ashes2rock (re-post)
Sometimes I get really burnt out on doing the whole escort thing. During a lot of those times, it bores me to the point of being completely uninterested in anything sexual and even a little angry. Maybe not angry, more like frustrating. But serious frustration, almost anger. I don’t really know why, but I’m pretty sure that there’s no esoteric secret to explain it. I think it’s just as simple as growing tired of any other thing that a person once enjoyed. The great magnitude of change. Oh, well. Time to move on to different things…if there’s anything really left to move on to. Sometimes I wonder about that. I mean, once you’ve done, seen, and felt all there is, you can’t fill another page. There’s a point where there is no more to be written about, and the finite pages already filled drop off abruptly to an endless void. And there’s not one thing to be done about it. It’s the end of the story.
Now, I don’t want to make it sound as if I believe I have done, seen, and felt all there is to do, see, or feel. Not at all. And certainly I hope that there is much more for me to experience that I will enjoy, adore, appreciate, be in awe of, learn something from, gain something from, lose something from, improve for the sake of, share with others, pass onto something or someone else, feel passion for, have as memories to keep forever, and that will bring me the closest I’ll ever come to bliss.
And I’m sure that there are at the very least, a handful of things out there that I haven’t found yet that will do all of those things. I’m somewhat aware of what some of them are, or may be. But there are others I’m sure that I don’t know anything about. Those ones are exciting.
So…today was just one of those days that it made me particularly sad that some parts of me are so dead and gone, with no hope I can imagine of ever being reborn. I’m constantly grabbing and shaking their lifeless forms, some desperation to bring back their spark.
It didn’t help, I don’t suppose, that I spilled my guts out in a series of very long text messages earlier today, all written to my mother and she totally handed them back to me. I don’t want to write any more about that, I don’t think…but I’m sure she’ll come up again, many times, throughout the day-to-day.
-Attro
Today was awful. I have no words for it. What made it so awful? Oh, it was just one of those days (like so many of them) which exhausted me in every sense of the word. I hated today. Today was full of hate. I hate, hate, hate.
Stupid. The world is a huge spinning sphere of stupidity. And then there is me. With no place in it but to be out of place and find no peace with it.
I have to go to court again in the morning. I can’t wait until this stupid mess is over with. And now I have $350 in tickets to pay, from when I was pulled over a couple nights ago. I hate society. I hate the little game pieces that move themselves and at the same time are moved by a bigger hand that plays them. I hate watching their progress towards circling around and around in repeat pointlessness. I hate the big picture. I hate being part of it. I think my big picture is much better, and my dark carosel is at least something worth seeing.
Around and around goes the world. Around and around goes the endless game played on it. Around and around spins the world, resting on its axis of stupidity. Around and around march the mix-colored pieces which give to it no more meaning, and no less stupidity.
Mankind really is the most painful failure.
There are answers to it all, but they’re useless. And I think I’ve figured some of them out. But I wish I hadn’t, as they do absolutely no good. Not even for me, I’ve found, having tried to apply them to my own existence and all that I’m surrounded by. The answers are useless. Better to stay stupid. Wish that I could join the crowd that doesn’t know. Wish it weren’t a matter of not wanting to know, or choosing not to know, or not being able to know. Some of them relaly can’t know. And all I know is that I have known, and can’t undo what’s now known.
Maybe I’ll share some of the answers to everything some time. Another pointless point to make for no one’s sake.
I spent a little while talking with my mom last night, when I went over there so that she could help me with my hit. My arms were, and remain to be, an absolute miss. They’re both home to many bruises, lumps from misses, and other tell-tale signs of catastrophe. So, once again, mom saved the day by successfully getting me spun off my ass. It was pretty good stuff, for sure. I only did thirty units that Dave made up for me of his own mixture, and it was so intense that it made my nose tingle like that about-to-sneeze sensation, and it had such serious heat that my ears felt like they were on fire for about five minutes after doing it. Absolutely burning. I coughed like crazy. I was happy. That is, after all, what it is all about. Isn’t it? Anyways, after that I sat there and talked with her a little and we covered subjects that we always seem to cover, but one thing she brought up was something that hasn’t left me yet…
Somehow during our conversation, we ended up discussing sobriety versus using, etc…and she expressed a sentiment that has haunted me since it was said. I’m not really sure why…
What she basically voiced, was that she believed that everything happened for a reason.
Okay, so my initial reaction in my mind is disappointment. It sounded stupid to me in the way all cliches do, and I didn’t imagine she had anything better to follow it up with, but I had no idea what her personal meaning behind saying it was, so I asked her what she meant by that.
Her response turned out to be far greater than I had anticipated.
She went on to explain that she just couldn’t stand the possibility of there not existing some greater scheme to life and all that happened to a person during it. I asked for an example, and she readily related it to herself and all the pain and suffering she has endured in her lifetime thus far. She told me that it had to be for some greater good, either within her lifetime or further into the future. I wasn’t completely clear on all her thoughts on this, so I just kept listening for it was clear that if I did, she would continue talking. She listed some possibilities for what this greater good could be. Maybe all the things that have caused her to suffer have taken place so that she could somehow be of help to me in my addiction. Or maybe it had all had to happen so that some grand lesson be learned, and then make possible some change for the better in her own life. Or maybe it wouldn’t be as soon as any of that, perhaps it would save someone’s life that she didn’t even know, somewhere down the road. Someday. Maybe her experiences and the horrible things which have happened to her throughout her life that have scarred her and caused her to live trapped between the jaws of pain, will somehow be passed on or observed or witnessed by some person or force, and maybe even related down a chain of other such entities until through whatever medium it reaches that someone it was meant to reach. That person who would be the reason for all she’s survived. The one who’s life would be saved in some capacity by some effect that her experience had on it, whatever that would be.
Whichever scenario took place, her ultimate comfort was that she continued on in her day-to-day suffering for a reason. And that the reason be for some higher good to become of it all.
I don’t know how to think or feel about that, really. I’m pretty undecided. I have to admit, the thought of my own sorrow adding up to zero is kind of miserable…but yet, I had a hard time being sympathetic to her when hearing all this for the fact that I see her passing up opportunities to channel all this trauma in a direction of good. All the time I see it. I even felt compelled enough to comment on that fact at the time, trying to phrase it with care so as not to upset her or get a defensive reaction from her, since I know how easily that is to do. I told her that sometimes in order for good to come of things like that, one had to make good come from it. Or, other times, simply allow for good to be born of it. To let it happen. As in, you can’t just leave it up to believing that everything happens for a reason. Sitting around in tragedy, and waiting for it all to unfold on its own is foolish. I thought to myself, you can’t act as though you’re just some pawn that serves a purpose, and leave yourself to be moved only by the hand of whatever force governs the big picture. You have to make it happen. You have to take what you have lived through, and you have to figure out on your own how to best utilize it to bring about good. And as much good as you can! For every time hurt, can be matched by an act of kindness. Or anything else that is of goodness in any way.
That’s how I view my own life at this point. I look back on my past, and all that it’s held, and I see a lot of painful times. But I don’t feel as if I’ve been cheated at any point. I used to, but I don’t anymore. I’ve been freed of those thoughts. I see also all the good that I’ve had, and how grateful I am for all of it. And in my day-to-day life and up to now, presently, I feel like everything both good and bad that I’ve been through has actually come together beautifully to bring me where I am today. I really don’t have anything to complain about today. I used to think that the way things went for me since as far back as I could remember was unfair and more than a little cruel. Now I look back on that and smile like I would at a child who’s understanding was no further than themselves. Now it’s difficult for me to feel very bitter or angry or even hurt by any of the times I was wronged in the past. Because I see next to each of them, a memory of a time when I was touched by something truly good and made sublime by it. And those memories seem infinitely bigger than the other ones, endlessly greater. They seem to more or less defeat the memories of the most intense pain I’ve ever felt. They break them down until they are turned into something I see just as they happened, but that I remember in an entirely different mood than I did before recently. They are all parts connecting to one another to make possible the beating of my heart today, and the oh-so-strong will to keep it pounding, and the indestructible desire to continue on. And they are just as much a part of that as are the good. They are no less necessary in making up the picture that is the blooming of who I am today, that in the end is my own big picture. I believe that what is important is to do good always, and to never pass up an opportunity to do something good, to help someone else, to bring happiness to others and in doing so, bringing it to yourself which is equally as important. I’m always trying to be as rid as possible of any “self.” No one can be completely selfless, or rid of a “self.” I, myself, must exist as myself if I’m to do anything selfless for another. A selfless act out of even the purest desire to do for others, will be selfish in the satisfaction and happiness it brings to one doing it.
The other important element to my outlook on everything, life and the world it’s lived in, is being open to the rest of the world and knowing where I fall into it all. And not only knowing where I fall into it all, but knowing that place is very inprecise and can as sure as it will see variation incessantly. I float there. Occasionally, I’ll even jolt from where I’d been into somewhere altogether different, because something I learn or realize jerks me into another place.
When I say that I am open to everything, or try my best to be, is that I fully accept everything, regardless of my own opinion on whatever it is. Those things which I hate are every bit as accepted as those which I love. I’m in harmony with my reality. I know that I could be wrong about anything, or everything. And I don’t dare even claim that anything I believe is right or true. And anyone who I may disagree with could be right. What is there to argue when I find strength and serenity in what serves and fufills me, and that I believe is right and true and good with every fiber of my being? Even when another and their drive to live and believe conflicts with my own and opposes me, how can arguement exist when I receive them openly and accept all that they stand for, knowing very well that either of us could be wrong or either of us could be right, or maybe we’re each what is right for ourselves, and maybe that’s as right as anyone could ever possibly be. There may be no way to know or judge what is ultimately correct, but to measure such things only by our own success with them.
I get caught up in a frenzy of smiling at all the possibility, of how great the entire universe of all these things becomes when looking in on it through the endless lens of acceptance. It’s so much bigger than any one person. It’s so much bigger than me, that sometimes I lose myself in it, floating in that place where I fall into it all, wherever that is at any given time. It’s through acceptance and receptivity that I’m able to enjoy all things. It’s all made possible because of the great gift I’ve been given to see all of every picture passing me by. Not only this or that part, leaving a good or bad impression. But the whole work of each piece of art that collides into the collage which is the big picture. And to give back to everyone and everything for all the happiness given to me, brings back to me that heightened happiness tenfold.
It leaves me breathless. I’m full of love, and free of hate.
-Attro
There are some matters which I have come to believe that no one understands me. I truly and honestly do. And it’s something which I must and do accept as I do all things which I may or may not like, however it is something that I accept with a great deal of sadness. Especially after this evening. One of these things is the entire situation involving my mother, David, and myself. Not even Kevin understands me when I’ve tried to explain it to him. That stings more than anyone else’ lack of understanding, except for maybe my mother’s. I really don’t concern myself with the opinions or thoughts that most people form on anything about me or anything that I do, because they exist as a group infinitely more impersonal than those close to me. And so if there were anyone whose understanding I would most value in this situation, it would be that of one person that I love and feel most closely linked to. And that’s Kevin. I guess I sort of figured that he would be able to see it all from where I stood and from outside of where I stood, and come back with a fair judgement. Probably because of how perfectly we fit with one another otherwise, in nearly every way possible. It seemed natural in my mind that he would be looking in at it with a like set of eyes that were caught by the same sights as my own would be inclined to notice. Last night, we were talking and he somehow ended up on the subject of a good friend of his. Well, two good friends of his. They are a couple. He was explaining his history with them and telling me about all the issues that existed between all three of them and how they had led up to their current conflict which has left them keeping very little or no contact with one another. Anyways, when he was explaining their relationship to one another and how it all played out as an odd an dramatic trio of co-dependent friendship full of conflicts, I made a comment about how I thought it sounded similar in many ways to my situation with my mother and David. And I told him that he probably wouldn’t understand in what ways I meant, but that it was no big deal. I told him I could just relate it to that situation for many reasons of my own, and tried to brush it off as a remark that needed no response. I told him to just continue with what he was saying, but of course he had to pry. That’s Kev. He’s not the the type to just let someone off the hook like that. So, he asks me in what was was it similar, looking confused with a frown on his face that almost looked like disagreement more than confusion. So, long story short, I tried to explain the ways I found the two situations to be similar, and he completely failed to see what I meant and disagreed with me. After we discussed it back and forth for a little while, he had to say: “My situation with so-and-so and so-and-so is not the same as yours. The difference is that I never fucked so-and-so OR so-and-so. And I never would.” It took me about thirty seconds after hearing that come out of his mouth to grab all my things and be out the door, in my car and pulling out of the parking lot. He was upstairs when it was said, so it allowed for a perfect exit. I couldn’t believe he said that. All I have to say on, or in response to it, all that I can say, is that he’s totally wrong to think of the two scenarios being so different for the reasons that he gave. Perhaps they aren’t so very similar, or maybe they’re not even comparable at all. Who knows? I don’t claim to. I was just going off of what I felt and thought. Maybe they’re totally as different as they could possibly be. But I do know that even if they are as different as black and white, they are not different from one another for the reasons he said so decisively that they were. Not even close. Because, all I can say, is that I never fucked Dave, and I certainly never fucked my mother. Nor would I. How dare he? And just the other day my ring was finally done being resized, and it’s gorgeous wrapped around my left ring finger right now as I type this. He really did pick the perfect one. I love it. That thrilled me. But it just makes me even more disappointed that he would say something like that. Because that’s what he really thinks. He can’t be made to understand, no matter how many different ways I try to relate the story to him on any number of occassions. Oh, well. I think that, at least at this point in time, I am alone on this one. I have yet to find one who can know this little story and know the character I played in it. My mother and David played parts in it that could have easily been played by a million different others. But my lines, my motives, my entire character were written only for me and cannot be for anyone but myself. And so the price for that, whatever the value, is that my entire presence in the scene set last summer is something only I can see. To the rest of them, I’m something to fear, hate, cause confusion, blame, outcast, or I’m just something which they cannot relate to. That’s okay. It’s painful sometimes…really painful every once in a while, to realize how alone I am on that one. But then, in a way, it is my private something. My secret about a memory I have that no one else knows, and no one else hears even if I scream it in a hundred different ways. That has some sort of very sacred meaning to it that links me with myself. Precious things. I know. And I know they don’t know. And I know it’s okay that they won’t know what I know. It’s kind of like transcendence, once again, smiling at that thought like with a patient smirk that knows what you don’t know, but that does not disrespect or mock you, for it knows what you can’t ever know. I was speeding down the freeway somewhere in the neighborhood of 3am today, and when I looked at the clock in my car and saw the time, it occured to me that was the ideal time for suicide-swerving it through the Terwilliger Curves, which I was about to hit. I hit the gas, and felt the full power of the Six inside my stationwagon zoom forward pulling the long back-end of the rest of itself. But that all seemed so far away from it. I was right there at the front, behind the wheel, concentrating all my efforts to keep all four of its wheels on the ground as I took those curves as sharply as the wagon could take them, and with the speedometer stuck as far as it went away from zero. Even though the Chevy Wagon is far from the kind of car that is built for driving those risky-roads, I took it around the corners as wonderfully as it was able. I never once broke the rules. No touching the breaks. No taking off of the gas completely. I know its limits pretty damn well. Doesn’t take long to get the feel for a car. I must say, the Toyota felt great bolting around those curves and heeding none of the many warnings. That felt something like freedom to fly in that thing in those sorts of places. Definitely more my style. Everything has to be taken to the extreme, if it is to be in my style and in my taste. But you’ve got to work with what you’ve got, and I did just that. I dream of racing, that would be something of a perfect job for me. Well, I say job, but that sounds rather absurd and ridiculous to me. Race car drivers are closer to celebrities or pro-sports players more accurately, than occupational persons. Yeah, I could definitely dig and get into something like that… I once described my life as being somewhat like the tracks. The ones I’m alone on, travelling at the speed of thrill, racing around and around against no one and towards that rush I’m always seeking, the rush around the race-track, that endless exhilaration that slows down and ends where it revs, picks back up, and begins all over again. -Attro
Hmmm…what do I have to say about today?
Well a couple of weeks ago, my mother came over to Sonny and Laura’s while I was there, because I hooked up a quarter ounce through Sonnny for a deal she was doing for a friend of hers. Gene, her, and myself were all sitting in the living room. My mother was on the phone with someone, and when she hung up it took her just a couple of moments before she noticed behind Sonny and Laura’s couch was a big wooden screen with each of its three folding rectangular divisions covered in a bright red, satin fabric with a faint gold design on it, that looked vaguely Asian in its style. She all of a sudden got excited at seeing it, and told me and Gene that she knew exactly who had made the screen, her friend David, and that it had been a gift from him to her. She had given it to a lady she owed money to at the time, and in doing so had hurt David’s feelings a little, who had expressed to her after she let go of it that he had made it for her personally. She had felt really bad about it, she said. Gene looked at her like she was crazy, and I myself was a little skeptical of her, until she mentioned the pillows and the seat covering that she had in her room that were covered in the same fabric as the screen was, to match. She asked me if I remembered the pillows, and the seat, and I placed it in my head immediately. She was right. She said that she wanted to buy it back from Sonny and Laura, she really wanted to have it again. I could tell it meant a lot to her.
So…she’s been talking about it since. Kind of like she does about a lot of things. She just never seems to get around to a lot of things that she really needs or wants to. It’s sad to see her reaction when something very important to her passes her up because she hasn’t gotten around to it for whatever reason. The sense that its too late. I don’t like it. Not that I really feel sympathetic to that sort of situation, considering that a person is entirely to blame for their own inaction. If something means a lot to you, I suppose you’d do what needed to be done to protect that thing. But still, I have a soft spot for her and seeing her suffer in all her pain brings it out in me the most.
I told her I was going to buy it back and get it for her. Last night I called Sonny right there while I was in her room with her and we were talking about it again. She’d mentioned once more her intentions of getting it, and her plans for it. So while I had it in mind, I dialed him and asked him how much he would let go of it for. He said $20-$25. No problem. I was supposed to go pick it up this morning, but I ended up sleeping well into the afternoon. Go figure. But while I was in their neighborhood this evening, I called over there and asked if I could come right then and get it. They said sure. So I pulled into the parking lot and Gene and Sonny carried it down from the apartment and loaded it into the back of my stationwagon, and I handed Sonny $27.
I saw Shea Lynn while I was there too, who answered the door with a big hug for me. I asked her if she got her bus pass money that I had dropped off the day before, and she said yes. She menitoned needing new shoes at some point in our conversation. I said I’d look for a pair. She’s a size seven, I have to remember that. She showed me pictures of her new boyfriend. She seemed happy. Said she quit smoking and was trying to quit drinking. I gave her what verbal support I could where all that was concerned.
So I called my mom a little while after picking up her screen and told her I got it. I can’t tell you how thrilled she sounded on the other end of the call. She thanked me a couple times, and I could tell how happy it really had made her. She even said something like she had the best daughter in the world, which brightened my heart to hear. She said a couple other little things like how good it was of me to do, and I just got an overwhelming sense of truth from it all. I knew that I was hearing her at her most genuine. Absolutely. And it was the most rewarding moment I’ve known with her for the longest time. One of the other pure moments with her that I always will remember, was when she wrecked my Corolla a few months back. She had called me hysterical, I couldn’t even understand what had happened because she was incoherent and senseless. But the frantic jumble worried me, and I finally interruped her firmly asking what was wrong, and what had happened. When she told me she had crashed my car into a stopped vehicle at a red light, the first thing out of my mouth was the simple question: are you okay? When she said she was fine, then I felt an immense relief in which I said: that’s all I’m worried about, I don’t care about the car. I found out later that she’d been so upset because she felt bad for ruining the car, and thought I’d be mad at her. When she told me that, I expressed to her that I couldn’t believe she’d feel that way after something like that happening and that she couldn’t have been more wrong in what she had assumed would be my reaction, and my priority. And she said that she knew that now, and that she had been shocked by my response, of how unconcerned with anything but her safety I had been, and how amazing she thought that was. She said something about how I really teach her things, greater and more meaningful things, at times like that. It was a moment of humble confession, and it touched me to see how touched she’d been by me.
So the screen is in my car now, and tomorrow afternoon I’m supposed to go help her pack up a bunch of her things and make a few trips back and forth between where she’s staying now and her new place, which she just got offically this evening. She’s moving in a du-plex across from Dave and Naomi. Dave is the one who made the screen for her. She seemed so excited about the move into her own place, and when she was in the car with me tonight, she looked behind her into the backseat at her screen and commented on how she will have a place to put it tomorrow. It’s not very often I see her in such good spirits.
It added something that on most days is missing from the overall smile across my face and heart.
