29.4.10
27.4.10
final
My eyes open slowly to adjust to the sun spilling in through my bedroom windows. The drone of the air conditioner from the next room brings me to another day of my harrowing reality. I glance over to the yellowed calendar. June 15, 1995. Not that it matters. I lie completely still and stop my breathing to listen for Johnny. God, I hope he’s not here. I stretch and turn to the nightstand. The alarm clock shares a sullen home with the spoons, lighters, and an old copy of War and Peace. Why am I still alive? I seem to be asking myself that more and more every day.
My thoughts are broken by the door creaking open. I watch through slit eyes as Johnny tries to sneak across the room. I know what he’s doing. I paid too much money for those, and since I lost my job at Krankie’s, I wasn’t trying to sacrifice what little money I did have left. “Don’t touch them,” I said, scaring Johnny, though he wouldn’t show it.
“Why? You don’t need them. I don’t think you realize how stupid you are,” he scolds.
“Why are you always so condescending?” I demand.
Silence. Johnny abruptly leaves the room, needles in hand. I lack any strength that I need to even try and get them back. A few minutes later, Johnny bursts back in, wearing a plain white T-shirt, perfectly ironed like always, jeans that were just tight enough, and his worn canvas shoes. His long, surfer-esque blonde hair flows down to the middle of his back. With him, he brings the scent of sandalwood, and I realize why I love him. He’s beautiful, and he helps me, and he cares. And he likes me. I will never be able to wrap my head around the thought of any conscious being liking me. After my father killed himself when I was nine, my mom began blaming me for it, and telling all of her bimbo friends that I was at fault. I hadn’t heard tell of my self worth since I was a child. I shut myself off from the world so much. It surprised me that I had even let Johnny in two years ago.
I watch his swift movements as he begins to stuff some of my clothes in an old suitcase. I can’t believe we’re about to go through this again. I tried this last year, and I hated it. I didn’t care if it was making me better. I just wanted out. Johnny must have known that I knew by the look on my face.
“Yep. You’re going. I’m tired of losing sleep from worrying about you,” he says. I look at the sleepy rings under his green eyes. They don’t make him any less beautiful. I want to tell him that, but I know it won’t help.
“If you just throw the needles away, I’ll stop. Please don’t make me go,” I plead. He looks at me for a long time, and I defiantly stare back. “Get some clothes on. We’re leaving. I’ll be in the car,” he says quietly.
I heave myself up, reluctant and tired. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I stare down at my pale white arms, splotched with blood and bruises. I did this to myself. I don’t even know why it makes me cringe to look at them. I throw on my worn jeans and an old Lollapalooza shirt from 1993. What an amazing year. I used to be happy. I remember holding Johnny’s hand and watching Layne sing, amazed. It was the perfect temperature outside, and I was having such a good time. That seemed so far away in my memory. That was the year I found out there was a baby. I wanted to keep him, but Johnny wasn’t ready. I tried to push that out of the way and keep a crooked smile on my face.
I come back to reality as Johnny’s Bug squeaks out a sound from the horn; my cue to hurry and get out the door. I brush my teeth and comb my fingers through my long blonde hair. I can’t believe I’m honestly going to rehab again.
Johnny doesn’t talk to me as he drives. I try to think of something to say, but I can’t. I’m not good at that stuff. The Grateful Dead cracks through the speakers to break our uncomfortable silence, anyway. The Bug slows as we approach a Circle K. Johnny gets out of the car, but I stay put. I never know what he’s up to. I don’t know when I’ll stop trying to figure him out. He walks around to my window and gives it a tap.
“Come on. I’ll get you an orangeade,” he says. They’re my favorite.
I walk in and sit at a window. There’s a bluebird outside on the sidewalk, and for a minute, in my sick and unstable mind, he’s perching on a floating branch with the most mocking smile on his face. I smile back and stick my tongue out at him. Sometimes my little visions scare me, but I’m starting to get used to them.
Johnny walks over with a black coffee in one hand and my orangeade in the other.
“Thank you,” my voice cracks. He smiles and nods. “Love you,” he tells me.
“I know.”
“Oh, is that how it is now?”
“…No. I love you too. I’m just not very happy with you right now,” I answer. He shrugs. I know he just wants the best for me, but somehow I’m so selfish that I don’t even care. I take a few sips of my orangeade and lay my head down on the table. I feel Johnny stroking my arm, and I almost fall asleep. Without stopping it, I slip into another hallucinated daze. I’m swimming in millions of tiny bubbles. Everything is orange. I open my mouth and the taste is sweet. For a moment, I float and rest my limbs. I don’t know where I am or how I got here. I blink, and in an instant, there is a clock right in my face. Its hands aren’t pointing at a certain time. The clock almost looks like it is dripping away, like it could run through my fingers. I reach out to touch it and it’s not there. I hear a baby screaming somewhere far off, and the sound of a fly buzzing right in my left ear.
