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I tried to write about this a couple days ago when I was drunk, but it ended up being a babble of incoherent sentences that I’m sure repeated the same thing I wanted to say over and over, just in different ways. I mean, I know I have a problem with repeating myself, but I think that’s because I’m always afraid people won’t understand what I mean the first time around. Or the second.

But I’ve come to a point where I need to be honest. I know I’m usually honest to the point of TMI most days, but it’s never about anything important. Not really. Or, well, it’s never about anything I’m ashamed of. This, both of these, I am. So much that ever since then I’ve been having problems getting to sleep at night. I lie awake in bed every night and think about this shit. I can’t help it. Trust me, I wish I could. I’d prefer to have a normal sleep schedule for once instead of lying in bed until 9am.

Anyway, both of these things happened in June.

Most of you know that I had a problem with meth and made it past the one year clean mark. That’s still true. I didn’t lie to anyone about that. But It was kind of fucked, because all it took was being around it one time before I ended up spending $600 on meth in a single fucking month. One time. A bunch of random guys offered to give me a ride to work but they needed to go to their dealer’s house. The dealer lived a block away from me. ONE BLOCK. Are you serious? It was fucking over the moment it started. I was tweeked out through the entire month of June. I think I slept maybe a total of five days out of that whole month. Maybe ate a total of, eh, we’ll give it seven or eight days. It was so sad how EASY it was for me to say yes to it. I didn’t even think twice. Even after being clean for over a year, I said yes without a moments hesitation.

And you know what’s sad? Part of me loved it. I fucking love that drug, I’m sorry. I know it gets me in so much trouble and coming down is like being in hell but sometimes I crave it like I crave air to live.

I love what the drug lets me achieve. I’m a creative person, okay? If I’m not creating something I feel like I don’t have a purpose. But I have focus problems and it can screw up a big project I’m working on if it’s taking too long and my ADD kicks in. Then I’m like fuck this and try to wrap it up as quickly as possible, half assed. Like my fanvids, for example.

On meth, I make amazing fucking fan videos. My Nate addiction one, my Beth Starry Eyed one, my Leverage South Park one that everyone fucking loves? Meth. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on making shit of that caliber without the focus meth gives me. Especially the South Park one. I mean, finding clips that kind of match to the words, do you know how long that takes? I couldn’t do that to save my life sober.

You know how long its taken me to build my own website right now? For my fan fiction and fan videos? It’s been months, months. And I’m still fucking it off and making it half assed. But when I was on meth, I made my entire Beth Riesgraf fan site in a little over a week. Fuck, to be honest, most of the shit I’ve ever done for Beth has been built on meth, but let’s not go there.

Point is, meth stimulates my creativity and allows me to focus better. That’s why I have a hard time not doing it. I’m not a tweeker that smokes, then fucks off with their friends in stupid ass ways to get arrested, or cleans the house like a maniac. I do shit. Productive fucking shit, thank you.

I’ve been clean since I moved to Portland, by the way, but fuck knows how long that’ll last. I know I can’t see it without wanting it, and how am I supposed to go my whole life never seeing it? But whatever.

I didn’t have the time of my life on it though, of course. The guilt was fucking eating me alive and yet I still kept it a secret. It’s hard when people say “I’m proud of you” and you know that there’s really nothing to be proud of anymore. So, what did I do? I did the same thing I did when I knew I was spiraling out of control the first time on meth: I focused far too much on Beth. Which wouldn’t have been much an of an issue if the situation was still the same as it was back then. Back then I had never met her, back then I wasn’t able to freaking email her. Do you see how this became an issue, and fast? Dear lord.

But yeah, back then, when I fucked off every day and living in a motel room with my three cats and miserable about it, I focused on Beth. I made the website, the YouTube channel. I obsessed heavily because it let me not focus on my own life. So I guess when that happened again, I went back to my comfort zone. Except, you know, this time, it made shit so much worse.

This time, I had already met her. I was able to talk to her whenever I wanted. I ended up looking up to her so much and at the same time developing a sort of crush on her and desperately felt the need to impress her; to get her to like me. It was awful, really, because I’m bad with people to begin with, so I have no idea how to talk to a person normally in the first place. And then there’s her. I was worse with her.

Look at my YouTube channel. Do you know how many fan videos of her I made in June? Every single one I would send her an email to show her and be all LOOK WHAT I MADE BLAH BLAH VALIDATE ME LOVE ME BLAH. It was embarrassing, really. At the time I didn’t think so, I was so wrapped up in trying not to feel guilty about what I was doing that I felt like if Beth liked me than I wouldn’t have a reason to feel so awful. I kind of went overboard though.

And then something kind of went down at the end of the month that made us stop speaking to each other. I won’t go into what it is, it’s between us and really isn’t anyone else’s business, but long story short: she hurt my feelings and I retaliated in a really fucking awful way. Like, I was a huge cunt to her. HUGE. I didn’t yell at her or anything, I didn’t tell her to fuck off or say fuck you or call her any names (to her face, anyway) but I was really fucking mean to her regardless. Now, to be fair, I really don’t think she meant to hurt my feelings. She never meant for me to find out the real reason about something, because if she did, she would have told me straight up. I think she did when she did to spare my feelings, but because I knew the truth I went the fuck off at her.

That was also the point where I realized meth was fucking me sideways. Because when you’re up for a week straight, bipolar like a bitch already, it kind of makes you… snap. And I think if I wasn’t doing meth, maybe I would have taken a second to think about what was going on and respond in a more adult way. But I didn’t take a second to think. At all. I just reacted. Because in that moment I hated her with every inch of my being.

I’m one of those people who do things and don’t think about tomorrow. I’m convinced I won’t be alive much longer so I look at things like it doesn’t fucking matter, only to hate life when I’m still alive and it matters somewhere down the road. And it matters now, I feel fucking awful.

Beth is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met who seriously had no reason to even give me the time of day in the first place, and yet she did. And I think I really ended up hurting her because of what I did. I mean, I’m her biggest fan. I think she’s so incredibly talented, more than any other actress I’ve seen, and I’ve supported her in ways no one else ever has before. I’m the one that always stuck up for her and had her back when other people were being douchebags. So for me to turn around and be horrible to her like that? That really must have hurt.

Yeah, I feel like a cunt.

Not that I’m invalidating my own feelings on the matter. She did hurt me and to be honest I doubt I’ll ever get an apology for it. I’d like to think that it doesn’t matter, but that’d be a lie.

I probably shouldn’t care what some woman I barely know thinks about me, but I do. I can’t help it. She’s important to me, you know? I’ve gone into this before; about how Parker helped me and stuff. I mean, that’s fucking important. And how when I wanted to kill myself because I was in this dark fucking hole of tweaked out shit, I used her to feel happier. I mean, indirectly, she did save my life. So yeah, she’s fucking important and that’s why it mattered.

Anyway, regardless of all of that and how I feel about her side of it, I do know that I fucked up worse. I do know that I had no right to say what I said to her and to act like a complete angsted out teenager on crack. It makes me feel awful because I really don’t think she deserved that, even if she did hurt my feelings. It’s not like she was cruel to me or anything. So, I’ve been needing to seriously apologize to her for awhile now.

Which brings me to her birthday gift and why the fuck that isn’t sent out yet even though it’s been over a month.

All the stuff is wrapped and ready to go out. Has been for weeks. I have a big letter in there in which I apologize for being a complete ass. And has it gone out? No. Why? I’m fucking terrified to send it. This is one of those things where I seriously only get one shot at and I still don’t know if what I said will even make a difference. I mean, I’m shit with people, really. Like absolute shit. I’m worried I said the wrong thing and… fuck, I don’t know. I don’t know what to do with it.

And it’s not fair to everyone else who sent their stuff in. It’s not just my present, it’s everyone’s. Fuck. I don’t know.

I just feel bad about it and this crap keeps me awake at night. Beth, the meth thing, fucking all of it. I continuously beat myself up over it. I can’t help it. That’s just who I am. I’ve never had shit go on this long. Ever. I don’t know how to handle it.

