Part 1 (Rehashing Memories)
"A groan of tedium escapes me, startling the fearful. Is this a test? It has to be, otherwise I can't go on. Draining patience, drain vitality. This paranoid, paralyzed vampire acts a little old. But I'm still right here giving blood, keeping faith, and still right here. I'm going to wait it out. Be patient. Left me with no rewards to reap, no warming embrace to see me through. As tedious as I've chosen here. I certainly would have walked away by now. I'm going to wait it out. Left me no desire to heal, I'm damaged, broken, and alone. As tedious as I've chosen here. I certainly would have walked away by now. Be patient. Be patient. Be patient. I must keep reminding myself of this. Left me with no rewards to reap, no warming embrace to see me through. As tedious as I've chosen here. I certainly would have walked away by now. And I still may have died. I'm going to wait it out."
- "The Patient" by Maynard James Keenan.
1.
I try so damn hard. So fucking hard it hurts. I can just feel it. Feeling it start to rip me apart. Feel the pain that has been locked away. Somehow something has awoken it from its slumber. This pain is what's making me try. I sit up at night. Sleep is no longer a privilege I get pleasure out of. I sit up, and do you want to know what I do? I think. I think and try to cry. But the pain is so intense that tears wouldn't begin to soothe it. The pain is at its peak when I look back at everything. Everything I've done. The good things bring most of it to the surface. Because thinking of the good times reflects the awful things I've done, the depths of everything that I've suffered through. I go deeper into this insanity every night. Sometimes I will close my eyes and fall into a non-living state of being. But this state is not sleep. It's everything but. It's a spiraling kaleidoscope of the things that eat at my sanity. I walk around as an empty shell. I can't begin to comprehend what normalcy is. Why is it that I feel so apprehensive about finding happiness? Do I purposely shroud myself in a cloak of darkness? Could this madness that I know I'm descending into be brought on through me subconsciously?
I need an answer. This question is beginning to seer my skin. I can see it printed everywhere I look. In every book I read. In every song I listen to. I see it forming on every set of lips that utters a sound. And I try. I try my hardest; I sweat and shake violently over it. Withdrawing from this question is so damn painful. And until I get the answer I think I'll keep falling farther away from any trace of sanity left in me. I wear the mask well. Most people can't even tell I'm wearing it. The few who can are starting to see it as my own face. I can't remember a life without it though.
Words are starting to clash together. Faces all look the same. I can't remember two minutes ago. Time seems to be skipping like a badly scratched CD. I get confused over the most mundane situations. To be honest with you, I don't know why I'm writing this. Something told me I need to do this. So that's what I'm doing. It's an obligation I owe myself this one favor.
See, here lays the problem. You can't help me. They can't help me. I am alone, dark and cold and alone. Void of all life I lie dormant in a soft room adjacent form your deepest hidden secret buried in the back of your mind.
2.
The sky today was gray. Meandering around, the rain started down for me, hard. My mind flat lined, drawing not one thought into its deadly grip. The water seemed to seep through my skin and back on the ground, almost as if I was transparent in both sight and touch. The smells of filth and disgrace filled my right nostril, cleanliness and purification my left. My stomach received these senses the worst, starting to turn. Forcing my self to eat today proved to be very troublesome seeing as I wound up in a dark, musty, almost death like room filled with dirt, cob webs, and a stench of pure decay. Lining one wall is several large heating/air conditioning units, dusty from years of unkemptness; the other wall is cheap drywall, falling apart in places revealing the corroded wood (most likely home to several thousand termites, spiders, and cock roaches). Some graffiti is splattered (quite crudely I might add) all over the darkest end of the wall. The food soon returns to its former location, outside my body and on the floor, half digested. The taste fills my mouth, making me almost vomit again. I lose all sense of realization, now forgetting where I am and how I got there. I soon realize I don't care for either. I light a cigarette, menthol, to mask the taste in my mouth, attaching itself to every ounce of saliva and the walls of my inner cheeks. My throat tightens; my mussels' spasm drastically. I close my eyes out of desperation, and when I open them the room that once protected me from the cold gray uninviting world has vanished, I'm under a tree, my cigarette half soaked, puke covering my toes and flip-flops. I get up and walk. But where am I going? Hours later I'm standing on a concrete bridge overlooking a small creek, usually void of water, now overflowing and violently flowing in what seems to be the wrong direction seeing as it's on a hill. Hours seem like minutes and seconds feel like decades. I'm sober, completely in an unaltered state of mind. But the rain and the dark gray sky seem to be acting as a hallucinogen, making everything run like wet paint. I stare down at the jagged rocks some ten feet below me now covered by an almost sewage greenish-brown water. I see birds perched on a phone line. I hear cars passing by on a somewhat busy side street. The train tracks are now under my feet. I can't seem to figure out why my legs and feet are conspiring against me, leading me to these spots of unquestionable relevance. The water has increased in speed of its falling. My clothes seem extremely dry, seeing as the ocean itself is now embracing me like the light to the tunnel of eternal happiness. I open my eyes to see the room where the contents of my stomach are lying on the front of my designer jeans and $35.00 pair of flip-flops I bought from Hollister. A cockroach or maybe it was a spider, crawls into my non digested lunch. I get up and walk back home, sitting there on my couch soaking wet. I light a cigarette and appreciate the beautiful patterns the smoke makes as it billows out of my mouth in almost slow motion in the dark.
