Confessions of a teenaged meth addict

Wasted Effort: 12.28.04 // 19:15

together we share the air that fills this room. Our unfocused minds are moving quite slow, yet still too fast to grasp a specific thought. It's that time of our binge where the only thought we can truly focus on replays itself over and over and over again:
Our next fix.

That may bring surprise to your foolish closed mind, or possibly even disappointment. But I am unable to worry about the opinions you form of us simply because my degrading actions are things I am unwilling to change.

My mind continues to focus on nothing but my need to be controlled by some type of substance. There is a specific one in my mind, but any will do..

We've come to the conclusion that our life styles will most likely bring us unwanted karma for our not-so-far away future... but still, our actions remain the same. For it is too late to change. We've developed a bad habit and a growing problem, and we realize this.

But we refuse to seek help.

So as we continue living, our problem will grow more each day that passes- and our lives will continue to be controlled by various substances.

But that's okay- that's what our youthful minds, bodies and souls want..

Where as sobriety is something we try to avoid at all times...

for we are teenage junkies.

-------

I have a composition book full of things I wrote from those days. I will share from time to time. I was fifteen when I wrote this.

I remember the feeling of that razor dragging across my fragile skin. It cut like a hot knife through butter, and the pain seared. I deserved it.

I felt it in my soul, and then I felt nothing. I was numb. I saw black, and then red. I heard things that weren't said, and I felt things that weren't there.

I imagined the end, the death.

I remember the police questioning me. Chasing me down. Checking me.

I remember the ambulance ride, seeing doctor after doctor. I remember hearing kids screaming.

Why am I here? Why was I there?

There was mom.. there was dad.

I brought them together.

But where was I?

Why am I shaking?
I feel them around my neck. His hands are so rough.
Callused from the work. The hard work. The brutal work.
The work for me, he says. These hands are for me. This pain is for me.

Me; the one who doesn't appreciate. The one who doesn't deserve. The one that gets, gets it all.
I can't stand you anymore.

Do you realize that you killed me?

Do you realize that I am dead inside, and out. You killed me.
You killed me.

You fucking killed me.

I wish I could kill you back.

But you're already dead.

You are an ugly shell of an ugly man who has never been pretty.

Closure never comes.

I was so strong..

it wouldn't last for long.

I wrap my hands around my neck..

I am so sad.




I wish God would talk back to me.

Tonight He went to bed mad at me. He left. He texted me from bed telling me not to text him because he was so hurt by how much I disrespected him today..

I begged him not to go and he didn't listen. The tears just came.

I found myself in the fetal position on the living room floor sobbing hysterically, having trouble breathing, and getting boogers everywhere for about an hour.

I started talking to my invisible mom as if I was twelve years old again and begged her not to go. I asked her why she was leaving me. I closed my eyes and remember that man's hands on my body. I remembered the feeling.

I could see my dad's rage and hear his mean words.

I just cried. I begged them to stop, all of these people. I asked them why they didn't protect me.

Why didn't they protect me? Why?

Without it all I'm choking on nothing. it's clear in my head, i'm screaming for something.

knowing nothing is better than knowing it all.

Dear Dad

I remember the day... I was sitting on my bed with this song on repeat. He had done it again. I remember thinking of how much I hated him and myself as I drug the razor blade across my wrists and my arms. I was crying. I stood up and wrote the chorus on my wall in permanent marker and kept the song blaring and on repeat.

I left. He always told me to leave and that he didn't want me there...

So there I went.

Today I will act as though nothing ever happened. Today I will be free.

Falling apart and all that I question: Is this a dream or is this my lesson?

"Hello my first name is distance, and I really don't care if I never wake up again."

Sometimes I inhale sorrow and exhale peace. The exhaustion is too much to bear, and I wish that I could just sleep.
Tomorrow will eventually be yesterday, and yesterday just won't matter anymore.

But what do you do when yesterday is a missing peice of your heart etched into your guilt ridden brain? How will tomorrow ever come if you are stuck in a blur of everything that doesn't even matter?

it doesn't really matter anymore.

His hands on my body. The searing pain. Bruises fade, don't they? I still feel the stubble, I still smell the poison. I can taste it, I can hear it. All the outlets have been painted over.

Where will we recharge?

Please die.

I hate him. I wish he would just die already so that I didn't have to keep up with him. I look at his face and there is something between us that will never leave.

I remember the first time. I was 12, and I stayed out a little later than I was supposed to. I called him and told him I was on my way home and he drove down the street as I was walking home. He shouted at me from inside the car and then pulled over on the side of the road. He walked up to me and I backed up because I was scared. In front of my friends, he snatched my hat off of my head and told me I had better run.

I ran home and as soon as I walked in and shut the door he grabbed me by my throat and slammed me against the wall. He kept emphasising words by re slamming me and eventually threw me onto the couch. He punched me in the arm and told me that I was a fat bitch, and that I was stupid. I don't remember what happened after that- but I remember the next day he took me out and bought me like a hundred dollars worth of C.D.'s.

Little did I know that this would become a pattern.

I hate him.

Where'd you go?

The Christmas before I turned 18 my whole family came to my grandparents' house from near and far to celebrate one last time. Grandma was dying, and we all knew it. She had an ongoing battle with cancer that she was just plain losing. I was named after her, and we always had a really special bond. The last few weeks of her life I would lay in bed with her and have conversations with her, even though she was delirious. I would hold her hand and we would just talk. A few days before she died she said 'I think 18 is old enough for this..' and she pulled out a bag. It was a necklace and a bracelet that her grandfather had made her when she was 17. He carved them out of plum seeds and it said 'Naomi' on it. She said she had been saving it for me until I was old enough to take care of it.

