The last entry I posted was all true, but I didn't stay where I was at the time. Mark and I ended up moving into a house with roomates...something we thought would be good for us. In the beginning everything was fine. The guy who owned the house (chuck) lived with us and he was pretty cool, although 10 years older than us and suffered from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. We figured he was alright, he was into alot of the local bands and occasional partying.

But beings friends and living with friends can pose some problems, especially with dishonest people. The first month there was fun, we only drank socially and I was able to avoid the occasional drug use that went on with the older people that lived there. But the second month proved that Chuck was a bullshitter and he lied about a lot of stuff. Stealing our identities to put bills in our names, eating our food and then getting angry when we confronted him, letting crackheads sleep on the floor so I had to step over them to get out the door for work. Some of the people started moving out and things got a little better. But Chuck turned on us again and started acting like he was our parent because he was older and "so-much-wiser" . He started picking fun at me about how I dressed (I guess you could say I am a little 'preppier'), he was metal head and only liked alternative girls. He would insult my hairstyles, my makeup, anything he could find. He was worse to Mark though because Mark wouldn't stand up for himself (Chuck could be a big scary guy when provoked, I mean, he has 7 warrants in Ohio

About 11 months ago I attempted suicide (re: last entry) and since then I was a different person. I was unhappy, looking for a different way to live my life rather then finish school and move on to college. So I decided to try and live on my own, see what the working class had to offer. Not much really. So to shroud the stress of that life, I turned to drugs and alcohol.

I got engaged (big mistake at 18), got an apartment in the ghetto (bigger mistake), stopped going to work so I could stay at home and binge on marijuana, beer, cigarettes, cocaine, special k, ecstasy, LSD, and just about anything else I could get my hands on (biggest mistake of all).

I watched everything around me deplete itself. My engagement fell apart. My friends fell away from me and the ones I was gaining were only around when the drugs were around and parties were being had. My personal possesions were mostly sold to pawn shops and record exchanges so I had $20 to buy a sack of pot.

My DVD's and PS2 games all gone so I could get beer and coke. It wasn't long before I was calling people and begging them to feed me because all I had was insatnt mashed potatos and no clean pots to make them in. And it wasn't long before my family started refusing to help me, they could see what I was doing behind their backs, they knew my anger and violence was because of drugs and no other reason. And I was depressed, but didn't know it because I thought I was fine so long as I stayed high...but that became hard to obtain as well.

Chris (my ex-fiance) and I fought ALOT. I thought he and I were perfect, I don't know why all the petty fighting didn't wave a red flag in my face until it was too late. And in the end I was emotionally abused and strung out.

The last night I was with him he said some awful things to me and in a rage I put my fist through a mirror...his reaction to that was to grab me, cover my screaming mouth, and shove me (barefoot) into the broken glass. I knew it was over...no one can lay their hands on me like that.

I left him and went to live with someone whom I thought was my best friend. I still partied...still did drugs with her. We would spend every night getting drunk and then hanging around her house smoking joints with her brother and all his older friends, or driving around to different party houses and seeing what substances we could abuse at each place.

Her dad became pervertedly obsessed with me, and one night he cornered me and asked if he could fuck me for money. He took my pants off and all kinds of other things that I don't even want to think about to this day. The only thing that saved me from that house (I had nowhere else to go) was a party she and I went to a few days later.

I had started dating Bobby, the boy who I was with before Chris, but he went to jail before I graduated. Bobby had just "convieniently" got out of jail when Chris and I ended it...so I had my rebound. I would drive out to Jackson every day to spend time with him. I had very little money, which he used me for to buy cocaine every day. At first we were having fun but my life still seemed to be going nowhere.

