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Evilgirl28666 (profile) wrote,
on 7-13-2006 at 11:18am
Current mood: sore
Music: Eve 6- Anytime
Subject: i havent updated in a while...this should pretty much cover it.
Wednesday, May 24th, 2006 (this was written)



You: I already know everything, you don’t have to explain.

Me: I planted lies.

I was hoping the other night would help you straighten out.

The other night? Something you heard from tom?

I’ve heard a lot of things from a bunch of different people lately, including yourself.

None of its true…basically.



Me: I had my reasons…nothing worked though. Hear anything good?

You: I’ve heard some great stories.

Like? Tell me.

I’m pretty sure not all of them are true, but I know some are.

Like what?

I don’t know.

I’d like to hear the result of the past six months. I almost feel like explaining it to you, but I’m not because it’s not worth it and you don’t want to hear.

I kind of do want to hear.

I kind of want you to hear. Oh, I decided that with my new found time of soberness that I’m writing a book and going to college.

I’ve decided I’m not going to college. You feel like telling?

I thought you had this whole plan though.

No, I had an idea. And ideas change. A lot. I think I’ve changed a lot lately.

I haven’t existed enough to change.




You: So how’s the coke business anyways.

I was wondering if you were going to mention that.

Yea, I decided to.

Why did you decided to?

Because I kind of want to hear the last 6 months of your life and I figured by me bringing that up you'd start to talk about it and it would continue from there.

Why do you think that coke has anything to do with anything, I’m curious of your opinion.

Because it does. Does it not?

Why do you think it does?

I don’t think you’d enjoy my reasoning

I don’t care. I want to know your opinion.

Well I do. So I’m not sharing it.

You have no reason not to.

Sure I do.

Like what.

Because I don’t want to?

I know you know. I just want to read it for myself.

No, maybe ill tell you some other time. Right now is not the time though.




I’m still waiting for that “some other time” to come up. It hasn’t. I am so used to telling you everything that I will tell you about this. Just indirectly. Many days from now, when I put a copy of this into a large white envelope and stick it between your screen door and the wooden one of your house, maybe you’ll read it. Maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll be too afraid to read it, it will just sit undisturbed for years, the writing will fade, and you will never know the full extent that you have impacted my life. Might as well leave this to chance. Since everything so far has been luck, or the lack of luck.

I am also sorry that I just can’t get over the fact that you dumped me for a friend. Not that this was the first. Other times you just stopped talking to me. I can understand, don’t worry. Writing this seems like, I am obsessed with you. I’m not. You were just the only person that I trusted in my life up to that point. (Not that I’ve found someone to fill that) It still echo’s in my head, “ I don’t want to tell you.” “Just tell me I promise I won’t go anywhere”

Remember when I started ranting about floors. You deciphered my words. “What am I supposed to do, sometimes the floor is there, and sometimes it isn’t. Other times I’m just falling never knowing if the floor will ever come back or if I am going to slam into it.” You said something about how “floors…also known as friends” shouldn’t leave. I don’t remember it exactly, which I am sure I will find occurring throughout the following, but I am trying my best.

I apologize in advance because I have a lot to say and it might all start with “remember when…”

Me confiding in you goes way back than just six months. More like two years. I can remember the first time trust was mentioned in our conversations. We were walking down Cabot Street to your house. I remember telling you that I don’t trust anyone. You said you trusted one person. A girl. Courtney? I don’t remember who it was.


I’m reading this journal that I kept online. Most of my entries have you in them. “haven’t seen him in…two days.” “he hasn’t talked to me in six days.” “its been two weeks” That happened a lot. I guess you got to take me in small doses or something. There was on day, in September, we were talking on the phone. You used to randomly call me sometimes. We were talking and I don’t know how it happened or what we were talking about but I told you that I thought about killing myself a couple times. I hung up because I had never told anyone that ever. It wasn’t ok to share my feelings. I was a freshman in high school. Confused, gothic, and I had just got out of St. Mary’s. The hell of my past. Everyone hated me and made fun of me. There was no confiding in anyone. There was no rest from the constant hate from other people. It still has a grip on me. That I am fat and I am not good looking. Stupid, worthless, anything that was degrading. I don’t know if I will ever get over that. Story of my life. Emotional Scarring.