“Hey. …Hey!” Johnny’s voice. I jerk my head up and allow my eyes to adjust to the sunlight. “We’re leaving now. I brought you a lid,” he says.
I trudge slowly back to the car. “We’re only ten minutes from the Recovery Center,” Johnny informs me. Like I want to know.
By the time we get there, my stomach is turning ten thousand flips. The building is made of white brick with the words ‘Willow County Recovery Center’ tacked above the two glass doors. Déjà vu.
I hesitantly step out of the Bug and slowly make my way to Johnny’s side. He kisses my forehead, and, holding me close says, “Good luck, baby.”
“I don’t need it,” I bite back. I was angry with him, and I hoped that he knew it. I shrug away from his embrace and open one of the tall doors. The smell of Pine-Sol and perfume hits me instantly. A pasty woman behind the desk asks if she can help me. I can already feel myself turning into the hateful one that calls everyone every name in the book.
“Yeah. I’m checking in,” I tell her. She stares at me for a long minute, then begins to fumble around with her pen and papers. I give her my name, Social Security, date of birth, and my heaviest drug. “Heroin.”
“How much in a day?” she asks.
“However much I can get.”
“Anything else?”
“Cocaine occasionally, a little pot here and there. Lots of alcohol, if that matters.”
“It does. And I see you’ve been here before.” I nod.
“One of the resident technicians will be here shortly to take you to your room,” she informs me. I sit in one of the hard plastic chairs and stare at Johnny. “Bye. You can leave now,” I say. I can tell he’s hurt, so I grudgingly get up and give him a hug. “I love you,” he says.
“I love you too. Don’t make me stay,” I mouth to him.
Johnny leaves, and soon enough, I’m being wisked away to a bright white room with only a bed and a night stand. The resident tech tells me the doctor will be in soon. She leaves, and I stare straight ahead at the door knob. For a minute, it turns into a tree branch. It starts to turn, and…
“I’m Dr. Campbell. You can call me Sam, if you’d like,” a petite blonde doctor sticks out her hand. I stare at it. “How can we help you?”
“I’m sick I guess. My boyfriend dragged me here, so you tell me,” I say sarcastically.
“Well, I see that you’re an acclaimed heroin addict,” she says matter-of-factly.
I nod. She looks at my arms and sees the infections. “You’ve missed a few veins, I see. We can get that cleaned up,” she tells me. I’m glad because it hurts like no one would believe. But, amazingly, I still want to use. Last night, when I shot up, a little frog came into the bathroom and he started talking to me. Would you believe that? Not even a psychiatrist would. He told me of this place where there were tall mountains and melting clocks. I told him he was full of it, but he promised me I’d be there soon enough.
My thoughts are broken by Dr. Campbell’s kind voice. “We’ll be putting you on methadone to take you off of the heroin. I’ll tell you now, it’s going to be painful, but I promise that it helps,” she says.
“Okay. Can you leave now?” I ask. She nods and gets up to leave. “The nurse will bring you your first dose in about an hour,” she says, and closes the door.
I lay back on the white bed and let my mind spill out everywhere. Life is so much better when you decide you just don’t care, I think to myself. I close my eyes, and I fall asleep.
I’m walking in the hottest sand I’ve ever felt. Even hotter than the beach’s sand in the middle of the day. I see that frog. He tells me his name is Edmond. He says, “follow me.” So we’re walking, he a little faster than I, and all of a sudden, he stops. I look up, and there’s at least one hundred clocks floating in the purple sky. I reach up to touch one, and suddenly, they vanish. I feel someone nudging my shoulder. I crack my eyes open, and it’s the nurse.
“Please take these.” She watches me take the medicine and slowly walks out.
After an hour or so, it’s taking everything in me not to rip my hair out. The pain is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. There’s a voice outside telling everyone to come to the Big Room for Group. Those pigs. My bones are being crushed in millions of tiny, angry machines, and they still expect me to go to Group and smile and be happy and tell everyone hello, I’m a heroin addict and I hate my life. No. I’m not going. I lie back down and think about time. How much of it that I’ve wasted. How no one really cares. Where have all the genuine people gone? I just lay and think about time and how much I hate it. How much it consumes us all, telling us where to be and when to go and when to stop. I wish that time didn’t exist. It is man made, and from man, I’d expect no less than something to drive the world crazy.