Aside from that, I have to report to The Blanchet House tomorrow early afternoon for the community service I’m to complete for my theft three charge. I’m required to complete sixteen hours of said service in order to have my case dismissed, or else serve something like three days in jail. My headline is the twenty-second of February. I figure if I’m going to put in the sixteen hours that I need to, I had better get started soon so that I don’t run out of time. The Blanchet House is an organization that feeds the hungry. That’s what the man I spoke to on the phone from there told me. They serve breakfast, lunch, and dinner Monday through Friday, and I can basically show up when they serve any of the three meals on any weekday. I don’t like that. I dislike any situation like this in which it’s left to me to manage my time. I prefer to have a set date, time, and place to report to. It works better for me when structure is provided, as there is little room for it in the life I lead, and in the thinking I’m inclined towards. Oh well. I had planned on getting there tomorrow between 11:00am-11:30am for the lunch serving, but I’m considering pushing it forward to breakfast, to get it out of the way early in the day and be done with it. It’s alreay three in the morning, and I know that I won’t get to sleep before noon rolls around, which means that if I wait until lunch, I’ll be really tired and drag ass through it all. But if I do it in a few hours, I’ll be more awake, and probably not be brought down by it all day as much. Yeah, I think I’ll go with that.
Kev wrote me a really sweet poem while I was sleeping last night. I woke up this afternoon finally, to him cuddling up to me from behind, kissing my neck and upper back, and talking to me, I think he was trying to coax me out of sleep with his words. He was calling me “Cookie Flower.” He hadn’t ever called me that before. After I got up and showered, I came back into our bedroom and there was an envelope on the floor next to my side of the bed, with the words “Cookie Flower” in green sharpie. I opened it up and inside was a poem about me, the cookie flower, and him with his desire for me. It was great. It was gooey, as he would say. He really is a brilliant writer. His writing style fits my own and caters to my taste as a reader so well that it is truly frightening. I remember realizing that and thinking that it was uncanny and incredible the very first time I read something that he had written. I treasure those things, which are what makes me feel so perfectly matched for him. I’m fairly certain from what he has said on the same subjects, and from my own reading of him, that he feels very much the same way where all that is concerned. Later in the evening, he went downstairs and with spraypaint he made a chocolate-colored paper on which to print out the poem, and created a chocolate border around the edge of the paper, finishing it with a frame. It was really sweet, by the looks of it and by the sounds of the words that made it. It reminds me now that I’m thinking about it, that I need to write something for him. I’m due to write him something for a while now, I think I’m behind him by a couple. I like to keep myself in the habit of writing. Kevin was my inspiration to write anything at all after a year without words in the written world. That was and is still a very precious gift that I’m eternally grateful for, and I’m constantly reminding myself of how important it is that I honor that ability that he drew out from me after thinking that nothing remain to be drawn out at all. And how else to honor such a thing but to continue forcing myself to concentrate, making myself put the effort into that which is worth it, that I know and feel is worth it, by writing and writing and writing in whatever capacity so long as it doesn’t escape me again like it did up until recently. Even if it’s only every so often, if I put the efforts towards keeping it a part of my life, it will never disintegrate again. And if I exercise it with the vigor it deserves and I’m more than able to put into it, and then go the next step forward by even pushing myself to incrementally increase how often I do it, then it will strengthen as a muscle would. And it will only grow stronger the more it is worked, the greater the part it plays in my life. And what better thing to write about, or put into words for, but Kevin? What could possibly compel me more than the focus of my love and my compassion, and the very reason that anything is committed from pen to page at all this day? I can’t think of one. And so my writing exists as something of very profound and personal value, but also as something reciprocated in an exchange of sacred words between us. It plays a dual-role as fortification for my own self, an old part of my old self that has now been reborn in myself, and as the opposing charge to Kevin and his offering of words to me, from the very first one which sparked the life back into me and in all of them since that he continues to give to me freely. We’re the positive and negative charges that for some inexplicable but somehow very natural reason are attracted to one another in our opposition.
And me writing, or my writing, or the writing I’ve written, write, and will write, are both my gift as something I give to myself, and a gift to Kevin, both in return for those which he spoils me with, and for making possible that power to write for anything’s sake. For reviving the right me, the thought-to-be dead me, the write around the dead end’s corner me.
I’m beaming from ear to ear, from my grounded feet to the heights of my happiness. My heart swells into what then becomes a series of serious throbbings, and it saves itself by calming down into a subdued thud. Thudding, 1..2..1..2..1 and during that is when it’s realized over and over again each thud through time how euphoric I am. And that sends me right back into a shower of speeding up, all leading up, and finally meeting up at the pounding spells that repeat themselves in the pattern that it beats to. I’m caught up in the intensity of how good it feels, how good it is. And even when a day comes, which inevitably it will, when I no longer feel this goodness, nothing exists bad enough that I could ever forget this. I will always remember today. I will always remember the last few months, and even more acutely these last few days. In the face of whatever tragedy the future will bring me to, I won’t ever find myself able to forget that I’ve known what’s good. I’ve known happiness. I know it now. And some time far from now, I’ll think to myself that I knew it, and so I have known it and for what it’s worth I can’t ever not know it, no matter what sadness I may mourn to have met after.
Well! Let’s see…nearly two days worth of time and happenings have taken place since I last wrote.
Of things worth mentioning, the first took place last night. Well, actually it’s six in the morning now, so technically it would have been the night before last. But whatever. The other night, I was at my mom’s new place with her and Dave and we’d been trying to get a hold of some shit all fucking day long with no success. So finally she had sent Dave on the run, and he returned at great length after running out of gas in my wagon, and several other unmentioned delays that I’m sure held him up, video poker and whatever else. So he finally gets back, and only brings home a T. Bummer. We’d wanted to get more than that, of course, figuring it had to go three ways. I’d gone in on it halves with them, so I took my half and they took theirs and we all mixed up and were ready to fire it up. My mother helped Dave do his first. From the looks of it, he felt it pretty good. And then he confirmed by announcing that it was good shit, and that he was every bit as spun as he seemed. So judging by all that, it was better than decent, and expected to be rather intense. I mixed up my whole half, because we found that there was a fair amount of cut in it, though not very bad comparatively. So after taking only some out and mixing it, I didn’t think it would be enough to do the trick, so I just dumped the rest of the bag in the spoon and drew it all up in one monster hit. Came back as something like just over fifty CC’s. Always wanting to avoid overdoing it, I thought about it for a minute and told my mom that we had better just go with forty, and to squirt the other ten to her hit. Forty units. That’s so safte of a judgement that if anything I should have been a little worried that I’d been too modest. But there was no way that forty units even of the best stuff I’ve had in the past few months would be way more than I could handle. Well, I was wrong. Way wrong. We did the hit, and after she’d gotten only the first ten units or thereabouts, I started to feel it come on really fucking powerfully. Then she went to flag it, and I think she checked it three times total before the whole thing was in. I can’t imagine the impact it would have had if she had slammed it all at once. Holy fucking hell. When she yanked the needle out, quickly like she always does, Cynthia style, I absolutely thought that something really scary and serious was about to happen. I literally couldn’t catch my breath. I could not breath. I kept rocking back and forth, moving my arms around frantically, shaking them or something kind of like when they fall asleep and you try to shake the tingle out of them to keep it from driving you crazy. My mother looked horror-stricken, and terrified. David asked something from the other room, but I couldn’t tell you what his question was. I could hear his voice, but couldn’t make out his words. By the time my mother responded to him, I had recovered enough to understand what she was saying, and it was something about me being okay, but just doing too much for me and it freaking me out or whatever. When I finally caught a breath, I gasped and got one word out: “mom…!” and then more struggle to breath between that and “I can’t breath…” She tried to reassure me that I was okay, and so on. After a few minutes, I was back within myself again and the panic of the rush had passed and left me wide-eyed flush-complected and with a headache that sent me right into the extra bedroom to lie down for a spell.
Goddamn. It’s been forever since I had one that good, that intense, that close to being so felt that it crosses over from good to not good at all and scarier than hell. I mean forever. It’s been since the first few hits I ever did, that I felt anything like that. I mean, no joke, it knocked me off my feet and into memories of what seems like longer ago than it was when getting that high was something that happened every hit, each time, without exception.
Those were the days. The ones I will never have again, and can never bring back. Even that hit the other night, as strong as it was, and as frightening its effect on me was, was only enough to buy me a couple hours before I was out like the death of a star, and crashed into the atmosphere of unconsciousness that shrouds some far-off planet that has no name and seems like it could be called oblivion.
Where’d they go, those good old days? Where’d they run off to, and so quickly? Wherever it is that they fled to, they show no sign of return.
So, the next day…I woke up at two in the afternoon or something close to that. Same time that I woke up the day before, or within the same hour at least. And I should mention here that I STILL had not, as of yesterday afternoon, gone to start putting in my hours of community service for my charge. I’d put it off for days. It just kept getting pushed back, something kept coming up and having to come before it. So when I woke up at two, I realized that meant I had missed the first two opportunities to go put in some time towards my 16 hours. The last chance of the day was from 5-6pm for the dinner serving. So that was decided, I had to go for that. And this time, I finally did. And it wasn’t real fun, either. It reminded me of working at McDonald’s. Not to make it sound as if I disliked my work there, on the contrary I loved it there. I never would have left that job, had the circumstances not been what they were and put me in a position where I felt I more or less HAD to quit. But this wasn’t exactly McDonald’s. It was more like a religious organization’s building full of volunteers and criminals in a dismal assembly line of tray-fillers producing identical entree after identical entree until the tiring process of copying weakened the gene pool and exhausted one food group, cutting each one down by one serving as they ran out of bread, vegetables, and then the salad. And a few of the merry crew acting as servers, buzzing back and forth between the tray-chute and the crowded tables of those devouring, like worker bees that buzz back and forth, back and forth until they’re dead. I literally did nothing the entire hour but move competed trays down a line for the servers to grap and serve, then return for more. It was one long hour. I was glad to get the hell out of there.
One hour done. Fifteen more to be completed. I’m thinking I should go for the dinner serving again this evening. Seems to me like the best time of day for me to do it, and keeps things simple and consistant if I stick to one hour each evening until they’re all over with. Wonder if it’s any better than just doing the three days jail time and getting it over with. Probably wouldn’t be much difference between the two for me. But who knows. I’d rather not find out. An arrest looks bad on paper, and feeding the homeless and hungry for a case dismissal seems to look at least a little better.
So I’ve loaned my stationwagon to my mother for the last few days now. I’ve been driving around Dave’s convertiable. God, that thing is hideous. But anyhow, we were supposed to switch back cars the other day right after I got done pushing trays down a line for an hour. The plan was for me to drive straight from doing that to my mom’s new place and get my car, dropping off Dave’s at the same time. Well, what do you know, I get there and we chase the bag like we always do, all of us, the tweakin’ trio that’s made up of myself, her, and Dave-the-doorknob. It makes me shake my head over it, that thought. What a comic book we’d all make, with our many little odd adventures. Anyhow, we chased it until we finally found some, or maybe we didn’t find any before I left again. I think that it was one of the times I’ve just left my cash with her lately and went back home or to wherever I needed to go and waited for the word from her when she got a hold of it, and then would come pick it up. Because, as is well-known by us all, sometimes the time between the start of the chase and the end of the run can be more than a little uncertain. Who knows when it’s over? I mean, really? So most of the time here lately I’ve opted not to lounge around with her and David getting nothing accomplished, as is their style and habit, as we all wait in each of our own cocoons of craving something we can’t have yet. So I’ve just started adopting the habit of taking off for all that, the who-know’s-how-long-it-will-be wait that can be better spent being productive in some way, getting things done that require attention regardless of or separate from the other stuff, the chase-wait-make-another-mistake game that can just as easily be played without working against you, and without working against yourself. So this switching back of cars arrangement had been something that was supposed to have happened about two or three days prior to this one. And each time I finally got over there to do the trade back, the same thing had happened. Her and Dave still needed the car for one more load they had to pick up from the house on Prescott St. and bring to the new place, and would I mind keeping his car one more day? And when I heard the same story the other day, I really started to wonder why the hell it was that I’d ended up driving over there and THEN finding this out…three consecutive days. Well, turns out, as my mother’s story unfolds and as I put two and two together, realizing my conufsion was only for my failure to consider such a simple answer to it all. The “one more” or “last” load that needed to be transported is not a different group of things than the one mentioned days ago as having to be brought to the new place. So it dawns on me that they still haven’t went and gotten the last of her things from over there, the same things they were supposed to have gone and collected three days ago, when she asked me the first time to bring the car back, and then if I would keep it another day once I got there. That’s just insane to me. They really are hopeless.
So anyway, I guess it’s kind of convenient in some really fucked up and weird sort of way that she keeps doing that, because every time I go over there for the purpose of the car swap, we end up hooking up together with some shit since she’s the only one I really go through anymore, and so that works out kind of well. Gives us both an excuse to get me over there, and then that becomes lost in big bag and the rush to do something, something, something, something that we can’t remember or just can’t place and ends up being nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing but surrendar to hiding what we can’t face. Last night, after I got there and found out I’d be driving around in Dave’s miserable attrocity of a motorized-something or other, I went in the living room and started to go to town on some scratch-it’s while my mom picked on herself in front of the mirror in the bathroom and David sat on the floor in her bedroom screwin’ around on the computer. My mom said something about it being his birthday, and how that was no excuse for being the sloth that he is, and that he still had to go change over their laundry. I didn’t know it was his birthday. He turned forty-two, so I found out, and my mother and I spent the rest of the time that the three of us were together cracking jokes about how old he was and giving him endless shit about it. It was satisfying, in some sort of playful but serious-at-the-same-time kind of way. When she finally got him off his lazy ass to do the laundry, he came out of the bedroom and I was smooth enough to sort of frisbee-pitch a scratch it accross the living room and into the hallway, so that it landed right in front of him on the ground at his feet. I had close to perfect timing too, because he was just walking out of the room and had only just stepped into the hallway when it landed, and he saw it immediately, bending down to grab it up, and pocket it. I couldn’t see my mom from in the living room, but her and david were right in front of one another, since the bathroom and bedroom are directly across from each other. But I’m sure she must have been facing the mirror and looking distractedly at whatever she was busy picking apart, which would have put her side to the doorway and David in her peripheral vision. From the lack of response on her part, and from the way I clearly saw David look in her direction, waiting to find out if she’d seen any of the little toss and exchange, and then giving no acknowledgement that it happened, I think it’s safe to assume that she was oblivious to all of it, and that was my hope. I wouldn’t have done it at all, had I been worried that she would freak out even had she seen all of it. I’m sure she wouldn’t have cared much, if at all, if she’d known the better. That’s why I did it the way I had, still staying far away from him, not saying anything, appearing almost like some accepted accident that had to happen on his birthday. You know? So anyways, after his eyes saw no response from mom and he was sure that the moment had passed and was smoothed over by her lack of notice, he gave me a quick glance as he turned around and went back into the bedroom for something, making sure his back was to my mother, and making it very, very quick so as not to risk the turn of her head to see him making any sort of expression to me, or communicating anything through body language to me. He was wearing a mischevious smirk on his face, and I think his shoulders even shook a little with slient, stifled laughter. I winked at him, and it filled up the instantaneous-less-than-a-second that we were looking each other in the face.
After we’d scored and all gotten high and shit, I took off and went to a job at a hotel downtown on the waterfront. When my work there was done, I checked my phone and had two text messages from her. One telling me that she was stuck at the house on Prescott, because her and Dave had run out of gas in the stationwagon again, and had not one dollar to their names, and the other mentioning that she was out of minutes for her cell phone. Both included her asking if I would help her. So I called her and told her that I would, of course, and that I was on my way to the place on Prescott.
So I got there, and bought some more stuff because Missy was there. She’s the connection my mom and I have been going through the last few times lately, and she was the one who sold us the strong shit that had sent me on that blast-from-the-past the night before last. So I bought some, and then knew of course that I had to address the fact that my mom was broke, which was why I was there to help her, and which also meant that I was buying a T of dope, when she sat there broke and with nothing. And I’m aware that she carries the weight and burden of supporting David’s habit too, which frustrates me beyond belief because I did the same thing with Marcus for so long that it makes me sick. But I knew how fucked up it was for the longest time and still continued to do it, so I kind of understand. Although, if Marcus had ever done anything that was fucked up and involved my mother, I would have found it much easier or even effortless to drop him and his never-ending cycle of scum-of-the-earth treatment in return for give, give, give that I gave. I hope that at some point she moves on, and drops David like I did Marcus. I think she will at some point, but I really hope it’s sooner rather than later. She says she’s aware of it, but she just keeps sticking with it and leaving breifly then going right back to it. Sounds to me like she just hasn’t grown out of him yet, hasn’t grown out of the situation yet, but seems like she’s tiring of it and that’s part of the long let-it-go lesson that comes of so much exhausting breaking, rebuilding, breaking, rebuilding again, breaking to pieces, and trying to recreate something that’s been blasted into obliteration and still you struggle to sloppily rebuild it to look and feel and seem like something it was before, and can’t ever be again, and with sadness what you realize how long since it’s been. So natural to myself, I tell her that she is welcome to a hit for herself out of my bag since she’d be helping me out with getting mine. She thanked me, and then her and Missy were talking about a little deal they worked out. Missy was going to give my mom forty cents for David, so that he could get high too, and my mom would pay her back tomorrow, as soon as she got a job and had money. Now, of course that’s always an awkward and stressful situation, for both parties involved. Trust issues, even over small amounts of money, and the stress of paying debts before deadlines pass you by and connections start to disintigrate. So when they were assuring each other of their own validity and trying to establish some sort of trust, I just pulled out another twenty and handed it to Missy, telling my mom she could just pay me back tomorrow when she got it, and that would be easier. She thanked me for that, and Missy looked relieved to have been cut out of that pact of promises. It’s easier that way for everyone, and I really get a sense of fufillment from easing the load of other’s. That way, my mom wouldn’t have to worry about getting money back to Missy by any set time, money that she wasn’t even sure when she would get, and she wouldn’t have to risk the possibility of not being able to pay her back and ruining something between them in a business sense. And then of course I wouldn’t be worried about being repaid like Missy would. My mom knows by now that if she never brings it up or just pretends like I never loaned it to her, I’ll just follow suit and play along, not caring or asking or ever requiring at all any money to be repaid. No stress situation. She has enough of that, for the love of Christ. And of course it was beneficial to Missy, who didn’t have to worry about not being paid, and she seemed to naturally appreciate the gesture for the sake of business and convenience and good dealings with people who need not be questioned or worried about. And then…the distant, most distant third party that would benefit…was birthday boy Dave-the-Doorknob. Who feeds off my mother in parasitic persistence, and how I hate that fact. But I sort of win in a way, where all that is concerned. Sort of, in some way. Because that time I covered it, and it was at no cost to her. She lost nothing for him. He didn’t cost her anything that time, not money or energies or stress or time or even attention. He was taken care of like some fixed expense that had to be taken care of, and I took care of him so that he just blended into the budget with the rest of the bland expenses that had no meaning attached to them, and not even any value. Rent, phone bills, things like that have some sort of value or importance, and that’s what compels you to pay them, no matter what a drag they seem like. Dave, now he’s more like taxes. Yeah, just like that. He’s the taxes you pay on everything. He’s like the tax-on-everything-for-no-reason tax. Just has to be paid, as part of the big monetary picture, but is paid either indifference or disgust at what a drag he is, even next to all those necessary payments towards the practical things which serve some purpose other than to drain, drain, drain, until finally you’re disgusted and drained, until the parasite’s feast is done being devoured and demands change.
Oh well. I need to go now and get her minutes on her cell phone that I told her I’d get. She called me a little while ago and asked about that, wanted to remind me that I was going to get them, and so I’ve spent enough time doing nothing. I can’t really keep her waiting.
I think that about wraps up all that I have to say about things up until now…I belive I’ve mentioned most or close to all that I meant to. Maybe missed a thing or two, seems like I’m forgetting something. But I’ll have to take note of them as I remember them, if I do remember them that is, and their mention will have to be made in the next frenzied session of speed-of-sound tick-tap-tip-click-tic-pat-clat-tick-tap-tip-click-tic-pat-clatter of my keyboard matter.
-Attro
Well, I’ll openly admit that more time has passed than I would have liked since I last wrote…
That’s what always gets me when I try to keep a journal of any sort- I won’t find the time to write for however long, and it builds up and builds up until there is so much to be said that it overwhelms me and turns me off to the very idea of catching up…
But I’m not going to allow that to happen this time. Not with this journal. This has been, so far, the most successful journal I have been able to keep. At least in my opinion. I like what it is, and what it has turned out to be. I refuse to give up on it, and I refuse to be intimidated by the time between entries, however long they may end up being.
So…
Where do I start? It’s been a few days, I know…it must have been. I really have no concept of time anymore. I say that all the time to people, and I can tell none of them really understand how serious I am or what it means to be caught in the maw of timelessness.
But anyhow. Let’s see…over the last few days, I’ve continued to help my mother out as much as possible. She really seems to need it right now. Whatever existed between her and David is disintegrating into a dust of something similar to that which I became covered in after separating from Marcus. It’s in the final stages, and rapidly drawing to a close by the looks of it…then she has to sit there, on her shelf and without David beside her anymore…until she’s ready to brush the dust off and move from the shelf she rests on with no motivation to move. I know that process well, having just gone through it myself not too long ago. It requires a great deal of emotional evolution to create the strength needed to brush off the dust left by the absence of another. Even if you hated them finally, hardly remembering when you knew them as someone you loved and were linked to. I don’t really care to say much more on that subject, but that is the role that David is playing in her life presently, and so he had to be worked into the current picture.