"Why again with the television, Harry?" "You know you'll get it back in a couple hours, why you always got to make me feel so guilty Ma'? Your own son Ma', you're own flesh and blood!" Requiem for a Dream has been on a four hour loop in my DVD player. I sit almost half asleep reciting it word for word. I then feel a longing to open up the pages of Hubert Selby Jr.'s novel and indulge myself in other people's suffering. Shed some own light on my blank situation. Seconds later I'm asleep with my head on the computer desk with Tiesto's "As the Rush Comes" filling my unconscious consciousness. "Embrace me; surround me, as the rush comes". I awake suddenly, forgetting all about the blue dream I was in. I scroll through my vast music library and switch the beautiful trance song to Tool's "Wings for Marie Part 1" and make a list so that only that and "10,000 Days (Wings Pt. 2)" play on a continuous loop. I close my eyes and dream of a red so dark it's almost black.
Can I go back in time? Can I go back and stay and relive everything and not change a fucking thing? I did that once. Relived everything again exactly they way it was. I think that's what life is. We die, and just relive our life over and over and over. It makes sense, at least in my frantic mind. People who lived back in the 1500's are on their own loop in that frame of time. But what I want to know is, when it started. How many times have I died? Because look, Religions say that when you die, your life is read back to you, well I have a hard time believing in religion. Too many flaws in the scriptures. But see here's where religion plays its part in my reality. When you die, you don't hear your life, you live it again. I can't figure out why though.
3.
Hot, almost scolding, water pours and pounds into my body. I relax for a moment, breathing in the steam. The smell of soap fills my nostrils, the sound of Tool's "The Patient" fills my ears, and the taste of Mountain Dew lingers in my mouth. 15 minutes later "Parabola" replaces "The Patient" and I'm wrapped in a towel, still dripping water from my hair, perched on the sink like a gargoyle on a cathedral. The sink and counter are fairly large, giving me room to have my stereo, wallet, cigarettes and lighter, 6 hydrocodones wrapped in cellophane, and body room to move about comfortably. My knees are almost to my chest, revealing my genitals through the towel. I shake my head, spattering water on the already moist wall. I wipe the thin layer of steam from the mirror revealing my face and wet hair. I admire my appearance, deciding to stare deeply into my own eyes. Inside the shower, I felt infinite. The lights from above the mirror became dim as the curtains cover the inside of the shower with a beautiful brown shade of light. The music was blaring as loud as possible, while I sang along (poorly) to Maynard James Keenan's beautiful lyrics. I sat atop of the counter for about 20 minutes, going back through the CD to find the songs that made me miserably happy. I know Stephanie and Phil are sitting no more than 30 feet from me, through the walls, sitting on the couch and watching TV. I grab the half full room temperature Mountain Dew sitting on top of the toilet. I make sure I obsessively dry my hands leaving not one trace of moister. I light up a cigarette and unwrap my pills, removing 3 of them. I just bought these before I got into the shower when Phil took out the trash and walked Hank. I had just arrived home about an hour ago from work, a long 6 hour shift at Wendy's, I had been working as cashier in the drive-thru (which I am awful at). My work clothes lie in the corner of the bath room in a crumpled pile, a pair of scrubs and a white t-shirt lay neatly folded on a basket of magazines in front of the toilet. I take a huge swig of Mountain Dew, savoring the taste, and keep it in my mouth. I break each little white pill in half, once 3 are now 6. I open my mouth, titling my head back, a slide my hand in funnel shape, making a small whole at the bottom, letting the half pills slide into my mouth. The Mountain Dew doesn't fizz like Coke or Dr. Pepper, so I let the pills begin to dissolve in my mouth for about 45 seconds and swallow. I quickly dry off with the towel instead of my usual method of air drying. I change into my boxers which I fish out of my smelly work pants, and slide on the scrubs and t-shirt. I tie the built in belt on the scrubs, switch the CD player off, unplug it, grab my smokes, put the 3 remaining pills in my wallet (which I put into the one butt pocket of the scrubs), and exit the bathroom, turning off the light. I skipped shaving tonight seeing as I did it last night after work. I place the CD player in my dark