Again, I fall asleep. I’m back underneath the clocks, but this time, the sky is a normal blue. I don’t see Edmond anywhere. I’m standing on a platform, and I notice it’s floating above the ground. In the distance, I see those mountains he told me about. There’s a swarm of flies, and I’m getting angry, because they’re all telling me how much of a mess I am, and how useless I am. There’s no hope for you, they say. I know there isn’t. Some of the clocks are hanging on tree branches, and I’m more confused than I ever have been. But I don’t want to leave. I can hear kind voices too, from the ground, telling me to come down. They’re saying, you’re better than this. We still love you. I see Johnny and my nana. They love me. The clocks start to slip from the trees, and I catch them in my hands. Again, I feel the nudge on my shoulder.
“It’s time to come to Group.” Dr. Campbell says.
I keep my eyes shut tight. I’m not leaving. I’m not waking up. I’m never, ever waking up. My memory is useless, and time is reoccurring.
I’m never waking up.
My thoughts are broken by the door creaking open. I watch through slit eyes as Johnny tries to sneak across the room. I know what he’s doing. I paid too much money for those, and since I lost my job at Krankie’s, I wasn’t trying to sacrifice what little money I did have left. “Don’t touch them,” I said, scaring Johnny, though he wouldn’t show it.
“Why? You don’t need them. I don’t think you realize how stupid you are,” he scolds.
“Why are you always so condescending?” I demand.
Silence. Johnny abruptly leaves the room, needles in hand. I lack any strength that I need to even try and get them back. A few minutes later, Johnny bursts back in, wearing a plain white T-shirt, perfectly ironed like always, jeans that were just tight enough, and his worn canvas shoes. His long, surfer-esque blonde hair flows down to the middle of his back. With him, he brings the scent of sandalwood, and I realize why I love him. He’s beautiful, and he helps me, and he cares. And he likes me. I will never be able to wrap my head around the thought of any conscious being liking me. After my father killed himself when I was nine, my mom began blaming me for it, and telling all of her bimbo friends that I was at fault. I hadn’t heard tell of my self worth since I was a child. I shut myself off from the world so much. It surprised me that I had even let Johnny in two years ago.
I watch his swift movements as he begins to stuff some of my clothes in an old suitcase. I can’t believe we’re about to go through this again. I tried this last year, and I hated it. I didn’t care if it was making me better. I just wanted out. Johnny must have known that I knew by the look on my face.
“Yep. You’re going. I’m tired of losing sleep from worrying about you,” he says. I look at the sleepy rings under his green eyes. They don’t make him any less beautiful. I want to tell him that, but I know it won’t help.
“If you just throw the needles away, I’ll stop. Please don’t make me go,” I plead. He looks at me for a long time, and I defiantly stare back. “Get some clothes on. We’re leaving. I’ll be in the car,” he says quietly.
I heave myself up, reluctant and tired. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I stare down at my pale white arms, splotched with blood and bruises. I did this to myself. I don’t even know why it makes me cringe to look at them. I throw on my worn jeans and an old Lollapalooza shirt from 1993. What an amazing year. I used to be happy. I remember holding Johnny’s hand and watching Layne sing, amazed. It was the perfect temperature outside, and I was having such a good time. That seemed so far away in my memory. That was the year I found out there was a baby. I wanted to keep him, but Johnny wasn’t ready. I tried to push that out of the way and keep a crooked smile on my face.
I come back to reality as Johnny’s Bug squeaks out a sound from the horn; my cue to hurry and get out the door. I brush my teeth and comb my fingers through my long blonde hair. I can’t believe I’m honestly going to rehab again.
Johnny doesn’t talk to me as he drives. I try to think of something to say, but I can’t. I’m not good at that stuff. The Grateful Dead cracks through the speakers to break our uncomfortable silence, anyway. The Bug slows as we approach a Circle K. Johnny gets out of the car, but I stay put. I never know what he’s up to. I don’t know when I’ll stop trying to figure him out. He walks around to my window and gives it a tap.
“Come on. I’ll get you an orangeade,” he says. They’re my favorite.
I walk in and sit at a window. There’s a bluebird outside on the sidewalk, and for a minute, in my sick and unstable mind, he’s perching on a floating branch with the most mocking smile on his face. I smile back and stick my tongue out at him. Sometimes my little visions scare me, but I’m starting to get used to them.
Johnny walks over with a black coffee in one hand and my orangeade in the other.
“Thank you,” my voice cracks. He smiles and nods. “Love you,” he tells me.