And the role that I’m playing in her life right at the moment? Well, I’m not sure what you’d call it. I suppose like David’s part in this play we all play out together, it’s not one that can be presented as a single title or even just a few descriptive words. It’s more like a mood, an energy, a feeling, or an experience. Last summer, of ’05, my mother and I spent more time together than we ever had before in my lifetime. We grew closer than we ever had been, and whatever relationship we had prior to that period of time and whatever idea of one another we’d had up until then, transitioned into something that might has well have been a memory we each had of knowing another person completely unrelated and apart from the other. If that makes sense…it does in my head, but that is nothing to judge by objectively. When we were reintroduced to one another last summer, we were actually meeting for the first time. Like you know how people can have an identity that is percieved by the rest of the world that comes into contact with them, but which is adopted only as what the person primarily presents themselves as to others? And then once a person enters into a more profound contact with someone else, that identity that really is who they exist as, is shed like a skin to carry on as they were, shallow shadow of something deeper that is the same person. But to see them, to feel them, to know them at all, the depth they do not deviate from must be matched by some set of eyes to look deeper, to see deeper, to care to know the deeper someone that’s there to know only if found by the desire for the depth in another.
So that’s the transition, the re-creation, the transcendence perhaps even, that we became changed by. And believe me, it was for the better. I will never forget meeting my mother for the first time, and feeling such a strong connection to her and desire to know her even better, as best as I could get to know her. It wasn’t very difficult to do all that, since we seemed very inside one another’s head’s. And that is meant in the most literal way possible. I mean to say, that in many of our conversations, she would be talking and telling me about some thought she’d had, at whatever point in her life, and halfway through divulging, I’d cut her off where she had been and finish the thought in the very same words she would have ended it in. I’d had them too. Identical, even to the way we had thought them and then worded them aloud. It was amazing.
So basically, right now it could be said that my mother and I have swapped roles since summer. She is presently struggling with many of the same situations I struggled through last summer, and experiencing many of the troubles that I knew then as well. And when I was there, wherever you’d like to call it- “a bad place”, that’s what I always say- she pulled through in ways that no one else ever had, and she hasn’t been topped yet. Still in awe of the gift I’d newly recieved in connecting with her and enjoying an unshakable relationship, she does the most amazing things I could ever have hoped for. I was only seventeen, and hadn’t really ever lived away from home with my grandparents. I was used to being taken care of, I had been domesticated like some house pet, and now that I’d been given the freedom I had so fiercely fought for, I was left without the survival skills that were needed to have such freedom, and completely lacking in any experience in which me, my well-being, and my course of action were entirely independent of anyone but myself. Let’s just say, I was very new to governing my own world, the decisions I decided to make with it, and myself inside of it, ruling it and yet falling into place within it naturally and in harmony with the world’s will as well as my own.
Shit, it’s been forever since I’ve written in here, I know it has…
Well, I had meant to continue my last entry…or finish it, rather…but as it turns out, that was all of it. Why? I’ll tell you. It’s that nagging that I mentioned in some previous entry that always ends up getting to me when I’m trying to keep some sort of journal. For whatever reason, I get this overwhelming and determined mind-set that tells me I must write every day, religiously, and make each entry as thorough as possible, leaving nothing out. Not one thought that’s worth mentioning in that entire day’s span. Well, fuck that. I had decided to give up on this thing when so many days had passed, and the thought of trying to write all of what had happened during that time became impossible and oppressive. So…rather than ending the diary, I’m going to adopt a new attitude towards it. I’ve been telling myself that it’s okay that not every day be taken into its account…better to have written something about any number of days and their events, than to have nothing written on any of them at all.
So that’s my new spin on all that. I’m going to focus more on the now. The now being whenever I do write in here. As for any significant time lapses in between entries, I’m going to paraphrase those gaps and leave them alone. I refuse to let them intimidate me anymore, or to keep from being written those pages to come that will tell the stories of days to come…here we go.
Today, Kevin and I had a terrible falling out. I know I joke about how often I pack up all of my things and get ready to head out of the door, but when I did that familiar routine tonight, I swear to god I almost made it outside and into the cold, with no intent on returning.
So the other day I decided that I would go on a five day vacation from both working and using. I made this decision for several different reasons. First reason, my arms are in the worst shape they’ve ever been and are being given no time in between damage-doses to regenerate at all. Not good. I used to look at my arms when they were getting bad, and say: “Shit…time to take a couple days off.” And I did. Just like that. Well, it’s not like that anymore. It’s harder. Much harder. But I am determined to do it. Second reason, my work and the erratic schedule that comes with it is incredibly taxing on both myself, and my relationship with Kevin. I’ve just been feeling worn out, depleted, tired. Irritated with sex to the point of hating it sometimes, and that of course does not do anything positive for Kevin and I. And the third reason, perhaps the most crucial reason, is the one which in my own mind truly justifies the entire idea. I want to get back in touch with the feeling of being free from the real world. I’ve been thinking about it, and I remember before I started escorting, over the last summer, I had no phone, no address, no stable residence, no job, no money, no car…and I was absolutely euphoric. That was perhaps one of the happinest points in my life thus far. I was free from all those things, having newly discovered I needed none of them. I didn’t need any of those things, money, transportation, phones…didn’t need them to surivive, and what was most empowering was finding that I needed not one of them to find happiness. I walked everywhere, no matter how far the distance. I felt free when I walked, I loved it. I just want to have that feeling back again. I always compare myself to my mother in that regard. She seems tragically dependent on things like the aforementioned luxuries for happiness. The convenience they offer has her in a trance, and when she’s robbed of any one of them she seems frantic and lost, and most of all she seems miserable. I don’t want to be that way. I just lost my car. Yeah, again. I got pulled over going eighty miles per hour in a thirty mile per hour zone going down Barbur Blvd. a few days ago, was given two more citations and a court date, and my Wagon was towed. Man, that sucked. I still have my other two tickets to pay on the twenty-third of this month…and I still haven’t paid a penny for the car itself. So it all puts me at about $1,000 in the hole. Whew! Brad said he would help me out with paying off the first two by their deadline this month. I asked him if he would, since I figured that I probably wouldn’t have all the cash at one time. I offered to work out an agreement with him, to pay him back the total in payments, or to take some in trade. He seemed okay with it…I hated to ask, but I really need to take care of all these legal matters that seem to be piling up on me. Apparently because of how fast I was going, I committed a crime and thus the court date, for the beginning of next month. I’ll be lucky if my license isn’t suspended, even in the event that I pay all of my fines by their deadlines. I’m not too shook up about that, really. Especially not in any sort of immediate sense. I don’t have a car now, and I probably won’t have another one for quite some time. I’ve got to dig myself out of this hole first, and honestly I’m not in a big hurry to get another set of wheels. I know what a race car driver I am. It’s in my blood. It’s either drive at break-neck speed, or get off the road and don’t drive at all. So it’s probably better for me to stay on foot for a good period of time. No, it’s definitely good. Otherwise, I’ll just keep racking up tickets that I can’t afford and screwing my driving record permanently. So I was going to hire a driver to be on call for me whenever I needed to go to a job, or anywhere else, and I was going to trade for services. I posted an ad seeking someone interested in that sort of position on Craig’s List, but Kevin found out right away and immediately forbid that. So, trashed that idea. Brad offered to give me a ride to wherever I needed to go whenever I wanted, permitted that he wasn’t at work or busy with something else important. Then Rick offered to let me borrow his car as often as he could spare it, in return for services. And of course Kevin would give me a ride whenever possible, so I took down the posting and figured that between the three of them, I would pretty much be able to get where I needed to go at any given time. Rick and I had a sort of falling out, and so he hasn’t really been an option lately. Kevin never seems to experience anything short of a complete trauma everytime he gives me a ride anywhere, and so I hate to have him drive me. Brad has really been the most dependable transportation so far. Except for tonight, when I called him to come pick me up and take me to my mom’s house when Kevin and I were fighting and I was ready to split. Towards the end of the whole thing, Kevin and I were crying together and holding one another. We were both absolutely hysterical at the thought of being without one another. At first, he was angry. He always reacts with anger at first. Sometimes he snaps out of it, but sometimes he doesn’t really. This time, I was able to bring him back from wherever it is that the real Kevin goes when his anger takes his place, masquerading as him behind a mask with empty eyes. Finally, he asked me not to leave. And I said of course I wouldn’t. We said some amazing things, I think. Both of us. My eyes are still full of the sting that comes from crying copious amounts of tears, and my entire frame aches still with last night’s ordeal. I’m glad it’s over. Just as glad as I am that he and I are not over, but just started.
So today was supposed to be the first day of my five day vacation. I had announced to everyone I know that I was starting this. I told my mom and everyone else who I talk to. But last night I had picked up some stuff from mom’s house, and it was supposed to have been the last that I was to do before going sober for my five days. Well, it did end up being the last bag so far…but I didn’t finish it last night, and so when I woke up today I still had some. Of course I didn’t want to give it away, since I’d paid for it. And I didn’t know anyone who would want to buy it, or that I could realistically sell it to. (I don’t like selling drugs, I’d much rather give them away. In fact, most of the time, I’d give them away before doing them myself, they just don’t seem like something that should be sold. Oh well, too hard to explain myself on that one). So I figured I’d finish it off, and then that would be the last of it as planned, it would just have leaked in on my first day. So I called my mom, and she came over here with Dave while Kevin was out running errands after we’d just started our day-long argument. Things were tense upon his departure, and Brad was at work so I couldn’t go to my mom. I was surprised that she pulled through and came to me. Of course, I shared what I had left with her. In fact, I gave her more of it than I did. But we were both able to get a hell of a good one from what we did. But what was really awesome was that she handed me a big envelope as she was about to leave, and told me that she had found the card that was wrapped inside it when seh was looking for one to give my sister for her birthday, which was the 2nd of this month. She said she knew it wasn’t my birthday, but that everything the card said she wanted to say to me, and told me that when she had read it in the store, she’d started crying. I opened it up and read it. Lots of the lines inside it were underlined, and it was signed love mom at the bottom, underneath the ignored Happy Birthday wish. It was the sweetest thing ever. I thanked her. She asked if she had gotten me a birthday card on my last birthday, and said she didn’t think she had. I confirmed that she hadn’t, but mentioned what she had given me which was a pair of real diamond earings. Of course, the hilarious part about that was my ears aren’t pierced. Granted, they have been countless times since I was a child, and then allowed to reclose, so it would be easy to lose track of when I have them pierced and when I don’t. But it was just funny to me. Seemed like a very my-mother thing to do. I thought it was really touching, actaully. And after she gave me those, I kept them on my person at all times. I locked them in my glove box in my car to keep them safe when it wasn’t safest to have them on me. They were the most important material possession I owned, and they were treated as such. Well, when she really hurt my feelings a couple months ago…I flushed them down the toilet at Gene’s house. I regretted it deeply afterwards. It was the one time that she really made me angry at her for a brief moment since I was much younger. For the past few years or so, I’ve had nothing but love, understanding, patience, symapthy, and adoration for my mother almost without exception. Except for that one time. And I was really hurt then. So right after I reminded her that she got me the earrings, she asked me if I still had them or if I had really thrown them out like I had told her. It was unbearable having to tell her that I didn’t have them anymore. She asked what I did with them, and I admitted that I flushed them down the toilet. She looked instantly stung by it, and I felt unbearably awful. But then she recovered remarkably and with wisdom that I took in humbly, by saying that it was okay and that they were only things. Those were her exact words. “They are only things.” I loved that. She told me not to beat myself up for doing it, and that she knew I loved her, which I told her several times right then. It was a peaceful parting of ways, and I miss her even now. I spoke with her later that night to ask if I could come over with my stuff, and hang there until I figured out something more permanent. She said that I could of course come, and that I could store my things there. She said having me and Dave in the same house together overnight made her more than a little uneasy, but that she wouldn’t turn me away because of his presence. She said if antyhing, she would ask him to go hang out at his parent’s house. I thought that was awfully sweet of her to say, but I doubt she really would have done that. I know that she would intend to, but I just don’t see her following through with that. But I hold nothing against her for those sorts of things. I understand them now than I ever have before in my life. But, luckily Kevin and I made amends of some sort, followed up quickly by some much-needed sex and then he fell asleep and here I am. I can hear him upstairs moving around between the bathroom and the bedroom. It’s the first time he’s stirred since he faded out, hours ago.
So…today is day one of my five day intoxicant-free spree. Yesterday was the first day of no work, which was accomplished easily. Way easily. I guess I should have figured how easily that would come. But today won’t be so easy. Because today I don’t have a bag, and won’t have a bag. The working only becomes difficult to stay away from when it’s the way to the high. Natural enough. Simple concept. But today will be hard. It’s going without the high that’s hard, oh-so-hard, for me to do. Before I did my last hit yesterday, I remember thinking that I had absolutely nothing to occupy my time. No jobs. No car. No drugs. No friends that aren’t involved in any of those things. Very little within walking distance. Very little money. That all added up to very few ideas for how to keep myself busy. How do I pass the time I’m suppsoed to spend sober? I have to entertain myself, have to do something, something I like and that I find enjoyable, or else the sobriety will not be bearable. I just don’t really know what to do other than what I’ve grown used to doing, to enjoyably pass any amount of time. It sucks! I’m going to brainstorm a little later on this morning on some possible activities to try out…because I have to take this seriously. If I’m going to try and do this, or make a decision to do this rather, then I have to have some sort of plan. I have to put some serious effort into figuring out how to accomplish this seemingly short and simple goal, or else I can’t expect to have any sort of success. And I’ll just be talking out my ass. I don’t like that kind of shit. In my mind, you either say something like that because you mean it and you follow through with it, or you don’t say it at all.
So…wish me luck, whoever reads this. Goodness knows, I’ll need it. I’m going to go for now, but I will be returning to writing here very soon, a little later this morning. I know that writing is something that has always been mine. My own writing has served me well so far in life, and I have to start thinking of my reciepe for success in this little break I’ve set for myself. And to do that, I will come back to these pages in no time at all to begin writing out ideas for how to spend all this time that I have to spend without being high, how to battle the demon of my more dominant side now, the one that lives for the rush, and how to keep the ultimate goal in sight.
I imagine looking down at my arms many times within the next five days, will come in handy as a grim reminder. I hope it serves well to motivate, and not to depress me.
They’re so bad, in fact, that when my mother came to help me earlier with that last hit, we had to do something that I never allow being done. My mom and a couple other people who help me regularly with administering, have at several different points in time (although a lot more often recently…go figure) suggested abandoning my primary veins that run along the inside crook of the elbow on both arms. That’s the only place where I’m hit. It’s the only place where I’ll tolerate being hit. I can’t stand the thought of poking anywhere else. I’m so shaken by needles at all poking me, that it’s all I can do to bear them being relentlessly poked through the same skin on either arm. But I’m used to it there, so I can handle it. But, after a few days of hard partying, they start to look tired as can be expected. And whenever my mom, or Gene, or whoever else is scouting out a spot to hit says anything about looking for a vein elsewhere on my body, I immediately shun the idea and that’s just the end of that discussion. It’s not something up for argument, it’s simply not an option. Well, as they’ve been getting worse these last couple of weeks, my mom has been recommending that we do just that more and more often, and more recently in the last few days, has actually asked me to look for another place EVERY time she’s gone to help me. Each time I’ve refused and insisted that she go in one of the regular veins, in one of the regular areas on them. Each time it has gotten harder, as we alternate between the couple on each arm that are wearing out on us. So today, she flat out said that we’d have to do it somewhere different this time. I refused again, but I kind of knew she was probably right. But I still made her try in one of the old, familiar places first. No luck. They’re just getting harder and harder to get. So we had to go further down…much further down on my arm. On the top of my forearm. Oh, man. That sucked. It worked. Worked just fine. Much better than any of the old, tired ones further up would have worked. But I hated it. I hated the thought of it, the sight of it, the idea of it, the reality of it…so much so that when it didn’t hurt hardly at all when she actually poked it, it might as well have been the most intense pain I’ve ever survived.
Not good. Need a break? Fuck…more than I ever have. It only gets worse with time. What is it worth, this time?
I’ll be back here with you soon…or I’ll be here all by myself. But either way. I will return. I will keep coming back. I will bow down to wisdom, and to goodness, to love, and to humanity. But I won’t back down in the face of something like this. This I’ll face into its own corner of shrinking confidence and will do so until it invariably wans right into the smallest memory.
-Attro
Hey there. Okay, so I didn’t return to writing in here when I had planned. Anyway, here’s a summary of what happneed following my last entry…
I fought sleep to the very end. And I mean fought. I put up one hell of a fight. Combined with that one hit I did, which must have been pretty damn potent, I stayed awake nearly a whole two days. When I finally crashed, I didn’t crash hard. I woke up hours later, having only slept a normal amount of time. And I didn’t feel burnt out when I woke up either, oddly enough. I sure had expected to. So anyways, I made it an entire three days without working. I made it a pathetic two without using. So much for my five day plan, huh? Oh well…I’m not going to be too hard on myself, as it does no good in the end. I know that two days counts. I know that any time at all counts…
So anyhow…
I went over to Pete’s today for lunch and just to hang out for a while. We’d made plans to do this yesterday during my “vacation” and were going to have our second half hour session after the five days of deprivation had passed. Well, when we met for our visit I told him that I hadn’t lasted and that I’d caved in the night before and had gotten high. So then he wanted to do our session after we had hung out and had lunch. *shrug* I was supposed to come back later that night to get it out of the way, but things went crazy as they are prone to do in my little life and I never made it there. I imagine he’ll be pretty upset about all that, considering how I promised him. He mentioned wanting to try tweaking when I was there, which I didn’t like. I really wish people would leave some things to curiosity and be humbled by the experiences of others. I advised him against it, but he says he will just try it anyways. Oh, well. I can’t stop him or anyone else who has their mind set. I just wish it were something that could be glimpsed for the nano-second needed to turn a person completely off from the idea. But it’s not. If there’s anyone in the world who knows that it is not one of those things, it’s me.
So then Brad picked me up from Pete’s as soon as he got off work, and we went straight to my mom’s house and had perfect timing. Andres showed up with the shit shortly thereafter. I did an ENTIRE half T all to myself while we were there. I was really jonseing for some reason, so I mixed up what looked like enough for a hit, but when it was all drawn up I saw that I needed to add more if I was going to get anything intense out of it. But I was too fucking stupid and caught up in my craving to reason, so I just insisted that someone help me do what I already had made up right then. Marcus showed up right after Brad and I. He tried to hit me first, and had trouble finding my veins, like everyone lately. So I had mom do it. When she got it in after a try or two, I wasn’t completely disappointed. I felt it for sure. More than I would have expected, actually. But I wanted more. So I dumped the whole rest of the half T I bought into the spoon and fixed her up into a big, gacker hit. Mom hit me with it again, and I was so spun I couldn’t really walk, talk, stay balanced, or do much of anything other than bite my nails which was pretty bizarre since it’s something I just never do. They’d gotten freakishly long though, so a few of them have been trimmed down by my chattering teeth. Ha. After I did the second hit, I made some offhand comment about how I’d just finished off that whole bag to myself. That immediately got my mom’s attention along with that of everyone else present in the room. She didn’t even believe me. She asked me if I was sure that I finshed the WHOLE thing. I said yes, of course I was sure. They all looked pretty impressed. Mom said I should probably take it easy for the rest of the night, having eighty cents of dope coursing through my veins. If only she had any idea how closely I continue to creep up on her in her level of tolerance.
So then Brad played driver all evening as he took me to a couple of jobs, one in Sherwood and then one in Gresham. When we were done with both of those, we went back to his place and hooked up in exchange for all the driving services, and other favors, etc. Then I came home.
Kevin’s daughter Kelsey is here to visit again. I always deliberately avoid the house when she is here, I admit that. But it’s not for any other reason but that I feel very awkward when she’s around. I don’t know how to relate to children, how to interact with them, or how to even behave in their presence. I’m constantly swearing, and then getting scolded by Kevin. I swear just about every other word, and half the time it’s one hundred percent involuntary, and so it’s almost unbearable being around here when she visits for that reason alone. I can’t stand the constant censorship, it drives me up the wall. And with her disability, I can only imagine what more of an obstacle it would be for me to learn how to handle being in her company. Kevin doesn’t understand this of course. He takes it personally. He confronted me today about it when I stopped in to shower and get ready for my next job. He came at me by saying that I do the same thing every time she visits. I just avoid the house. I tried to explain to him that I wasn’t closed off to the idea of spending more time with the both of them, but that I was just new to the whole situation. I think I sort of got through to him, but I can’t be sure. It’s another added stress. He said something about how he wasn’t going to marry someone who didn’t want to have anything to do with his daughter. Inside my head I laughed sarcastically thinking, “you’re never going to marry me anyways” as he finished saying it. I don’t know what more to say on all that…
I stepped on a scale today…and it was fucking depressing as all hell. 130 fucking pounds. I’ve got to lose twenty of those, to get back to what I had maintained up until just recently. I’m going to do it. I’m determined. I’m cutting the carbs and doing all the dope I can get my crafty little hands on. Has to work…
Don’t think I have much more to say at all right at the moment. Tomorrow should be interesting. Or later today, rather. Kevin said that he wants to be my transportation for the day, so that I can relieve Brad of his rendering his services. I wonder how that will work out. He’s taking Kelsey home in the morning around ten or eleven-ish. I expect to be needing a ride out to mom’s early so that I can get there right around when Kevin will be leaving, incidentially, since Andres is supposed to show up at my mother’s at around that same time.