She told me to go through her closet and take things. It was strange.

One day my mom and uncle switched her to the other side of the bed where it was clean, they did this on a regular basis. They went out and were talking about something and she told me to go sit with Grandma so she wasn't in there alone. I went in and sat next to her on a chair besides her bed. She was breathing heavily and her eyes weren't all the way closed. I knew she was dying. I held her hand and let the tears flow freely. I told her how much I loved her and that I was here for her. I watched her last breath escape her lips and I hung my head and sobbed. I told her goodbye and I cried. I lifted her arm and watched it fall limp. I was afraid to touch her after that. My mom's boyfriend came in and I whispered to him if she was breathing. He went over and checked and looked up at me and said 'she's gone'. I looked at the clock. It was 4:16 pm. January 16.

I started a new job the very next day.

Maybe I should hate you for this. Never really did ever quite get that...

The truth is you could slit my throat- and with my one last gasping breath I'd apologize for bleeding on your shirt.

I don't even know what to write anymore. My friends hated me, I hated my family, my mom was a drunk, my daddy abused me and I cut myself.

I'm having trouble writing this. I will write. But... today I am feeling stubborn and anxious. My stomach hurts thinking of the past.

I hate therapy. I wish it could all just go away.

Hate me like I hate me.

Once my mom was moved out and into her own apartment, I was shuttled back and forth between parents. I had only a handful of friends (actually probably less). Michelle and Anthony were my best friends, but Michelle was the best at the time. I've known her since kindergarten, and she was my everything at this point. I felt she was all I really had.

I don't remember the intimate details of it all, it's not really that important now, but we got in a fight. It was probably a stupid fight but it was one of those 'I'm not your friend anymore' fights.

I went home and wanted to cry on my daddy's shoulder, but he was burning some steam off jogging on the treadmill in his bedroom. He had the music blaring and I couldn't even hear myself think.

Sobbing hysterically, I went into the kitchen and grabbed one of the knives out of the knife block. I fell to the floor and sat there looking up at the ceiling. I started coming in and out of reality as I drug the knife across my inner forearms. It hurt, but I didn't recognize the pain. I couldn't acknowledge it. I was numb. I thought I deserved the pain.

I went to school the next day wearing a long sleeved shirt to cover the gashes that I had dug into my arm with that dull knife. I still have the scars to remind me of that day.

Why are you crying?

My dad has been a landscaper my whole life. He used to work for a company called 'TruGreen' in Las Vegas. Their biggest customer was Summerlin (a section of las vegas where all the rich people live). Every housing community has a huge fancy park and their grass is always greener. Some have lakes or baseball fields, all of them have play grounds.. and all of them have walking trails. Each trail was anywhere between 1 and 3 miles, and when my dad was really mad we'd go up there and walk. We had a special stomp we'd do when we walked through tunnels because it sounded pretty cool. We'd talk, he'd vent, and I'd listen.
One day my mom was home packing up her stuff getting ready to go and my dad decided we were going to go to summerlin to walk. He needed to blow off some steam and also make sure his guys were doing their jobs. He would always make note of trash or a spot of dead grass.
On this particular day I had forgotten something in the house- so my dad waited in the car while I ran in to grab it.
I walked in and there was my mom. She was sitting on the couch and she just looked so helpless. Stuff was all around her as she was sorting it out and packing it, and she was sobbing. She told me she didn't want this, and that she was sorry. I didn't understand. He said she was leaving. If she was leaving, why was she so sad about it? She just cried, and cried, and cried. I didn't know what to do, so I grabbed what I was looking for and I left.

It was the first time I had ever seen my mother cry, except for the other night when we cried together. But she wasn't crying like this.

Where are you going?

I only remember a couple events from the next few weeks. I remember my mom sleeping in the spare bedroom on the futon we had. I remember laying in bed in her arms and crying, telling her I didn't want her to go. She stroked my hair and wiped my tears.. and then she cried with me. It was a tragedy. The pain I felt was so so strong, and I was so young and completely unsure how to cope with those kinds of feelings. I had never felt such sadness. Not even when my cat died in kindergarten.

I felt like throwing up.

The beginning of the rest of my life.

It was sometime after Christmas, but it was after my birthday too. Not long, though. I was 12. I remember the weather... it was cool with a breeze. The skies were blue, but then sun looked like it would be getting ready to set pretty soon. I was riding my new razor scooter, that I had received for Christmas, around the street outside of my house. My dad came out and called me over to him.
"I'm going to Four Kegs to meet up with your mom," he said.
"I want to go!"
"Not this time. Your mom and I have some things to talk about."

And with that... he was off.

That may not have been the exact dialogue, but it is similar enough.

Looking back, it doesn't seem like he was gone for very long. All that sticks out in my mind is his return. I rode my scooter over to the curb and was standing in the gutter. He took a step down, his sunglasses still on, and hugged me. He held me for a while. I remember his scent like it was yesterday. I can still feel my face rubbing against the roughness of the polo t-shirt he was wearing. I remember hearing him sniffle, and pulling away only to see him wipe tears away.

"Why are you crying dad?" I asked with the innocence of a child.
"She's leaving.."

All I remember after that is being confused. I don't remember if I asked questions, or if I just shrugged it off with misunderstanding.

The only thing I do know is... this was the beginning of the rest of my life.