So yeah. There’s honesty right there. The entire month of June and why it sucked. I’ve just kept this shit inside for way to long and maybe, I don’t know, talking about it will allow me to try to move past it. Hopefully. I just need to quit lying to everyone.

Though, in all honesty, I’ll still tell people, when directly asked, that I’ve been clean for a year and a half. I can’t say three months outloud. It’s just depressing.

Fuck. Idk.

Labels: beth riesgraf, drugs, meth

It’s an emptiness that feels like it’s hollowing you out. But your skin burns as you scratch at it, trying to rip off the scars that prove your worthlessness. A pattern that means nothing but yet tells a story filled with self loathing and fear. Every mark destroys you; eats at you until there’s nothing left but there’s still the compulsion; the need to try to murder yourself a litter faster than before.

You feel like you’re suffocating but still you can take a breath. Your body feels heavy, but it may only be the weight of your soul. Your feet feel like they’re dragging even though you walk with a steady precision; you know where you’re going – it’s inevitable at this point. You always question the when but not the how; never the why. You know; you’ve always known. It was him and her and them and everyone that paved the road to this place:

Bodies upon bodies and lust upon hate; the weight of one man feels like a hundred because of his number. But it’s required; it’s what you do. It’s what we all do. We play the game and do what’s expected because it’s the way we’ve been taught; the way you’ve been taught. You know how to obey, more than you know how to protest.

The word ‘no’ sounds foreign for all the good it does; most of the time it never makes it out of your mouth anyway. It’s a coy look and a smile; a laugh like it’s a joke even though your skin is crawling because you already know the way this game ends. There is no choice anymore; it’s all a lie. It’s laughable how easy people make it sound; but they don’t know reality. They don’t know what it’s like to feel trapped by repetition and habit.

You learned young, didn’t you?

This is what you do; this is how you do it. And you will always, always give it when it’s needed.

And it broke you.

Fool. You thought it gave you power. Do you feel powerful now? To have lost count? To feel sick every time you touch yourself? But you still persist; let the insanity of this addiction consume you whole and spit you back out again until you lie there; naked and bleeding and wondering yet again why people think this is fun; sexy.

You have the fantasy; consume yourself with it. Of what it’s supposed to be like, what it’s supposed to feel like. So you sit and you write and you run away… but you never run far enough. It’ll never stop, and no matter how much you write about perfection, you will never have it. No matter how much you write about the pain, it doesn’t make it go away.

It was bearable with the distraction. Fill the pipe, spark the flame; watch the smoke swirl in the little glass bowl and taunt you with promises of forgotten nightmares as you inhale and feel the weight be lifted from your shoulders, just a little. But the pipe is broken; the release long gone. What’s left? Your skin can barely handle the torture anymore; mistakes, excuses, and destruction are starting to rise up instead of blend with the background. It’s ugly and that’s something you can’t bear.

You’re ugly on the inside; you must be beautiful on the outside. Fix your hair and pound on the makeup and have cleavage that goes for miles. But that’s not beauty; that’s a sign on your forehead. You make it true; all of it. It’s the way you dress and the way you speak and the habits you’ve fallen into so deep that’s near impossible to climb your way out of. You feel like trash and all you do is make yourself look like beautiful garbage.

So you take a swig of the liquor and swallow more of your new salvation. The room blurs around you but you lather, rinse and repeat as the numbness settles in your chest. It’s a finality; a calm. You aren’t scared, for the first time in your life. It’s an expected closure that you’ve been waiting on bated breath for. You need it; crave it.

Save me.

There are no tears; tears would imply sadness. You aren’t sad; you’re relived. Finally, finally… a promise of peace. The voices stop screaming in your head and you feel yourself smile slightly; the muscles shutting down even in your face making it more difficult. But it doesn’t matter; you know your smiling.

Are you beautiful now?

Tell me, are you beautiful now?

Labels: drugs, sex, suicide

I used to live my life like it was one great story.

I did everything I did just to be able to say that I did it. I’ve done more, seen more, than anyone my age should ever do or see. Which, honestly, in the long run it still doesn’t help because I’m still naïve as all fuck in some areas; some of them important areas. I still have this picture of the world in my head; all drawn out and colored in with multicolored crayons with a fucking smiley face in the sun. And this world isn’t real; it isn’t something anyone sees but me.

I thought I was on top of that fuckin’ world, honestly. For a long ass time. Look at me; all giddy and happy in the sun, looking down at all of you.

I was sexually free and partying, having fun, but keeping time to do all my geeky little things that I did. I had friends, I had lovers, I had a woman who was more to me than just a lover… but whatever. That’s past. Point? Nothing could bring me down. I was fuckin’ untouchable.

… Until I got bitch slapped in the face by reality.

The sad part? I’d go back there in a heartbeat; even knowing what I know now. Even knowing how it all turns out, how it all goes to shit, how I got taken over by a drug I thought had no control over me because my best friend managed for so much longer.

She might just be stronger than I am though.

I’m sorry, but I was happy. I was more in control of my life than I am right now. Right now I’m the equivalent of nothing, and that’s not a dig at myself. That’s the cold hard truth. I was more in control of my life even when I was strung out living in the Budget Suites and the highlight of my week was my Tuesday ritual of getting high out of my fucking mind and watching Leverage. Not that I wasn’t getting high any other day… or night, or morning. But it was special; Tuesday. Leverage night. High and screaming at my TV about how Nate’s being a jackass and how Parker should have more screen time.

It’s sad, but I watch that video of me… the one where I’m watching the season one finale. Cussing at Nate and what have you. I watch it and all I can remember is how everytime I commercial was on I was scraping the bowl for any kind of release. I was practically out that day. I remember it. But god, can you get a lot from a pipe you haven’t cleaned in a week.

I miss the taste of it. I miss the smell. I miss the feeling. I miss getting high because you know what? My addiction made me go to work so I could afford to get more. It was a shitty incentive, yes, but it was still a fucking incentive.

Almost a year clean. I’ve been in Atlanta now for almost a year. You know what I have to show for it?

Nothing besides a whole lot of fanfic. And fanfic gets me a big fat nowhere in life; in the long run. I used to live my life like a story… now I tell it through other characters because I have nothing left.

I can’t handle my own life. This is supposed to be it, yeah? The big fucking finish. I’m clean and the world has opened up to me; so many fucking possibilities. Well you know what? Go to hell.

Most days I want to slit my wrists then go for my throat. Fucking finger paint in my own blood.

I’m cracking worse than I was when I was strung out. At least then I had a reason to be fucked up. Now? I have no excuse; no reason. Scratch the dope covered surface and what do you find? A shell. Nothing. Nobody. I wasn’t a fuck up because of the drugs; I’m a fuck up as it is. Hell, the drugs helped me be less of a fuck up.

Storyteller. Storytelling.

I can’t make this stop. I was lying in bed and I thought to myself, “I can’t wait until this is all over. Until I can tell stories about it. How I was fucked up for three years only to get clean and realize I was nothing without the drugs.” And you know what? Like the idiot that I am I still have the fantasy that some brave white knight is gonna ride in and save me from myself. We can all make note that this said knight is a woman, no matter what my wavering sexuality has been indicating these last couple months. I think I’m just out of things to do, so why not try men? That’s… new. Ha.

I don’t leave my house. Hell, I barely leave my couch. I wake up and sit on my computer and I stay there until I fall asleep.

I keep telling myself day after day that I’m going to go to work tomorrow… or no wait, maybe the next day… until I’m out of money and crying to the only people who will listen and bail my ass out again. It makes me feel worthless; horrible. I feel like I’m just this waste of space and air that people cling to in the small hope that I’m worth something more than that. I love how everyone can see the other side but me.

I should be looking forward to the Leverage convention, but I’m terrified of it. I’m a mess, you all know it. Rather not have you all actually see it.

I’ve thought of going back to Massachusetts, getting all that nice free health insurance and then checking myself into a mental hospital for the long haul. At least I won’t have to try to act sane then. I can claw at myself until I bleed, scream until they restrain me, finally succumb to all the madness in my head.