We’ll see…
Until then…
-Attro
The past two days have been really shitty.
The day before yesterday, Sunday, Brad’s house was broken into during the day while he was at work. Whoever it was had appeared to have pried the iron bars that go across one of the windows on the side of the house, and must have been fairly compact for it looked like they slipped in through the small space they forced for their entry. They took all of his plants. Every last one of them. And ten thousand dollars in electronic equipment that was Brad’s. They even took his fucking leather jacket. How fucking shitty is that?
So right when Brad had gototen off work and went home to find the house in disarray, he began contacting me by leaving me a couple voice messages and a couple texts too, and I could tell right away that something was wrong, very wrong, because I know Brad and I know how he works. So after I received his messages, I called him immediately and he told me what had happened. Then that’s where the questions started and things got increasingly complicated as things went on…
First he asked me if I had told anyone at all about the operation I had accidentially stumbled upon in his basement that day some months ago. In a panic I denied ever having said a word about it to anyone. Of course that was a lie. I’d told a lot of people, and they’d told a lot more, and I really couldn’t even say how many people probably knew altogether. I probably didn’t even know some of them at that point in time, I remember thinking…And I felt instantly sorry that I’d ever opened my mouth about it all, because I would absolutely hate the thought that I had contributed in some indirect, unwitting way to anything like that happening to Brad. He’s always been there to help me out and has been more than generous with me since we met, I wouldn’t ever wish anything but good karma for him or anyone else who had treated me as he has. And then he asked me if I had anything to do with it, which stung a little but didn’t get to me too much because I understand his asking it, and I tried to reassure him that I had no part in any way, and would never have any part in something done to him maliciously. We’ve known each other long enough, and I really never have screwed him over on anything at all, so I know he doesn’t really place me high on the suspect list. He’s smart not to trust even those long-time connections which have seemed to so far be worthy of your trust. But I could tell that there was no accusatory tone to be taken with me.
So after we got off the phone, my head started spinning as it tried to take some count of all the people that I knew had heard about the basement garden. There were dozens…Gene, Patrick, my mom, Dave, and at least a few people that each of them had told that I knew of. That meant that there were countless people who could have robbed Brad, and their knowledge of the goods stored down below could be traced back to me and my big mouth! Yay, that was a pleasant thought. And then I also remembered something that had happened just a couple days before all this went down. I’d seen Marcus at my mother’s for the first time in a good little while, and he helped me with a hit because my mom had to rush off to some job she was running late for. Well since that night, I’ve been seeing a lot more of him around, whether he’s hanging in my mom and David’s little circle, or over at Amy’s parents house. One of the following nights I needed help with a hit again, and mom was unavailable, so I called Marcus up at Amy’s and asked if he could help me. He said yes, and so I had Brad drive me over there and he waited in his car outside for me. Marcus asked me who my ride was, and I told him Brad. Then he laughed and said he thought he remembered that car. And he made some offhand comment about having heard about what was going on in Brad’s basement. I was totally shocked, because I didn’t think he knew about that…I mean, thinking really critically about it all this time I suppose I could have told him at some point, but I really don’t think so. So anyway, I was completely taken aback by hearing that, and I asked him how the hell he knew about that. He told me that someone we both knew had been talking about it, and that he’d heard it through the grapevine. I told him to tell me who, specifically, he had heard this from. He wouldn’t answer. All he said was ’174th.’ Which means probably that someone over there that had been told by Gene had reiterated it to Marcus, since I know the two of them wouldn’t ever be found talking directly with one another. So that was news to me, Marcus having any knowledge of all this. And then I remembered something what was more disturbing, that not that long ago when Marcus and I had last seen each other, I’d been driving him around to do his little gas card scam. And at one point we went over into the SW side of town, and so since we were in the area, I drove by where I live now and pointed it out to him. And I also drove right by Brad’s house and pointed it out to him too, probably to look at the front window that I jumped out of the same day I overheard the secret downstairs.
So those two things being in Marcus’ hands seemed awfully suspicious…but yet, I really don’t think Marcus did it. I can’t really be put into a panic that it was him at all, because I wasn’t worried about anything when I found out he knew, or when I showed him where Brad lived. I wouldn’t have been so lax if I felt that he’d ever in any way pose some threat to Brad.
Then later the night of the break-in, Brad asked me again to please honestly tell him if I had ever told anyone, via texting me. So I broke down and told him the whole truth, and I think it ended up totaling thirty-four fucking text messages altogether. He’s always asked that I be honest with him and not lie or hide anything because I think it will pacify him or make things smoother somehow. So I did just that, hoping he would appreciate and respect my confession. And to my great surprise, he did.
Then the next day, he told me that he didn’t really think that Marcus or any of the people connected with me had done it. I asked him why, and he explained by telling me that all the chemicals and supplies he had in his house for the up and coming meth making had been untouched and left where they had been. So he said he was sort of ruling out tweakers as being a possibility. I had thought about asking the status of all those oh-so-precious chemicals the day before, but thought it better not to ask anything that wasn’t offered up. That seemed a little strange to me too. But then since then, he’s second guessed himself into saying that he thinks it might have been one of them. Who knows…I just felt really bad for him. The night after it all happened, he ended up with no place to go stay. I wouldn’t want to say overnight there alone, and don’t know anyone that would, so I understood why he felt like he needed to get out of there. And as we kept in contact throughout that evening it became more and more clear to me just how greatly he was hurt by the heist financially. They had taken a bunch of his cash in addition to the plants that were his main source of income. So I talked him into coming over to my place, and borrowing some cash to get a motel room for the night, and told him he could just get me back later. He said he got paid the next day, Monday, and that he’d return the money to me after he got his check. Well, when that time came, I refused to accept it. Amazingly, he’s still going to help me with my tickets. I didn’t think he’d be able to, but he insists he still can. We’ve agreed to go halves on it, since that’s the ideal arrangement for me, and I know that way it isn’t significant enough to hurt him while he’s down right now.
He took me to my mom’s twice today so that she could administer my drug of choice better than any nurse could, and he sat out in the living room talking with Dave, as has become the tradition just as surely as it has for me to sit in the room and chat with mom the whole time we’re there. I told my mom about the break in, and he told David about it, and the four of us were all going back and forth with one of the others in discussion about it. My mom’s latest tragedy to share with me upon our arriving the first time was that she’d just been ripped off again right before Brad and I had come over, by some weasely little fucker who’d given her an envelope stuffed full of shredded paper. She said that her and David wanted me to help them get revenge and get her money by somehow luring him online into setting up a business meeting with me, one where I would demand the money upfront, and once in my hand, make some smart-ass or asinine remark, and walk right back out with it and give it to her. Sure, whatever guys. Anything else? So then she went on to say that her landloard had been over there earlier that morning to collect on the money she still owed her for deposits and rent, ect…she said she had literally had to give her every last dollar she had, and still owed her another sixty-five dollars. So I asked if the landlord lady was at home, next door, and my mom said she didn’t know. She asked why I wanted to know, and i just said I was curious. On the way out, I knocked next door to find out if she was there and got no answer. So I just went back in, put seventy dollars into an envelope, and handed it to David with instructions to give it to my mother for her rent, since he was on his way out the door and I was in the living room.
Well, after that…sometime in the late afternoon yesterday…I found out that I am pregnant. I fucking knew I was too, I knew I was later than late and I could just tell. Like last time, some sort of almost undiscernable difference in something that is unknown to me. I haven’t a clue what it is, or even what it’s related to. It’s simply present, and I only percept it and so I know it’s there. I cried a couple times since I found out. I really am not looking forward to another abortion. My one experience with that is a memory that brings tears with it. I told Kevin right away, and he doesn’t really seem to have any strong feelings or opinions on the subject. I know it has to be his, almost without a doubt. And I’m sure he knows that as well. He’s really the only one I allow to cum inside me, with the exception of two middle-aged regular clients who are trusted and who have both had surgery that would make that impossible, or damn near. I realize that conception is possible from unprotected sex, even when using the good ol’ pull out method, but even that list of very unlikely possibilities is short and has very little probability at all. I told my mom and she offered to go with me to the clinic when I get it done, which was sweet of her…even if I do doubt that she’ll actually end up being there with me when it does happen. But for whatever it was worth, I tried to do what I could to make that possible by openly accepting that offer and thanking her & telling her how much of a difference that would make to me. The procedure is incredibly painful. The first time I had no idea of what to expect, even though the doctors warned me that about two out of the entire eight minutes it required would be uncomfortable and even very painful. But I’m not a big puss about pain, so I figured that it was probably not anywhere as bad as they were making it sound. Well, I was surprised to find how much I hurt there for some two minutes that went on as long as a day. But I think the worst part about the whole ordeal was completely unrelated to the physical pain involved. What makes it such a horrible memory is the time period in which it happened to all take place, which was during my stay at Gene’s following the big fall out with mom and David. That era I have always called and continue to this day to call ‘My Lowest Point.’ It was literally the worst place in time I’d ever been, and I haven’t topped it even as of today. So I had to get pregnant when I was listlessly existing in some hell that I couldn’t figure out why I hadn’t spared myself of the misery of my most miserable living. I wondered why it hadn’t even crossed my mind to end my own suffering and be done with feeling nothing but pain, or nothing at all and oftentimes lacking even the will to move from lying on Gene’s filthy floor in my tear-stained tremble to chase the bag. And more than that, I wondered endlessly and asked myself, why was I still going? What kept me here alive, still doing it all? What reason or desire moved my feet one in front of the other, as I kept on walking and trudging through nothing with nowhere to be scene. I didn’t know. All I ended up being able to conclude was that I knew there existed no such drive, or force, or motivation keeping me in existence. None at all. For the first time in my whole life I lived without reason. And wouldn’t give up.
Okay, so the last entry I made in here was left unfinished. That makes it twice now that has happened. Both times, I was called away from the computer by something I had to do and was forced to abandon my writing and leave it hanging.
I hate doing that…
The first time it happened, I had intended on coming back to it later and completing it, but when I went back and tried to I found myself more or less unable to find the mind set that I’d had when I had trailed off into an abrupt stop. I just couldn’t really pick up where one thought had left off, and it frustrated me into the feeling that it was a chore. I hate it when writing is made to feel like any sort of drudgery. But because I have such distaste for leaving anything incomplete, I always think and feel that I need to write everything start to finish, beginning to end, or it will not meet my satisfaction. So between both of these frustrations, something very predictable for me came about. I got discouraged. First, I had this entry that should have covered a lot more than it did, and which was a fraction of the whole it would have been. And then I couldn’t finish it out because I’d been pulled out of the moment and had lost the place in time where I was when I had started it. The thought of leaving it as it was seemed unbearable, and so I once again became seriously discouraged about this whole keeping a journal thing. That was the second such rut I’d found myself in since starting this journal. And the first time it happened, as I wrote in here, I had struggled with the urge to just throw my hands up and forget the idea altogether, and in the end had decided that I was determined not to allow the past to repeat itself again. This time, I was going to continue with this damned journal even if it meant that several days went in between entries which meant that the story of some days would go untold. So I kept on writing, after many days of silence. I reminded myself that it wasn’t too late to keep it going, and that there were no rules this time that were going to prevent it from happening. No rules at all. So after writing the last entry that ended prematurely and ending up in a similar rut of doubt, I put writing the next one off for a couple days. But during those last couple of days, I have over and over again reminded myself of that other one that exists within these pages and that it remains there as something that does not mar or take away from this experiment. Then I thought to myself that there would probably be more to come in the future that would not be written all the way through. In fact, I knew there would be. And I knew also that they would be left alone as they were, and it dawned on me that there was nothing wrong with that. Because there are no rules. It exists as what it is, it tells the stories and says all the things which it ends up telling and saying, and is not at all about those things left out of it. So I think that from now on when that happens, it will not bother me at all. I do believe that I have overcome that obstacle in my own mind that has kept me from committing to doing this sort of thing, and not just giving up on it. So I like that.
Okay, having said that…
In my last entry, I had been in the middle of my thoughts and sentiments on being pregnant. The last part talked about my first pregnancy when I was living with Gene in the summer of ’05. What I had been trying to get accross was that my memory of all that is a really awful one and that it is the reason why I was so upset to find out that it’s happened again. To have to endure that procedure all over again seems unbearable. But the point I meant to make by giving the background on staying at Gene’s was that the entire experience was most likely as horrible as it had been because of everything else going on at the time. In addition to the physical pain involved, it occurred to me that I had no friends and no real family at all when it happened. I was more alone than I’d ever been, and in the middle of what was the worst period of time that I’d ever known, which remains to be the worst I’ve known. My mom and Dave were no longer my friends, because the whole drama with them had taken place shortly before this happened, and so I had moved in with Gene because I had absolutely nowhere else to go. Marcus and I had just finally broken up in any sort of permanent sense, and he was no longer present in any capacity in my life. That left no one. No one but me. No one that cared at all about me, so not one person existed in the world that would hurt if I hurt, that would flinch or cry to see me in pain. I was alone as being the sole person in all the wrold at that point in time that felt for myself. My pain, the hurt that I felt, the sadness that ate at me were all the things that I was left with and along with the awareness that they were not shared with anyone.
I remember calling my mother right after I’d taken that pregnancy test at Gene’s. I knew that she was still freshly angry and hurt by what had recently happened, and that was the first time I called her or had made any attempt at contact with her since it had all gone down. I remember being hesitant to call her, or sort of not wanting to because I was afraid that in my vulnerable turning to her, that she would not receive, with any sort of kindness, me or the news I had to tell her. In fact, I was afraid that she would even take the opportunity to be cruel towards me in some warped idea of revenge, because I knew how fresh were her own wounds and that she placed much of the blame for them on me. Well, right after I told her, do you know what she said to me? Do you want to know? Well, she immediately reacted with horror. And I know that was genuine, because I could feel it from her and her response happened too fast to be anything intentional. But then she recovered, and told me that an abortion was not very expensive. She figured they were only about five hundred dollars, and told me that I could easily come up with that much money by turning just a few tricks. She said that I had better do that, and get it taken care of. It was the most horrible pain that I felt in that moment, and it lasted into well after our hanging up. In fact, it hasn’t ever ended….
So, all that said…the purpose for reliving those things was to reevaluate my initial reaction to finding out I’m pregnant again now. The incredible sadness and dread of somehow surviving that eight-minute procedure of pain a second time, were perhaps so great because my only idea of them was so tramuatic. When I thought about what upset me so much a few days ago when I found out, I thought back to the memory of right after the procedure had taken place. I remembered how it had hurt more than I had ever thought it would, and that I was put into the recovery room crying, sobbing even, and squirming in pain. Because I was already in tears and in pain, it was that much easier to cry more tears when I realized how alone I was for this. I remember looking around and seeing no one that saw me. And after a few minutes passed, and the pain had ebbed away almost entirely, I just got up and got dressed, and then got into the car with my grandfather for the two-hour drive back to the coast. And once I walked back out into the waiting room where my grandfather had been waiting and where all those people sat still waiting, I showed not one sign of any sort of pain. I left it in the rooms I walked out of and away from. It was like finding some wounded animal somewhere all alone and seeing that it was suffering great pain. And it happened just as if you were to stay with the creature so that it wasn’t left alone with its pain, to remain beside it and cry at seeing it endure the hurt and in the hope of your presence making it less afraid as it lie there with its wounds. And it ended as the creature died beside you, marking the end of all its pain, & leaving you to walk away with the memory of it, that you won’t ever forget, and that you share with not one other being in time. Witness to something tragic that not one other eye in all of time has seen, making you the lonliest only one that had been there, except for that thing which you watched die. That’s exactly what it felt like. I had watched what had happened in those eight-minutes as if I were someone else while still being myself. I saw me as I stood outside of me, and how I suffered with not a notice from anyone, just as if I were lost in that place that’s made for those who have been forgotten so that they can die alone. I cried standing there watching me feel my own pain, knowing that me being in pain only hurt me. But I left the memory behind me when I walked out of there, just like I would anything else like it that no one had been present to see. I was the only one there, and the only one left that memory.
But it dawned on me that if that same procedure were to happen now, such would not be the case. I am no longer alone. My mother has offered to come with me when I go in to have it done. That means so much to me, and I of course accepted the offer without hesitation and thanked her deeply. And most significant of all, I have Kevin. When all of these things fell into place in my head the other day, I actually realized that this time will be very far from having to relive last time. Today I’m surrounded by so much love from Kevin and others, and also I have been given the gift of true happiness. I believe in the things I believe in, and they all give me hope and put the meaning in my will to never give up and to keep on living, learning, and loving. Knowing that I have all these things as my own right now in time, I really end up being unafraid of what this means and what will be done about it. In fact, I’m left unafraid of and feeling rather bold in the face of many or most things that would scare me otherwise.
So…today I’m making the call to the clinic. I’m going to make it the moment they open, less than an hour from right now. And I’m not afraid to do it, I’m not intimidated by any of it. It will be over soon, and when it is, I will brush off the pain from it and it will seem very small next to things so much bigger than it.
-Attro
Well so here I find myself again…
Yesterday was weird. It started out pretty good, and then it just sort of slid downhill and into depression for the rest of the night and through into the morning, bringing me up to this point right now. I don’t know, I somehow let the pregnancy thing get me down again yesterday late afternoon. I have an appointment to go into the clinic on the first of March, which is next Wednesday. I won’t know until I’m given an ultrasound whether or not the procedure will take place on that day as well. I’m really kind of hoping that it will be ready all at once, and that I can get it all out of the way. Kevin has to work that morning, so he won’t be around. And then he leaves for Santa Barbara the day after. Oh well. I went and saw Rick last night. First time since the freak out that kept us away from each other for a few weeks or so. But I came over and hooked him up with some shit and we had a good time. He’s a true friend. And he said I could borrow his car during the day of my appointment so that I can pick up my mother and we can go to it together. That was really cool of him.
Hmmmm…I don’t know what else there is to say. Oh, yes I do. How could I forget? Last night, I was on the computuer for a long time here downstairs while Kevin was lying down upstairs waiting for me. By the time I finally got up there, he was sleeping on his stomach on top of the covers and fully clothed. He even had his shoes on. He looked really adorable. So I waited just a little while, maybe an hour at most. By that time it was daylight outside, and I decided to see how deeply asleep he was. So I started hugging and kissing him and rubbing his back and seeing what kind of response I was gettin’ out of him. He started to wake with little moans of pleasure, and eventually I made my way downwards and unfastened his pants and started sucking on himm. He seemed to like that. Then I took his pants completely off, and did something that I hadn’t ever done with him before yesterday morning. I got over him and rode him right into consciousness. He looked like he was in some serious ecstasy. It was pretty amazing. After we were finally done, he told me that at first when I had started to wake him up and then to do naughty things to him, he had thought that he was dreaming until we were well into the heat of the moment, so to speak. I laughed at hearing that. He’s too precious.
I don’t know what else to say really. I hope today is a brighter one than yesterday, and I don’t see why it wouldn’t be.
-Attro
Yesterday was about as shitty as it gets. And it managed to maintain being miserable almost all the way through…
After I found Kevin asleep upstairs last night, I wrote the last entry in here and then I went back up into the bedroom and got into bed with him. I was playing on my phone for a while, and I was kind of sleepy. It wasn’t long before my eyes started playing their usual little predictable tricks on me, so I was left no choice but to close them and give into the sleep that I fought off for a while. Well, I woke up early in the afternoon, and Sleeping Beauty was still fast asleep next to me. It’s very unusual for me to wake up before him, and equally as odd for him to sleep for so long. But he’d been pulling a lot of all-nighters and had needed to catch up on his sleep, so I figured that he’d wake up sometime not too far behind me. I got up and showered sluggishly, going about my normal routine decidedly slow in the hopes that I would pace myself and not be ready too soon, hoping that Sleeping Beauty would wake to my kiss some time relatively soon. Well, as I carried on my morning rituals to completion, it became clear that he wasn’t going to be getting up any time soon at all. I sort of figured that Brad wouldn’t be free to drive me around that day, as I was sure he must still be angry about the night before. But I tried him anyways, of course, and he proved to be “busy” and stayed that way through the day. I didn’t find out until that night when I finally saw him that he had been at work all day. I had thought he was uninterested in rolling with me because he was bitter about me not coming over the night before, but was glad to find out that I had assumed incorrectly. So racking my brain for other options, I thought of Rick right away. But his car was repossessed and he wouldn’t have it again until Monday, although he had already spoken with me about loaning it to me again for a trade once the keys were back in his hands. So that did me no good yesterday…I started to go a little stir-crazy and the slow suffocation of being stranded began to creep up my throat. I wanted to get out of the silence in the house, with Kevin far away and just upstairs in his Sleeping Beauty’s dreamscape. And all my options for a ride were unavailable…so I walked next door to Starbucks, ordered a Strawberries n’ Cream frappuccino and sat ouside to drink it. It was really good, like I remember them being, but it made me incredibly chilled as it was a typical dreary day of overcast clouds and dry cold here in Oregon. That combined with the icy blended sweetness of the frappuccino made my teeth chatter and my everything else tremble. So then I walked back home, and went crazy a little more. Then I came to the decision that finding a back up driver for situations such as I found myself in then was absolutely necessary. I went onto Craig’s List to create a post seeking someone for such a position, and hesitated to post it after writing it because of the explosion between Kevin and me the last time that I had posted something similar without thinking it would be a problem or knowing that he would not approve. So keeping that in mind this time, I wrote the post in a way that I felt was totally sensitive to all the concerns he had with it last time. Every one of his worries on the matter which he voiced when it came up before, were taken into consideration and my entire proposition was altered accordingly. But then when he finally did wake up, and he heard about the whole thing, he immediately started my shitty day which had already been shitty long before he woke up, as I sat downstairs watching my sanity slip right away…
Well, not going to get into the details of all that unimportant shit. Because it’s just that— unimportant shit. The result of it all, was a day of us at each other’s throat for a multitude of reasons both related and unrelated to the driver thing. Blah, blah, blah. It probably only broke out into total argument once or twice. Right after he woke up, he drover me to my mom’s. I couldn’t believe that he actually got out of bed and was ready to go in like five minutes. That was one of the reasons I was so filled with dread as I waited for him to wake up, because I knew that once he finally did, whenever that was, that we’d still be hours away from getting out of here since he always takes so long before he’s ready to leave the house. Five minutes in Kevin’s time is a half an hour. And he says that my mother and I have no idea what efficiency is…ha!
