07 Sep 2008

Happy Birthday to yo...OW MOTHERFUCKER...FUCK!!
Current mood: sore
Category: possibly dying of pain Life

These are my very adorable nephews. On Friday, It was the little one's 5th Birthday. The older one (who is 7, had a challenge for me)
Since the right side of my body feel like someone ran me through with a fucking Samurai Sword, I will post a picture blog instead.

Ready?


This.........



Plus.......



This.......

Equals .......



This.


A cracked Rib and some cracked cartilage.

I think what really did me in was the little one jumping on my stomach whilst I lay on the pavement in tears praying for death.

At least I got a bunch of these......




Now I get to spend the last few Summer Days laying on the couch watching reruns of House, which I have already seen because I was sick all fucking Spring.

I hate this year.

The Needle and the damage done

Watching someone you care about being devoured by their demons is perhaps the most painful thing that I think anyone ever has to go through.

I am currently watching it, and my heart is in constant pain.

It doesn't matter whether it's mental illness, or an eating disorder, or drug use, it's all the same.

Knowing that you can do nothing to help someone who doesn't want to help themselves is agonising, and knowing that it can only end two ways, either in death or the person getting well, is the coldest of comfort.

I suppose I have an even more acute understanding of both sides of this issue now, because not so long ago I was the one destroying myself, and people had to watch me, knowing that I would either get help, or die.

And there was nothing they could do to fix me.

Now, I sit in the ironic position of watching someone I care about destroy themselves more every day, and the pace of his destruction is picking up.

He looks thinner.

His face is drawn, and the bags under his eyes are stretching down toward his cheekbones.

He looks ill, and he has a sick smell that only another who came close to dying from the same choices can recognise.

I doubt he's slept in the last 48 hours.

I know he hasn't eaten, because every penny he has goes up his nose, or into his arm.

He is dying line by line, and I'm not sure he even knows it.

He stole from me to feed his demons, and while I am angry, angry enough that I considered selling his debt to someone that would probably beat him senseless for my money and then make him pay for their time, I am more saddened then pissed.

I cry for him daily, in spite of the fact my tears aren't doing him, or me, any good whatsoever.

I've been through this before, my ex was a junkie too.

But we were both using at the time, and I couldn't see past my own pain to even begin to look at his.

We were together 5 years, and almost all 5 of those years included copious amounts of dope.
I loved him, but by the end, I loved dope more, and I wasn't too concerned about what happened to him, so long as I got what I needed.

He's not clean.

In fact, I hear he's working boy's town, blowing strange men for crack.

My heart aches for him, but it's different, because I can't and don't have to see it.

I don't have to see it every day, and I wouldn't even want to dare to look for him.

But this one, this one that I gave a piece of my heart to, this one who I trusted and allowed into my house and my heart only to have him steal from me, him I have to see every day.

It won't last much longer, I know, because either he will have ripped off the wrong person and they will finally catch up with him, or he will get fired from his job, or he will disappear down that rabbit hole the way we all do when we have finally exhausted every person and every option we have.

When there is no one left to beg borrow or steal from, we bolt.

If we are still healthy enough to work, we move onto another menial, useless job, and a whole new set of people who don't know the truth of who we are.

Some end up like my ex, hustling in dark alleys for enough money to buy ten more minutes of oblivion.

Dignity is so often the first thing a junkie sells, and believe me, it doesn't come back cheap.... if it comes back at all.

Some things are just to ugly to look at in the cold light of sobriety.

Thankfully, there are some of us, when we get backed into that corner, we finally give up, and we get help.

But rarely does that help come from those who love us, because they aren't around. They got tired of watching us sit around in our self pity and self destruction and cleared out weeks or months or years before.

I want to take this boy, and really, a boy is what he is, and shake him, and yell into his face until I make him understand that he is dying, and that I may very well have been the last person who cared enough to try and help, and he pissed in my face.

But I also want to hold his head to my chest, stroke his hair and let him listen to the heart of someone who has lived where he now lives and survived. I want to give him hope, and show him that it is possible.

I can do neither of those things.

He is no longer speaking to me, because I did the unforgivable.....I talked.

I told others what he did to me, and essentially what he was doing to them.

I made sure that everyone who didn't already know he was using ( and believe me, there were not many of them) now knows.