Fuck. I just want to be free.

I need an escape, any fucking escape. Just point me to the door, honey. I need to breathe, I need to run, I need to scream, I need to do some violence and then fuckin’ vomit. I don’t care anymore. I just feel so trapped. And the fucked up thing is that I’m trapping myself.

I’m not an idiot, I can see it. I can feel it. But it doesn’t make it better. My head likes to torture me every single fucking day.

This is why I tell stories. I’m no longer a part of one, so why not relive them. Pain, agony, heartbreak, remorse, slavery. Look at my stories. Each and every one. Somewhere in each of them is a part of me. Its so funny how my beta actually picks them out, and it’s even funnier that most of the time I don’t even realize I’m doing it when it’s something little.

Big stuff though... yeah, I know. Parker. Faith. Their pasts? Hi, welcome to little bits and pieces of my life. I’m just lucky that both of the characters are so screwed up that it’s believable to be theirs too.

My head hurts. My stomach hurts. It’s almost 10am and I should be sleeping because I need to work tonight. I NEED TO. Will I get there? Probably not. Same shit, different fucking week.

You know what hell is? Hell is when you relive the same day over and over. When you do the same shit over and over and expect different results.

Fuck hell. Fuck this. Fuck everything.

Labels: drugs, fucking life, leverage

Before I go into my whole… horrible part of last night, I do want to talk about some good parts.

I made a grand at work on Tuesday night. Actually, technically, I made $1200. But after tipping out our ungodly percentage, I walked with a grand. Dead fucking Tuesday night. I wasn’t enjoying being back – it was awkward for me. But my friend was there, happy I was back… and she found a customer who was willing to take us both to VIP. We thought he’d only be in there a half an hour. Four hours later… well… yeah. Cleanest fucking time in VIP I’ve ever had in that club. Cleanest I’ve ever made that much amount of money. All we seriously did was dance and drink. It was crazy.

I thanked God so much for that. And you know me, I’m a skeptic. But that? I in no way deserved that. My lazy ass didn’t go to a work for a month. An ENTIRE month. I should not have been given that.

Anyway, so. My thing with money though is money + drugs = sexy. So when I get the chance to get free coke, did I say no? Of course I didn’t. Free drugs are free drugs, and as long as it isn’t meth I thought I wouldn’t feel bad about it. After all, since I’ve been “clean” I have done ecstasy once, adderal maybe three times. Nothing major, but you know, just sometimes. So when I get money, for some reason I associate that with drugs. Not even spending it. But to me? Snorting a line or six with a hundred dollar bill feels fucking sexy to me.

Of course the guy giving it to me wants in my pants. I’ve been clear on this matter many times to him and he just doesn’t seem to get it. But that’s not my problem. I’m sick of repeating myself.

Right so. Pretty much passed the fuck out that night… went over my friends house and we played WoW a bit and then passed out. Next day we slept pretty much all fucking day, then get up, went out to lunch, came back, passed out, got up, went to Dave & Busters, ate, played games, went out to a bar.

Come back to their house: sex.

Which, don’t get me wrong, I very much like both of these people. I enjoy having spontaneous threesomes one cause holy HELL can this girl squirt more than I’ve ever seen anyone do in my ENTIRE LIFE, and two, it’s just… IDK. Fun. Ha. Anyway, problem is… once I had woken up I had been doing lines the whole night. I didn’t tell them. They both like for serious don’t do drugs.

Of course she finds out. Knows I’m not drunk, that something else is wrong with me. I tell her. She’s fine with it at first – not happy – but fine. She’s not now, not after my freak out. She called me an addict. I got upset. Really upset. She was trying to help, but I can’t be called an addict.

Coke makes me hyper aware of what’s going on. For all the times I’ve had sex in my life, I try very much to be on something that dulls everything around me. I don’t ever want to know my own sex.

So she totally called me out on faking my orgasm last time. I told her I just do that and make all the damn sound effects so I don’t fuck peoples self esteem up. It’s really really hard to get me off. Seriously. I can’t even get myself off half the time. Anyway, of course I try to compensate by telling them I do enjoy sex, but I enjoy sex for another reason: abuse.

They tried, they really did. But they are not abusive, hurtful people. They couldn’t do it the way I needed.

And then I just… fucking broke. I don’t know how, or why, but I ran into the bathroom and chain-smoked like a bitch to try to get myself to calm down.

She came in, tried to make me talk. I refused, I didn’t want to explain. More pushing and I just told her I can’t be aware of what’s going on when I have sex because I THINK SEX IS WRONG. I know that’s stupid, it makes no sense, but I feel like it’s wrong. Like it’s a dirty thing to do and I shouldn’t be doing it. That I’m disgusting for participating in it. I started crying, and she kept saying its okay, the way I want sex, everyone fantasies about weird shit and I told her no, that she has no fucking clue the fucked up things I fantasize about. There is one that I vowed to never, ever tell another living soul.

And she pushed and pushed and I screamed and I broke and I told her. Its disgusting, vile, horrible shit that makes me feel like I should kill myself for even thinking about.

I will not write it here.

I can’t believe she told me it’s okay. It’s okay that I think about that, that it makes so much sense because of what I’ve been through. And I KNOW that. I know WHY, psychologically I can think that. That doesn’t make it better. I would never do it, I couldn’t. I’d rip my fucking goddamn face off before I ever did something like that. But that doesn’t change how disgusting it is. Thoughts like that should never run through someone’s mind. And the main reason being to just destroy, lash out, revenge, steal someone else’s soul… that’s sick, twisted crap.

I hate myself so much for it. For everything I do or even think about sexually. I hate sex, I really do. Sex just continues to destroy me.

And yet I run my entire fucking life around it.

I have a serious problem. I know I do. I just… fuck. I’m so sick of all my problems. No human being should be allowed to have this many fucking issues. It’s just not right. It’s just not fucking fair.

Labels: abuse, addiction, drugs, sex

I have this issue where I like to ruin my own life. It’s like some sick kind of game with me.

I haven’t left my house in a week. I need to look for a job, but I’m terrified to go outside. And would you like to know why? Because Mary has been half-lying to everyone for about a week and a half now, and all the shame that goes along with it is starting to eat me alive.

Not last Saturday, but the one before, I started feigning. Bad. Like shaking, I needed it. Found one of the local corner drug dealers, gave him $40, he handed me a baggie, I put it in my purse, not looking at it because we were on Moreland freaking Ave. That was that, done.

I went home, and felt guilty like fuck for buying it. Doing it would have disappointed so many people I made promises to. But I needed it, and I hate that somehow that makes my word worth jack. So I wait until Nicole leaves (this was when I was living with her) get some old school ghetto ass tin foil and hollow out a bic pen, get the dope and… it was sugar.

The bastard sold me sugar.

I didn’t even have to taste the shit, you can just tell. Who the hell tries to pass off sugar as meth? The shit isn’t cut the same at all. I wish I looked at it before, but another part of me is glad I didn’t. Though I want my $40 back.

Which, to be fair, I totally had that coming, and I know it’s the universes way of telling me that I was being a fuck up, but that won’t help HIS cause any when I see him. I tend to get violent when people rip me off with drugs.

But that’s why I haven’t left my house. I’m just convinced I’ll do it again. Feigning here in my own private hell is fine, but I can’t go out in the world and need it, because automatically I’ll try to find it. Shit just falls out of my mouth before I can stop it. Some guy asked me what drugs I did in normal conversation (yeah, seriously, these are the people I attract) about a month ago and automatically I said meth, even though I had been clean at the point for a little bit.

The worst part about all of this is that because I won’t leave, I haven’t looked for a job. I’m seriously past fucked right now, and I feel like I’m almost trying to force myself back into stripping, because if things get that bad then that’s what I’ll do.

I don’t want to.