So I got to mom’s. Her and David weren’t quite there yet when Kevin dropped me off there, I called her phone and she said that they were ten minutes away on the freeway. So I busted in the door with a phone card I luckily had in my pocket, and mixed a hit in the bathroom while I waited for her. Shockingly enough, she was also on time. Maybe even a little less than the predicted ten minutes. And arriving right behind her, was Andres with the stuff. So I bought a bag, handed mom a loaded syringe and had her hit me with it, load it right into one of the main veins on my slightly recovered right arm, and was on my way.
Not much happened yesterday that’s worth mentioning. Brad drove me to my mom’s again later that day, only a few hours after my first visit over there actually. All the intolerable bull shit going back and forth between me and Kev and the stress I suffered as a result of it, had put me into a mood more quickly than I thought it would have been able to, and I was ready for and in need of another good fix in just a couple hours. Bill, one of my regular clients, picked me up later that evening and drove me to his place for a half hour appointment, then brought me home. I hooked up with Brad after he brought me back from my mom’s. I didn’t charge him because I knew that he had thought the night before was fucked up since I hadn’t come over. Although I did pay him, and even gave him an extra ten dollars in addition to what he had asked for doing the driving that night. So anyhow, I realized just how valuable Brad’s driving services were to me when I was stranded earlier yesterday while he was at work. It hadn’t been his unwillingness due to anger, true enough, but it was still possible that he would not feel compelled to help me out as much if he was feeling cheated or even just disliking the situation. So I told him that hook up was making up for the night before, as well as covering his services for that day. He seemed to be very appreciative of that, and said it was way cool of me. I know that he isn’t doing as well financially since the burglary too, and I keep that in my mind. We were friends and helped each other out in a business relationship when he was doing better in a monetary sense, and I refuse to let that change now that he’s hurtin’ a little where that’s concerned, at least on my end of things. Not only because it will benefit me and ensure long-term loyalty which will serve me in my selfish ends. But also because we are real friends, and I do believe that we are both appreciative of the other and what we’ve done and continue to do for one another. I think we’re both good people, and we try really hard to treat each other well. That’s the most important reason why.
So when I got back from all that running around, Kevin and I broke out into yelling and arguing and then it died down and we held each other and made amends for something that was really silly, and resolved to put it behind us. Then we lied next to each other on the bed and talked for a really long time. Well, I did most of the talking. I said a lot about how he has to stop doubting me and my feelings for him and that having faith in those sorts of things was imperative and was the only way I could conveive of that we would be allowing us the fair chance we deserved of blooming into what we were meant to be. I think maybe I got some of it through to him. I sure hope so.
I won $100 on a scratch-it last night. That was pretty bitchin’.
And that brings me up to now…trying halfheartedly to reach my mom. I need to get to her fairly soon if I’m going to stay awake much longer. I didn’t sleep at all last night, and I’m starting to feel the yawning jaws of paralysis open wide around me, threatening to close in on me any time. My eyelids are laden with the catatonic crash of exhaustion….Brad is standing by to hear from me once I contact mom and receive the word that she’ll be at home and that I can head over. Kevin’s out and about running work-related errands. So I’m at the house by myself. I just showered and groomed myself. I’m going to go post an ad right after this is finished, as I need to line up some work for today. After the 1st, I’ll be back to blow jobs only. It’s going to be just like French Appreciation Week…just a little late. Heh. Oh well. I’m going to say goodbye for now to anyone here, and I’m sure that you will be plauged with more of my dreadfully mundane accounts of the days I spend spending myself spent.
Until then…
-Attro
Oh boy…I’ve been meaning to make this entry for a while now. Each time I go to write it, something has prevented it from happening. I was going to write it last night, but Kevin and I had so much drama that I knew going downstairs and getting on the computer would only make it worse, and I was unbelievably against the thought of doing anything that could possibly make things worse. It was then, last night, that I realized I wouldn’t have the opportunity to get to this until after he had left for California. And what do you know? I was right.
So Kevin and I agreed on the phone today when he was in San Diego that the last couple of days he was here were a monumental waste of time. And it’s funny too, because whenever we have an issue come between the two of us, I’m always the one who is willing to accept my fault in the situation or take responsibility for part in whatever it is that goes wrong. But today Kevin was all of a sudden completely sold on the idea of splitting the blame half and half, and seemed to very much like the concept now that two days of bull shit have been endured that could have been spent much better if it had not been for his lack of trust and his decision to let said lack of trust ruin our time together before he left for Santa Barbara. Interesting how that works, isn’t it? Everything else is my fault, or nearly everything else. According to Kevin, that is. When I’ve suggested, which I have, that we both admit to our part in whatever the matter is, my resutls have been pure refusal. But now that these last two days have been turned to shit and it’s so obviously been because of his decision to make it that way, he’s now willing to see eye-to-eye with me on that one. Hmmmm… Anyways, on a different subject…I did go into my appointment a couple days ago, on the first for my ultrasound. To my surprise, I was not far enought a long to have the procedure done yet. Just like last tine. I thought for sure I was ready for it this time, but apparently some of my rapid weight gain here lately is unrelated to pregnancy. Yay. More to uplift what’s weighted down on the ground, circling around the drain and sucked in by a whirpool from which there is no escape. Ha! But on a more positive and infinitely more relieving note, I found out at the clinic that anesthetics are an option for the procedure. And that they can be administered for no out-of-pocket cost, as they are totally covered by my insurance. That was probably the best news I’ve had in a long time. So I’m scheduled to return next Wednesday, on the eighth, for my second ultrasound. Then I’ll receive all the prep for the anesthetics and return on Thursday in the morning for the actual procedure. Now I’m not dreading it so terribly, and it doesn’t even bother me at all that I have to go through it. Thank god mom and dad put me back on their insurance policy. This would have been one of the worst experiences I’ve had to make it through in a long time if it weren’t for those two comforts. I can’t imagine walking in there freshly yanked from my grandparents insurance because they no longer felt the need or desire to keep me on it, and having to be awake with open eyes the whole time! Oh, and the other huge comfort was that my mother was with me! That was huge. If she hadn’t shown up, which I was of course afraid might end up being the case for whatever reason, I would be been crushed into descruction. Distrust flushed down the toilet. Kevin had said she wouldn’t come, and I can’t wait to throw it in his face that she did. I loved her for coming with me, for keeping her promise to me. I told her it had completely made up for the last time when she’d said those cruel words to me on the phone. She said she hadn’t remembered even saying that at all. She couldn’t believe that she had, and said it was something her parents would say to her. I assured her that she had said it, and that I knew because they had hurt me deeply and that I would never forget that she had. She apologized and it was very obvious that she felt very sorry for it. But her coming with me this time was enough to make me forget it, or at least turn it right into a dream that over time will fade into something not so vivid anymore until it is forgotten. So while Kevin is gone, I’m staying at my mom’s house with her and Dave. I don’t know how well this will go over the next few days, but I do know that being in the company of them or anyone else in this little inner-circle that I used to be a part of causes old feeling of anger to flare back up out of nowhere and my pain from the past comes back to me after being around them for so long at once. I guess it’s the constant reminders of what was done to me by any or all of them, and the countless examples they give of their behaviors and qualities that I cannot condone that revives those feelings of mine that I thought were dead completely. What’s worse is that I’ve just recently started feeling similar things with Kevin. As much as I absolutely hate the thought of this, and as against admitting it, and as opposed to allowing it to turn out this way or giving in to it at all, I really can’t say that I think we will last…I don’t think we’re going to stand the test of time, and I can’t stand this thought so I won’t say much more on the subject. I can’t say much more on the subject. It frustrates me unbelievably because I don’t understand it. I wish that he could have maintained the quality of his end of the relationship as I have. It is him and his lack of trust and insecurities and many other barriers that are weakening and killing him as he exists with me in the “us” that I know I have loved completely and enjoyed and that I thought he had thought highly of for the most part to. But that’s just why I don’t comprehend his persistance in placing these periods of doubting and confrontation throughout our time together, making it look like somethng very beautiful left to time but moth-eaten. With missing pieces. I don’t understand it, and it makes me more sad than I know in words and almost enough to make me seriously angry. A while ago, it would have made me angry. But at this point in my life, I have no room for anger and I refuse to believe anyone who claims that it is an emotion from which very much good can be born. So it just devestates me. If only he knew how perfectly we could exist and the happiness we could share if only he were to throw up his hands and forget everything but that he loves me and know with every shred of confidence in that fact, that I love him every bit as much. I’m going to write a poem about it now. All of it, really. Mostly about Kevin. I do miss him. I miss him a lot. It’s been less than a day since I last was with him, and already I’m going mad at the thought of going several more. But I refuse to let it drive me out of control crazy. Knowing how very much I love him makes me aware of the danger in giving into losing my mind over him. Especially with the feeling of imminent failure for the both of us. I cannot let it come to that. So I’m keeping a close eye on my mind, being careful not to let it get itself it’s self or stray very far away. -Attro
Well hello there. So it seems I have found my way back here to these pages for another entry…haven’t I?
Well today is the last day I will have to survive without Kevin. He’s flying in some time this evening. I can hardly believe that since he left for California, we have hardly spoken at all. But yesterday when I was in Vancouver on a call, all of a sudden a text message from him pops up out of nowhere asking if I would marry him in the next couple of weeks. Of course I got all excited at reading it, like I always get when he talks about getting married, and especially when he makes it sound like something that will happen very soon. But then I have to remind myself that I do not believe that Kevin will probably ever actually marry me, and that it is something that will be talked about a whole lot, but never really end up happening. But still, it was sweet of him to send me that and the other couple of follow-up texts that sent as well. They were encouraging, and I needed that more than anything else in regard to him and us. It will be interesting to see how things go with us when we’re together in person again later tonight. I’ve decided to wait it out and let him contact me.
In other good news, I bought a laptop yesterday! I’ve wanted to get one for so long, and I’ve been talking about doing it for ages so when I had he money yesterday to do it, I drove out to Fry’s in Wilsonville and did it! I’m using it now to write this. It’s a Compaq Presario and it was on sale for $800. I absolutely love it. It’s the same exact computer that David got just like a week ago when he hit the jackpot playing video poker after two royal flushes’ in a row. When I saw his, and heard about how it was on sale and everything else, I just had to have it. The timing really worked out well too when I think about it. Yesterday before I bought the laptop I had more money than I’ve ever had at one time since I started working as an escort. With a habit like mine & the lifestyle of blowing money in insane ways, it’s not very often that I accumulate a very great amount of money that I have all at once. So the other day I ended up with over a grand. I did work my ass off the night before last, though, because I was determined to come up with all the cash for the computer as quickly as possible, so that I’d have it all at once. And damnit, I did it.
Well anyways…there’s not much else to tell since the last entry…nothing that seems important or interesting enough to go into detail about now.
Until next time…
-Attro
Wow, yesterday and today were twins in how terrible they turned out to be. Seriously, I haven’t had a day so bad as these last two in a long while…
Yesterday Kevin and I just fought all day, if I remember correctly. And that just kind of brought everything down for the day.
And this morning…afer an hour of efforts to wake me up in time for my appointment, I started to come out of sleep as Kevin sprayed me with his spray bottle after threatening to do so several times. Waking up was the nightmare I had known it would be, and had warned Kevin of as well before falling asleep last night just a few hours before I had to be up to get ready. So by the time I had come to, I was late. I had about ten minutes until I was supposed to be there. Great…I jumped in the shower and put back on the clothes from the night before that I had slept in, and called the clinic to tell them I was running late, and that I could be there in 10-15 minutes if they would still see me by that time. They said yes, but any longer than that and they couldn’t make me any promises. So I hurried Kevin out the door, and within five minutes we were on the way…It dawned on me how important it was that I didn’t miss the appointment as I became more and more aware and awake. I remembered that Thursday is the only day of the week that they offer the anesthetics for the procedure. That meant that if I didn’t make it there this morning, then I couldn’t have the anethetics for the procedure the next day, and it would be another week until I’d be able to come back for it all. I didn’t like that thought at all. I was seriously stressed. Well, I didn’t find out until we were in the car and almost to the clinic, that right before I had gotten out of bed and gotten ready to leave, Kevin had called his work already and told them that he didn’t have to take me to the doctor’s after all, so he could get to work in like a half an hour. Why’d he do that? Well, I’ll tell you why. Because in my deep sleep and my rage with its irritation at being disturbed, I had declared that I was not going at all, just moments before I became fully consciouss and realized that I couldn’t just reschedule for tomorrow or the day after. So what happened as a result of that? Well, he tells me right before we get there that he has made this phone call to work and so he can’t pick me back up and bring me home afterwards. So I’m fucked for a ride home. I knew Brad was at work, and that would be the only other ride I could get. Kevin knew that. I seriously was planning on having to walk home. It wasn’t the most unbearable thought to me by far, it wouldn’t have been a very long walk when I thought about it. I’ve certainly walked much more impressive distances. The only thing I wasn’t looking forward to was the cold that would walk home with me. It was freezing. So as Kevin and I argue our way down there, he then drops me off in front of the building and takes off for work, without a second thought. Incredibly wounded by the whole last-minute change that left me totally fucked and stranded, I go up to the 9th floor and once I check in at the receptionist’s desk, I take a seat in the waiting room a couple of stray tears well up in my eyes and sprint in dives off my face. Then, I get a text message from Kevin. It reads: “Say hi to my child.” I was so disgusted by that, that I think for a small part of one moment it took my breath away and I gasped quietly. Even just a couple of hours ago, I brought that up and he claims that he hadn’t meant it to come across as how I took it…I asked him how the hell that could have been said in any way other than a negative one. He said some shit like he had wanted to convey that he cared. Which makes absoluely no sense. So already having cried those couple tears that just sort of came of their own volition, his text message sent my tortured eyes into torrents of tears. And anger. I had so much anger for him at that moment, that it drove me to saying something to him that I don’t say to anyone, under any circumstances. Something that I never say, because it’s never true…I texted him in response three simple but infinitely powerful words, especially to me. “I hate you.” Then he went on to text me something mentioning how it could be Brad’s, on second thought. Then I sent him that same line again, that I hated him. I felt like he was the most cruel person I probably had ever known at that moment. And I wonder still…so after crying all the way through my ultrasound and the rest of my appointment, and being questioned by concerned nurses and others I was being seen by, I called my mom while I was signing all the consent forms and pretending to read all of the after-care instructions, hoping to get a ride from her. I felt so much sadness that it grows out of words and I cannot explain it here. I was sure that if I were to get a hold of her, which wasn’t too probable, that she would either be unable to come for some reason, or that she would say yes and be there in something like an hour, at least. I figured that I would be sitting and waiting in the waiting room for a long time before she got there, if she even did. I knew that there was also a good chance that I would end up walking home. But to my pleasant surprise, which I needed badly, she answered and when I asked her if she could come get me and explained that I was at the doctor and that Kevin couldn’t pick me up because he had gone to work, she said yes immediately, and said she would leave right away. Well I finished up everything in the clinic, and went down to the first floor again, screwed around in the pharmacy for a little while and got something to drink, then went out into the cold to wait. It was sure fucking cold, and the wind was fierce and the air that was the wind’s body was the most dry and stark kind of cold there is. Bone-chilling cold. So I walked up the street a little ways, went into a store to kill some time inside where it was more warm, browsed through some magazines, then went back out into the cold and after waiting a few more moments, got a phone call from my mother who was just down the street. She got there pretty fucking fast. Fast enough to shock the hell out of me. I can honestly say, with infinite gratitude, that she pulled through for me today. She saved me today. And I won’t ever forget that. Never, so long as I’m alive. It totally made up for yesterday, when she told me she didn’t want to help hit me when I had called her up and asked her for her help, on the grounds that she hadn’t had anything of her own all day and that she didn’t think that it would be good for her to do that. After telling me just weeks ago, that I could always come to her for help and she would never turn me down or refuse me, whether I had anything to offer her for her help or not. Told me nothing was required, and that I never had to try on my own and hurt myself, because she would always be there to help me no matter what the circumstances. So I ended up missing my hit in my arm, and feeling like shit after all I’ve done for her lately. That hurt, but she made up for it and then some today when she showed up so quickly to get me. So I went home with her after that, and ended up falling asleep on her bed wating for Andres to get there with some shit. When I woke up a couple of hours later, he’d already been there and delievered some really high-quality stuff, and my mother had turned off my phone which had rang several times in my ear as I fell asleep. She had no idea, obviously, what a big no-no that was…tried calling Kevin, who had sent me a couple of text messages, one of which had said something about today being a good day for him to committ suicide, and was unable to reach him. It appeared that he had his phone shut off as well, which rarely happens, and I became frantic at reading that message and then not being able to get him on the phone. I started to panic, and kept trying to reach him every few minutes again. Tried the house too, in between cell attempts, no answer from either. Went straight to voice mail. Left a few messages. Told him how helpless I felt, being so far away from him and not even knowing where he was, and so cut off from him because of his turned off phone, and how it was driving me a litle crazy that I didn’t know if he was alright or not. Finally, when I tried his cell one more time, he picked up. He was still at work, and he was okay. That made me feel a lot better. He was going to come get me very soon, he told me, when he got off of work in about another half hour. My mom had left right after I woke up and she hit me. She’d had an appointment with a client, and then a doctor’s appointment. So I was alone the entire time at her house, trying to occupy myself with something in my solitude. When Kevin finally got there, which wasn’t for at least another hour, we got into the car and he had some great news to share with me. He had to work tomorrow, and he couldn’t give me a ride to my appointment in the morning, he couldn’t be there for any of it, and he couldn’t pick me up either. After all this time saying that he would be able to. Needless to say, I didn’t take that well. I thought that it was total confirmation of all my fears and suspicions that he didn’t care about me nearly as much as he claimed to. I told him we couldn’t be together anymore, because it was ruined for me. I had anger and sadness and hurt from him and some of the things he had done. I explained that most of it was unfair, and in my own head and a result of my own thinking errors, but that I couldn’t help feeling them, rational or not. He asked what those things he had done were, and I didn’t want to tell him so I refused. Then he got mad and started yelling, which made me dislike him more and just left me awe of how inconsiderate and selfish he was being at the worst time possible, for about the third or fourth time that afternoon. By the time we got home, we’d given up the fight and I was in his arms crying and he was telling me that everything was going to be okay. As we were talking, somewhere in the re-telling of the day thus far, he mentioned my saying that I hated him. I had totally forgotten that I’d even said it, and immediately I felt awful and sent a storm of sorrys his way. I sobbed into his chest and squeezed him, just whimpering and moaning and softly saying “ow…” again and again and again at how much it all hurt. Sometimes, when something hurts my identity or who I am badly enough, it will transfer into being both physical as well as personal pain. It happens very often. In fact, it’s hardly ever that I am hurt by something in only one dimension. Usually, when I hurt, all of me hurts along with the injured part of me.