Anyways…I hung up, put shoes on, told my mom I was going out, and left my house running.

“ :: 2004 16 September :: 9.44 pm


Let me try n make this easy to understand. there is a park right next to the beach. and there are several beaches, even though not all connecting because of rocks and there is a wall that stretches between them. and also right next to that wall is a really bad path of rocks u can climb on when its low tide.

well i was sitting at the park and he rode up on his bike. i wasnt really in a normal state of mind. kinda of floating between reality and the inside of myself. there was him talking i dont really remember some parts because i was jumping out of the worlds.

then

run get away run stop leave bad things will happen dont talk

so yeah. i left. he followed. i moved to the sand because i heard him mention something about how he cant ride his bike on the sand.

so i went to the sand. and the only way was toward the rocks. for the most part i can only remember the rocks and my feet just keep moving. he pulledmy shirt. it was weird how surreal it seemed. like it wasnt really happening. like i was pretending it was happening and as i think of it now im still scared that i am really still sitting on that rock.

but yeah. i finnally stopped. the wall ended n it was about a 6ft drop to the ground which since the tide came in a bit was soaked. i still cant believe he walked all that way. in the water with his bike. he said it was freezing but i dont remember feeling it.

then after we got past the wall n down to the beach we sat on a rock for a while.
i probably said a couple stupid things. but nothing much happened. his hand was so warm when it touched my head. that kinda shook me out of my dazy state.

then there was an aquward silence walk home

and now i think he thinks i am some crazy freak.
i didnt want that to happen.”


That was my journal entry from that day I am going to assume. I have gone back to the wall that I “remember” climbing and its not there. I don’t know what the hell happened that day. Apperently you didn’t know or feel like dealing with it either:

:: 2004 22 September :: 6.53 am
:: Mood: crushed
:: Music: our lady peace: not enough

got a big fucking case of morning depression.
joyjoy.
i thought u were gonna be fucking there for me now, at least a little. but no, now u know the truth, yeah im an unstable fucking insane person and im sorry about that, wouldnt be this way if i fucking could. DAMNIT
you know things that fucking no one else EVER does. but no u try to get in, i let u in and now u fucking avoid me. WHAT THE HELL
you wonder why i have a big fucking deal of problems trusting people well you just added to that. thanks a whole fucking lot.
you know, maybe i wanted someone down here with me, its very lonely. yeah lonely. people dont fucking like me. they like the presto-alison that i present to them from 8am-3pm and later when needed. yeah thats fucking right.
THATS NOT ME THAT THEY KNOW.
you wonder why i hesatae on telling u fucking anything. CUZ SHIT LIKE THIS HAPPENDS.
you know, im not trying to be a bitch
but when u fucking act like you CARE at least ALITTLE FUCKING BIT it fucking kinda gets my hopes up that everyone in the world isnt a fucking bastard.
but no, you wanted to know me
you wanted to know things that no one else does
YOU WANTED to
wasnt my decision
you wanted to

and now where are you?
your fucking hiding.
you think i liked telling you what i used to do to myself? fuck no
not after the way u treated that girl who did the same thing.
i know we did it for different reasons and mine werent to fuck with your head. mine were becuase my head was the one that was fucked with
i thought i knew you, at least a little
i thought u fucking knew me, and u wanted to know more when u WOULDNT FUCKING TELL ME how ur fucking life is.
i opened up when u wouldnt even.
and now where are you?
sitting at ur fucking house
not even talking to me like we used to
holy fuck
thanks alot
makes me feel a whole lot better
lemme tell ya.....


It took you about a week and a half to recover from that.

I’m starting to think this story is becoming a confession or something, the truth to all my lies. Truth, that was a big thing with you as trust was a big thing to me.