Yeah, I miss getting pretty. I missed it today when I was getting pretty for my webcam chat. I never get pretty anymore. I either need to be in that kind of environment (strip clubs) where I expect to be hit on and use it my advantage, or else I just can’t go anywhere looking good because I don’t want to be hit on. Why I enjoy online attention – no one can touch you. I don’t’ feel awkward by it.

I’ve been so over emotional lately it’s been driving me insane, and now I know it’s due to my period… but I still feel so stupid about freaking out. What does it even matter if some woman was freaked out by me? I mean really. I do what I do because I love it, and I enjoy it, but at the same time it made it seem like it was all worth crap. I cried a bit, like a stupid prick really, and that was even more stupid because in the end I took it the wrong way. Like completely the wrong way. No freaking out at all.

I’m such an idiot. I don’t ever want to see her. God. Really don’t. I’m such a jackass sometimes. Like it should even matter to me.

I’m mad at myself because it did though. It was kind of like, when you work so hard at something and then the person it was for tells you it’s shit, kind of thing.

But it isn’t shit. It was actually a really good thing, which makes me feel even stupider for all the previous shit. It was helpful, good. Which makes me feel good now, but still feel stupid that that should even make a difference either.

Why do I care so much? I used to not give half a shit. I really didn’t. I'm turning into one of those people I hate in regards to the subject, and I don't want to be that person. It makes me want to back off from it all just so I don't turn into something I hate, but yet at the same time I know now that I can't because if I did that then the good might turn into bad. It's complicated. Self esteem issue basically.

And it gets even more confusing for me, because at one point while I'm calling myself and idiot for being that way, one the other hand, since it helped I feel almost like we're even, since she had helped me out previously in regards to something else. But really its all helping without knowing we're doing so, so it's pretty ridiculous. Even more ridiculous if you even knew who I was talking about. It's just all dumb, yet strangely symmetrical in a good way.

I obviously can't make a decision on how I feel about the matter. Clearly.

And it’s horrible, all of this, big parts of my life are such a secret, and I’ve always been such an open person. I always talk about everything, no matter if it’s too TMI or anything of that sort. And stuff that upsets me, or stuff that makes me happy, I like to share. But I just can’t.

And I try without really saying anything. Just get it out there, but yet dance around it so much all it does is confuse everyone around me. I get so many questions on Twitter when I post things like that, and while none of them are ever really close to right, I feel bad because I can’t answer. I have to ignore, or say “I can’t talk about it,” which in turn makes me sound like some snob, and kick myself for even trying to express my feelings about what is going on in my life at that moment.

I share everything… not doing that is really really hard for me. I didn’t know how hard it was going to be until now. It’s so everyday for me now, that I don’t even see why it should matter… but I know exactly why it matters for the same reason. So I try to shut my mouth, dance around things but never talk about them.

All of you have no idea what I’m talking about, I realize this, but this is my journal, and I just need to do this for me. When I let things out I feel so much better, and it just… sucks that I can’t.

It sucked that I cried and couldn’t talk to anyone about it because of how I knew. It sucked that I got really happy after that and couln’t say anything about that either. It sucks when I have something I want to show off, but can’t. I’m so proud of myself for something I’m doing right now, and I really enjoy it, but I can never say anything. It's really all due to my large identity crisis of Sapphire Smoke vs. Mary. I used to regard us as two separate people, but we're just not. I am Sapphire Smoke. I write and talk about my real life as Sapphire Smoke. It's just a name, not a different persona, and that's what's become the problem. I don't know who I am anymore, and one is allowed to do stuff and the other isn't. I wish I did have MPD or something, would make this easier. No clashing.

I hate secrets.

My own secrets I can’t keep to save my life, but when they involve another person or more than one person I have to. It’s not just my secret to share.

It’s just hard. I’ve been beating myself up over a lot of shit recently.

I just laugh when I look in the mirror. I’m so fucking pretty that it’s just so pathetic sometimes about who I am underneath the physical.

I feel like shit right now. I want to cry again, but that’s probably just me PMSing again.

Labels: drugs, meth, secrets

I got a new tattoo. It's lovely, it really is. You like?


I wish I had the effort to squee over it, but I'm really depressed right now. I am such a liar, and the worst part of it is that I don't think I'm lying because I justify it in my head. And you know, that's the only reason why I can tell it. If I knew I was lying I wouldn't be able to do it.

I've been clean since I got out of jail, right? Wrong.

Two weeks in I bought some shit. An entire half a gram of meth, smoked the entire fucking thing to myself and... didn't even get high. It was bullshit, so I decided that since I didn't get high I really was still clean.

Well, even if that was true I'm not now. I've been awake since... 2pm Saturday. It's 3am Monday and while that's not too long, the fact remains is that I'm coming down and miserable and yet I'm not even tiered in the slightest.

My back hurts. My jaw kills. My head is pounding. My throat is sore.

And I still have at least another half a gram left.

Will I do it now? Of course not, you can't force yourself to go back up after coming down this far, it never works and you end up feeling worse.

I'm supposed to be doing community service in the morning too. I have 30 hours to do. Stupid court.

I just feel like shit. I'm such a weak little fucker, aren't I? I mean I went through the cravings, the physical ones. I got past that. But my mentality to me is so much worse. Someone mentions it and all of a sudden I need it.

It's quite ridiculous.

I need to go to bed. I need to get up early and do community service. I need to work later that night.

Will any of it happen?

I doubt it.

I hate my ability to make decisions.

And wtf, what the hell is David having me watch? This show, 'Jericho' makes absolutely no sense to me and I just finished the first episode. Most I get is that it's like apocalyptic or in the midst of a really fucked up World War where Americas getting their ass kicked.

But the scenes are short, they switch quickly and only show pieces. I can't follow this thing, I'm ADD for christs sake. My brain can't pay attention to something that's so rapid. Then it aggrivates me because I can't follow it, because I don't like not getting things.

David, find me another show to watch. Srsly.

Labels: drugs, meth, tattoo

I have half a gram of meth in front of me.

In my drunken state yesterday I apparently ordered some but promptly passed out before I could smoke it. I woke up this morning, picked it up, picked up my pipe... and just stopped.

I've been clean for two weeks as of today. Two weeks. I already passed the worst part of the dope sickness, and now it's just a matter of will power.

I don't like wasting my money, not when the economy is as bad as it is. But I don't want to smoke it, either.

No, I take that back. I do want to smoke it, bad. So bad I started uploading pictures from "the 12 step job" to my Beth website but then stopped because I didn't have the focus to do it. I have to upload them and place them one by one, you see. Very hard to do when your not all tweeked out.

But then apart of me doesn't want to be a liar. I said I was going to try to stop, and should make every effort to do so.

Regardless of either point of view, it's torturing me.

Sure, I could go to work and sell it. I know plenty of people that will buy it. However I don't like to get involved in the distribution of drugs.

And in some way I feel the need to prove myself to Sarai, which to be honest I find completely ridiculous seeing as I still have no idea where the hell we stand, but then again I know we won't stand anywhere if I pick up this baggie and load my pipe.

Women just aren't supposed to effect me like this. I always do my own thing, and fuck all the bullshit in between.


I frequently do other things in the middle of blogging because of my extreme ADD. So I check my email.

SUBJECT: Dean Devlin sent you an iTunes Gift

Cue me being like, "Wait, what?" Blink. Stare. Blink some more.

Seriously, I love how blonde I've been getting ever since I dyed my hair. Its true, the bleach does sink into your skull. Here I am thinking it's just some scam or promotional email. No matter how much recognition I keep getting from the show I'm still convinced they really have no idea who the fuck I am. Probably because I find it so surreal to begin with.

"Sapphire Smoke -
Heard you missed this episode. Enjoy!
-Dean Devlin"

I love this show. I love these people. You like, don't even understand. The creators, the producers, the network... I'm gonna have thier babies. ROFL.

I wonder how he even knew I missed it. I know I bitched about it on my LJ for a minute through an update over my phone right after my desktop hit the shitter. Oh wait, I actually mentioned it on my last YT video, didn't I? Stupid jail and their stupid rules about not letting me watch my obsessions and have any kind of enjoyment.