So after he held me for a while, and after some serious sex make-up stuff, I had to hit the shower to get ready for a couple of appointments I had scheduled for this evening. The first was in Vancouver, and Kevin ended up driving me to that one and then we headed back home, stopping on the way at my mother’s for a brief moment so that she could hit me one more time before I have to go tomorrow. I started to feel really sick on the way home, and I was afraid that doing the hit was going to make it worse, although sometimes the opposite occurs. I was right, though. This time it intensified the queasiness so much that I ran to the bathroom and knelt in front of the toilet for a few uncertain moments, thinking that I was going to be sick for sure. But then, my eternally-tolerant stomach that hates me proved once again to be near infalliable and lasted through the moments of threatening and they were over quickly. And there I was again, just feeling miserable and queasy but nowhere near the possibility of actually getting sick. After I was fairly assured that I wasn’t going to throw up, I went back out to the parking lot where Kevin was waiting in the car, apologized for being a few minutes, and explained that I had been held up by a wave of sickness that had happened as a result of the hit, which I was now through the worst part of but which I was still feeling rather powerfully. Then we went home, and I got ready for my next job, and when I was all dolled up Brad showed up to drive me out to see Steve in Sherwood. I flaked him off the last four consecutive nights, which is pretty outrageous even by my standards. And since tonight is the last night for a week or so that I will be able to offer full service, I figured that there was no choice in the matter. I had to make it out there tonight at all costs, because I’d feel seriously shitty if I didn’t. I already felt bad, and apologized to him when we spoke of it in person tonight. So then I left there and went with Brad back to his place. Today is his birthday. And last night, I had him take me home instead of going to his place to hook up when I had sort of made it sound like I would be able to go back to his house with him as our final stop before returning to my place. That really didn’t make him happy. But it wasn’t just that, it was also the matter of how I had flaked him off all weekend long and “strung him along” for two days straight that helped send him over the edge as well. So then he started yelling about how fucked up that was and bitching about the usual things he bitches about. It took him just a few minutes before he was calmed down and apologizing for losing his temper for a second. I told him it was no big deal, and that a lot of his complaints were legitimate. I couldn’t really figure out why he was so upset by me going home when we had hooked up earlier that day. When I pointed that out, he agreed with me. But I told him I would make up for it tonight, for his birthday and for driving me around. I had given him a little gas money, but I told him I’d give him more before he dropped me off at home, but when he did it slipped both my mind and his. So he ran out of gas down the street and had to call Triple A. I felt pretty shitty for that too, and it being his birthday, I just felt like it was fair to make up for last night. And besides, he drove me around for work tonight too. So I’m hoping that by following through and doing that tonight, that the gesture will go a long way with him.
So…it’s almost four-thirty in the morning now, and my appointment at the clinic is at 10:15. My mom agreed to take me, and she is supposed to be here no later than 9:30-9:45 so that we can be there on time. I really hope that she comes and that I have her with me for it. Of course, knowing her as well as I do, I know that the possibility of her not showing for whatever reason is one that’s very real, so I have lined up Brad as a back-up ride in the event that she can’t come. But I really hope that he doesn’t have to take me. I hate the thought of going there with Brad and no one else, I really do. If that ends up being what happens, it will be the way my day is ruined in the worst way. Oh, and during my appointment this morning I figured something out which I should have assumed from the beginning, but which for some reason hadn’t occurred to me before then. The anesthetics that would be used to put me under for the procedure…would have to be IV administered. Well, ain’t that a bitch? Yeah, didn’t like hearing that one. My arms are all fuckered up, like they usually are these days, only getting worse until I’m forced to let them heal a little just to take ten steps back again for every one taken forward…wonder where they will put the IV in? Maybe they’ll opt for going in the top of my hand, like the last time I was in the hospital and was given IV antibiotics. I remember that very well. I screamed when they put that fucker in my hand, and I mean screamed. As loud as I could. It hurt so bad that I squirmed as I screamed, so much so that the nurse told me several times that I had to hold still or she was going to lose it and it would all be for nothing. I used every particle of control over my own movements and reaction to the pain that was mine just as surely as everything else that ventured out into beyond my will. I barely managed to allow for the needle being secured into the vein in my hand, but the thought of having to endure another poke as painful as that one motivated me, and I held onto it tightly as I struggled to not squirm. Oh, it should be interesting here in about six hours or so…
You know, it was weird to realize, but earlier today when everything was falling apart inside my heart and I felt like no one cared and I was the only one who suffered for any of this shit, it occurred to me that last time I got pregnant and went in for the same procedure, it was actually not as upsetting. Not nearly as upsetting. As I wrote in a previous entry, I had expected this time to be easier or more comforting, rather, because I have people who care about me and who I care about in return now. But oddly enough, it has turned out to mean the opposite. It was actually ten times more bearable to have done it completely alone and knowing I cared for no one involved or not involved and that I was not cared for by anyone at all either. I know that sounds strange, but I suppose it makes perfect sense when you think about it.
But anyways…who knows….
It started snowing tonight. In the middle of March, no less. Brad and I were on the freeway heading back to our part of town from Sherwood, and it just suddenly started snowing. It got heavier and heavier and it started sticking, until it covered the roads and became so thick that I could hardly believe it. Brad’s car was sliding around all over the place! I’m going to go for now…that’s all I can say until later today.
I’m sure that I will come back to you here tomorrow at some point, after all that is about to take place has taken place. And afterwards, in the whole little big picture that’s my picture, I’ll fall into place. My place. Where it’s always safe. But very lonely always too.
-Attro
In a previous entry, I wrote about the time I spent at Gene’s in the summer of ’05 and referred to it as the worst time of my life thus far. Well, yesterday topped that.
I don’t really want to go into detail about it.
Went to my appointment with my mom and Dave. They said it would be an hour. So mom went outside to wait in the car for a while. I didn’t want to let them poke me with a needle, and the anesthesiologist was an asshole. So I said I wanted to stay awake for the procedure like I did last time. So they put me in there right away and gave me an ungodly amount of laughing gas, and a couple big valiums. But they gave me the pills too soon before starting the surgery, and the laughing gas sent me on a bad trip. A bad one…I think that they gave me too much. There was so much that I couldn’t see anything, and that didn’t happen last time. I felt stuck in that place that you visit in between dreams and waking up from them. In that moment right before your eyes open, and you sit up with a start. That feeling of fighting a nightmare, fighting it hard and long, and then winning when you finally shake yourself awake. And the way I could see, was the same way that you see with closed eyes after looking right into the sun. Everything looked like that…like a bright red backdrop of something that moved in place like liquid or particles of something that is not solid, and filled with the dark, defined outlines of everything that you saw in your last glimpse before closing your eyes tightly against all the brightness. The blaring vision of what the light blasts into you, and that your eyes cannot escape from even after shutting. When finally I could see and hear again, my hands were covering my eyes and I was screaming. There was no end to my screaming, it went on and on like some steady flow of something. Heard them saying that they refused to go any further with the procedure. I sat up. A couple of women on either side of me grabbed at my arms, trying to pull me off the table. I pushed them off violently and told them to get their fucking hands off me and not to fucking touch me. They wouldn’t tell me how far they went with any of it. Told me to put my clothes on and get out. Said I was screaming and making such a scene that it was upsetting every other patient in the rooms around me, to which I replied with a scream: “I don’t really fucking care right now!” Got dressed and left. Dave was the only one in the waiting room when I walked out hysterical, screaming and sobbing and unable to compose myself at all. In the elevator, I couldn’t calm down. Not even when I was stuck in that hellish little box with strangers. I hated everything in that moment, there was no love in me or around me. I was alone. I was so alone, and I’m always alone when I need someone most. Found mom finally, outside around the corner making a phone call or something. Picked her up, tried to explain what had happened between what Dave could reiterate from mthem. I find myself having deep-set feelings of hate towards him, towards the disgusting thing that’s still inside me, and the cruelty of telling me he loved me and then abandoning me like he has the last few days. And I’ve reached a new height of hatred for the sexes as well. I hate Kevin for every time he came in me. I fucking hate him. As much as it turned me on before every time he did, it now revolts me and makes me so sick to my stomach that I know for sure I could never be turned on by him again. No fucking way in hell. These last few days have really put all that I believe to the test, and each time they have failed me. I thought that my beliefs in love, and kindness, and selflessness, and everything else were unshakeable. I thought that they would pull me through anything, since up until a few days ago they had. But once again, they have been erased by something so horrible that they do not answer any of it. I don’t know why or how I am so surprised, as this has happened many times throughout my life when I’ve reached a lower point than I had before and it throws everything into question. And I’ve known for years now to expect it to happen again and again in the future. But I guess each time it comes as some tragic surprise to find that those things which gave you hope at your darkest hour, leave you withnone in a darker one.
This really is my lowest point. Lower than Gene’s. Lower. Even though my mom has been with me for this, and still is, I’m alone in this. I’m infinitely grateful that she is here for me, and it means more to me than I can explain to anyone. It makes up for so much, and without her I would not have made it through these last few days. I know that. She has saved me. And all of my things are over here at her house for now…I’m going to stay with her until this mess has been cleaned up completely and I’m rid of it and its evil. I told Kevin that I just wanted it out of me, and that I hate it. I absolutely hate it. The planned parenthood clinic is supposed to be calling us back tomorrow after verifying my insurance, and they are going to have me come in for the pills. I wonder how long and lonely and painful those four hours or so of cramping and bleeding and pain will seem to me? I can’t imagine….and I don’t want to think about it. But the temporary plan is to shack up at mom’s house for now, and then to worry about where I will stay after this is all taken care of. Of course, Brad has already offered to let me stay with him. He’s decided not to move, after all. I may have to accept his invitation, if only for a short-term solution. I know I won’t be able to stay here with mom very long. It’s been less than one day, and already we run into the problem of me and David existing in the same world. Maybe I’ll just end up having to stay with Brad until I can find somewhere else.
One of the times Kevin and me fucked after finding out I was pregnant, he came in me again. Even after I had made a point to him to not do that anymore. And right afterwards, I had burst into tears. When Kevin kept asking what was wrong, I finally tried to explain to him that it kind of hurt my feelings that he’d done that when I’d said not to. I tried to make him understand the pain that came from him showing that kind of disregard for what he’d done, for the pregnancy, and what I had to go through because of it.
God, I can’t write anymore.
I hate him.
I really hate him. I feel no love at all for him.
I thought he was the best thing to ever happen to me. I loved him more than I’d ever loved anyone in my whole life. I probably could have loved him just as much for years to come had this not happened. It’s unfair. I have no choice but to forget him completely, as if he never existed to me.
Goodbye, Kevin. You made it easy to forget you.
Blog Entry #2
Hey there.
Listening to music on my laptop as I write this. It’s always much harder for me to write when I have music in the background. Especially the louder it is. But I don’t care right now.
Kevin is absolutely impossible, and it’s completely by his own choosing. He’s been sleeping for the better part of the last few days or so, aside from when he has to go to work. I worry about him. I myself slept in until six-thirty in the evening yesterday, and when I woke up Kevin had been sleeping next to me. He came to bed as soon as he got home from work, I believe. I have a few vague memories of the few times I started to wake up throughout the day. The first time I did, I looked over at Kev’s side of the bed and saw a note he had left me. It had said something about how he’d hoped that I remembered him saying that he had to work today, and I’m sure there was an ‘I love you’ included. Oddly enough, that was just what I needed in order to not go psychotic. It saved me from the hysteria that usually ensues when I call out for him, again and again, hearing only silence each time in response. It didn’t take away the disappointment of opening my eyes to an empty room and all of that stuff, of course. But it kept me calm, and I was glad for that. I just stayed there in bed, and immediately upon waking I’d been miserably warm. This little townhouse that we share is something of an inferno all day and throughout the hotter and hotter summer nights as well. I mean, it’s positively stifling. I fell asleep in my jacket, which sometimes ends up happening. I took that off, and was still incredibly hot. Took the covers off, and then thought about getting up. I’ve been broke for days. The first week of June is already over, and I have seriously almost made nothing so far this month. I mean, just about damn near nothing. What’s up with that? I don’t know. My motivation is being sapped away by everything else, I guess. I think that is why I fell back asleep yesterday morning. I just didn’t want to get up and have to start from scratch. I hate having to do that, but I guess anyone wouldn’t be real excited at the thought. Usually I don’t have to worry about that. I am rarely ever broke, I always have money. I always have my dope situation taken care of. Hell, I even have other people’s dope situations worked out a lot of the time, in addi(c)tion to my own! Ha! Well anyhow. I remember waking up a little again when Kevin got home and got into bed next to me. He dozed off right away, and he started to wake up a little, and his movement on the bed next to me woke me slightly. He told me to put my arm around him. So I did. He said that I had to take care of him, in a whiny kind of voice. He sounded helpless, my sweet thing. I told him that of course I would take care of him, and asked him if he needed anything or if I could do anything for him. He said no and we both fell back asleep. But when I woke up at six-thirty and finally got my ass out of bed, determined to bake that batch of cookies that I’d been putting off for days, I remembered his words to me between our dreams and it worried me. I realized how much he had been sleeping lately, and I wondered if it was because he was sick or something else. He hadn’t really spoken hardly at all to me in over a day. I have been hoping that he is just catching up on some sleep, which I know would do him tremendous good. I imagine that is a very real possibility, as he hasn’t been getting sufficient rest for a period of time now, and it has to be catching up with him. When he woke up in the middle of last night, I asked him right away if he was okay. I asked if he was ill, and if that was why he’d been sleeping so much. I told him I was worried, and didn’t know what he had meant when he’d told me I had to take care of him. Well, he just answered by hushing me with a series of ‘shhhh’s. For the last few days he’s been sleeping through, that’s pretty much the only response I’ve been able to get out of him when he wakes up for little spells here and there. Well, by that time I was sick of being told to be quiet. So I told him that. I said I was just going to leave, because I was tired of not being able to speak and didn’t know why he had reacted that way to my being concerned for him. He then went on to be an even greater ass by making a cluster of comments to the effect of my words and my concern being insincere, which always just pisses me off.
So I just had the urge to get out of the house, since he was clearly in the worst of moods and I was going stir-crazy while he slept. So I text messaged Marcus, and asked what he was up to. He’s been a little asshole to me lately too, because I don’t want to be with him anymore in a romantic relationship. I can’t believe he is still sprung on me like that! It’s been almost a year, and when I asked him just the other day what had prompted his change in how he treats me, he responded by telling me that he had just finally come to understand that I no longer wanted to be with him ever again. That seemed awfully outrageous to me. I mean, it’s only been-what- close to a year since we broke up?! Anyways, I tried to explain to him that just because we weren’t together, didn’t mean that we couldn’t still continue our friendship like we’d been doing up until then. But he didn’t follow me on that one, I don’t think. I tried to assure him that my not wanting to be with him didn’t make him any less important to me, or make me love him any less. In fact, I pointed out that we were actually better as friends now than we were when we were together, and always fighting and at each other’s throats. But again, I think that’s where I lost him. Oh well. He said he wasn’t doing anything, so we decided to hang out for a while. I couldn’t call Brad for a ride, because he’d driven me earlier and before he’d dropped me off he took six vicodins. So he was probably drooling on himself in bed, and would be for several more hours. So I took the last $36 I had to my name, and called for a cab to take me out to 160th and Burnside to Corey’s house, where Marcus has been staying. I got dropped off on the corner of 160th and Glisan, and started walking down towards Burnside. Marcus met me about halfway between the two streets, and then we walked to the church right next to the apartments where Corey lives. We sat behind the building and ate Hot Tamales while we scratched scratch-its and “bull shitted” as Marcus would call it. It was something like four-thirty in the morning, so everything was still very quiet. After we finished the scratch-it’s, we counted up all our change combined and walked to the 7-11 on 162nd and Stark St. and I got a newspaper, to do the crossword. I was going to steal one out of someone’s mailbox thingy, in honor of the old daily ritual of not-so-very-long-ago, but I didn’t spot any on the way, so I just bought one. Then we walked a little while and found a spot to sit. We talked some more. I filled out what little of the crossword I could, while Marcus sratched another scratch-it. Then we walked some more. Then I realized how badly I needed to work. So I did something today that goes down in history. I took the fucking bus. I know, I don’t really know if I believe it yet either. Marcus and I sraped up the very last of the change we had left over from the store, and he sent me on my way home on the max that went into downtown, where I got off on 5th Ave. and took the bus from there to Barbur Blvd. and got off at Terwilliger Blvd. then walked the rest of the way to my house. Crazy shit when I ride the bus, I’ll tell you what!
So that brings us just about to the present moment. I need to get my ass off this fucking computer that I’m constantly tweaking on, and go check my voice mail and take a shower and get ready for a job that I so-badly need. I probably could’ve gotten one or two in already today, if I hadn’t been fucking everything off so much, as usual! But I just can’t afford to do it anymore. I gotta get going.
I saw Grant last night, finally. The night before last, when I’d packed up my things and had set out to leave Kevin’s again, I had asked Grant to come get me and told him that I was finally ready. He’d offered to get me, if I wanted to stay with him for a while. So I said to come, but it was late for him and he told me to hang tight until the next day when he got off work. So I think he kind of missed his opportunity, if you will. At least that one. When I saw him last night, he went on and on about how I should stay there starting right then, and we could worry about going to get my things from Kevin’s later. He said I would make a good girlfriend. He showered me in all sorts of flattery. I have to admit, I do like him. He seems pretty cool, especially as far as clients go. But I told him I couldn’t just stay right then. He said he was sorry that he didn’t come get me the night before, and that he should have and wished that he had. It gave me a nice little something to add to my declining to stay then. ‘You should’ve come and got me last night…’ followed by his downcast eyes, and slightly lowered face at hearing my admonishing, yet very playful words. He seemed to sense the humor in them. I told him that things didn’t look good between Kevin and I, and that any day now he’d be getting the call from me to come and pick me up. I told him that if things kept up at the rate they’ve been going, then that moment could be lurking right around the corner. He said he looked forward to that call. I told him that maybe tomorrow night would be okay to do it, since he’d skipped out of me the last one. He said yes, but then told me that I was just teasing him and wouldn’t call. I told him not to be so sure of himself and that I’d talk to him tomorrow. Sounding a little surprised at what I’d said back to him, he just said ‘okay, I hope so.’
He just text messaged me asking me how I am, and saying that I had better be packing my stuff. Don’t let me down, he wrote. I dunno…
Was just interrupted by an unexpected appearance by Kevin, for all of about five minutes. Things don’t seem to be any better with us. Jesus. I walked into the bathroom when he came in the front door, because I’m not really ready to be seen and I don’t like it when I’m surprised by people when I’m not ready to be seen. So that was suspicious, according to him…even though I do the same thing just about every time he drops in when I don’t know he’s going to. And for some fucking dumb reason, I’m apparently supposed to know who’s car is out in the parking lot. I haven’t even looked out the window all day, how should I know that there even IS a car out there?! Psycho. Then he made some fucking stupid comment on his way out the door, right before slamming it shut, about how ‘that didn’t look very good.’
Who knows what the hell he was talking about, or what trip he’s on now. Who really cares. I don’t have the energy to put into all his silly and senseless melodrama. It’s all just a matter of making everything more difficult than it needs to be for him. I don’t get it. Not into it either.
Anyhow, have to cut myself off now and go get to work, for goodness’ sake! I’ll return to these pages later. Until then, au revoir.
-Mona
Live Journal
29 August 2006 @ 03:33 am
Subject-to-change
Today wasn’t good. It sucked.
I don’t really feel like getting into it all, though.
Just couldn’t stand being in my skin today…some days are easier than others. Today it was almost unbearable to be me.
-Mona
02 September 2006 @ 09:59 pm
Something I wrote…..
This is something I wrote just about an hour ago…I don’t really know what I think of it…
(ither news, I lost my goddamn car last night. Fuckin’ got pulled over, and fucked with by the cops hardcore. They found a bunch of needles in the car, which was kind of hard to explain. I thought for sure that they were going to arrest me, but they didn’t. Thank fucking god. They just let me get my things out of the car and start walking. So yeah…back to no car. I guess in a way, it’s a good thing. But in several other ways, it sucks. Oh well. Brad drove me last night, and said he would tonight as well. I need to go post an ad. I’m totally broke, and I’ve been so depressed that I haven’t had the motivation to do anything but sleep or lie around on my laptop for the last fourty-eight hours or so, since I was pulled over. But enough is enough, I have to get back up onto my fucking feet eventually, so why should I wait? Only makes it more difficult to get there again, the longer I put it off. The only positive news I have whatsoever, is that my mother seems to be doing better than the last time I saw her. I had Brad drive me over there the other night, and she was hooked up to her antibiotics, which she has to take every tweleve hours for the next few days, before she goes in for a check up. Her face looked a lot less swollen, and she just seemed to be more ‘alive.’ It relieved me so much, there aren’t words to describe such a sigh of breath let out that had been tensely held for an entire day. I love her so much. She has ONE WHOLE WEEK CLEAN AND SOBER TODAY!!! She did it! She made it a fucking goddamn week! She beat her six day record from just a couple of weeks ago. I’m so proud of her right now, that no one in this world could possibly convince me that they have a mother better than mine. I would do anything for her. She wants me to follow her lead, she’s already pushing me to step up to the plate and straighten out, so to speak. You know, I can’t even remember the last time that I went an entire week without getting high. I really honestly can’t. This is a humbling experience to me. I have all sorts of newfound respect for her. Seriously.)
So here’s that thing I wrote…
The tears
That you
Sometimes
Have to cry
I wish
You didn’t
The strength
Of these
Feelings
I feel for you
Can’t be
Told
In words
How great
They are
But just listen
They can
Be heard
Hear that?