bedroom and join Steph and Phil in the living room. Hank is laying the spot on the couch I wished to occupy so I sit on the floor. We sit around talking about nothing and smoking Kool Milds. As soon as the Lortabs kick in, I pretend to half to have a bowel movement. I make a pit stop in my room, grabbing the CD player and returning to the bathroom. When I enter the bathroom, I immediately lock the door behind me and plug in the stereo. I leave the toilet seat down, wipe the counter dry, and turn the stereo up decently loud so they don't hear me in the living room. I pull out my wallet and grab my Showplace 16 Five Buck Club card (which still has a little white dust on it from before work), the now flattened red straw from Speedway that's been cut down to the size of my pinky finger, and the remaining pills in the cellophane. I pull one out and break it in half, putting the other half back in with its brethren. I place it on the now dry counter, while fixing the straw to resemble its original form. I strain my ears to hear if anyone is approaching, and when I hear the coast is clear I place my card on top of the half pill. With one hard push, the pill becomes powder with some still decent size chunks. I slide the card back and forth destroying the chunks down to mere powder. I make about 5 good thick lines. The straw is now placed in my left nostril, and with one good sniff, I inhale 2 lines with a slight head adjustment after the first. The powder burns my nose, but I don't mind in the least. I finish off the other 3 and lick the counter top and the entire card clean. I then notice the fan is on, although I don't remember doing this. I take the straw and hold it to the tip of my index finger and barley turn the sink on. A few drops of water are then followed by a nice thin stream of water. I fill the straw up to damn near the top, lean my head back, and snort the water, cleaning out my nose. I do this 2 or 3 times before I start picking it. I lick off the chunks of powder that survived the flood and then blow my nose. I flush the toilet and grab the now unplugged CD player and exit. I go back to the living room, high as can be, the two of them knowing none the better. I pet Hank a few times and laugh at his short legs. I then engage in a conversation about Resident Evil 4 with Phil for about a half an hour. We then transition the conversation into a discussion about John Frusciante. I see the time is growing thin, nearly 12:30 at night. I walk Hank once after being asked 30 minutes ago by Steph. I couldn't help but notice the emptiness in her eyes. When I realized what it was, I almost cried. I too missed the kids that had been taken from us some months ago by their father. I asked Phil if I could take the Playstation 2 into my room when I went to bed, and after being denied I decided to just watch a disc of The Simpsons on DVD. About an hour later I wished the two good night and told Steph I love you, went into my room and turned on my light which dimly lit my quiet large and fairly empty room. I took the pills out of my wallet and placed them in the hole in my pillow underneath the pillow case from a mental hospital that I had no idea where it came from. I lit a cigarette and rummaged through my seasons of The Simpsons on DVD and picked one at random. Once I set up everything I killed the light and lied on my pile of feather beds and comforters. I watched about 10 minutes of the television with no cable in my room, and then fell into a wonderful drug induced sleep. I was so happy. So diluted. So confused. So scared. So numb. So high.
I'm terrified to fall in love with anyone. I'm scared to love anyone at all. Because if I utter the words "I Love You" to anyone, they usually leave me, either physically or emotionally. Love is supposed to be an emotion, a verb, which you embrace, not shove away, or cower in the corner like a lost child. The one person I loved more than anything is now gone. I have no way of reaching her, I don't even know if she is alive. I would do anything to lie next to her again and watch TV and smoke a cigarette. Hearing her voice at this point would fill me with the emotion I am so void of. 17 years together is a long time. She was my best friend. And now she's gone. I feel like it's my fault, I want to believe it is, because to know my role model has flaws that I could see and ignored is to much to bear. So self accusations seem to fit just fine.
4.
"…He tries to sleep again and wonders when the pain will end. The cuts they made run deeper than his face will ever show. He looks with tired eyes at the people who are hypnotized and wonders what can save him from this self created hell..."
-From "Devil" by Aaron Lewis.