I actually have been needing to download iTunes anyway. Was trying to update my ipod yesterday and then was like wait I need iTunes for that, don't I?

Unfortunately, it's gonna have to wait cause I need to already do a system restore because me and my dumb ass decided to try to download some program to get dial up for free so I could FTP the Leverage screencaps to my website instead of doing them one by one (since I lost my AOL dial up with my hard drive pooping out on me), and its like some kind of virus thing. Well not really, just I cant figure out how to unistall it and it keeps popping up and being in my face all obnoxious like. So fuck all that bullshit.

I guess the reason I find myself still questioning if they actually know who I am or not is because I'm a day dreamer. Bad. Like seriously seriously bad. I let my imagination run away with me, and if I actually accept that they know who I am, I'll start hoping that I can actually meet Beth one day (or even just possibly be in contact with her so I can actually expand my website into a better resource), or be able to see an episode getting filmed, or be an extra, or other impossible things like that. This is why i enjoy pessimism: you never get disappointed. lmfao.

That, and you keep getting amazed when things like this happen.

You know, before I started this post I told myself I wouldn't talk about Leverage, because I was planning in my next post to do a recap of the last two episodes (because I have things to say - like always) and also a recap of the first episode of Dollhouse. But oh well. I'll still do it, don't get me wrong, but now my brain's back to Leverage.

Laugh all you want, I know it doesn't stray from it very often so this isn't that unexpected.

I've been feeling so behind in the community lately though. Missing two weeks of Leverage fandom activities is making me feel slightly lost. So many things get updated about it every day in all the comms on LJ, that I had to go back 15 pages in my friends entries to catch up. Yet, I still feel lost.

Really, I think I just need to dive back into some fanfiction. It'll make me feel better. Like I have to time, though. Still need to upload pictures from 12 step and juror for my Beth website. Procrastinating on that due to how long an tedious it is. Really, why can't you just open up Port 21, Budget Suites, you fucking rat bastards that need to make my life harder. One thing I hate about living in an extended stay motel.

I finally got around to making the scene spam of Parker from 12 step, but I hate it. I hate that all I have is Windows Movie Maker. It squashes my creativity and makes my shit look... unprofessional. I don't like that. I have standards for myself, and for the stuff I put out there about the show. I'm an Leverage advertising queen, and it aggravates me that that video I put out is less than satisfactory.

I'm extremely anal and precise when it comes to being "the only" of something. The only YT channel dedicated to a Leverage character, the only website up for Beth Riesgraf. I am the first, I am the only, I have to be the best.

It's a thing I have. HA.

I don't have photoshop either. That makes me want to bang my head against something heavy. I cant make graphics with Paint, people.

I lost all my brushes and shit too. My fonts. Sigh. Its gonna take awhile to get this laptop updated. I also had a program I bought to rip videos from DVDs (that I actually bought and not downloaded illegally, mind you) but I cant remember for the life of me what the name of the program was. Which annoys me as well. Not that I need to rip any DVDs until the Leverage box sets come out, but still.

I really hope they do them like the Xena box sets. I love love love those box sets. Best ones ever made. And since Leverage is up there in my book next to Xena (which if you all have known me for a long time, thats saying something) I'm expecting some good shit.

And conventions. Leverage needs conventions.

Speaking of conventions, tickets to next years Xena con is already on sale. Can I afford them? No. I'm so getting annoyed at my lack of money. I hate having to rely on other people to get pictures of Hudson so I can put them on my website. Which, I have yet to get from last months either. Then again, havent been online much yet to get there yet. More pressing matters to deal with.

And yet I procrastinate doing them by writing in my blog. I gotta work tonight too. Rent and shit like that. I havent had a minute to just have a real day off where I just sit around and do nothing. I've been going and going since I got out of jail. Yesterday at work I made $200, which is pathetic. But people kept looking at my eye like I'm some battered wife.

Bitch, like I would EVER let a MAN hit me. PUH-LEASE.

I do have battered wife syndrome though. I've been so used to getting abused mentally and emotionally by women that I just laid down and took physical abuse from my best friend. I was sick all yesterday, couldn't eat. I know it was because I swallowed so much blood. I also have been having trouble breathing, which leads me to believe I inhaled some as well and that its sitting in my lungs.

Can I go to the hospital though? No. Why? Because even if I don't press charges against her, the state will. And I won't do that to her kids, man. I love her kids like they were my own family.

So here I sit, feeling like shit, beaten up, and yet do nothing about it.

I'm pathetic.

I'm also obsessed with Britney Spear's song "Circus".

rofl. How ADD was THAT moment?

Back to LEVERAGE!

I feel the need to try to analyze my obsession with Parker, because really, I can't figure out why I like her so much. When I write, things tend to subconsciously come out so I'm going to try it right now. Analyzing the character will make me realize alot of why I like her so much, or more ways I relate to her. You ready for this? I tend to get deep. lol.

I get what it's like to be looked at like your crazy when you think you said something completely appropriate in your opinion. It makes you feel like somethings wrong with you, but you can't figure out what it is and you wish to God someone would just tell you. I see that in Parker.

I've noticed I look at Parker beneath the surface. When people look at Parker like that, it's like I can see in her eyes the 'I don't get it' feeling that she has. Like I can read her thoughts. Seriously, this is why I made a fansite for Beth. I find her acting to be amazing. I can rarely feel like I can read a characters mind through just the look in their eyes, but I feel like I can with Parker. That might be partly due to me having some similarities to Parker's personality, or mental state, whichever. But it still has alot to do with Beth's quality as an actress, and it surprises me and slightly even horrifies me that she's not done alot more roles than she has. Its like people can't appreciate the talent that's in front of them. Thank god the Leverage casters did.

Parker tries so hard to fit in, and just when she thinks she is she realizes she still sticks out like a sore thumb. I actually get mad about Eliots comments about her... like in the juror #6 job, when he mentioned she shouldnt do jury duty because theres NORMAL people there. And he said it right in front of her, like he thinks shes so messed up that she doesn't have any kind of feelings. Like shes some sort of thieving robot. Like she's incapable of connecting with the human race when clearly she has some sort of connection to all of them because she's still around and they still want her around.

Its one of the reasons I prefer to ship her with Sophie. While theres not much room for subtext between the two of them thus far in the episodes (which makes me go grr cause they so gave the Eliot/Hardison shippers something in 12 step), Sophie has started to take Parker under her wing almost (at least, when shes not busy bitching/being all over Nate). Shes encouraging to Parker, and it's like she can tell how important it is to Parker that she can interact with people, even though Parker pretends like she couldn't care less.

But we all know everyone cares. Parker included. I've come to realize the secret of life isn't what you do, how much money you make, or how happy you are. The secret to life is interacting with people, because everyone that comes into your life plays some role - whether large or small - to shape who you ultimately become. Everyone that comes into our lives impacts in one way or another, and we grow as human beings. When you don't communicate with other people, you might as well be dead, because you no longer grow. We all learn from our experiences with other people in this life, more so than the ones on your own. Most people don't even stop and think and realize how much interacting with others is an important part of living.

Parker hates who she is. Maybe not hate, thats a little strong, but dislikes a large part of herself. But shes like most people, she puts on a shell of "I don't care what you think" and prays that it doesn't crack when she's around someone else. Crying in front of Hardison in the stork job didn't make her happy, you could see it on her face. You could tell by how she tried to calm herself down quickly and wiped her tears away, rapidly rebuilding her walls so she didn't have feel reality anymore. She even seemed slightly mad at herself for allowing herself to break down like that in front of him. Feelings are what Parker suppresses most of all. I did that for years. I protected myself from my own feelings and hid everything inside myself until finally I broke and went crazy. But during that time I actually acted a lot like Parker did. Slightly detached from reality.

Parker is terrified of her own feelings. She doesn't want to recognize that she does, wether she likes it or not, have major issues. Probably due to being abused. Mentally, Emotionally, Physically, or Sexually. People foolishly think some of those are worse than others. They all do the same amount of damage, just in different ways. So no, it doesn't matter to be how she was abused. I'm just pretty damn sure that she was in some way or another during her childhood.