I told the person that we work with that used to be his using buddy that he was helping him kill himself, and I told him that he was no kind of friend.

So now, he feels I have betrayed him, and will not say a word to me.Yet every day and for 8 and a half hours I am forced to work in the same place as him, to watch him stumble around with that look of the walking dead etched on his face.

And each time I see him, my own shame and guilt wells up and I think "This is what it feels like.

"This is the pain I caused others"

This is what it was like for people who loved me watch me die a little every day.

They couldn't help me.

I can't help him.

And it hurts.

My heart is so very heavy.

I have cats.
A lot of them.
Shut it, Kurt and Brina.
It all started with two, and when I took one to the vet he said "don't worry, she's too younng to get pregnant"
WRONG.
She had 4.
Now the thing about kittens is you have like a 5 week window to get rid of them before they become cats.
Everyone loves kittens.
Cats, not so much.
So.
Of the 4 original, two were girls and two were boys.
Guess what, I didn't get them fixed fast enough, and ended up with three more litters.
Best part?
The one that is a boy...and fuck you, I know what testicles look like, he/it had 7 kittens.
So, I have an amazing hermaphroditic cat.
I should sell those things for like 400 dollars each, because they're like magic or some such shit.
Anyhow.
I am down to 7 again, and the adults all have appointments to get fixed VERY soon.
The rest of the kittens go tomorrow, so you can all stop calling me the crazy cat lady.
Assholes.

The last six months have been incredibly up and down for me.
There have been incredibly good things (a reconciliation with my sister and my nephews becoming a part of my life) and there have been some straight up suck ass things (losing my job, losing a relationship I was sure would be the last one I ever started, because I never figured it would end) and there have been some totally weird ass things (there was an encounter with a semi famous cock that I promised NOT to blog about)
I have had two root canals, five bladder infections and found a lump in my breast.
I have owned two cars in the last six months.
I have been ripped off by the person I was sleeping with to the tune of almost 1500 dollars. It will take me three months to dig myself out of that hole.
I have had trusts broken, and have been offered friendship from people I never would have expected it from.
I have had people I had never met come half way around the world to help me nurse my broken heart and help to heal my wounds simply through friendship.
I have spoken (and written) openly about things that I never thought I would share with anyone, other than say, my shrink.
I have lost close to 30 pounds, and am about as fit as I have been since my 20's.
In the last six months I have cried harder than I have ever cried in my life, and I have laughed until I actually peed my pants a little bit.
I have felt like I was losing my mind, and I have questioned my own sanity more than once.
I have remembered (at least I hope I have) to tell the people that I love that I love them, and I have tried my best not to cause hurt to the hearts of others.
I have tried to be grateful at least once a day, and although some people may think I failed, I have tried to be gracious in the face of the actions of others that caused me pain.
Despite my best efforts to piss away almost four years without drugs, I have managed to fend off the demons that laid me so low just a few short years ago.
I started taking stock of shit a month or so ago, because I am fast approaching my 40th birthday, and although it is no longer the milestone it was for the generation before mine, it still feels symbolic.
To be honest, I don't know what to make of most of it.
Had you asked me at 20 if this is where I'd be at 40, I would have said "Fuck, no" (not that I had any idea where I would be....but still...it sure as shit wasn't here)
And then yesterday someone at work asked me if I am happy.
I started with my stock answer which is , "Well, I'm not terribly unhappy..."
And I stopped.
I told the person the truth.
I said, "Some days I am happy. Other days, I am the epitome of fucking misery, and it is best to steer clear of me on those days"
He asked how he should be able to tell the difference.
And when I thought about it, I guess the truth is, there feels like there is so little distance between happiness and misery for me that I could never even warn someone before the tide were about to turn.
I'm not even sure when it's going to happen myself.
Yet despite that teeter tottery feeling, I am more mentally stable than I have been since, like, ever.
My medication still works for me.
I get out of bed every day, even when I don't have to.
I try go to the gym almost every day. I try to read more and watch less mindless TV.
I try to remember how even though the last six months have had more bad then good in them, I have seen and lived worse.
Much, much worse.
And I suppose as I slide down towards forty, that's about the best I can hope for.