The car is moving about sixty miles an hour, now increasing as we weave in and out of traffic. By this point in time, I'm used to the insane driving methods, so almost rear ending that car back there didn't even faze me. My window is down, it's about 86 degrees out, and we have no air conditioning. "Stadium Arcadium" is pouring loudly out of the speakers, and as much as I enjoy it, I begin to shuffle through the CDs and settling on Staind's "Chapter V". After "She's Only 18" fades into "Slow Cheetah" I eject the CD and put in my new selection. Steph doesn't seeing as she quickly turns it to "Right Here". I turn it down, asking if I can bum a smoke. Annoyed, she hands me one with a lighter. Little dose she know that the missing pack of cigarettes from the freezer are in my pocket, but if I smoked them she'd know it was me and not Phil who we blamed it on. I light it after rolling my window up then back down. The highway is fairly busy, seeing as it's about 6:45 pm on a Friday. Three is our number tonight, scattered all over this fucking town. One by one, we'll get them until it's about 9:56 pm. The dose I took before we left is now beginning to fade out of me, sobering me back up. "Goddamn, how much farther until we get there, I need another dose" I think to myself. One has been picked up already, so score 2 is now where we are so desperately heading. Eight pills are in my pocket wrapped in cellophane, but I don't touch them until I find out how good of a weekend I may or may not have. A bit of anticipation for the next pick up fills me, almost making me vomit. This could be it, the time I get busted. 23 minutes later, I find out its not, and 8 more pills enter my pocket. 3 here we come. I turn the radio down to a low roar, and look at Steph "What did I do?" She looks at me a bit sympathetic and slightly confused. "What do you mean 'what did I do?'" "I did something to force myself out of my mom's life, and feel so bad. Was I a bad son?" Tears stream down my face as a desperately shove my hand into my pocket and pull out my pills. "You did not do anything, you were a great son, and you still are a wonderful person." I fish out 5 pills, exceeding my normal dosage count, and snap them in half and pop them in my mouth, dry, and begin to chew them. Steph starts to ask why I'm doing this, but then notices we missed our turn. I grab her warm Mountain Dew and swallow, chiseling the chunks stuck in my teeth with my tongue, and swallowing. I wanted us to get in an accident and die so bad. I prayed for a drunk driver to slam into my side of the car and kill me. I wanted to undo my seatbelt and jump out, getting sucked under a car. I thought about swallowing ever pill in my pocket, a total of 11, and just down them. But that would just make me sick. But I just wanted out of this pointless fucking life. Away from everyone and everything. The beast inside me was beginning to kick, like a fetus, and I could see I was carrying him, and that made me grimace.
What's going through your head during all of this? What do you think about before you close your eyes to escape into sleep? Do you remember me?
I sit there, quietly, the phone pressed against one ear, now sweaty, and a head phone pressed onto the other. I dial the number so many times I don't even realize that I'm doing it. The redial button is probably growing faded seeing as my hand is so sweaty and shaky that I can do nothing but press it. The voice on the other end of the phone is very repetitive, telling me the person I wish to call dose not have a voice message system set up at this time, but I'm convinced if I keep calling, it will ring and the voice I thirst for will be welcoming and embrace me again after all this time. After an hour or so, it rings. My heart pounds ferociously, I can feel the vomit rising into the top of my throat. The voice is there, and we speak for several hours, tears filling the room to a point where I almost drown. I then pause, listen intently at the voice, and hear nothing but a dial tone. A tone that was so consistent that it burrowed into my mind and convinced me it was not its true form, but the form of what I wanted it to be. My insanity is growing thicker by the day. I call again, and after hearing the automated bitch tell me what I dread to hear, I slam the phone down, hard, against the wall. I stand up and scream, loud, and spit up blood. I fucking hate this. I hate everyone, no matter whom, how, or what they are or will be to me. I hate anyone I will someday meet. I hate everyone I've ever met. I see their faces, twisted in death, inside my mind. I smile, look at the puddle of blood in my hand, laugh a little, pick the phone up and dial again.
5.
I wonder sometimes, what the barrel of a gun tastes like. What a rope, tied just right, feel like against the skin of your neck. The sensation flowing through you when the razor glides against your skin, setting free large amounts of your blood. The feeling you get when all the drugs you took take effect, and you know the end is so fucking close that you can almost touch it. What do you think and see as your falling down faster and faster from the top of a building? How painfully euphoric it feels to sit in a tub of lukewarm water with a blow drier entering the miniature ocean you've created, the feeling of pure electricity flowing through you like a phone line. The smell of the gas filling the car and garage surrounding it, the feeling of sleepiness that hits you like a sack of bricks. The warmth of the headlights from the midnight freight train, what do you see inside that light before you enter it? The hallucinations you begin to experience after weeks with out eating a morsel of food, the feeling of weakness and frailty. I wonder these things, and fall into a deep sleep and experience each of them a hundred-fold.</P>
Why am I scared of you? You make me happy, but I'm deeply terrified of you. I play it off well, hiding my fear from you, hinting only slightly towards it at times, but you're too blind to see it. It's not so much you that I fear, but the rejection I fear. But could I be too diluted to see the acceptance that might welcome me?
