida for weeks at a time, then go back to where I had come from. I worked mostly as a waitress and bartender during this period. I've been homeless in both Hampton Beach New Hampshire, and South Boston. I even worked as a topless dancer for a little over a week when I was homeless. I've had sex for money. I have lived a full crazy life. I have enough material to write 10 different books, on different subjects, all about my life.
I've had calm moments entering the eye of the storm for a month or two here, and there. Still no matter where I was, I was writing it all down in my journal. Even with the drugs, I would at least write one paragraph every day. I would guess the longest I've gone without journaling is three days. That is since i was 14, and at 17 I started making sure I saved all my journals. No matter where I was when I finished a journal, I would send it to my parents to put in a box. They were told very strictly not to read. My mom admitted to me she has read parts of journals I sent home. Then she would come across a sex story, and she would put it down.
Again I know most people have to work to live. I'm sure if they had the luxury I have of not having to work to live, their life would be less cookie cutter. I'm not putting down the majority of American's lives. I'm just saying...to me living a life like that would be letting life pass you by. Putting everything into your children, and hoping they get the chance to do what you couldn't. I'm sure having children is the most rewarding thing a human can do. I'm not saying I've lived the best, most exciting, virtuous, life. I've made pretty much every wrong choice in my life. I swear every time I'm allowed to choose, I choose wrong. I am not, and do not claim to be a role model. No kid should ever aspire to live the life I have lived so far. Mental hospitals and jails have all been a part of my life.
The good thing is I'm only 29 going on 30. I'm still young and I don't have anything tying me down. Since my addiction completely took over my life I've relied on my parents for everything. Right now I'm relying on them so I can read, read, read, and practice writing, and write, write, and write. I’ve taken classes to develop my craft, but right now I'm doing it on my own. Just a list of 100 books everyone should read, a journal, a notebook to write a critique of the books I've read. My computer and blog where I can write all I want. I wish I could go to NYU or Columbia to study English and French, and Russian Lit. Maybe someday I will. Maybe someday I will be a professor at one of these schools. Right now, instead of flying by the seat of my pants, and only doing things that feel good, I'm buckling down. Leaning on my family for support to get me through this addiction, which will probably be the fight of my life, and on top of that my mental illness another uphill battle that will not end until I end?
Because I have not blogged about everything that has happened in my life and all the places I have lived does not mean I haven't lived a full life. I wrote a book about a six year period of my life. In the book I focused on just one subject, the biggest part of my life during those six years. Really I only wrote about 4 years of my life. Not six. I only wrote starting on my second in patient rehab.
So please don't worry about life passing me by, or me not having anything to write about. I may be in a nice safe routine right now. In a moment’s notice life could throw me a curve ball; I could make another snap decision like I did right after I graduated. This time not stopping, and only calling home when I've gotten settled. Sure I'd write postcards on my trip, letting my parents know I'm alive. Just not talking to them, and letting them talk me out of what I want to do. I could meet a girl and fall in love, we could start a life together, or I could meet a guy. I'm defiantly not looking for any type of relationship right now, not even a friendship really. I need to be a loner for a while. I have friends, and I talk to them here and there. I email them, and pm them on fb.