I like this page, because I know there are very few people who read it, and so if I choose, I can say things on here that I'm either not willing or ready to put out for myspace consumption.
So, it's kind of like confession. Baring in mind of course that I'm not, nor have I ever been Catholic, which given the context of this blog is probably a good thing, because the content of the blog, and the actions that inspired it pretty much put me on a fast track train headed straight for hell.
Woo Woo!! (that's the slutty train, in case you were wondering)
So, hello to the two people I know are reading this for sure, and since one of you asked for the story and the other is currently staying in my house, I think it may at least be mildly interesting, or at least a good way to waste 3.6 minutes. (It's not going to be a long blog, and since I know my friends can read real good...)
Anyhow.
I'm tired, so don't expect too much.
I have not had sex since June 27 2007.
That's not a record for me, I once went almost three years, but it's still a sucky ass long time to go, and "those" feelings have been creeping up on me for the last week or so.
Now I suppose it could be because I went on the date with the oil and lube boy *snicker* from my new job last week and we kissed but did not "consummate" the new relationship, which is weird for me, because I like to get the sex part out of the way early, you know, in case it sucks, I don't want to be tooo invested, or it could be that ever since I turned 35, I have been somewhat insatiable where my sexual appetite is concerned. Or it could be that I finally feel my heart recovering from the thrashing the last person I was with gave it, and I'm ready to get back on the horse (not that I like that kind of thing you understand)
God, could this take any longer you ask?
Fuck off, I'm getting there.
Yesterday was a boring ass day at work to begin with, I managed to be completely ineffective at the time management thing and got all of my work done by noon, and it didn't help that O&L boy walked by my office all 6 foot 5 inches of yumminess that he is and blew me a kiss, but about half way through the day, I was fairly sliding off my chair thinking about climbing up onto the mountain of a man and..well...claiming the land in the name of Canada to put it politely.
Because I am not supposed to "fraternise" with the mechanics, and workplace politics demand that our relationship stay away from the workplace, I couldn't just go up to him and tell him to meet me in the bathroom so I could bang his brains out against the sink, could I?
So instead, I oh so very subtly suggested that he meet me in the closet off the parts department for a little kissin' and gropin'.
He was amenable to this arrangement, and we agreed to meet up in 20 minutes.
Unfortunately, he was called to actually go do some work, so all I got was a quick smooch and a bit of an ass grab, but he said that he would drive me over the bridge after work (which is at least part of my bus from hell commute) and I said "groovy" figuring that traffic might at least allow for a little more..um...kissing.
I was finished before him, and I'm not sure if it was while I waited or when I got into the car and could smell his sweaty work scent (I loooove that smell. A man who has laboured all day is like one giant pheromone to me) but at some point before we drove out of the auto mall I told him.
" I want your cock in my mouth"
Not very subtle, but fuck it. I wanted what I wanted.
"Drive up that dead end street" I told him.
Of course we never made it to the end of the street, cause I had that boy out of his pants and in my mouth before he turned left.
There is something so filthy about any sexual act that is performed in a semi public place, and it is made sexier by the fact that you might get caught.
Whether it was that, or the length of time, or the need, or that I am really attracted to this guy, I don't know.
But this was no varsity blow job.
I went all pro on this one, baby.
If talent scouts from pornos had seen me, Jenna Jamieson would be out of a job today.
Suffice to say, he was done pretty damn quick.
I would like to think it was my mad skillz and not the fact that he hasn't gotten any in the last 6 months or so.
So I'm going to go with that and end here, mostly because the witty ending I had planned has died along with my sleep deprived brain.
I will, however, have a hard time not yelling "ROAD HEAD RULEZ!!" when I see him this morning.