6.
The air tonight was bitter cold. I wore a tee shirt with a thermal under it, the same pair of jeans from yesterday along with the boxers from the past two days and a pair of flip flops. My newly acquired MP3 player is blaring music into me, as I walk to get a Java Monster (Big Black), and pick up the pizzas I told my mom I'd get. Traffic was heavy, so what do I do, walk into it like the fucking road was empty. Horns blare all around me, but you know what, fuck them. Hit me you bastards, see if I flinch. What is there anymore? I ask you now, what the FUCK do I have? WHAT?! I light a cigarette and sit on the bench in front of Marsh, watching the old people exit the store. I wanted one of them to fall, break a hip or a neck, and see the look in their eyes when I stare at them, not offering a hand of helpfulness. Fuck them. I watched the cars pass by on Stop 11, and so badly longed for an accident to occur. See bodies crawl out of the cars bloody and mangled, pieces of metal and glass piercing the fucking skin. Watch the ambulances scream as they hurry towards the now dieing pieces of shit. I enter the store, go strait for my coffee, stand behind a dike, a forty five year old looking alcoholic (judging as it's Saturday and he has 4 six packs of beer and a gut), and a little kid, probably around 10 or 11. I wished I could watch each of them burn, just suffer incomprehensibly. As I paid for my drink, the stupid cashier asks how I'm doing, I hold the spit that I wanted to hurl into her face back, and answer her, "Fucking miserable, and you?" I laugh as she says "peachy" and call her a cunt under my breath just loud enough for her to hear. I walk out and open my coffee, take a few sips and after realizing how much I could care less, hurl it at car passing by, and when they slam on their breaks, I light another cigarette. They quickly turn around and start spewing obscenities from there piece of shit car, and without looking at them I flip them off. I think he got out of his car, but by this time I was behind a bunch of buildings that smells like shit due to the nasty trash cans lining the corroding street. I forgot to get the pizzas and had to pee really badly. So I walked into an occupied apartment building, unzipped my pants, and pissed all over the carpet of the hallway that leads to these meaningless peoples existence. I turn out and go get the pizzas, throwing the money and change at the cashier and spit on the floor as I leave. I turned to see him gathering the change off the floor from outside the window. The manager looks at me with disgust. "Fuck you faggot" I mouth to him as I turn to walk back home. On my way back home, I find myself walking on a dark sidewalk next to the busy street, and a twenty year old looking woman and her baby are walking towards me, I attempt to trip the woman into the street, but am unsuccessful. Who gives a fuck anyways? She sees my kind foot gesture and screams at me in Spanish, I turn around with the pizzas in my hand and scream back "speak English you fucking whore!" Her baby begins to cry and she attends to it, as I continue on back home. When I get there, I sit there and think back on my trip, the empty roads, the empty stores, the empty sidewalks. My coffee is in my hands and I take a sip of it, enjoying every ounce of it. I get up and go pee, leaning my head back and laugh.
Age: 17. Height: 5' 10". Eye Color: Blue. Hair: Brown.
Body Type: Slender/Skinny. Piercings: None. Tattoos: None. Dress: Dressy Casual. Glasses: Yes. Smoke: Yes. Drink: No. Drugs: No. Facial Hair: Mustache, Side Burns, Soul Patch, Light Beard. State of Mind: Unstable.
7.