I have to figure out why I can’t let you go. I don’t know. Even as I sit here. All coked out, my mind racing I can’t figure out why. I know some minor reasons. Well I am going to stop procrastinating. Here it is. I tried coke because of you. In my brain I somehow connected your sister’s addiction to it as a way in. I figured, hey, you talk to your sister even though you were pissed at her for doing coke. So maybe you’ll talk to me. I don’t know. This is just a little insight to the kind of logic my brain basis its reasoning on.
A few weeks into the semester, late September early October I was taking advanced photo for the second time. I really love photo and being in the photo room. It was my little escape during the 6 hours of torture known as school. I knew a couple people in the class, and I sometimes am in a mood to meet knew people. There was one girl who I knew, just from seeing her around. She usually walked to school in front of me and smoked a butt before class started. Ana Tassone. I thought she was a pretty cool person when I saw her in photo so I decided to talk to her. We were the slacker team in photo. It was awesome having someone who I could be in the darkroom with and not feel like a loser or something. One day after school I found myself walking to her house, about 2 blocks from the school. She lived off of Story Ave, which I was vaguely familiar with from a girl I used to know Alex Chandler. Her friend Jon was sleeping on the couch. I just accepted everything that I saw. Her house was about as messy as mine is when my mom isn’t in her psychotic clean phase. Mismatched furniture and just oddball stuff everywhere. “Is it cool?” Jon directed toward Ana even though he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at something in his hand. A small bag. I couldn’t see what was in it. Ana put a c.d. case on the table, “Yeah, she’s cool with it.”
I had no idea what was going on. He opened this really small bag and a pile of white powder came out and slide onto the c.d. case. He started chopping it into a finer powder. I had talked to Ana about my curiosity with cocaine, but not to the extent that I had wanted to try it. He gave the c.d. case to Ana. She took a straw from out of her purse and the line disappeared. She giggled, something that I will always remember. Ana giggling. Jon took the c.d. case back and cut himself two lines. He snorted one. He snorted the other. He started chopping up the rest of the pile. In a few minutes there was a (looking back on it now) rather small line. Staring up at me. I looked at both of them, confused. I was being offered my first line.
I have forgotten many of the times that I’ve snorted. But ill never forget that first time. I was so nervous that I when I went to sniff I didn’t even hold the other side of my nose. Only half of it went up. I breathed in to get you back. I did it to get you mad. I made this choice to try and somehow get you back. No matter how slim the chances were I made this choice thinking about you the whole 3 seconds, and probably the longest three seconds of my life. I think this is extremely ironic because when that first wave of euphoria hit me you were the first thing washed off my mind. Everything was just gone. It was just me, sitting on a couch, with two people I didn’t know that well, with something I’ve yelled at people for even thinking about doing.

I picked up the straw and blew another line. The house could have been on fire, the world ending, anything…and I was perfectly fine. Content. Happy. This is something so many people take for granted but it is something I only experience briefly. All the shit I’ve had to worry about, school, work, home life, all the stress was just pushed away. The only other thing that was remotely close to this was the relief of S.I. It is something that I will not go into detail about, because I believe it is now in my past. Something I am over and no longer depend on even though there are days when it seems like a good alternative to dealing with pain.
About 15 minutes later I was back to my normal, moody, depressed self. Contemplating quitting my job, dropping out, leaving the country. The usual things. But this break I got from life wasn’t something I was going to forget about.
Pretty soon my whole paycheck was going to this. One hundred dollars a week for two grams of “motivation”. In the beginning it was Ana, Jon, and myself. We’d chill at Ana’s house after school. Snort a couple lines. They smoked cigarettes a lot too. One morning my mom woke me up for school as usual. Six thirty I dragged myself into the shower. I always felt a little extra shitty the day after I blew a lot. My nose would be all crusty and my head would ache. The water poured down and I started to wake up a little. I decided to turn it up, so it was really hot. The bathroom was foggy and full of moisture. I started rubbing my nose to try and get all the gunk out. All of a sudden I got a strange, yet familiar taste in my mouth. There was blood spattered all over me. It took me a few seconds to realize that my nose was bleeding. Now I have had nosebleeds before, but I was almost certain of the cause of this one. Over all I think I have had only 3 or 4 nosebleeds from doing too much coke. I also have never had my nose bleed while sniffing, which makes me wonder if it’s actually from snorting too much. Anyways, I waited for the bleeding to slow enough for me to wash my hair and get out of the shower without spattering blood everywhere. It was odd. I had a ringing in my ears from the sudden silence. Water slowly drained out of my hair with a pitter-patter rhythm on the floor next to my feet. I stared at myself. Naked, with blood covering the lower right half of my face. I had gotten a great set of dark circles under my eyes. My skin was pale and pasty, nothing unusual but I was just noticing more closely. I must have stood there for fifteen twenty minutes looking at my face, watching the blood dry, and feeling my nose try and clot itself.