Sometimes I really question my own sanity.
I mean, I have managed to make it through a shit load of years on what I can only guess is survival mode, because I have certainly made some piss poor choices that have lead me into some pretty shit ass situations.
That being said however, I think the majority of the damage was perpetrated upon my own person. I mean, I don't think that I was ever intentionally cruel, I was never a bully that's for sure, and the hurt I inflicted...well, let's just say that on the scale of damage people do to each other, I think I still fit in the lower end of the rankings. At least I hope that I do. I suppose if you were to ask the people I have hurt, you may get a slightly different answer, but I really do think that for the most part, I've been a pretty decent person when it came to the handling of others. I know that most of the time I tried to put the feelings of others if not first, at least I'm pretty sure I considered them at the same time as my own, and I really do think that I imagined what some of the things I did or said would feel like were the shoe on the other foot, and I hope that I made different choices because of that thought process.
So when I add all that up (and bare in mind that math is NOT my strong suit) I wonder where the fuck this Karmic debt I seem to have incurred comes from.
I must have really pissed someone off a few lifetimes ago, because I swear some days I may as well be a goddamned maggot on the corpse of a two week old dog in the ditch.
Now don't get me wrong.
I'm not a victim.
And I am fully responsible for the choices that I make, and the people that I choose to make those choices with or around.
But... holy fuck.
Some days I just wonder if perhaps my intelligence is sub simian, because I seem to make the same choices over and over again.
I fall for the same bullshit stories, and with only slight variations each time, I keep getting my heart run over by emotional dump trucks.
I am drawn to the same people.
I make the same poor choices in friends and lovers.
Me.
I do.
And so I guess that's why today (actually this started yesterday) I'm wondering if there isn't something severely wrong with my ability to make choices about things and people.
Because it can't be everyone else, can it?
I mean I am driving this bus, at least most of the time, right?
So either I'm a moron, or I owe like 98% interest on a several million dollar Karmic debt, or...
I'm crazy.

I love the beginning part.
You know, the start when you’re not really sure where it’s going, or if it’s even going to go anywhere?
When you want to spend all the time you can with them, stand as close to them as possible drawing in their smell to recall later. Memorising the way their lip curls just slightly on the right side when they smile, especially when that smile is just for you?
When looking at them makes your heart beat just a little faster and you almost feel like there’s less oxygen in the immediate atmosphere because it gets a little harder to take a really deep breath.
When it feels like there are just not enough hours in the day or enough words in the entire English language to share all the thoughts that are bubbling up trying to burst free.
When he puts his hands on your waist for the first time and it makes you feel safe and protected, and you think in the back of your mind about the guy who’s been trying to look down the front of your shirt all night is going to finally realise that you belong to someone else and that he should probably just move on down the bar.
When the first kiss tastes so sweet that it threatens to send you into insulin shock, and you know that you will never forget it, that memory is placed firmly in the "wonderful moments" part of your brain that if you could see it would look sort of like an old shoe box, but is really more like a treasure chest of happiness.
When you can’t wait for the phone to ring, or to here a car in the drive, or a knock at the door.
Or a thousand other things that suddenly make the sun shine a little brighter, make the music sound a little better, and make the air seem that much cleaner.
When the shift happens and your heart which just a short time ago was a wounded, damaged animal that would never heal and wanted to crawl into a dark and cold place away from the whole world starts to look more like a tiny creature taking its first tentative steps back into the world again.
Yeah, I love the beginning part.

Sometimes...

Current mood: contemplative
Category: Life

Shitty things happen for what seem like no good reason at all.
People move in and out of your life, you lose jobs, a whole bunch of crap ass motherfucking illnesses happen one right after the other...and man, it looks like your life could not suck any worse.
But then....ever so slowly at first, changes start to happen. It feels like it's taking forfuckingever, but the pace starts to pick up. s-l-o-w as fuck, but at least it's no longer stagnant to the point where you sit on the couch and cry enough tears to overflow Lake Titicaca.
The deep pain takes time. A lot of fucking time.
You don't forget the pain of the last few months, and you still grieve the loss of love, you still miss the person that has left your life almost every minute, and you start to second guess what you could have done differently, if the relationship could have been fixed or saved...... your ego still smarts because you get fired from a job,(even though the job sucked hairy donkey cock and you're better off without it..but still, it stings.
Your health still isn't 100%..and when you get rid of one thing, inevitably another one pops up (DAMN YOU TO HELL DEFECTIVE URINARY TRACT!!)
But...
It gets a little better every day.
I know this seems a little vague, and I will add some more details when I'm not so fucking exhausted, but since people have been asking....I'm ok.
I'm not great, and I'm miles from great, but I'm as ok as I can be for now.
xoxo

Currently listening : Better Days By Southside Johnny & the Asbury Jukes Release date: By 25 August, 1998