I think it all started about a year and 3 months ago. The house on Gilbert was small, yellow, and possibly haunted. Something about that house was cursed, bad karma originated from the innards of that house. Something about the numbers 749 was tainted. From the moment we began moving in I could see the instability of my life beginning to surface. I had claimed the room in the basement. As we were moving in my things, we dropped the bed, creating a huge hole in the wall. The floor was cold, and possibly infested. But a dark, lonely, basement room seemed perfect. After hours of arguing with Chris and Josh about my living arrangements, I won. The room turned out nice, a hip little bachelor pad. The house was crowed though, no doubt about it. Feeling a little greedy, I realized I was the only one person with their own bedroom. My mom and two brothers shared a room closest to the front of the house, Josh and Chris shared a large open space just adjacent from my room. Kenedei, David, and Sydni all shared a room across the hall from my mom and brothers, and Stephanie slept on the couch, not having a bedroom of her own. So a total of ten people lived inside a three bedroom house, with one bathroom that didn't even have hot running water, and to top it off, it was well water. Two days into the stay at the house, my mom calls it quits. So what? I didn't care. Leave. She did, but not before going out with a bang. Offering to strap my brother in his car seat, and being told "Get the fuck away from me and my kids" by her, with a simple retort of "Fuck you", lead to a full blown fist fight, and I refused to become a part of even though I was the other participant in the altercation. The police arrived, put me in hand cuffs, and lead me off to jail. The street was hot on my bare feet, seeing as I hadn't got dressed today. No shirt rested on my chest and back, and the officer was nice enough to let Stephanie to get me that and some shoes. She cried for me, telling the cops I did nothing, which was the truth. Led off to a paddy wagon down the street, I sat and waited, actually anticipated my arrival to jail that was and hour away. The thirst I had recently devolved due to the extreme heat in the small metal cage in the back of the wagon was excoriating. The repulsive well water that awaited me inside the release cell at Marion County Juvenile Center sounded almost irresistible at this point. I was scared, yes, but more pissed off than anything. Like all 3 times I've been arrested, I think back on the day up until my arrest. And it fills me with a disgustingly violent rage that can only be subsided by the thought of freedom, and each time has worked. After talking with the jackass behind the reception counter at the Juvenile Center, I'm lead into the release cell. After about three or four hours of trying viciously to fall asleep inside the smelly cell covered in graffiti, the guards open the door and lead me to my aunt and cousin Chris. As soon as I get into the car after hugging Chris and Stephanie repeatedly, I light a cigarette that I bummed off Tony, the driver of the now much crowed sports car. When I get home, the house is bright, the aura is very white and calm, and the house is spotless, finally put together. Stephanie and I sit on the couch, smoking like crazy and talking. My aunt Sissy comes over sometime after I arrive, and tells me how I did nothing wrong, my mother is psychotic. I listen, nod my head politely, and wait for her to leave so I can spark up the weed that Chris had given me after I got out of the car once I was back home. Nothing short of three or four bowls, I go downstairs and grab an empty water bottle that has been converted into a bong with a screwdriver and some tinfoil. I smoke until I feel high enough, then go back inside and lay on the love seat. I pass out and wake up the next morning. The next two weeks are filled with me making music, smoking pot with Chris, going on prescription runs with Chris, selling DVDs that I cherished oh so much with Chris for cigarette money and weed money, long walks and short bike rides to the movie store to get some movies seeing as we don't have cable. Then the shit hit the fan. One morning, after rejecting some weed due to paranoia about my mom coming and taking me to get drug tested, and accepting some pills as a substitute, I am awoken by screaming. My mother, grandmother, grandfather, and aunt Sissy are in the yard, and my mom proceeds to try to break into the house through the dining room window. Chris and Josh are asleep in the basement, my bedroom that I quickly aborted to sleep upstairs with Stephanie then eventually in the bedroom my mom once occupied. Stephanie's kids by this point were with their dad in Michigan, and now he had taken them to Florida. To cut the story a bit short, the police were called, I told them about my mom's abusive behavior, and left with Child Protective Services. Once there, I sat in a room filled with toys for younger children, and a friendly black woman aided me while watching The Terminal. Soon the people who interrogated me about my situation came back, and this time their once sympathetic and welcoming attitude changed to bitter cold and hatred. They had contacted my grandmother, seeing as Josh was 21 with no job and Chris was 23 with the same profile. Stephanie had been said to be a child pornographer and a heavy drug addict by my mother, which were false accusations. But these accusations were enough to keep these people against me in my defense to go back with her. I had later found out she went to jail for suspicion of battery and assault. My grandmother had told them I was a drug addict, at this time it was a bold face lie. I smoked pot often, took pills about once or twice a week, and smoked cigarettes, but addiction was not in my system yet. So now I'm sitting in a van, being questioned like a hardened criminal by these arrogant assholes and on my way to a drug rehabilitation center. "Have you ever taken pills?" "Uh, the ones my doctor prescribes me.", "What kind of pills?" "You know, Concerta, Ibprophen, stuff like that". I played a fool well. By this time, I had taken Ecstasy, Methadone, Xanax, Valium, Percoset, and Lortab. I knew all the information the longed for from me, but kept it locked away well. Shorten the story again, the rehab didn't take me. It would have been pointless, I didn't need it then. I stayed at a friend's house for a night, and then moved in with my mom for 4 days at our aunt and uncle's house out in the middle of nowhere. I then told my mom to let me stay at Nick's for a few days, and I didn't see her again until a year later inside the Hendricks County Court House, I was wearing a pair of handcuffs and shackles.