They are the
Current
Of what keeps
Me moving
Even when I
Don’t want any
Part of the world
We’re in
Listen
Yes
They’re the
Impulsive pulse
Of the heart
That is
In love with you
If it wasn’t
Before
Then it’s now
Coming true
Like dreams
Dreampt
Every night
Before tonight
Of being
Forever
And only
With you
I don’t think
You know
Where I go
When I share
Your pain
With you
When the torture
Is taken
And split
Into two
Puddles of pain
That drive me
Insane
So here we are
Making us
Half of ourselves
I know
That there’s no way
For you to know
How I hurt for you
For hurting you
All the feelings fueling
All these tears
That tremble as if
About to drip
From my face
Seemed to be so
Stuck
In my abysmal rut
But then I
Watched you
Fall into
One of your own
And some of me
Came back
To bring you
Back out too
And where was I
All that time?
Or actually
This is not me
Not now
I’m dead
We’ve been
Watching me die
For a long time
And now I’m
Someone else
But she’s so
Brand-new
That I’m not
Sure who
She is
I know only
She wants
Only
To be yours
And to be with
You
So it’s time
To transcend
Once transformed
Will seem so silly
To have stayed
Where we were
For so long
Take one
Long breath
Inwards
Towards your
Heart
That is home
To so much love
You say you
Have for me
It has to be
The deepest one
You ever take
Deeper than
Any you’ve taken
And as you
Let it out
Just give in
Into it
While I take it
For you
In out of the
Air around you
Absorbing
What you
Have already felt
And now I’m
Putting behind you
I know the ache
That is left
Behind
In the place
Of everything
Else
It takes
Everything
From me
Away
Until I hate
Myself
But that
Doesn’t last long
It never can
Can’t ever stand
To be miserable
Much longer
Than just that
Turns into the
Manic magic
I manage
To keep pulling
Out of
This hat
The sky is slurring
Whatever time
It is
Is blurring
Blown out of
It’s proportions
By the starry
Distortions
Seems the only
Thing we’ve lost
Are all those
Things that
We don’t need
And they’re just
Right there
Lost
In their thoughts
31 August 2006 @ 08:50 pm
Little Red
Deviate
Away
Away from
The way you know
Clearly mapped path
From Granny’s &
Back to home
‘My My!
What big eyes you have!’
‘The better to see into and right
Through you with, my dear…’
‘What big ears you have!’
‘All the better to know how hard
That heart of yours pounds, my dear…’
‘And oh my!
What big teeth you have!’
‘The Better to…
Be the only one to…
Bite into all
Of you…’
Little Red
Is dead
Red
Just like
The blood
She bled
Packs of wolves
All wearing grins
Smiling wide
Hollowed out
Inside
Despite
All that life
That they
Absolutely
Have to take
Again and again
Look at them grin
Red Riding Hood
If only she
Had understood
What now
She knows
Two eyes that
Open
And
Close
They
Open
And they
Close
‘My! What big hunger you have!’
‘All the better
To remember
You the way
You taste,
Feel and look
Today
Forever
Never ever
Deviate
Away from
The way you know…
You may fall in love
Or die
You could consume
And become consumed
Or doomed
Little Red
Riding Hood
Just another stain
In the snow now
Riding Hood
Redder than
The real thing
Just another stain
In the snow now…
They pretend they don’t know how…
Web of wolves
They are all the
Same wolf
Just many clones
Of one wolf
That all cling to
The turning into
A red little
Stain in the purest
White snow
Of grabbing
Something beautiful
By its throat
To watch it struggle
And stop
To have stopped it
Letting it go
No
Further
Holding it tight
In those perverse paws
That reach out
To touch them
With no idea
Of what they’re doing
Not wanting to
Let them go
Watching them
As they slow
To a stop
Middle of their
Animation
Still
And stiff
Let go
To blow
Away on the wind
Like a kiss
Make a wish
Don’t deviate
31 August 2006 @ 08:29 pm
Afraid of more than spiders, or even more spiders…wonder if it shows…?
My mother is not doing well. I didn’t understand until I got here to her house, hours ago now, the seriousness of her condition. The second I walked into her bedroom and saw her lying there in bed, I felt absolute fear. Fear of losing her, I mean. She’s visibly suffering and struggling against the infection. The doctors and nurses at the hospital gave David adamant instructions to sterilize the entire house as much as possible. So Marcus and I have been here helping David scour this place from ground to ceiling for the last few hours or so. Man, I’ve never cleaned like I just did in my whole life. I didn’t even know I COULD clean like that! I’m not fucking around with this. The way I look at it, it could mean my mother’s survival. I want to put the odds as much in her favor as I am capable of doing. I was dripping sweat down my face by the time my back started to cramp up real bad, and I got lightheaded and had to sit down. I’m exhausted. Been awake for over a day. Took bags of garbage out, got rid of all carpet scraps, old toilet bowl and bathroom cleaning implements, washing clothes and linens and drying them, throwing every bed pillow and decorative pillow in the dryer to expose it to the heat, in the hopes of destroying any bacteria or germs that may be on them, spraying and scrubbing the shower and rest of bathroom with bleach water, stocking up on hand sanitizer throughout the house, wiping every last surface in the house down with disinfectant wipes, vaccuuming the floors, moving every piece of furniture to vaccuum the floor underneath each one, then returning them to their places, took every shoe in my mom’s closet out and vaccuumed in there too, then took the laundry basket of shoes to the front door and proceeded to thoroughly wipe each individual shoe clean with disinfectant wipes, and then finally collecting them all in the basket again (after disinfecting and rinsing it again, of course) and dumping them back into the closet, on the freshly vaccuumed floor, I even vaccuumed the furniture that are covered in fabric, like the recliner and couch. I’m exhausted. But I’m so worried about her. Her face is so swollen. The lump on the back of her head that was lanced earlier today doesn’t look like it’s doing very well either. They have her on an incredibly high dosage of the most potent antibiotic currently available to treat a staph infection. My fingers are double crossed THREE times that she responds well to the medicine right away, because if she doesn’t…well, that’s very bad news. I’m hoping with all I have that these high dosages will just come right in and kick its ass. They have a pic line running from a vein in her arm, all the way to the right ventricle of her heart so that she can receive IV doses of the medicine. Right now we’re all sitting here, totally spent from the scouring spree, and waiting on an infusion nurse who is due to arrive here any minute now. She is going to demonstrate how to administer the antibiotics using this pic line, so that my mother can do it for herself with David’s help, for the remaining duration of her antibiotics.
I really can’t say any more on this topic, it’s starting to upset me more than I can let it right now. I have to be strong. I can’t let her see how scared I am that she might not make it through this. I have to wear a strong smile, I have to be encouraging and present myself as having a confidant and hopeful attitude. Because that is exactly what she needs right now, and as unimaginably difficult as it is for me to give her those things now when I wish I could just cry out how much I love her, beg her not to leave me, and let it be seen how terrified I am for her health, I have for the moment completely forgotten having any sort of ‘self.’ Right now, only she exists to me. ‘Myself’ is temporarily non-existant. Right now I’m exclusively a force whos sole purpose is to do for her. In any and every way. To aid or help her however I am able. To support and soothe, to console and alleviate any ailments. I am here to absorb all and any of her fears, sadness, panic, regret…and when I have been all used up as her advantage, then I will exist as ‘myself’ again. Only then will I know my own feelings concerning the entire chain of events that has just began, and could go in any direction, at any time, and end in any way…
-m_a_n_i_c
31 August 2006 @ 10:56 am
Well…welcome to hell!
Okay, so get this. Right now I am seriously sitting in my car in the parking lot where my mom lives, typing this on my laptop. She’s not here. I didn’t know that until I got here, of course. She just sent me a text message back finally, saying that she is in the hospital. She went yesterday to be seen for a huge lump she has under her chin. They are doing a catscan today, I believe. So…I hope she’s alright. She’s had three days clean. Actually I think she is going on her fourth day today. That’s pretty damn cool. I’d love to see her break her standing record of six days, which she had just a couple of weeks ago. It proved how possible it is. So why am I just sitting here in the parking lot typing in my car? Well, take a guess. Kevin’s daughter is here…she starts school in a week or something, so she’s having one last summer visit. For those of you who are not familiar with this situation, what all that translates to is me moving out for however long she stays. By my own choosing, that is. Kevin doesn’t ask me to leave. In fact, he doesn’t seem to like it that I usually prefer to make my exit until she leaves. But I don’t really understand why. I just always feel awkward there when she’s visiting. I feel like I’m in the way, and intruding on their time together. I don’t like that feeling. So I just sort of…get out of their way, and let them have their one-on-one. Besides, I really have no place around children. Used syringes, spoons caked in drugs, dope bags, lubrication and condoms…those sorts of things are so commonplace to me, that they just get thrown around like they are no big deal. Well they might not be, to me. But they should be kept from children, and I’m just part of that world that can’t find harmony with them. So out of respect, I keep myself outside of being able to affect them.
So anyhow. Since my mom is not home, I’m in sort of a predicament. I don’t know where else to go hang right now. I’m trying to think who’s house I can just invite myself over to. I know Brad is at work, and he would be a last choice anyways. Even if he wasn’t at his house while I was there. Rick is close-by, but I don’t know if he is even home. I should try texting him. I really just want to take a shower. Fuck. Oh yeah, and my fucking phone service was shut off yesterday. Isn’t that a bunch of bull shit? And I tried to call James to ask him what was going on, and his line has been shut off too! That was the only # I had to reach him, and now he has disappeared without explanation. I’m really hoping that he was just late paying the bill, and that I hear from him within the next couple of days here, so that we can sort everything out…because now I’m back to being ripped-off by the prepaid pigs of Cingular. I hate them. Along with Toshiba (or, as I like to call them, To-Salad-Tossers), Planned Parenthood, and My Space!!! So expensive! Being on James’ plan really opened my eyes to how much of a difference there is between the two!!!
I went and saw my sister the other day. On Tuesday, in the afternoon. My mom went too. I guess that even though she is a ward of the state now, and in foster care, she still has to have her school clothes paid for by a family member or someone, otherwise she only gets whatever is donated, if anything. So of course it came down to that, and my mom can never afford to help anyone but herself, so I unexpectedly handed over $300 cash to Brianna’s case manager, for her school clothes. Even though the little brat broke my laptop, and cost me hundreds of dollars with that loss, as well as hundreds more replacing it (multiple times). She seemed okay, though. She didn’t seem much different than she did before. Maybe a little happier in a sense. Probably does her a lotta good to be away from the scene at my mom’s. Even foster care probably provides a much more pleasant and structured atmosphere for her. I guess she is staying in Beaverton, in an apartment with one other girl and their foster mother. She also has her cell phone with her, which she’s managed to keep hidden from any of the staff there for quite some time. Pretty impressive. I keep forgetting that she has it, I should text her as soon as I’m done writing this.
So yeah…I need to make some phone calls now, important phone calls. I’ll be back, I’m sure. Until then…
-m_a_n_i_c
29 August 2006 @ 11:45 pm
Why do I stick around so I can just feel more and more strongly how ready I am to get the fuck out?
It starts as a little nagging noise inside my skull, reminding me of what I think I know, and what I can never ever really know. And the noise sets to work inside my head, perpetuating its same pattern until it has grown so loud and so great, it is the only thought I can have. The only obsessive, earth-shattering sound of not-mattering that I can hear. It’s entirely made up of the pain felt by something already hurt too much. It’s like the ruins of something destroyed by being hurt, and how awful it is to exist so alone, as ruins.
And once it’s reached that point, I’m left as alone as I’ve always known is the safest I could ever be. Except that I have the worst pain I’ve ever felt, and I feel it all. It’s all of mine to feel. The only thing I’m sure is absolutely real. It keeps me company. The same way it would be trapped somewhere with someone that you hate. Wishing they weren’t there, but needing them to be there. This is where the old survival skills start coming back, not quite as at my command as they used to be. They tell me to keep my right amount of distance, the only real way to be strong. But then I realize those parts of me that have been pieced together and have come back, to different degrees. Their revival works against survival. I know how to make myself untouchable. But when I tell myself how to, something answers me by telling me it’s too late for that.
And so an awful confusion begins to collect, forming a cloud that sits around an absence of hope. Desperate sensations. Can’t breath. Panic. Just trying to catch my breath, but I can’t breath. I hurt so much, and I’m so tired that I don’t even want to breath the breath I’m gasping for.
There is no more. This is the most. It’s just pain, channeled in one direction, using you as its host.
And then, right on the verge of the tears of these fears…comes something far more fiery. In an instant, its known on its own, a strange sort of pride look-alike that takes over and doesn’t want shown this pain and these tears about to be cried, all alone. It hates the thought of any eyes looking in on it when at its weakest. It’s been decided that it has been hurt enough by enough of them. So instead, it all builds up and comes to a head…
That explodes into an explosion named anger. Anger is the leader of the gang, along with hate and rage. These three together incinerate everything outside of themselves. The endless rolling waves of pain are taken away by them. Just for a moment. A momentary blindness. Where my only perception is red. A red heat. As soon as I can see again, all I see are targets for my inconsolable chaos that rages on and on. Even the things that I love most, become victims of what so much hurt has cost me the control over. Lost. Been lost for a while now. Still waiting to find whatever I’m supposed to find. Or maybe I’m waiting to be found. All I know is that for so long now I’ve been saying “I want to go home! I just want to go home…” And after saying that for a while, it hit me that I didn’t have any idea where home is. Because it isn’t. It’s some unreachable memory, that cannot ever happen again the way I think of it in my mind…
What am I left with? The worst way it could end. The most unbearable round of this carousel. Disgust. Disgust & distrust. The nauseous feeling of being unable to keep anything down. A reality you can’t digest, that makes you ill and feel ill in uncertain waves. And it morphs into something even worse. A sort of personalized version with which I seem cursed. Mutates into a self-hatred, for every one of the parts of myself that cannot be changed. That as long as I am still alive, will always in some way remain. Why can’t I ever escape me? Why can’t I be anything other than what makes me sick to my stomach? I love it! It’s some fucked-up punishment, for what I wonder, but probably for nothing. I’m probably about as good-natured and kind as I think.
So I try not to think.
-m_a_n_i_c
Blog Entry
It won’t end, but will it ever change?
I have enough sense to know that it will never end. I will always have pain, along with the rest of the world. No one ever completely escapes it. Some manage to avoid it more than others, but each one of us will experience pain at several points throughout a lifetime. Different people are hurt by very different things. I believe that everything is relative. Pain is a particularly interesting example of relativity. It’s so impossible to guage how great someone else’s pain is, because everyone’s basis for comparison are their own experiences. I could be greatly hurt by something that another person might find ridicoulous to be upset over. To them, my pain is not taken seriously for they don’t understand it. The same holds true with all people.
MySpace Blog
Midnight Morning
Well hello there. Fancy running into you here in these pages again.
So, it’s almost three in the morning and here I am lying in bed next to Kevin with the laptop. I was home late tonight…by a lousy half an hour. I didn’t wake up until six this evening, since I had crashed last night after four days of being up…although, to my surprise I woke up at ten-thirty this morning, which seemed very odd to me since I’d been awake for so long before falling asleep the night before. And I woke up at several different periods throughout the day as well. Last night was the first night in a long time that I was feeling the goo with Kev again. It was absolutely mind-blowing. I can’t even tell you, all that I know how to put into words on it all is that it was the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time. Well, HE’S the best thing that’s happened to me, in all of my life so far. I’m so glad that the recent trauma and its tragedy have really started to melt away and that the energy that was there between Kev and me before it all has returned, proving that it wasn’t ever really not there. Hmmmm. I love him more than anything else or anyone else I have ever cared for before. I love him because I adore everything about him, but I also love him in ways that are very rare and very difficult to do. Sometimes I realize that I love him in a totally selfless sense as well. I would gladly give my life for him, but it goes even beyond that. I love him as if I were not myself at all, but rather some force that couldn’t be affected in any way by anything in the real world in which he exists. Kind of like the Christian god is said to love all people, as his creations. The purest form of love possible. It’s transcendence. It really is.
So tonight I got kind of a late start on the day, obviously. Kevin drove me to an appointment at 8:30 with one of my regulars that lives fairly close. After that, we came home and he was busy with things downstairs, and I stayed up here. Then I realized that with him down there and out of the range of sight, I had the perfect opportunity to set to work on something that I’ve been meaning to make for him. For a week or so now I think, he’s been complaining that I haven’t been doing anything sweet for him and every time he does this he points out all of the treats and surprises, and gestures he’s made for me lately. And I admit, the score isn’t exactly even now. I didn’t like hearing this, so I have been brainstorming differnet ideas for something to make for him, to show that I do care and that I am thankful for all that he does for me. I don’t like it when I hear that he feels less cared for than I do. Not good. So, yesterday I decided to visit The Dollar Tree. Ha. Sounds funny, but Kevin loves that fuckin’ place. He goes in there and goes crazy on that shit. So I went in one the other day and I got a couple of those simple, black picture frames that he buys to frame our poems to each other and hangs on the walls in the room here with us. Let’s see, what else did I pick up while I was there…I got a couple of different gift bags, a neat little gift box thing, these awesome alphabet stickers, some construction paper, scissors, an award ribbon that says ‘I love you!’ and a couple of his favorite candy bars. Ha. What the hell kind of recipe combines all those ingredients? Well originally, I had this idea to frame a couple pieces of writing for him and I can’t for the life of me recall what the rest of the idea entailed. I know that sounds odd, but I know that when it came to me, there was some sort of concept that I had in mind to present the writings with. But I don’t remember exactly what it was. So then I decided I would use a poem that I wrote about us when he was in California last month, and then write him a new one now, and frame them both. I was going to make them both very decorative and sweet and then put them both in one of the gift bags and deck it all out somehow. But then I decided against that. Didn’t like it. So, when I finally went to start this project, what I ended up going with was writing him a new poem, which I just finished. I was going to use the poem from last month, which he has never read, but when it came down to it I realized that it was far too long to fit onto one page inside the frame, even if I omitted some parts of it. So I wrote him this poem that I’ve just now finished, and I have already prepared one of the frames for it. I took a piece of the light blue construction paper and sized it so that it fits inside the frame perfectly, as the background for the white paper that the poem will be on. Using the alphabet stickers, I put a blue ‘KQ’ in the upper left-hand corner of the blue construction-paper border, and a red ‘ATTRO’ along the lower right-hand corner. Looks very good. So now I just have to go downstairs on Kev’s comptuer to print the poem out and size it to be mounted on the blue backdrop, then it’s a simple matter of pasting or taping it on, then closing the frame shut on it. I hope he likes it. Since I couldn’t recall my grand, original idea, I’ve decided to use all the supplies I bought yesterday gradually, and give him little gifts made from them in increments. I gave him the 100 Grand bar last night, and the Charleston Chew this morning. Little surprises, small gestures that I hope he will notice for being what they are, and will bring a smile to his beautiful, flawless face.
So, I’m about to head down there now to do just that. I’m about to email the poem to myself from my laptop and then I’m going to print it out. I hope that I can fit it onto one page somehow. My damn writing rhythm when writing poetry is damn hard to keep anything one page long. Oh well, I will figure something out.
So after that, at around quarter to midnight I got another call. So I called Brad and had him come get me. Then I looked at the clock, and when I did the math, I realized that I would be cutting it incredibly close to my two am curfew. I pointed this out to Kevin, and he said that he’d already realized. I asked him if he’d be terribly upset if I were a few minutes late. As I expected, he didn’t react very kindly. I just don’t understand that. You know? He was the one that threw out noon to two in the morning as the hours for me to work each day, and I immediately agreed and have been damn good about sticking to it since it was decided on. And you know, I told him tonight that if I got to dictate his work hours, that things might have been a little different in the past. I know he knew what I was referring to by saying that. We both knew. And I think he took it a little bit the wrong way. Maybe I said it too acidly, feeling like something to get defensive about. I guess I probably had meant it that way, although I don’t know why and I wouldn’t really want to come across that way to him. Especially after last night. That was too beautiful to touch. No ugliness could intrude on that, not even if it tried. Anyhow, he of course said to be as late as I wanted. But it was obvious that he was upset. He didn’t like the fact that I’d be late because of having to go to Brad’s after my appointment. I tried to tell him that it wasn’t about that, and that he was again thinking of that whole situation in the wrong way. But he wouldn’t hear any of it. He never will. Oh well…
So I only ended up being a lousy half an hour late. Big deal. But since I’ve got here, he’s been lying on the bed on his side, turned away from me and facing the wall. I asked him if he was tired, and he said a little bit. Told me he’s had a headache all day, which I have as well. Now he’s finally sat up and is texting on his phone as he sits on the end of the bed, again facing away from me. He asked what I was doing on the laptop, and I told him I was writing. After a few more moments had passed, he asked what I could possibly be saying that could take this long. I replied by telling him that I wasn’t talking or writing to anyone else, but that I was just writing something for me. He asked if it was good, and I said I didn’t know. I don’t really want him to know that I’m writing in any sort of journal online again. He totally read my last one, without telling me until I made an entry that was less-than-pleasing to him to read, and then he surprised me with the confession. No explanations, nothing. I should have known that he was reading it, because I had been using his computer every time I wrote there, since I didn’t have the laptop yet. And each time I went to use it again, I noticed that the internet history was left open on the column on the left-hand side of the screen. So obviously he’d been browsing all the websites and pages I had visited when I used it. Didn’t think of the possibility that he’d been reading all that I wrote, though. Oh well.