(Wednesday, June 21st)

I consider doing blow with Ana the first time. Technically it wasn’t. I actually wasn’t going to even write about this event but something felt wrong about it. About two weeks before I did it with Ana I had “tried“ some from someone else. Jaycee and Jamie were over and she had been talking to this guy Henshaw about it. She left my house to meet up with him and get it. After about 30 outgoing calls to her cell phone she returned. She didn’t bring any back, but instead she told me that she did it with him. I was kind of pissed because the reason she had left was to get some for all of us. Anyway, about thirty minutes after that he came and picked us up. We drove to some remote part of Beverly that I doubt ill ever be able to find again. He pulled out a bag, which only from experience I can now say was probably the equal vent to three or four eight balls. I don’t know what it was cut with but it was really weak stuff. Too bad I didn’t know what I do now back then, but everyone has to learn at one point. I bought a “40 bag” from him because I didn’t feel comfortable doing it in front of him for some reason, otherwise he probably would have given some to me for free. I of course had no idea what I was doing and actually ended up dumping the rest out on my walk to school the next day.
There is a group of people I consider the stoners of Beverly. They consist of Joe, Greg, Barbara, Dave, Kim, Nikki, Tom, Tim, Dana, Phil, Chris, Henshaw, and Katie. I excluded last names for a reason. These are the people you will find at Dane St. when there is nothing else to do. These are the people, who, that try as I might not to rag on them, are the biggest drama lovers in the world. Don’t get me wrong, I love them to death, well, most of them, but I doubt these people have big plans for their lives. But like hell, they are one group of party animals. Then there is the group that I love to death. They just make me feel comfortable and it’s great. Ana, Molly, Jamie, Jaycee, Matt, and Eddie. I’ll elaborate on my group after I explain an event that happened before I became friends with Eddie and Matt. Not an event but, more like a person.
The stoner group got introduced to J.P. This twenty-two year old that I guess, according to the latest rumor then, just got out of prison. He was a good six to eight inches taller than me and a good fifty to seventy pounds bigger than me. He was a little chubby, but it was evenly mixed muscle and fat. I was at a point where I looked out for myself, used other people to get what I wanted when I wanted it. I also made sure that I surrounded myself with big people to take care of me. Coke has taught me how to manipulate the crap out of people. So I, therefore, targeted J.P. as someone who I needed to make myself known to. At the time Kim was dating Dana, and I used this to my advantage. J.P. was good friends with Dana and I threw myself into the conversation he was having about not having enough time with Dana because his girlfriend was a bitch. I used a few witty remarks, couple two, three insults and I had J.P. interested. A few day after I got a call from Phil, asking if I wanted to hang out with him and J.P. I said sure and a few minutes later Phil was outside in the minivan waiting for me to come out. I acted all girly and shy and giggly and J.P. bought into it. Soon he was in the backseat next to me with his arm around me. Not exactly what I was going for but it couldn’t hurt. I was afraid of him to. I act like I am tough but I know I probably couldn’t win a fight with someone my own size, let alone some tall, big, obviously been in serious fights before guy.
We hung out a few times, mostly either in Phil’s van or in Dave’s house (the party house). He soon had me kissing him when I saw him for the first time that day, or before I left. I don’t kiss people. It is almost a known fact. I absolutely despise the thought of kissing someone. It was made even worse because of all the things I have heard about J.P. Like him giving guys blow jobs who have herpes or something. There is also a rumor that he has butt cancer from receiving too many times from the wrong guy. He also bragged about how he loved to eat girls out. Of course when he told me this, I giggled and blushed like I was supposed to do, and on the inside I was mentally hurling over and over again. I soon found out Phil’s reason for putting up with J.P. Phil was trying to deal coke. I had picked up a few know-how’s along the way and I tried to explain to Phil that dealing coke was not something you make a huge profit in unless you are way the hell high up on the dealing scale, which a seventeen year old junior in high school wasn’t going to achieve anytime soon. Phil, J.P. and two younger boys and myself were on a burn run, when J.P. gets a call. “EVERYONE SHUT THE HELL UP” The car seemed like it turned off its radio. No one disobeyed J.P. or you lost a couple teeth. We drove to some house and J.P. got out of the car and about ten minutes later he was in the back with me. I was sitting very close to him (not by choice) and I could tell that he hadn’t showered in days. I was busy trying to inch my way toward the window when I noticed that he was touching something in his hand. An eight ball. He gave me the “honor” of holding it for a few minutes. