No New Year's eve party for me. I was looking forward to it, bought a nice shirt, the correct pair of boxers, lol, and was ready to look fly and dance with many pretty girls. Instead I sweat under my covers, and waited until 7 40 to write something. I've got Pandor playin, Marshall Mathers is on. I'm not really feeling it to be honest, I'm not in a resentful mood. But Ima let it ride.
This is the first time in years I called sick off work. That's not even what I want to write about. I'm not sure what's up.
I'm upset, pissed deep down perhaps, about my Mom still being angry at me. When the whole Mike Brown thing was on the news she angrily shared her opinion, raising her voice at the young drug using criminal, her anger and spite evident by how she spit out the words, the deep furrows in her brow, sharp tone. Wanna know who else was a drug using criminal? Yours truly. I got a sneak peak into what my Mom really thinks of me, but probably doesn't want to admit to herself. This last holiday didn't even feel like Christmas. The eager anticipation colored by happy xmas music wasn't there. It felt like a walk I didn't want to take, but wasn't exactly against taking either.
I miss my Mom. How she used to smile in photos. Those real smiles, where the eyes laugh, too. Now she puts on this face and holds back the happy wrinkles, fearing that they make her look old. You're over 50.... nothing wrong with wrinkles. Girls go from pretty girls to beautiful women, to Regal. My grandmother is regal. My Mom isn't. She's very pretty. She's beautiful. She's not happy, though, not really. If she was she wouldn't still be going to Peru to get procedures done.
She says "I'm proud of you" with hesitation, oblivious to how obvious it is that she's trying to convince herself she is. I used drugs. I've been arrested for shoplifting, DWI, assaulting a woman and officers, and possession of paraphernalia. I lost my full ride at UCF and was kicked out. I dropped acid and dropped out of IUPUI, no longer looking at a career in dentistry. or neuroscience. I needed an arrest and a stint in rehab to realize I have a drug problem. I'm bipolar and she thinks that's pitiful. The little boy she'd brag to her friends about how he was going to be a doctor or lawyer and go to the best schools ended up living in a homeless shelter for a bit. Now she acts a little different, knowing financial success. Her horse is a little higher. And for raising her head to look down, people talk behind her back about her son, the one with so much potential that squandered it on drugs. Good for her. That's what she gets for bragging over something she has no control over. In an instance everything can change. I hope she learns humility, and that the things she has in her life were earned, but she didn't do it herself. Her and I went to buy a used car from a successful lawyer, when he asked What does your husband do? she said He's retired. I said he was a police officer before that, and she shrunk a little. Good for her. Nothing wrong with reality, nothing wrong for being an officer. My Dad has a medal of honor for saving someone, how fucking cool is that? He never told me, my Dad is too humble, my Mom brought it up.
I'm going to try my hardest not to ever brag about my children. If they're talented or gifted in any way, that's not from me, that's how they are. I won't take credit. I'll try my best to foster their talent. My Mom tried her hardest with me. I was always a good student, did well on tests and whatnot. She's probably unaware of the pressure I felt to succeed in the way she wanted me to. I got a B once, in 4th grade. I came home bawling. I wasn't perfect, ya see? I remember telling her I was going to be psych major. She yelled at me, saying she wouldn't support me, that I would make no money. Didn't matter that it was my favorite subject. Want to know what I thought? "Fine, bitch, I have a full ride anyways." I ended up going for a double major in psych and finance. I was still influenced.
My first semester I left the Honors program and got an academic warning. I skipped to have sex and smoke a lot of weed. Classes were boring. Too slow. Not challenging. So I had lots of sex, convinced my girlfriend to get my xanaxes from her work, sold em and weed to support my hazy habit. I took my first psychedelic, kinda. 2CT2. Highlighters streaked the wall. I bounced a beerpong ball and watched is it formed a jumping lattice. Grass turned to dancing green flames. Things got goofy, and I learned Walmart is a treacherous place. Floors turned to ropes, walls melted. Music met me unfiltered. It was all for fun. No real insights learned, unlike my psychedelic experiences of last year. Bars in beerpong cups and bongs almost killed me. I was straight, though. It was all a perfect escape. I found fun in drugs, self esteem selling them and being asked for. "Life Saver" is what one of the cheerleaders called me. I felt cool as fuck. My room was the place we'd all congregate, all the boys. We'd trip and smoke. Repeat. Drink, too, but not as much as toke. It was like a high in itself, being the guy who had everyone over, had the bud. I sold it but was never shy about sharing more than my fair share, either. My girlfriend was as freaky as me, and she was my first. For the first time in my life I was the center of it all, having sex, getting all the festivities happening. My buddy Turner came to visit from UF, and it felt great having a quarter to share, to start things off with a half-eighth Blunt-Off of the dank shit. I never joined a frat like Ren Joe and J-Mitch did, but I went to the TKE parties, and since I was good at beerpong I heard people say We gotta rush this kid! I was wanted and sought after by a lot of people. That had never been the case in my life. I was applauded for throwing up after every BP game so I could play the next. Acting crazy got me what I always craved: Attention. Sorry, Ma, that life was way too addictive to let go of. I was forced to, though, and left the state for calmer pastures. Kurt Vonnegut's hometown, Indianapolis.