8.
I lay inside of a room covered in clothes, some clean, some dirty. I cleared out half the room and converted it into a sleeping arrangement. The small TV/VCR combo is placed on top of the Comcast Cable box, and next to it is my stereo system. I lay there smoking a cigarette, falling fast into the Trance music that fills the room to the brim. I place my Kool Milds to the side and reach for the pack of Marlboro Reds that I don't smoke and light two of them, standing up and restarting the song over. I begin to move my arms in the dark to the rhythm of the song, creating long streams of red light from the lit cigarettes. I realize how tacky it must look with out glow sticks, but damn am I impressed. The bass is heavy, the synth is fast paced, and the drums are very quick and tribal like. When I feel the sweat pour from my face, I realize the cigarettes are burnt out and I'm moving nothing but my arms. So I switch the light on, turn on the TV and lay down, waiting for Phil and Steph to get back home.
In the van, I feel excited and very nervous. I'm shaking slightly, but the promise of getting to go home overrides that completely. I had sat in class calculating the exact time that I'd be in that gold Mazda 626 on my way home, popping pills, smoking cigarettes, and listening to music. It was a Tuesday, and the heat in Indiana, especially Muncie was excruciating. Country music is what the drivers picked, again, for this trip. I didn't care, I was too excited. I had cried earlier, for reasons unknown to me, inside the isolation cell. Now at Rockville Road, the same street that was home to the Meijer that I met my demise at, I knew I'd be there within thirty minutes. Inside the van with me is a very attractive blond, in here for drug charges too, and not-so-attractive brunette in here for fighting, this was her fifth offense. My throat was dry, and now the food I had not eaten for the past two days is creeping up on me in the form of vomit. I sneak a look at the cute blond, and then close my eyes into a sleep that is rough and unsettling. When we arrive at the courthouse, a well built one for such a small town, my heart pounds through my chest. I search the parking lot almost obsessively looking for any car that would be the one that brought Stephanie here. I'm unsuccessful in my search. When we get inside, the shackles hurt my ankles as I walk and I hold off on using the restroom because I think I might have to submit a urine sample for drug analysis. When we get in the courtroom, I realize that we are very early, and no one is there. I'm happy now, thinking that she's on her way. I had prayed so hard the night before for this day to go well, my head ached for hours from praying so hard. God wouldn't let me down. Soon the two girls' parents enter and speak with them from the benches behind us. I stare at the clock, then at the door. The officers that escorted us here got on me vigorously about looking forward, but fuck that, I want to see her smile at me with tears in her eyes as she comes through those fucking doors. All my calls to her from jail have not been successful, so I want answers. Anger now fills me, why hasn't she come yet? What's taking so long? "James Day", fuck, it's my turn to take the stand. I get up there so angry I'm on the verge of tears, and tell them I'm alone in court. They set my case aside, so I should have a little longer to wait. The rest was a blur. All I remember I being told its time to leave, and she never showed. I hated God. He had fucked me over so bad. Why? What did I do?
Blow it all away. Just pull back, and blow it all away.
9.
I started writing the note today. I filled out the top half, which was my goodbyes to everyone at once, and then I started doing personal goodbyes. Half through the personals I ran to the sink behind me and threw up. What was I doing? Why did I start writing that? What could have told me that right now is the right time? My hands are shaking a little; the cigarette in my hand is almost out.
My head feels disarrayed. Waking into a dream that haunted me through out my day, I found myself a little weary of my surroundings. Peoples eyes glared right through me, seeing what lies dormant inside of me. Breaking down, water splattered all over my back, I could feel a hundred thousand tons slamming down on me. Everything was moving in slow motion, I was in real time. Sounds became distorted, creating words and conversations that never existed. I found myself re-entering the dream, in the middle of the packed parking lot looking for the car she was in. Pieces of it followed me, and started diluting my sense of reality. I haven't truly been able to confront the fact that she's gone, and when I awoke from seeing her again, the realization in front of me hit me like a speeding freight train. It had flowed through my veins, entering my brain, and consuming my memories. My heart stopped beating, my eyes went black, and nothing was everything. Panic filled me as I scattered, quite quickly, through the hoards of people. They saw me, and their eyes saw nothing. I wasn't aware of what was happening. Fresh air filled my lungs, followed by thick stacks of smoke, and I was clear to the naked eye, once again. It's the sky, the mood of the earth reflects itself on my inner subconscious.
A LOOK INTO MY LIFE:
Jan 27, 2007
A look into my life.