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead and he opened the bag onto a book cover. A few medium size rocks fell out. Enough to make my stomach clench and my legs press together. I didn’t move. I had been fiending for days, having already blown throw my paycheck days earlier (both figuratively and literally). I watched goose bumps appear on my arms and below my neck all the way down to where the low cut line of my shirt started. He noticed but pretended not to. He munched on one of the rocks and a few seconds later he smashed his fist through the side of the car. I froze. He picked up his phone and dialed a number. “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO THIS I’M GONNA … HELLO?! … HELLO?! He hung up and just sat there. He turned to me, “Ally, babe, taste one of these rocks for me.” I reached my pointer finger and got a rock to stick to my skin. I held it between my fingers and bit it in half. My tongue was filled with a strong bitter cocaine taste, and then it was cut short by a sickeningly salty taste. I looked at the rock and it had an white powdery packed shell with a bright pink inside. “I think this is laced with H…” I almost cried right then and there. Heroin was not something I did. Suddenly a flash from something I read online came up. “J.P.?” I cooed, “I don’t think it’s H” He looked at me for a second, confused on two things. One that I was contradicting him, two that it sounded like I had something intelligent to say. He lifted his chin, allowing me to continue. I gulped, “I am pretty sure it is speed.” He looked at me, at the bag, at the rocks and powder in from of him, and then ate another rock. “Well, selling coke laced with speed is one thing. Selling it laced with H is a no-no.” He laughed, “Hey Phil, I’m going to take a couple lines out of this, alright?” As if Phil had a choice. First Phil was driving, and secondly Phil is one of the shortest and skinniest boys around Beverly. I still think he is one of the greatest people to hang out with and he is always wicked funny. J.P. could kill Phil if he really felt like it. J.P. probably poured out about a gram and glared at me not to say anything. He cut it into about equally into 4 lines. I did two and he did two. I felt crazy. The coke was just magnified by the speed. I started tweaking out. J.P. put his hand on my thigh. That did not help. I told Phil that I needed to go home. J.P. told me no, but I told him that I was supposed to be home an hour earlier anyway so he let me leave.
The last time I hung out with him was at Dave’s house. I was doing lines upstairs with Kim and Joe and he came upstairs. He blew a tiny line and grabbed me by the shoulders outside of the room Kim and Joe were in.
“DON’T YOU DARE TELL ANYONE THAT I JUST DID THAT! YOU HEAR?” That scared me a little bit.
Like I said before. That was the last time I hung out with him. Everyone slowly got fed up with him and eventually he was assumed to have had a part in Phil getting robbed. I see him, now and then. I was supposed to call him a few days ago. He wanted me to go over. His girlfriend probably broke up with him and he was looking for sex or something. Lucky me. I’ll never let myself get into an abusive relationship. Thanks to him I’ll be able to look for the signs. I know they have support groups for women who are abused by their husbands or boyfriends and can’t find the strength to get out of it. I can understand that some woman might think that their husbands or whatever might love them or that they might deserve it. I’d rather punish myself with solitude then have someone who was supposed to love me beat me every night.
After J.P. got out of my life I really started becoming good friends with Ana, Jon, and Molly. The details of like, November to December are very vague. I started getting into the hard core partying scene. Staying “over Ana’s” Friday and Saturday night. A.K.A. getting drunk out of my mind wherever I could with whomever I could.
One Friday, after school got out, I went over to Ana’s like usual. Jon was being weird and I really wanted two bags. I gave him my entire paycheck, one hundred bucks, and he took off to get the coke. I haven’t seen him since. He stop being friends with Ana.


Quick jump to the present.
Tuesday, July 11th.