So I’d rather that this one was kept private, but open for others to read if they should care to. It’s all my story as I choose to tell it, and if no one ever reads it, that’s okay. It’s just as well. It’s not written for anyone else. It’s mine, and I decide to leave it open to the world while it’s being told.
I’m going now to print out the poem and frame it for my sweetheart.
This is the poem, for the record.
Or seems to be going
I can feel it
As it’s withdrawing
Awake
Then asleep
In each
I’m yours
To keep
I know that it
Looked like
I just might
Be blown right
Away with that storm
But look
I wasn’t
And looking
Behind it
Should’ve known that
It couldn’t
I just had to stay
Alone in that
All-alone place
That I was left in
Thought I’d go crazy
When I was still there
Even when I
Looked right into
Your face
Like looking back
On memories
Slowly becoming
Lost to me
The same thing
As when you can’t breath
Inside me
The color of a scream
Coming to an end
In the face of
What you with me
Really means
This has been the
First day
Like that first day
Walking through
The door left open
For me
To see
What I almost
Couldn’t let myself believe
That you
Were all you sounded
Like you
Would be
Since then
You’ve been
Surprising me
Thought that
You had ended
But you haven’t
And I can’t let go
Even in the wake of
Nightmares
That I wake from
Seeming all alone
I won’t let go
And wouldn’t you know
It was all just a dream
And in opening my eyes
From it
I know
It’s real
And I feel
The stickiness that
Sticks us
Together
And the intensity
That you are
To me
Couldn’t ever leave
Or let go
Wake up
I’m here
Stuck in Some Hell of Restlessness
Hey there.
So it’s just past midnight, and here I am. Lying in bed with the laptop at Kevin’s. He’s sitting on the end of the bed, and it appears that he’s writing something, though what it is I haven’t the slightest idea nor do I have any interest in knowing.
We had another one of our neat little conflicts last night, that nearly ended in me coming to collect all of my things and taking off for good, as is tradition. I was out and about driving, after having taken off in anger at some bull shit that was going on with us at the time. So I drove all the way out to fucking Gresham in my mom’s stupid Taurus with its about-to-give transmission that leaks all its fluid as soon as you put it in there. I had called her before leaving, because I wanted to hook up some shit. She was kind of in the process of setting it up, and so when I left here I decided to head over to her place. Well, when I got there I called her and asked if I could come over and hang until the deal was sealed or just to hang. I didn’t really have anywhere else to go. Well, nowhere that I cared to show up at anyhow. Well, she sounded really hesitant to answer…so I asked if she was busy or what, and I’m sure I sounded as annoyed as I was. It’s not like I don’t do everything for her…I was just asking to stop by and chill out while Kev and I were fighting. But she said she actually was kind of busy, so I told her to forget it all and hung up on her. What a heartless bitch she can be sometimes. But that hasn’t hurt me in a long time, it’s old news. Nothing worth paying much attention to, not anymore. So…I got onto Powell and headed back towards SW. In a storm of text messaging, it was established that I was going to come get all my things and move out of Kevin’s. I called him to let him know that I was on my way over to get it all out of there, and he even offered to start packing it for me right then. I told him that I’d prefer he wait until I got there and allowed me to pack my own things. So after all this heated arguing, and this decisive dialogue that took place for the whole drive over here, I walk in the door and Kevin is sitting right there at the computer in the dark. And before I even get a word out, he instructs me to go upstairs and shower, so that I can get clean, and then go to bed. Taken by surprise, I angrily questioned him and demanded to know what the fuck he was talking about. He informed me that I wasn’t going anywhere, and repeated the aforementioned insturctions. So I went upstairs and did just that. Then we were together in bed and he held me in that way that makes me feel loved in those ways that I can’t be loved anymore, and that make me feel at home. I talked about things, and he listened. He talked a little too. I cried. He held me. We fell asleep.
Then today was spent doing the usual run-around shit. Even though I said I wouldn’t do it, I gave in to Rick’s incessant emails and text messages imploring me to see him again. Can’t be driving mom’s car around too much with that transmission and its leaky leak, and Rick offered up the car again. But more persuasive than that, was his offer to kick me down a fat hit. Which I needed. I had no shit of my own, after the failed attempt at hooking up through mom the night before. So I agreed. But when I got there and hit myself, I quickly realized that it wasn’t meth I had shot. Or at least, not all meth. It was coke. I’ve never even done coke, except for doing a few lines in the past that were less than impressive, but I knew what it was just from the way people have described its rush to me. Whoa, it was a trip.
Okay, well I was going to write more but I got fucking sick of this. So the end.
Seems to me every time to be early in the morning that I write here…
Hey there.
It’s odd, I know I’ve only written in this thing a few times, but it seems like just about each time I have it has been really early in the morning. I wonder why that is. Probably because it’s my ‘down time.’ No work, Kevin is usually asleep by now, and so on…
So what has been happening lately…? Let’s see. Not really much of anything. Kevin and I are tumultuous, as usual. But things are okay right now, with plenty of goo. Right now it’s right around six in the morning, and I have to be at Brad’s by eight. Woohoo. Went there late last night because we had plans for eleven, but I tried to work my way out of it. He seemed pretty set on having me over last night, as I expected he would, so I reluctantly went over there, leaving Kev in anticipation for my return. Well when I got there, I found out that we had apparently misunderstood one another or flasely assumed the other’s tone on the phone, and it turned out that he was just fine with me coming back in the morning instead. Who would’ve known? Brad isn’t ever okay with that sort of thing, he just sees it as a great opportunity to bitch about a new set of stupid things. Oh well, so I got back into Rick’s car, made a quick stop at 7 11, and came straight home to Kevin, and told him what happened. Then we started in on one of our fuck-fests, which started in the bedroom where I could partially see us in the mirror he just hung up on the wall, and then moved into the bathroom where I was bent over the counter standing and he stood slamming into me from behind, and then ended up in the hallway in front of the mirrors there on either wall, and then we were momentarily spent so we retired back into the bedroom to rest. Well, as it sometimes happens, that momentary recovery has lasted through the rest of the night and into the morning. I’ve lost the mood, and I spend a good part of each day fucking, which makes differences on my end that Kevin won’t ever understand and that I can’t expect him to. They’re just what I’m stuck with. Alone in knowing, I believe I called it in a previous entry in my last journal. So anyhow, he’s upstairs now instant messaging me from his cell phone and I’m downstairs with the laptop. I came down here because he complained that I was keeping him awake. That was about an hour ago, at five. He’d voiced frustrations on feeling restless and not being able to find sleep long before then, but I guess that eventually it became something to blame on me. Figures.
Oh, in other news…the Jerry Springer show called me and wanted me to be on their last show of the season, which was being filmed this Monday through Wednesday. No joke. It was a fuckin’ trip. Some lady named Mary that works for the show found my ad on Craig’s List and left me a voice mail on my cell telling me how she thought I was gorgeous and perfect for what they wanted to be in their season finale. I thought at first that maybe it was a prank, so I had Kevin listen to it and asked him what he thought. He said it sounded like it could very well be legitimate, which I agreed with. So, what the hell, I called her back. She wanted to know if I had someone I could bring with me to act out a storyline. An ex-boyfriend, a girlfriend, a boyfriend, a husband, anyone! She said that the storyline didn’t have to be real at all, that we could make something up. Guess that answers the question that everyone always asks about trashy talk shows like Springer…is it real? Nope. Apparently not. So anyways, the only person I could think of that would maybe come along was my mom. So I told Mary that my mom may want to be on the show with me. So she told me to call her and talk to her about it that evening and get back to her as soon as I had. So I called up my mom right away and told her what had happened, I explained everything, and asked her if she would come with me to be on the show. She was kinda freaked out at first, but then she saw the undeniable humor in it. We’ve both joked that our lives might as well be Jerry Springer episodes, for the longest time now. We both laughed at all that, and then she said that she’d do it. So the next morning, Mary called me back. Didn’t wait for me to get back to her. Told her that mom had agreed to go. She asked for my mom’s name and number, and contacted her. And I really didn’t talk to Mary much more after that at all, I left it up to mom who kind of naturally took over the operation. Somehow Dave got invited to go with us, because we needed a male part to make the drama. So Dave the Doorknob was going to play as himself, my mother’s boyfriend, and the big secret revealed was going to be that he and I had an affair together. That’s where the true hilarity is, because all of the make believe storyline that Mary and them worked up had all taken place in reality! My mom pointed this out to Mary on the phone and we all had a laugh over it. It was good stuff, Mary was eating it up and loving it. She had one of those voices that sounds distinctly “television”. So somehow my mom and Mary talked David into coming with us, and it was all set. We were to fly out of Eugene yesterday, Monday, and straight out to Chicago where our hotel, day of shopping, wardrobe, salon visits, entertainment, limo rides, and virutally anything we wanted aside from alcohol, was going to be fully covered, along with the airfaire of course. Sounded pretty fuckin’ fun, actually. But I, being the infamous flake that I am, backed out at the last minute. Just didn’t want to. Kind of regret not going now. I know it would have been fun, and it would have been a neat experience really. Even though it is really trashy daytime talk show television. It still would have been fun. And who knows, maybe someone more dignified and with more promising opportunities to offer would have seen me on the show and wanted me for some other more sophistocated production. That would’ve been cool. And besides, it just sounded like a fucking blast really. In a guilty pleasure sort of way. I thought that we’d run into a problem with flying since I have no picture ID right now. Neither does Dave. But I guess that my grandparents actually faxed my birth certificate to the Springer show and Mary had used it to work out all the details with the airlines, and we were set to go. But I flaked it off. Imagine that…
So anyhow, still very flattering that they sought me out like that and followed up on it so diligently, regardless of whether or not I actually decided to go. At least I can say that I was invited. Shit, I was practically harrassed by them. They wanted me on there bad. They thought I was great. They thought I was hot shit. Ha. Okay, getting slightly full of myself for a moment there.
Well, I had better get going. Have to go jump in the shower and get ready for Brad’s. Then I have a noon appointment in Lake Oswego. And hopefully I’m able to book most of the rest of the day. But to do that, I need to go put up an ad, so I’m off to do that now…
Catch ya on the flip side….
-Mona
And for those of you who’ve been good…yet another cheery, dreary disaster of a day
Well hello there.
You know what? This doesn’t surprise me, since I see what goes on behind the scenes in my own life (or at least for the most part), but this hasn’t been the most uplifting record of events so far. I wouldn’t have expected it to turn out any differently, though. Heh.
So this morning I went to Brad’s and actually showed up a half an hour early and woke him up. After that, I came home and screwed around online while taking my time as I got ready for my noon appointment in Lake Oswego. Went to that. After that, I got in touch with Billy and Marcus to hook up some dope for me. I drove to meet them at 102nd & Sandy Blvd. directly from my Lake Oswego job, and when I got there it turned out to be a way-too-long chunk of time that was spent doing nothing but that stupid tweaker run-around bull shit that I so despise. Fuck. I mean, first it’s no one has a scale. Then it’s this and that. A cop just drove down the street (imagine that!) so that means we have to abandon our current plan of action and make up a whole different fiasco to act out before we can all get a fix! It was fucking ridiculous. By the time we finally were at Billy’s apartment and they had the stuff, I was so tired and so irritated with the way things had gone all morning and into the afternoon, that I just took off in a stormy fucking mood after driving around the block like six fucking times looking for Marcus, who said he’d be there and wasn’t. At that point, I wasn’t even tempted to stick around any longer for the dope that just wasn’t worth all the bull shit to me then. Well, they called me and I screamed at Billy on the phone, telling him that I was taking off and headed home and that I didn’t want the fucking shit, I was tired to begin with and all the stupid tweaker shit they had put me through had been quite enough. Then I hung up. So they called me back like three or four more times. The first few times, I sent it straight to voice mail. The fourth or so time, I finally picked up. They said they’d come to me, wherever I was, to get it to me. And he apologized. He sounded sincere, and so I cooled down a little and all of a sudden a plan came together in my head. I was driving Rick’s car, of course, and I was supposed to be at his place at four-thirty today for another session in exchange for the car for another day, and then I was going to drop him off at work for the night, as is our custom. Well, I was so exhausted when I was on the phone with Billy that I just asked him to put Marcus on the phone and told him to meet me at Rick’s. I just didn’t feel up to inching my way through rush hour all the way from here to Gresham and then back again. Nor did I really feel up to making Rick (or anyone else for that matter) happy on top of all that traffic shit. So I asked Marcus if he’d give me a ride home after I dropped off Rick’s car, since he had my mother’s Taurus.Which means that I really don’t have to ask at all, he’s driving my mother’s car around and so he can’t say no. It might as well be mine when I’m present. Anyway, we had to take this chick to her house over on Killingsworth to drop her off. I don’t know who the hell she is, some friend of Billy’s or something who just got into the car when Marcus and I went out to take me home and got in like we were some fucking cab service. I as a total bitch all the way to her place where we dropped her. And it was right after that, that Marcus and I started one of our nostalgic scenes. He started scketching on cops (not that there were any around) and freaked out about me without my seat belt on. He told me to put it on. I had my hands full and I was busy with more important shit than his tweak-paranoia, and so I told him no, not to worry about it, and to just pay attention to the road and drive. So he freaks the fuck out and pulls over abruptly declaring that he’s not going to move the car until I put it on. So now the fuckin’ war is on, right? Because what the hell is he, my fuckin’ dad? I’m a fucking adult, and he can’t play power games with me like that. Especially not over a fucking seat belt, of all things. So then we were playing the game to see which one of us could wait it out the longest. I sat in the car, having moved into the dirver’s seat when he got out of the car to go into the little store of the parking lot we were planted in. He took the keys with him, of course. So I think we ended up spending nearly a goddamn hour sitting there doing nothing. Him outside with the keys, and me inside refusing to move from the driver’s side and paging through the owner’s manual looking for instructions on how to get to the fuse panel, which I succeded in doing. Nabbed a couple fuses that, according to the chart in the manual, were pretty crucial. You know, turn signals and what not. What probably pissed me off more than anything else was that he wouldn’t let me drive! I’m the one with a fucking driver’s lisence, and he’s most certainly not. Goddamn him, I swear to god sometimes when wer’e together now and this sort of eruption comes about, I think it picks right back up where we left off when we were together, in terms of intensity and the extremes to which everything is taken, emotionally and physically. It’s fucking hopeless. So finally I get out, sweating and even more irritated for the last hour or so I spent boiling in a fucking car with all the windows up because dick face was on a power trip. I’d already been seriously pissed about having to drive that dumb bitch all over the fucking city before we could head to my house. So I got out and went to the payphone, and called my mom. I just went off as soon as she picked up on the other line. Didn’t even explain what was going on or what the hell I was talking about. Just dove right straight into it, telling her what bull shit it is that Marcus gets the keys to her house and her car to use as he pleases when all he does is hit her in the fucking neck, and I help her with everything she could possibly ever need or ask me for, all the fucking time, wihtout ever getting even some consideration or moral support, friendship even, in return. I said I just wanted the fucking keys so that I could go home, that was all I wanted. And he wouldn’t give me the keys. I wanted to drive, but he wouldn’t let me because he was on a power trip, and I was the one with a licesnse which meant that if either of us were to get pulled over, I’d be the safer bet as far as not getting it towed. (Hell, I didn’t tell her this but I got pulled over driving her car just a couple of nights ago, gave them the bull shit story about being insured as a driver to transport between cities for my dad who owns a dealership down at the coast, and they let me go with nothing but a fucking verbal warning. Ha! But I found out just a little later that day, that Marcus had went and snitched on me to her. Little fucking loser). So my mom gathers the gist of it, and says that I can have the keys. I tell Marcus what she is saying as I am on the phone with her, I tell him to hand over the fucking keys. So, to be a bitch and because it was absoltuely true, I then put my mouth back to the receiver and told mom what she surely already had known, that Marcus was about to call from the same payphone as soon as I hung up with her and ask her or Dave for a ride. To my sick pleasure, she asked me to let Marcus know that she couldn’t come get him right now because she didn’t have her other car. Ha, so I found out later that he ended up walking. Ha, ha! Sorry, but that felt way too good. Guess I won that one. I came home and mom’s car is still stiting parked out in front of the house. Haven’t heard from her, I think it’s pretty safe to bet that she doesn’t need it anytime soon
Where I left off last night…
Hey there, okay so as you can see last night I just abandoned my writing here. I got too tired to really see the screen. Ha, ha.
Anyways, I said most of what I had to say about yesterday. But there was one other thing worth mentioning that I was going to include. When I was driving to meet Marcus and Billy on Sandy Blvd. right after I got out of my Lake Oswego appointment, it just hit me out of nowhere that I actually really loved being me. Well, actually what I mean to say is I love being “Mona.” I love being Ashly too, certainly. But here lately, as some very good reviews have been posted on the Craig’s List Review Board for me, I’ve definitely gained some serious “hype.” And I mean serious. The client I went to visit in LO yesterday was a new customer that I was meeting for the first time. He was asking me some questions about what it’s like to work as an escort, and what my clients were generally like, and he at one point in the conversation said that I was like a fucking movie star in business in Portland. And you know what? He’s not all that far off. I mean, it’s like being famous. I have guys who try and try to get a hold of me without success, and when I finally get back to them, you should hear some of the reactions I get!! When they pick up the phone and I say that it’s me, Mona from Craig’s List, it’s one of the weirdest and coolest things ever. It’s like if Carmen Elecktra called back any of her fans that leave her voice mail and told them it was her when they picked up…I mean, she has to know that she’s about to hear them freak out, kiss her ass, and shower her with compliments and other flattery. She would know that she just made their day, and they’d openly admit it. A couple of people who I’ve called back recently have been really good ones! Like, just the other day I called back a guy who’d been ringing my phone off the hook for days and when I told him who I was, he started laughing and shouting out and then when he calmed down for a moment, he said: “Mona! This is like winning the lottery!” No shit! I mean, seriously. I’ve been Mona for a long time now…close to a year. She’s just developed into this amazing thing. It’s truly like being an actor, she’s my stage name and we’re in the limelight for the first time. I somehow have gone from being everyone’s favorite junkie to publicly cucify and torture on the boards, who has no notoriety for anything other than using needles, and is an outcast who’s flaws are feasted on so heartily that their attributes are overlooked, to being some glamorized, controversial, honest, talented, experienced, gorgeous, idol of sorts, some kind of legend that everyone desires. It’s fuckin’ heavy shit. It feels really good. It’s so different than what I’m used to, in many very big ways. So I was coming over the Marcum bridge when this hit me yesterday afternoon and it just felt awesome. It was bright outside and I had all the windows rolled down, my hair was blowing completely wild in the wind and I’m racing over the bridge like I’m going right into hell, like I see the tracks in front of me and I have to win even though I’m the only one in this race, travelling at the speed of time, right towards death. I looked over to my right at the sprawling metropolis of downtown Portland. And I felt like I was part of it now. I knew its streets, its buildings, its people, its four different sides as different from one another as separate planets and the countless bridges that take you into each of them, breaching the water of the river that divides the city. The Rose City. I felt like it was mine. And it was. And the best part of it, was that I knew what it looked like at nighttime too. And I’m part of all that goes on in the night. The unseen sphere of crime and debauchery. I am part of that world. And it’s mine. It gives me a rush, it’s absolutely intoxicating to feel so wanted by so many people of different walks of life, and to feel so gorgeous and confidant, and to know that I’m known of, that people talk about me. That my picture is out there and everyone knows who Mona is. She’s me. I’m her. This is Mona.
The only other thing worth mentioning from yesterday, which I had said when writing last night had not been a good day at all (aside from feeling famous for a few minutes and liking it) is that I missed in my right arm really bad. Got a big scary looking lump now. Went in my other big vein over there, not The Mother Vein, as mom always called that vein on anyone that is the one to hit most of the time. Look on both of your arms. Find that one in the crook of either of them, the one that is largest, easiest to see, that pumps up beautifully and sticks the farthest out from your skin when you hold it off. That’s the mother vein. But mine was tired from the recent wear and tear there, so I gambled it and went for the other one, which should be almost just as easy to hit, really. But I know myself, and I know my veins, and I know these hands and how they hold a needle, like I know these eyes that can hardly be kept open at the sight of the poke. I knew it wasn’t going to be a great success, and I was right. Oh well. I just hope it goes away on its own and doesn’t abscess.
Well I think that’s all for now.
Writings and a Return Appearance
Well…now it’s quiet in my head. Just a moment ago, there was chaos. It was building and building, building up to what was just concluded, and now it’s silence vibrating with the echo that it left behind, that rings in your ears, for moments after they have disappeared.
I feel emptied. Not hollowed. But emptied of those things which had to come out. I thought when I sat down that there was more for me to say…but none of it was what just showed up on my screen right here in front of me. *shrug* Sometimes it likes to show, that I sometimes really don’t know.
(The ‘writings’ part of the title of this entry refers to the various poems, prose & other writings of mine that are relatively recent, and that I have not shared with anyone, save maybe one or two very close friends. I would like to post some of them here. Just so that they are out there. In the world, I mean. So that if they were to be found by someone, read by anyone, they can be. That’s all. I will do it gradually, woulnd’t want to do it all at once.
-m_a_n_i_C
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