Things calmed down for a year. I gained 30 pounds of fat real quick, cheated on Denise and joined 'dating' sites like Fling. Food gave me comfort. The phone talks w Denise gave me love, attention, acceptance. The sex with strangers gave me an ego boost, more attention, fantasies fulfilled. And guilt, though I didn't know it yet. We broke up, on and off. I was bored, and simultaneously subconsciously guilty, so I pushed her away thinking before she could ever come to her senses and leave me. I didn't feel I deserved her, deep down. She found someone, a great guy, a marine about to head to war. I remember when she told me, while we were broken up, that she was going to see him before he left. At this time I was living w my co-worker Theresa (other story), and still had some xanies left. I knew they would finally have sex, and felt fear like a stab. I was scared she would finally leave me for good, be done with our cat and mouse game, and I wouldn't be able to manipulate her anymore by constantly leaving her. I threatened to take all the Xanies and harm myself unless she changed her mind. Holy shit was I a case. She, of course, still went, and I never took the pills. My ol bluffing ass. Things come full circle, though. We got back together after 4-5 years, and when she broke up w me for cheating on her w Kirsten and I wouldn't let her get back w me, she told me she took a bunch of pills. I admonished her and she told me she threw them up. I told her if she ever did something like that again or threatened it I would end our relationship.
She's with someone, now. Shortly after we broke up she rebounded w a guy, and was gonna move to Cali. I know this bc she called me just to tell me that fact. I told her my life was upside down, I quit my job, I near ruined my uncle and aunt's marriage, and she responded with I'm in love and moving! We were both stuck in our own worlds. Eventually she realized he was a lying stalker, and broke up w him. Now she's engaged to a nice man, and pregnant. She called a few month's back. We talked, she told me of her pregnancy, I was fresh out of the homeless shelter, and we caught up and had phone sex like the good ol days. Just like those happy days she fell asleep on the phone, listening to me talk. We haven't been in touch since. We will, though. She's beautiful. Has the best ass. lol. Not to mention the tightest coochie. ha. I still love her. my Bambu. Our relationship was one of giving the other what we wanted. She bought me gifts, I rarely did. I talked and talked to her, and always listened. She fell asleep every time I truly opened up to her. That's ok, though. Oh, I cut myself once bc of an overreaction to an argument between her and I. This was after we broke up, about 2 years after moving to Indy. I was on Strattera for ADHD, even though the shrink noticed high anxiety in me... I got my first tastes of mood swings, it was like a mixed state. I was hurt, and I wanted to remind myself never to let myself be hurt again. With a razor. Over my heart I cut diagonally down, about an inch or more. The chest is tense. My skin split like a zipper. I don't remember the pain. I remember I immediately felt lucid. Crying I called my uncle, I was scared and knew he'd be there for me. I told him I didn't feel well and needed to be around people. I took amoxicillin to prevent an infection, threw away the straterra, and put a white shirt to my chest. Driving there I called Denise and told her she wasn't good for me, and to never call me again. I knocked on my uncle's door around 11-midnight, and told him what I did. He took me to the hospital. While talking to the nurse I was completely calm, and rational. I blamed the straterra, which is accurate (my uncle noticed my mood changing while I was on in), and I spent an hour or two there. My uncle was sleeping in his car when I came out. He said something nice, about being there for me, and ended it w "hijito." I almost cried, feeling his love for me. I hope he understands how sorry I am. I was never so angry. I wrote about that part, already.
The next time I was there The Nanny was on. Denise's favorite show. Of course I thought of you. I'm sorry I threw away your gift, the message in a bottle. I'm sorry I played with your emotions, and threatened suicide. I'm sorry I brought of his photos on ur email to constantly guilt-trip you. I'm sorry I scared you the day I punched the wall. I'm sorry I hacked your email, and never gave you a real chance to earn your trust back. I'm sorry I never gave you that chance. I'm sorry I made you feel little and insecure. I'm sorry I made it so you'd never know if I would be there or not. I'm sorry I cheated on you all those times. I'm sorry for all the lies. I'm sorry I made you compromise your morals for those pills. I'm sorry I made you take the money. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you in all the ways you wanted, all the ways you needed. You gave me so much, Denise. I wouldn't be the man I am today without your love, your laugh, our kiss, those countless hours on the phone. I'll make it up to you. I promise.