He would keep me up for days on end on a coke binge...I started smoking it, which eventually progressed to crack. I had become a "crack-head", and it's funny how I used to use that term in high school to joke around and poke fun at people. Now I knew what a crack-head was...and it wasn't so funny. I weighed 80 lbs, I had dark circles under my eyes, my voice was hoarse because when you smoke crack you can go through a pack of cigarettes in 2 hours, 1 hour if you're really fucked up. I was stealing things so I could survive...stealing not only from stores but from people who trusted me.

I finally blew him off and abused morphine to curb my withdrawls from the coke...I couldn't afford it anymore. I had to steal the morphine from a family member. Just now I'm beginning to feel the guilt...the state of mind I was in then didn't allow me to feel bad about what I was doing.

Back to the party I went to though...My "best-friend" took me to a party in a house on the corner of 12th and Market. If you're familiar with the area...you know that's the ghetto. Not deep in the ghetto...but bad enough. The guy who was throwing the party had a crush on me from the start. And as the night progressed, we hit it off. Or maybe the 10 beers I had drank had something to do with it.

I don't remember all the drugs I did that first night...but the fact remains that I had just met this guy and after 8 hours of hard partying with him, we were already having sex. You can scream "SLUT" at the computer now...though you might change your mind when I'm finished.

From that first night at the party and on....I stayed in that house...never left. I moved all my stuff in three days later. During those three days I was in and out of euphoria because I was popping ecstasy every few hours. By the time I had come down off of it...I was a different person all over again. I got back into the local concerts with him. Every day we would go through a quarter of dank (really good weed, for those of you who don't know...)

He was working to support me...he wanted me to get a job, but then every morning before he left for work he would lock me in the house. No one could get in, no one could get out. How was I to get a job? I spent a month locked in that house.

The house didn't even pass city code. It was falling apart. Only one room was heated, no carpet, the floors and walls and cielings were all ripped up and moldy, the house wreaked of dog shit because he let his dog piss and shit all over the downstairs while we lived in the upper levels.

We NEVER had food. I was lucky to eat fast food once in a blue moon. I shifted my attention to art. I would spend hours drawing drug induced scenes all over the nasty walls with shapie markers until he came home. He became smothering, telling me he loved me and making me have sex with him whenever he wanted. But I stayed because atleast I had food every once in a while and plenty of drugs to make the pain go away.

But life like that finally tore through the drug blanket I had covered myself with and finally (in a drunken stupor) I convinced one of his nicer friends to get me out of that house without him figuring out what was about to happen.

I had had a 12 pack to the face by the end of my last night there. His friend told him he was leaving but he was really going to wait for me in the autozone pking lot down the road. I told my "boyfriend" I had to go visit a friend and that I would be back with some coke in a half hour. I made it out of the house fine, but once behind the wheel I knew I didn't have a chance. The roads that had always been so familiar to me were now askew because of my blood alcohol level. I ended up turning around and trying to get back into his house but he had locked me out...he had caught on to what I was trying to do.

His friend drove back to make sure everything was okay, and caught me screaming at the top of my lungs and karate kicking the door. I still don't remember doing this.

His friend...Mark...was kind of the angel I needed all along but was too fucked up and God-hating to pray for. Mark was this guys brother...not by blood, but through a big fucked up family story, and in the end they considered themselves brothers. Mark had also fallen for me in the time that he knew me prior to that night. I had secretly fallen for him. We've been together since that night that he rescued me.

I would like to tell the story of how Mark and I struggled from living on the streets, to living in a garage, to living in the ghetto again, all the way until how we ended up where we are now, happy, safe, and recovering from all our Big Mistakes...but it will have to be later on. Right now I have a paycheck to go pick up, and then I will be able to go grocery shopping!! But don't worry, my cupboards are not bare anymore...I am far beyond that now ^.^ *smile*

Something about all that I went through, and how I came out of it wiser and more prepared for life, no matter how hard or easy, made me want to join LJ again. I may not be the way I used to be...maybe a little more grown up, probably with a whole new personality and outlook on things, stronger opinions and a little ruffer around the edges...but I made it, and I'm going to shine.

current mood: content