During a break from the torrential down-pouring of the rain outside, when the sun was out I, of course, was at work when I randomly felt the urge to turn around. For no reason whatsoever, aside from your sudden need for shaving cream, you were behind me. I honestly could have died from a heart attack right then and there. The third time you were in my work during the course of a year and a couple months. (I don’t keep track I just know) My hands were shaking so bad and a million things were racing through my head to do.
Run Away.
Tell you about the book.
Melt into the floor, drip into the ground and end up somewhere far away.
Charge you less for what you were buying.
Say something
Say nothing

I don’t know. I was so unnerved by what was happening that I zoned out of my surroundings. If there was a siren for the end of the world I wouldn’t have heard it. I didn’t know what to feel, happy or angry. I didn’t know. I didn’t want to blink for fear of unknown consequences that might arise from it.

And then you were gone.

Your car sounds worse than mine.

Your hair was at the length that I like the best.

And your eyes didn’t have the dark circles that I was used to seeing.


Without Jon I didn’t really know what to do. I was at a dilemma because he got good stuff. I didn’t want to waste my money on crappy coke. That was the worse situation.

One drunken night at Dane St. with Jaycee I met Eddie. He was hanging out with Joe. He was talking to Jaycee when she wrapped her hands around the back of his neck and drew him into a kiss. I, being drunk and overprotective, called him a “stupid Mexican” (I am not racist, I was drunk), and pushed him away from her. Recalling on how I met him with Eddie sometimes embarrasses me because he doesn’t understand that I was drunk.
Seems I make a lot of mistakes when I am fucked up.

Kim, originally, was Eddie’s friend. They hung out so much. One night, it was snowing out and they picked me up. We drove, parked, and turned the car off. It was quiet. He cut some lines and the lines were blown. Other things happened but I am going to choose to exclude them. You can ask me if you really wish to know. But I am not going to type them.



Back to the present. Same day. Well night. It’s 11:35 and I just blew every bit of coke that I have. I wish the drip was stronger. It’s settling right in the front of my head and if I really wanted to I could forget why I am typing this. In about 5 minutes I am going to want more. Fuck that I want more right now. So much more. I regret sharing what I had with Jamie and Jaycee today. I am going to be clenching my teeth all night. I hope Rosanne is on. I like watching that when I am trying to sleep but I know its not going to happen. My Dad’s warrant for his arrest goes out Friday.


Alright, the next big event in my history happens on one day that is really cold out. I somehow ended up staying out all night two nights in a row. I think it was St. Patrick’s weekend. Ana, Molly, and myself had gotten and supplied liquor to so many people. Ana basically had a small business running in her house. We were at this guy Jimmy’s party on a street off of Cabot. Late Eddie came and picked the three of us up and Ashley. Ana, for the only time ever puked. We had to bring her home. After smoking a couple bowls Eddie brought Molly, Ashley, and me back to Jimmy’s house. I was drunk out of my mind and, for some reason, flirting with this one boy who’s name I am choosing to exclude. He kept having me drink more, and eventually, around 3 in the morning more pot was brought out and I was baked and drunk. Eventually the lights went out and the TV. was just left on playing rap. There were about six or seven boys passed out in the living room and then myself. I was on the longer of the two couches with the boy I had been flirting with earlier. My left hand was being moved into going into his pants. I didn’t do things like this. I never had, but, being a 17 year old intoxicated female with low self esteem being wanted was something new still. I went along with it until I felt that the thin layer of clothing between my hand and what was in his pants being removed. I then proceeded to pass out, not necessarily caring about what happened.

I do remember feeling him brushing a piece of hair out of my face though.

When I woke up the next morning I was laying on the couch with him on the outside of me sleeping. I pushed his legs onto the floor so I could get up. People were already cleaning. He didn’t wake up for a while. Molly and I left and went to my house so I could shower, get the car, and bring her to her house so she could shower.