“I know.”
“Oh, is that how it is now?”
“…No. I love you too. I’m just not very happy with you right now,” I answer. He shrugs. I know he just wants the best for me, but somehow I’m so selfish that I don’t even care. I take a few sips of my orangeade and lay my head down on the table. I feel Johnny stroking my arm, and I almost fall asleep. Without stopping it, I slip into another hallucinated daze. I’m swimming in millions of tiny bubbles. Everything is orange. I open my mouth and the taste is sweet. For a moment, I float and rest my limbs. I don’t know where I am or how I got here. I blink, and in an instant, there is a clock right in my face. Its hands aren’t pointing at a certain time. The clock almost looks like it is dripping away, like it could run through my fingers. I reach out to touch it and it’s not there. I hear a baby screaming somewhere far off, and the sound of a fly buzzing right in my left ear.
“Hey. …Hey!” Johnny’s voice. I jerk my head up and allow my eyes to adjust to the sunlight. “We’re leaving now. I brought you a lid,” he says.
I trudge slowly back to the car. “We’re only ten minutes from the Recovery Center,” Johnny informs me. Like I want to know.
By the time we get there, my stomach is turning ten thousand flips. The building is made of white brick with the words ‘Willow County Recovery Center’ tacked above the two glass doors. Déjà vu.
I hesitantly step out of the Bug and slowly make my way to Johnny’s side. He kisses my forehead, and, holding me close says, “Good luck, baby.”
“I don’t need it,” I bite back. I was angry with him, and I hoped that he knew it. I shrug away from his embrace and open one of the tall doors. The smell of Pine-Sol and perfume hits me instantly. A pasty woman behind the desk asks if she can help me. I can already feel myself turning into the hateful one that calls everyone every name in the book.
“Yeah. I’m checking in,” I tell her. She stares at me for a long minute, then begins to fumble around with her pen and papers. I give her my name, Social Security, date of birth, and my heaviest drug. “Heroin.”
“How much in a day?” she asks.
“However much I can get.”
“Anything else?”
“Cocaine occasionally, a little pot here and there. Lots of alcohol, if that matters.”
“It does. And I see you’ve been here before.” I nod.
“One of the resident technicians will be here shortly to take you to your room,” she informs me. I sit in one of the hard plastic chairs and stare at Johnny. “Bye. You can leave now,” I say. I can tell he’s hurt, so I grudgingly get up and give him a hug. “I love you,” he says.
“I love you too. Don’t make me stay,” I mouth to him.
Johnny leaves, and soon enough, I’m being wisked away to a bright white room with only a bed and a night stand. The resident tech tells me the doctor will be in soon. She leaves, and I stare straight ahead at the door knob. For a minute, it turns into a tree branch. It starts to turn, and…
“I’m Dr. Campbell. You can call me Sam, if you’d like,” a petite blonde doctor sticks out her hand. I stare at it. “How can we help you?”
“I’m sick I guess. My boyfriend dragged me here, so you tell me,” I say sarcastically.
“Well, I see that you’re an acclaimed heroin addict,” she says matter-of-factly.
I nod. She looks at my arms and sees the infections. “You’ve missed a few veins, I see. We can get that cleaned up,” she tells me. I’m glad because it hurts like no one would believe. But, amazingly, I still want to use. Last night, when I shot up, a little frog came into the bathroom and he started talking to me. Would you believe that? Not even a psychiatrist would. He told me of this place where there were tall mountains and melting clocks. I told him he was full of it, but he promised me I’d be there soon enough.
My thoughts are broken by Dr. Campbell’s kind voice. “We’ll be putting you on methadone to take you off of the heroin. I’ll tell you now, it’s going to be painful, but I promise that it helps,” she says.
“Okay. Can you leave now?” I ask. She nods and gets up to leave. “The nurse will bring you your first dose in about an hour,” she says, and closes the door.
I lay back on the white bed and let my mind spill out everywhere. Life is so much better when you decide you just don’t care, I think to myself. I close my eyes, and I fall asleep.
I’m walking in the hottest sand I’ve ever felt. Even hotter than the beach’s sand in the middle of the day. I see that frog. He tells me his name is Edmond. He says, “follow me.” So we’re walking, he a little faster than I, and all of a sudden, he stops. I look up, and there’s at least one hundred clocks floating in the purple sky. I reach up to touch one, and suddenly, they vanish. I feel someone nudging my shoulder. I crack my eyes open, and it’s the nurse.
“Please take these.” She watches me take the medicine and slowly walks out.