Over the past couple of months, my life has been subjected to a lot of changes.
Let me start back at the Summer of '06.
My aunt Stephanie (who I am extremely close to) moved in with me and my mom in July of 2006. We were living in Yorktown (were I had lived since I was 3 years old) and soon after she moved in with us we received an eviction notice. This had nothing to do with my aunt moving in. Along with my aunt, her 3 children (who I am also extremely close to) moved in to. We all packed our things, and left Yorktown. We found this nice 4 bedroom house on Shelby Street and things were going fine. We lived there for about a week, and then everything began to crumble down.
The landlords came to our house about a week after we moved in. They failed to mention to us that a deadly mold was growing in our basement, and the only reason they told us is because the Board of Health cracked down on them. So again we had to move. So basically right after we had unpacked, we were packing again. We found this nice little house on Gilbert Avenue, a little over a block away from Southport High School. By this point, my mom was planning on leaving, but had failed to mention it to any of us. About 3 days after we moved in, my mom flipped out. She came home from work and started throwing dishes around and cussing at all of us (Steph & I) and the kids). She packed a few bags of her clothes, took my 2 brothers and left. But before all of this could take place an altercation broke out between the two of us. She came at me with the intent of hitting me and so naturally I try to defend myself. Now don’t get me wrong, I merely pushed her off of me. But this led to the police being called. Naturally this meant I would be leaving that night in handcuffs. They took me down to the juvenile correction facility and upon my arrival, I was instantly released. The only reason I was there was by request of my mom. While I sat in the release tank for those long 4 hours, I made up my mind. I told myself I was going to cut ties with my mom once and for all. I was released that night and I went home with my aunt.
Flash forward 3 weeks.
Up until this time, I hadn’t heard anything from my mom. Stephanie's ex-husband called and asked if he could take the kids for a week to Florida. (Quick background: Chris Rich is Stephanie's ex-husband. He is the father of all 3 of Stephanie's children. He moved to Michigan about 2 years ago). Stephanie decided to let them go. Well about 4 days later, my mom shows up with my grandma, grandpa, and aunt Cheryl. Everyone in this group loathes Stephanie, and the reason they were there was to get the remainder of my moms things. But unlike civilized people, they had to act like children. The cops were called yet again, and this time Stephanie is the one leaving in handcuffs. I, on the other hand, come up with a quick way to dodge going back with my mom. I pull one of the officers aside, tell him about my abusive mother, and go to Child Protective Services. While there, I was treated good. Well, that’s an understatement. Because as soon as they talk to my grandmother, she fills them with a load of lies. She said I'm a helpless drug addict who beats my mother and brothers and has the entire family scared that I will kill someone. This is a complete lie. Anyone who knows me can tell you that. Now I will admit, I have used drugs. I’ve smoked pot, eaten pills, drank, even rolled on Ecstasy once. But in no way, shape, or form am I an addict. I’m like every other 16 year old kid. So the people at CPS start treating me like a dog from then on. Soon I’m in the back of an SUV on my way to Valla Vista, a drug treatment facility. I get to be welcomed by my worthless mother, and after about an hour, they let me go home. The catch was, I had to go home with my mom.
Flash forward 5 days.
I’m with my mom staying with my aunt Jessica out in Bargersville. I’m completely miserable, lonely, and just a mess. So, being like I am, I came up with a way out of it. I called up my best friend Nick and asked if I could stay at his house for about a week. My mom gave me the okay, dropped me off there the next day, and within the first 3 hours of me being there I was on my way back home, my real home, with Stephanie. By this point, we had found out her kids weren’t going to Florida. My mom, grandma, grandpa, and aunt Cheryl had called Chris and told him these disgusting lies about Stephanie and he got emergency custody. That was the last straw. I hated each one of them with a passion. So for a few days I would go over to Nick's and call my mom, just to keep her at bay. After about the 2nd or 3rd day, she stopped calling. I was staying with Stephanie full time. I had gotten a good job at Wendy's and things were going good. I hadn’t heard from my mom in almost 6 months.
The only thing I regret is not getting to see my brothers. I miss them every day of my life but if it meant I had to slowly die by living with my mom then I think ill just have to miss them.
This experience has changed my life. I have changed a lot. My personality, my appearance, my over all look on life.
I just want to leave you with this: One day I went to bed and I had everything. A galaxy of worldly possessions, a family. The next day I wake up and I have nothing. I have no family, except Stephanie, no possessions, nothing. So take this into consideration. Don’t take advantage of the things you have. Because they could be gone from you in an instant.
Andy
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