I'm planning on writing a fanfiction centered around the anti-depressants the rehab made her take in 12 step. Only because I see so much of myself in Parker, I'm sure that when she got off of them she hated what they did to her. Yeah they make you happier, but they change who you are. They change everything that makes you YOU. Its like feeling that people drug you because the way you were made just isn't goo enough for the real world, so they try to change who you are. Its a horrible feeling to feel like who you are isn't good enough for anyone, and that you have to be someone else to be liked by anyone at all.

That's why I don't take my medication anymore. Sure I "self medicate" with drugs, but not to change who I am, but to stimulate the qualities and abilities I dont have access too when I'm not on them. Like the ability to patiently be able to upload over 200 screen caps one by one. Productivity, basically.

Parker steals to compensate for the things out of her reach. She cant have mental stability, and I find it doubful that she's had any type of realationship in her life other than one based on sex. She can't connect, so she takes what she can get from other people to make up for the things she can't take, have, or get. Or at least, thats my opinion at least. My whole analyzation is actually my opinion, and can't ever be sure unless it plays a role in canon. One thing about TV shows, speculation will always be there. You can ever write an entire person, if you understand what I mean. People are just too complex.

Her ability as a thief is one thing she can be proud of about herself. It's a skill that's meaningful to her, because as a regular human being she has so few. She has to be the best at something, excel outstandingly in one area, to make her feel like shes worth something.

I really could go on forever about Parker and keep bringing up new points and make an entire deduction just based on a simple hand motion she gives, but I won't do that to you all. You have no idea how much I enjoy analyzation, and how deep I can really go. So I'll stop, for now.

Mainly because I just realized its 5:30 and I need to start getting ready for work. Lord, I've been writing forever.

Labels: dean devlin, drugs, leverage, meth, parker

I'm in quite a strange predicament.

So. I have about a half a gram of meth in my house right now. I've had it in my house for oh... since Saturday afternoon.

I haven't touched it.

Well okay that's not true. I tried to touch it. Tried to smoke it, and like... I really didn't want to. I just have no desire to do the damn drug at all.

This has never happened to me before.

Ever.

Sure, I've had no desire to do it when I don't have it. But it's here, in front of my fucking face, and I'm like eh, no.

I spent the entire day yesterday sleeping. Seriously, I was only up for about five hours. I had dreams that consisted of Phoenix getting hit by a car and no one wanting to help me bring her to an animal hospital, so I had to carry her and walk to one. I woke up and snuggled her after that, it really depressed me.

I also had a dream that I had a dog, and my dog had ten puppies (yeah ten, like that's realistic lol) and on top of that, some of them were blue.

Blue? wtf?

I want a blue fucking dog xD

I have a bunch of stuff I need to do, and no desire to do any of them. No desire to smoke so I can want to do them.

Blah. I just want to sleep. I know I'm not tiered, I just don't wanna be awake right now. I don't know why.

I also just want to eat. I'm not hungry, I just really want some food.

Depression symptoms, I know. BLECH. Annoyance.

I wish I could get the effort to do something productive on my days off today & tomorrow.

The Closer tonight. YAY. Brenda FTW.

Btw, added a button so you can subscribe to the RSS Feed. Dunno if that's easier for some of you or not.

Labels: depression, dreams, drugs, meth

I haven't slept since I woke up at 3pm on Wednesday afternoon. While it was all good and lovely at first, right now it kinda bothers me because I sadly am forced to go to work tonight to participate in a photoshoot.

Yeah. A Photoshoot. On no sleep. Probably looking cracked out.

FTL.

I don't know, I get ahold of those pictures before anyone else first cause I get to be the one to put them on the stupid website, so I can always attempt to edit my cracked out-ness.... but IDK if it'll work or not. Never took pics like this.

Videos, yes. Videos I wish I never did take because I didn't know how fucked up I looked until I wasn't and watched it back. Its funny cause you always think your acting normal and your just not.

IDK. Maybe I shouldn't go. But I do need money, have to pay my room this week, and I am thus far... $200 short. Well, that is if I ever get my fucking check cashed. But then again, I don't have to pay it until Monday. So ugh.

I swear to fucking god this dope is never ending. I get some Wednesday before work because I had a rough night the night before, but really needed to be awake to work.

I order $20, pay for $20, get a $50 because apparently my new dealer is fucking awesome, and gave me more because his last batch was kinda bunk.

But seriously, $50 used to last me a day. ONE DAY. How in the fuck am I on day three and at the rate this shit is going, I could probably still be up for another two.

And I can't just stop doing it. IDK if any of you have done it before, but coming down is the worst feeling in the world. The only time people will let themselves go through that much pain and sickness is when they run out.

Either that or their body finally collapses and falls out. That's usually better. Well, I like it better anyway. I sleep for like 24 hours after that.

Blah, drugs suck. This shit needs to finished.

LOL I kind of find this funny. Here I am, I have the best dope I've gotten in awhile. Burns slow, lasts long, isn't making me grind my teeth, I can still eat on it (maybe not as much as I usually can, but I can eat a small meal) and I can take a short nap for like an hour every now and then. I don't feel horrible. I just feel... unmotivated. I suppose.

In other news, I finished my website. Finally...

http://beth-riesgraf.info/

I was having some issues with the domain earlier, but its all cool now. So yay. MaryWIN.

Also, for any of you that actually looked at what I did via the last post... I've been requested to do more, so I am. & they got worse. So so soooo much worse. But I love them. They're so twisted and perverted and fucked up and it makes me LOL.

UGH. I wanna take a fucking nap.

Work bad. Sleep good.
Work bad. Sleep good.

Fucking blah. You know my cats are eating dog food? Yeah, apparently the stupid store decided to stock 476384 thinsg of dog food, and no cat food... but yet cat litter. I'm like wtf dude. SRSLY.

Fuck all the bullshit, I need to eat something before I die. The end.

Labels: beth riesgraf, dope, drugs, meth, website design, work

Does anyone remember the video I made on YouTube awhile back called "I Want My Obsessions Back"?

Well, obviously I have them back. I know most people think I'm certifiably insane, getting caught up in fictional worlds, characters, or stories. What people don't seem to understand is that I am the most happiest when I am. When I don't have to focus on how much bullshit there is in life, or how while I'm managing to finally support myself in only the matter of working one day a week because I have a problem with trying to live past my means, then I'm perfectly happy.

On a side note, it also tends to be my anti-drug. Imagine that.

I have had absolutely no urges to do meth in almost the last week. I've been so caught up in being a Parker-obsessed weirdo, thus labeling me as the Crazy Parker Fanatic (not that anyone has said that, but I'm sure it's coming), that I don't want to smoke. At all.

And it's interesting really. I used to say I smoked because it got me more focused, and I could finish more tasks that way, and while it's true and maybe it would help me be even more of a crazy Leverage person, I just don't want to.

Partly, because while I can make icons/wallpapers/fan videos while I'm high, I can't focus enough to write fanfiction. I wrote a chapter of my Bellatrix one once while high, and when I was sober ended up reading it and throwing it out because it was such epic crap. When I write I'm very big on incooperating and describing a character's manerisms, quirks, facial expressions... all the little things that most people leave unnoticed. I have to fully be in the characters mind and play out the scene in my head a couple times before I can correctly and acuratly descibe what I saw in my head, because I want other people to see it too.

On the downside, however, my obsessions make me not want to do anything else but. Work? Pfft, only to get my rent and food money (cigarettes too, but that goes without saying). I only worked Friday last week. This week, I only worked Friday too. Made $500 and burned the fuck out.

I had an urge to start a Leverage blog, but I won't. I need to stop overloading myself with a bunch of projects, I tend to hang myself that way. I have the YouTube channel, which I'm doing fabulously on by the way, already ten video's up. Seven episode videos (theres only been six episodes aired, but "The Stork Job" had to be split into two parts for obvious reasons if you've seen it), two fan videos, and an introduction video by me for the channel. I'm also still in the middle of a Parker/Sophie fanfic, and as of right now have writer's block which is kicking my ass. Do you guys remember the story arc thing they used to teach you in school?