After an hour or so, it’s taking everything in me not to rip my hair out. The pain is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. There’s a voice outside telling everyone to come to the Big Room for Group. Those pigs. My bones are being crushed in millions of tiny, angry machines, and they still expect me to go to Group and smile and be happy and tell everyone hello, I’m a heroin addict and I hate my life. No. I’m not going. I lie back down and think about time. How much of it that I’ve wasted. How no one really cares. Where have all the genuine people gone? I just lay and think about time and how much I hate it. How much it consumes us all, telling us where to be and when to go and when to stop. I wish that time didn’t exist. It is man made, and from man, I’d expect no less than something to drive the world crazy.
Again, I fall asleep. I’m back underneath the clocks, but this time, the sky is a normal blue. I don’t see Edmond anywhere. I’m standing on a platform, and I notice it’s floating above the ground. In the distance, I see those mountains he told me about. There’s a swarm of flies, and I’m getting angry, because they’re all telling me how much of a mess I am, and how useless I am. There’s no hope for you, they say. I know there isn’t. Some of the clocks are hanging on tree branches, and I’m more confused than I ever have been. But I don’t want to leave. I can hear kind voices too, from the ground, telling me to come down. They’re saying, you’re better than this. We still love you. I see Johnny and my nana. They love me. The clocks start to slip from the trees, and I catch them in my hands. Again, I feel the nudge on my shoulder.
“It’s time to come to Group.” Dr. Campbell says.
I keep my eyes shut tight. I’m not leaving. I’m not waking up. I’m never, ever waking up. My memory is useless, and time is reoccurring.
I’m never waking up.
26.4.10
birthday soup
this weekend was so fun. it was one of the best i've had in a long time. my birthday was fun, i love my friends so much. i missed tyler and christian a lot though. i'm glad i finally have my tattoo. i already want another one, and i think i might go look through some of the flash this week when i'm off work. cause i want something smaller for my next one. i might get a phoenix underneath my arm. i've always wanted one of those; i like the idea of how a phoenix rises from its ashes. thats strength. i want something that really symbolizes strength. i'm excited to get another one. i want to make sure i'm good on my money though.
i got season seven of friends, man i was so excited. i bought a used copy from fye. i need seasons 2-4, 6, and 8-10. bad. i never know when its gonna be on tv. but i seriously love that show. will decided that our group of friends is like the cast of friends. haha. he said i'm a mix of rachel and phoebe, he's chandler, christian is joey, tyler is DEFINITELY ross, kelsea is monica, and lydian is phoebe. i love them. will made me this awesome birthday card with a picture of phoebe and chandler. it made my day.
i got season seven of friends, man i was so excited. i bought a used copy from fye. i need seasons 2-4, 6, and 8-10. bad. i never know when its gonna be on tv. but i seriously love that show. will decided that our group of friends is like the cast of friends. haha. he said i'm a mix of rachel and phoebe, he's chandler, christian is joey, tyler is DEFINITELY ross, kelsea is monica, and lydian is phoebe. i love them. will made me this awesome birthday card with a picture of phoebe and chandler. it made my day.
22.4.10
its weird to think that my birthday is in two days. im excited but i dont want to be considered an 'adult' yet. today im so tired. i was gonna go to yoga, but i have to work because amber has a game. of course. amber is the sun, moon, and stars, you know. syke. oh well. ill have a lot of money for this weekend.
happy earth day, hippie friends
12.4.10
Last week
was seriously shit. I haven't had a bad week like that in a long time. I'm just saying, everything that could have went wrong, did.
I was really upset Friday night that i wasn't a prom. I had to work of course, and apparently I would have had to anyway. Randy told me i couldn't have went because amber asked off too. Whatever. I wanted to go! And get dolled up, because I never get to, and dance with glow sticks. Haha.
Oh well, I scheduled my second tattoo appointment for May 1st, it's basically like a half sleeve of stars. They're all gonna be contour, and I think I'll get some of the lines on some thicker.
I don't know what to talk about on here anymore. I wish I did. I hope this week is a lot better. People are so shitty.
I was really upset Friday night that i wasn't a prom. I had to work of course, and apparently I would have had to anyway. Randy told me i couldn't have went because amber asked off too. Whatever. I wanted to go! And get dolled up, because I never get to, and dance with glow sticks. Haha.
Oh well, I scheduled my second tattoo appointment for May 1st, it's basically like a half sleeve of stars. They're all gonna be contour, and I think I'll get some of the lines on some thicker.
I don't know what to talk about on here anymore. I wish I did. I hope this week is a lot better. People are so shitty.
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