Tears on the Sleeve of a Man

i feel like i'm dying inside. literally. it's like i can feel my body decomposing. and it's terribly painful.

i've been smoking pot since my mom's been out of pain pills. i feel bad that she shares with me, because she runs out and is in pain before she can get a refill. but it sucks being in near constant physical and mental anguish. pot sort of helps--it's distracting. but i still hurt. i just wish i could grow poppies in my back yard.

anyway, the last entry i wrote was 12 days before i woke up and found josh, my boyfriend, dead in the corner of the bedroom. his toes were blue. he was so cold. i tried to wake him up, but i knew he was gone. his family were at church. i went outside and just started screaming because i couldn't even think straight enough to dial 911. 

when the paramedics got there, they were so slow walking to the house, and i started yelling at them to hurry up. they threatened to arrest me if i didn't shut up. and then this one woman who seemed really nice because she was a lesbian, i think, and knew josh, got mad at me because i was crying so hysterically that i kept spitting on her when she was trying to talk to me. but it was the absolute worst thing that has ever happened to me--and there have been a lot of really, really bad things.

i read an article earlier about how depression can cause psychogenic pain. i've always thought my lower back pain was psychogenic. depression makes sense, i guess. i've never really taken psychotropics for very long. pills don't usually interest me unless they make me feel better immediately. but yeah. they say depression comes from thinking about the past, and anxiety from the future. i definitely think about the past almost constantly.

there's a lot more i could say about josh. i miss him a lot. and there's way more to the story, but i'll write about it another time, maybe. 

i think i might make this public. that is an extremely unwise decision for many reasons, mainly because of the fact that i'm still on probation and not supposed to be doing drugs. but i think i've mentioned many times before that i have the desire to do it. i don't know why, really. it just seems like it could be cathartic in a really dangerous sort of way. i don't know. i'm fucked up.

1969

I was over at a friend's house and found a yearbook that belonged to my cousin, who died in 1994 from an overdose. She would've been in my mom's class, but she failed a grade. One of the people who signed her yearbook killed himself a few years ago. Another one is strung out--someone I used to hang out with. It's strange reading through the comments. I like looking at the pictures, too. Time traveling to 1969 would be cool.

On a side note, I need something to do with my time. I'm so bored with life.

I was going to let some people on Reddit have access to my journal, for whatever reason, but I changed my mind. The only reason I let Kate have access to it is so that maybe if I die there will be a record of my thoughts, however fucked up they may be.

Speaking of Kate, I helped her mom on the phone today with her computer. She invited me to come stay in Pennsylvania if she can get her son and his girlfriend to leave. That would be cool. And it'd be much easier than time traveling.

I miss my shittie guitar. I sold it to Dusty for $20 because his other one is in the pawn shop. I got to play it a little bit today, though. It sounds so much better than the Keith Urban one my parents got me for Christmas. But I am still happy I have it.

I should write a song.

I'm going to do that now.

i hate meth

i'm exhausted. i can't sleep. i feel like i'm going to jump out of my skin (probably due to opiate withdrawal, as well). i can't find comfort in anything. i really want some heroin. but i'm too poor, and i don't have connects anymore.

i want to be floating in a pool where no one can see me.

i miss rehab.

i miss the pool. and my tent by the pool. i doubt i could go back, since i already owe them a shitload of money. plus insurance to go there is like $400/month. they don't take medicare.

i miss california. the desert. it's pretty healing.

i hate meth.

why do i always do this to myself?

i have a headache. i wish i could grow poppies in my back yard. my life would be complete.

i have nothing more to say.

no one reads this

i've only made my blog public a few times, for only hours at the time, and i'm almost certain no one ever reads any of it. i have one friend currently who has access to it, but i'm pretty sure she doesn't ever read it, either. and that's okay. i love you anyway, kate.

but i would like validation.

what do people want to read about, though? i could write about my craziness all day long. i could name-drop a little. i could write about my new lame job working one day a week at a hotel. i could write about my boyfriend and family. my mom and i are doing much better.

i'm pretty stoned right now. i did a tiny bit of meth last night because i'm trying to stay up to get back on a 'normal' sleeping schedule for graveyard shift. i had to smoke some pot to take the edge off. i really don't like meth. ew.