__/\__

That thing, lol. But yeah, got up to the peak, and now I'm stuck. Fail.

I should probably take a nap and fix my sleep schedule. Yesterday I got home from work, passed the fuck out drunk as hell, but then woke up three hours later and couldn't get back to sleep until 3:30pm. Hence the no working. I swear I really was planning to go... >.>

Oh, fantastic idea hitting me!

When the season is over, I'm planning on making Parker ship videos for every character (to satisfy everyone's pairings) and I think for the Parker/Eliot I want "Poker Face" cause it takes about gambling and Texas (where Eliot is from). Hm, I must make a note of that somewhere. I'm not much looking forward to the Parker/Nate video, I think that would just be icky, and don't understand the pairing at all. I can see Parker/Hardison, Parker/Eliot, and Parker/Sophie easily, but Parker and NATE? Really? Seriously? Come on now. But whatever.

Moving along now... until next time.

Labels: drugs, eliot, fan videos, fanfiction, hardison, lady gaga, leverage, nate, obsessions, parker, poker face, sophie, youtube

Whoever said skitzers aren't productive? Lies, all LIES.

I fell off the sober wagon today. And while I was beating myself up over it earlier, because the only reason I smoked was so that I could stop being dope sick AND having a cold at the same time. That was really killing me, and it was very hard to try to get to sleep. I also started getting really nauseated and started gagging.

Gagging, not puking. I never puke. Sometimes I think my body doesn't know how. Then I remember the times that I do, and they only include food poisoning and a massive pill overdose. But I can stick my fingers all the way down my throat and wiggle them about and nothing happens. It's really quite annoying, actually, because you know when you puke you feel better. So do I ever feel better? Nope!

It was ten in the morning, and I was really tiered. My eyes were getting heavy, my back was hurting, and I was feeling even more nauseated. Then one of my friends calls, and tells me she's gonna come over early in the afternoon. I say that's fine, after all, it's been awhile since I've been able to hang out with my friends.

I know if I went to bed then, then by the time she got here, would be when she wakes me up. And my house... was disgusting. Not dirty, not messy... DISGUSTING.

So me, completely sober and VERY sick, starts to obsessively clean my house for about two hours. And not just pick up trash, but wiping down surfaces and stuff. If you know me, that's pretty damn good. I hate cleaning, really, I do. The only time I ever do it is when company comes over. Otherwise, I'm perfectly happy living in my filth. Gross, I know. But true.

Later on in the afternoon, my friend comes over bearing... dope. And to be honest, there was no thinking, no choices, it was there and I did it. And to be honest, after I did it, I started to feel SO much better. And I don't just mean from the high. My sickness was pretty much gone, besides the cough. Dope is my medicine, apparently. How quaint.

Later on in the evening, we meet up with another friend, and everyone comes back to my place. I was currently in the middle of redoing the layout to my website, which I started late last night.

Now see, most people are under the impression that meth makes you do things like clean obsessively, or sit there for hours doing some stupid mundane thing. No, not me. When I skitz out, I need to be on my computer. I do productive things. I am a VERY productive skitzer. And hell, today, I was fucking hella productive.

After watching the new Leverage, my friends take over the TV and I sit my happy little ass on the computer. I finished the layout for my personal website ( Sapphire Smoke Online ) and even added the bones one shot story, and a Bellatrix/Narcissa fan fiction I'm currently in the middle of.

Then I decided, well fuck, my website for Hudson needs a new layout too!

So what do I do? Redesign my entire layout for the website ( Hudson-Leick.Info ). Really, I've been meaning to redo that thing for months now. MONTHS. And I got it done in a matter of... I believe four or five hours. I'm very proud of myself.

Is it wrong to think I shouldn't quit?

Probably.

Everyone has been so supportive of me overcoming my drug problem, but this is why I've always liked it. It gives me the focus and desire to do things that usually I don't have the patience to do, but I need to get done. I'm just starting to think that maybe I just shouldn't combine that many drugs again, but the meth is okay.

Which really, I know it's not, because I know without a doubt that I'm addicted to it now, which I never thought I would be. But I NEEDED it, and I've never in my life needed it. I've never in my life gotten sick because I didn't have it.

I don't know, I got a lot of things to think about.

Labels: addiction, cleaning, dope sick, drugs, hudson leick, ice, meth, productivity, sick, website design, withdrawals

I find it surprising how much I've gotten done today with being horribly sick. I keep coughing up some really gross things, and it's not very fun. I also have yet to clean my house, but um... tomorrow? I decided to take a couple days off because of my sickness, and to get all the things I need to get done, done.

I'll be back to work on Wednesday, and will probably end up working through Sunday. I have yet to decide to go back to Mainstage yet, because Ft. Worth Gentleman's is really not doing me or Dani any good right now, but we'll see.

So I woke up today with absolutely no text messages. You have no idea how wonderful that is for me right now. I usually wake up with about ten missed calls and five new texts. I did have three missed calls from Brandi, but I called her back a little later in the night.

I crawl my sick ass to the computer, and sit in the most uncomfortable computer chair in the world, and start to check my things. I go on facebook, and see that Hudson accepted my friend request. So I send her a message on her wall, pretty much saying that I was under the impression that her and computers don't mix very well, but that I was glad she was on there. And to be honest, I am now. I've gotten over the fear of Hudson knowing all my little things that I do, she knows the kind of person I am, and that I'm influenced a lot by sexuality, so I know it's no surprise for her. She wrote me back a couple minutes later with:

"keep surrendering
i send you much love
h"

Of course I was like wait, surrender to what? Sometimes I have a hard time understanding her, so I sent her a private message and asked. She explained that I need to surrender to God, or my idea of God (basically whatever I think put me on this earth), that I need to scream, cry, pray, do whatever it takes. That my addiction is ruled by my mind, and that I shouldn't surrender to it.

I attempted to grasp that concept, and kind of just left it at that. I kinda need to take what she tells me in small doses, otherwise when she overloads me I feel trapped and vulnerable and then I start to get angry at her honesty. She hasn't done the bluntly honest thing with me yet, but I'm damn sure it'll come in time.

Anyway, she leaves a couple picture comments, and then so do a bunch of my yoga friends, so when I came back I had like 14 new notifications or something, and was all overwhelmed by the large conversations on my pictures.

I'm overcome my blog music problem, if you haven't noticed. Mini YouTube videos! Good enough. And by the way, why the fuck adsense in taking over my tageboard is beyond me. Someone write some shit in there so it might go away. I've never seen that happen before.

I decided it was time for my website to get a new layout, so I made one on Photoshop. After that though, I stopped. I have yet to do the coding. I'll get there eventually though.

Later on, I decided it was time to finally do that smoking fetish video request. It was supposed to be at least 20 minutes, but it only ended up being 10. I'm going to explain to the guy that I'm sick, and I couldn't do 20 minutes. I swear, after each cigarette I stopped the video and coughed up a lung and a half. It was bad, it was getting me light headed and shit. I can't chain smoke sick, people!

Afterwards, I get a brilliant idea to do a new porn video, in the style of my lip sync music videos I did on YouTube. It was a lot of fun, even sick, and I think it turned out awesome. I have some bad ass makeup, and at the beginning I made it like how the beginning of "Poker face" starts (which is the song I did it too, have you noticed my obsession with this song yet?), with the stop, go, rewind, go, stop, thing only I'm undressing myself. Its really really bad ass. I'm proud of myself.

I wish I had some deep thoughts to post today like I did when I was all crazy and shit, but I don't. Maybe tomorrow, but lets not hold our breaths, shall we?

Labels: addiction, drugs, facebook, fetish, hudson leick, lady gaga, layout, poker face, porn, smoking, videos, websites

I didn't write yesterday, I couldn't write yesterday, I was so mad... so fucking mad.