I don’t remember what we did during the day but I picked Ana up from work and told my mom I was sleeping out again. (I did that often, usually not sleeping at my house for Friday/Saturday night) We went back to Jimmy’s house. I guess what happened was that his mom was out of the country. There were a lot of people there and people were being assholes outside of his house too. Beeping and revving their engines. Ana, Molly, and myself were packing a bowl and had just lit it when the cops showed up. There was a knocking on the door and everyone panicked. I was one of the last people to get out of the apartment. It was on the third floor. There was a narrow staircase down to the fenced in, small, paved, backyard. When I got outside I saw flashlights from around the corner and I turned quickly to go the other way. Kids were hopping rooftops to get out. Jimmy was gone, no one knew where he went or how he got out. I, again, was shit-faced and when I turned to run back into the house I slipped and fell. I tore my pants and my knee was bleeding badly. I still have the bruises. And the pants. My hand was stinging. I was caught along with 5 or 6 other kids. The cops asked us a few questions and let us leave. I followed the kids until I realized that one: I had left my backpack that had my wallet, money, house key, school books, pot, and liquor in it. Two: that I couldn’t go home without my backpack, and bleeding freely at 12-1 in the morning, and three: Ana and Molly were still in there. I debated going to Kim’s house for the night. I decided to wait and see what they did with all the kids.
The happiest site was to see Ana and Molly and a couple other kids I knew walking away from the house with my backpack. I was lucky. We walked to my work and I cleaned myself up a little bit. I am pretty sure I spent the night at Molly’s house and went back home the next day. Crazy stuff.
Everything between then and when Ana started dating Cory is a fucked up blur. I can remember staying out all night and spending the night at Cory’s house. I can’t remember if I was drunk or not. I know I was baked. I had bought two bags from Eddie and we blew monster lines before he brought us to Cory’s house. Cory lives about 15-20mins away. We went into his house and of course blew more. I settled into his couch and Ana and him went in his bedroom and shut the door. For an unknown reason I blow more. Suddenly I am wrapped around the toilet puking my brains out. I had lovely background music in-between emptying my stomach’s contents. The small bathroom was bright white, giving me a headache and the smell of stomach acid kept me feeling like I was going to puke again. I thought I was going to die. My heart was racing. I looked my absolute worse. I got a flash, I don’t know what else I can call it, of me being in a whore house in some crappy neighbor hood, selling myself off for some crack or something and puking my insides out after lowering my standards to some greasy fat man who was easily older than my father. Surprisingly I am still waiting for that moment in my life when I reach the bottom. Have a self-changing experience, changing for the better, experience for the worst.
During the past couple weeks I moved toward that flash. I agreed to do things for coke with two different guys. I was drunk in both situations and just wanted coke so badly. I was also to drunk to realize at the time how pathetic I have become. On the fourth of July I let myself get drunk to the point where I gave a different guy, who I knew from school, head for no reason besides the fact that his girlfriend wouldn’t bang him so he needed to get some action for himself else where. He was sober, I was drunk, he cheated on his girlfriend, and of course I am getting shit for it. I told you about this earlier today (the 12th…well almost the 13th its so late)
I talked to you today. It was probably one of the happier, sober moments I have had all summer. Yeah I wish that I could rewind two years to when I met you. So many things that I’d change. Not just with you, so many things. I don’t even want to list them all.
Probably the only person who I would ever consider trusting after you told me that he tried to kill himself during the beginning of the summer. I wish I could convince him that everything will be alright, but its tough when I am looking on my past with such a lack of “things will get better”.

Two guys that I used to be/am good friends with got locked up. One for coke, another for not being able to deal with shit. I almost feel responsible. Like I could have done something different to help them. But no I am a slave to my addiction.

Am I addicted?

I smoke cigs too now. Marlboro Red’s if you’re thinking of a useful Christmas present that isn’t money to be turned into coke. But I could stop with that whenever I want. That’s what everyone says right? Pretty funny.

What is even funnier to me is that I got bored with pot. Now and then I will have an urge to smoke a blunt, but nothing is as good as coke. Except things in combination with it.

Well my writing caught up with today. I am writing about what’s happening now as I experience it. I got paid so much this week and I want it all to go to blow. Screw going to concerts I want to get high. Sounds shitty I know.

My mom told me that she knew I slept out at Dane St. one night (which I did), she said that she knew I was doing coke, smoking, and getting drunk (which I do). She said she knew that I was selling myself for drugs (which I’ve done). She also didn’t do anything about it. Just kind of holding it against me. I am not really sure why. Maybe she feels bad because of all the shit with my dad.



its not done yet...
but yeah.
i would love comments.
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