anyway, i took a shower, and i feel better now. i spent like three hours masturbating then three more writing a song about drugs.

here are the lyrics, for now:


well i wish i could just stay sober
but i guess that would be a lie
and i really don't want it to be over
so pass me the whisky and a light

well weed's okay, but i'm not down with crack
and i won't turn down a little smack
give me a pill, it's such a thrill
let jack and jill roll down that hill

oh heaven knows these words are true
and my outlook is truly blue
no happiness will come to me
when getting high is not the key

oh what are we supposed to do
when we're not ready to be through
with all the shit that comes from them
the light is getting pretty dim

i hate to say that you were right
but maybe i just lost the fight
my mind can't function on its own
so i'll stay awake until dawn

i'll write you a pretty little song
maybe you can sing along
it doesn't  matter anyway
there's nothing really left to say

and i hope whoever hears
will lend a gentle, loving ear
and try to understand the way
a broken heart can go astray

well i wish i could just stay sober
but i guess that would be a lie
and i really don't want it to be over
so pass me the whisky and a light

--

yeah, so that's one of the probably hundreds of songs i've written, most of which i'll never remember.

i want to be like linda perry. i want to make a living writing songs.

speaking of which, i asked clementine if i could write her mom into a screenplay about my life, and she said her mom probably wouldn't be down for it, that she barely even has anything to do with her other kids' work. i tried to re-add clementine to facebook, but she never accepted my friend request. bitch.

i hate famous people.

and sunny is in this band with willie nelson's son. i asked her if she could get me tickets to see his concert with my dad when he comes to atlanta, but i think i made her feel weird. blah.

i hate fame. hate hate hate hate hate.

or MAYBE i secretly am envious of those who have it. same with money. being poor sucks, even though i've said the opposite for quite a while.

i'm watching some rabbi on youtube, sort of. i was thinking about converting to judaism, but it's really difficult for me to believe most of the torah. i do think kaballah is neat, though. and i dig that they believe in a transcendental god with a feminine presence.

i'm so hungry, but i don't want to eat. i've gotten fat, and i don't like it.

i got an e-mail back from temple beth israel in macon. they invited me to their torah study and shabbat service. that's pretty cool. i may go one friday. i want to believe in something. i want to do mitzvot.

i'm tired of typing.

get me away from here i'm dying

i'm old. i'll be 36 this year. my hair is falling out. my teeth are falling out. i'm clinically insane. i'm jobless. living on a $970/month disability check. i'm on probation for my dui. i came home from my boyfriend's today. i haven't had a pain pill in many days now. i hurt all over my body, and i was in such mental anguish that i came seriously close to slitting my wrists. but my mom gave me 7.5 mg of oxycodone. she made me tell her if i had been using. i had to tell her that i get stuff at my boyfriend's house sometimes, and she told me if they ever gave me anything again that she'd call my probation officer and have them arrested. what a fucking hypocrite. she also doesn't want me to see my boyfriend anymore, even though he makes me happy when i'm with him. i know we're in a seriously co-dependent relationship, and we're both addicts, but i'm okay with that. i love him. granted i'm still not completely over the other assholes who broke my heart and my body, but i'm doing much better in that area.

i want to start a non-profit so bad--a holistic, self-sustained community for high-functioning adults with mental disabilities.

i had all of these ideas about how to make the money. i could write an amazing album or a screenplay about my life. but those aren't realistic at all, especially not in this world. content overload. plus i'm not that great of a musician or writer. i mean, people tell me i'm good, but i don't believe them.

i really wouldn't mind just ceasing to exist. life is just... painful, in general. it's exhausting, really.

i miss 1997.

Awake.. sort of

I got a boyfriend. I got back on pills. I haven't had one in several days, but I'm currently stoned in his bed writing this. His sister's cat is going crazy and running around the house. I just took my Vraylar and Dekapote, the drugs for the schizo and affective parts of my disorder, respectively. We're watching some show about a cult, and I'd really like to start one. That is my dream. I'm trying to get my degree in Public Service so I can do that.

I don't know what else to say, so I'll probably write again in several months.

Peace out.