Me and my friend went to Jaguars in Ft. Worth. My first day back to work in over a week since my paranoia... attack, I suppose. Worked a night there, fucking loved it. I saw my old makeup artist, and we bonded over Lady Gaga, meth, and old times. The DJ loved me, the housemom was alright, the girls that I talked to were real nice... and fuck I loved working nude again. I left there with more money than most of the girls.

The manager walks up to me.

"Before you leave, I need to speak with you in my office."

Alright, that's fine. I figured it had to do with the scarred up, cut up disaster that my legs were. He saw me undress, and saw the war zone that was my legs. I cover them with boots, I'm not stupid. But to be honest, that's all I thought it was. I'm in his office.

"Have you considered working day shift?"

"I don't work day shift." I'm not a whore anymore, thank you.

"Well I don't mean to be rude or mean in anyway but... You need to lose weight before you come back here to work night shift."

I stare at him, he's kidding me, right? I know he's not but... seriously?

"I made twice as much money as my friend I came in here with, and she's half my size. I make my money."

"I'm sorry."

I'm sure you are mother fucker. It's managers like you that got me on my drug addiction in the first place. Just another Art... just another fucking Art. That hedgehog looking bastard.

I cried in the car. I did, like some pussy ass punk bitch, I cried.

"I'm so sick of being fat!"

"You're not fat," She tells me.

"BULLSHIT! This is the third club we went to work at that I got rejected because of my weight, how is that I can work at all the nice clubs in Dallas, but I can't in Ft Worth, yet Dallas has bitches twenty times hotter than this shit hole?"

Back to work tonight at Ft Worth Gentleman's club. The only nice club in Ft. Worth that will hire me. Thirty girls... not enough customers to satisfy all of us. Me and her would walk up to tables together, and yet the man would chose me.

ME. An overweight freaky ass looking chick that looks like if you fuck me I might kill you in the process, over my friend who's a little skinny pretty blonde girl. What is going on in the world?

I don't understand it. She does, but I don't.

"It's because you look seductive, you look like the opposite of the wives they're going home to, and I look too innocent."

Deja vu. I said this to a customer yesterday at Jaguars. Why older men like me. I was talking out of my ass, I guess it might be true though.

"I cant do this anymore."

"Yes you can, it always fucking blows over the holiday season."

She doesn't understand how shitty it is. Even last year when times weren't this bad it still sucked. She wanted to resort to prostitution. I try like hell to talk her out of it.

"You won't be able to look at yourself in the mirror every morning, trust me."

"I don't care."

You might not now, but you will. Oh my god, you will. You think you can handle it, you think it won't matter because of how much money your making, but after a couple of months it eats your alive. I only do it if it's an issue of survival, no other time. It's disgusting, and beneath girls like us.

She still doesn't care.

"I can't do this anymore, Mary!"

I sigh. "Fine, I'll fix this, but you best know I don't want to fix it this way."

After this week, it's day shift for us. It's whoring ourselves to those rich buisnessmen stopping in on their lunch break. God knows this is the last thing I wanna do, but she needs the money, and she won't be able to learn how to do it without a teacher.

I hate this, god I fucking hate this.

I don't want to do this again. I grew out of this a year and a half ago.

I'm not a whore anymore.

Labels: crying, drugs, fat, money, prostitution, strip clubs, strippers, whores

I sat on the couch in my small, mismatched, tacky motel room that I was forced to call home. I had taken the comforter off my bed, and curled myself up into a ball as I watched mindlessly the TV that was on at three am. Roseanne, I believe that it was. They had won the lottery, like that was realistic. Fuck, I would love to win the lottery right now. I could at least pretend all my problems could go away with money, and fake happiness for a little while.

Rich people are always great at that, faking happiness. Hell, if I was rich I could just be on some permanent roll and then I'll never be unhappy. Then again, I'd probably never have the patience to ever do anything productive again, because the first bright shiny pretty thing that went past me would have my attention for six hours. Or I could be logical, and realize at some point I would probably OD and die, but then hey, then I'd be dead and dead people can't be unhappy.

Or can they?

My cat Nemesis was perched above my head, making small little whines to point out the fact that I haven't given her enough attention recently. I lift my hand up to her head, more to shut her up than to actually comfort her, and stoke her soft fur was I try not to think about the fact that I'm most likely going to be homeless come Monday at noon.

Some Christmas commercial comes on, and I start crying. I haven't cried this much since I was sixteen and thought life was hell because I was grounded and couldn't use the computer to do my role playing and escape from reality. Sometimes I wish I could still do that, but I think my brain lacks that kind of focus now.

I start thinking about last Christmas. I has my own apartment, I had money coming out the ass, so much I didn't know what to do with it. I bought everyone great gifts, I bought my own plane ticket home, I was happy.

Money does equal happiness, isn't that ridiculous?

How the hell did I get here? How did I get from having everything to being here, with nothing? Not even enough money to buy myself something from McDonalds dollar menu, and not even having the mindset to be able to work.

At least last year when I went through these phases I had thousands of dollars saved up and I could afford fucking off for long periods of time while my brain battled itself and I fought my way away from the razor blades and the pills trying to pretend I actually have something worth living for.

I'm crying harder now, I wish I could just get myself together and go to work and function like a normal human being. But this week had fucked with me, fucked with me more than I thought it would have. I was happy a week ago, wasn't I?

Load up the dope and smoke the pipe. How did I end up at a crack house?

"You want a cap?"

"That would be lovely."

I had never done GHB before, why did I say yes? I was already high from the dope, but who's to turn down good hospitality?

Then suddenly we're all rollin' too... more hospitality I couldn't turn down. I feel lovely, and I want to breed with the pretty light thing I decided was my best friend in the world.

We were supposed to be there only a night, we were there for maybe two, three? I can't remember. It felt like forever, I never slept.

Then suddenly everyone's conspiring against me. Fear grips my chest and my heart is pouding and I think everyone's out to kill me. I don't know where I am, I don't have a way to get home, my cell phone is dead, I have no money, I'm so high....

"YOU LIAR! I HEARD YOU SAY IT!"

I'm freaking out. My knifes my my hand, I'm sweating, I'm trying to breath properly. I keep hearing all of them outside the room, talking to each other, deciding on a way to get rid of me properly. I realize I'm going to have to kill someone before someone kills me.

"That crack whore believes me, I'll take care of it."

I keep hearing things, they sound so real, they are real to me. I think my friends are trying to kill me, even though they keep telling me I'm being paranoid.

You can't be paranoid when you actually hear them.

I'm home finally, safe. But I hear the bounty hunters outside my door. My knife is my hand, my eye is gued to the peephole. I hear them, they're there. They're waiting for me.

I hear a woman's voice in my closet, they're already in my room.

I can't breathe, I'm not safe. I'm not safe anywhere.

Charlie keeps looking at me. At least, I think that's what his name is. He never speaks, he just sands there in my living room, a boy no more than eight, and just stares. He looks so sad. Go away Charlie, I can't help you right now.

"THERE'S BUGS! THERE'S BUGS EVERYWHERE!"

I'm on the phone with my best friend. She tells me I'm hallucinating, by this time I'm sure I am. I'm sure none of this is real, but that doesn't make it go away. I hadn't taken any drugs in over twenty-four hours, why am I going crazy?

Open google.
P-A-R-A-N-O-I-D.
S-C-H-I-Z-O-P-H-R-E-N-I-A.

I start crying, my life is over. I could deal with the doctors telling me I'm bipolar, I can't deal with skizophrenia.

I want to go get evaluated. I want to know if it's real, even though looking at it made more sense to me than bipolar ever did. But if I get evaluated, I get thrown in the loony bin, and where will my cats go? Where will all my things go? My cats are my children... Phoenix, Hades, Nemesis... they're the reason I have any sort of responsibility left in me. I get away from the crack houses because I have to feed my cats...

My mother's on my phone. Arguing with me, telling me my skizophrenia is drug induced, and it makes me angry.

"So basically my drug use before was in response to me being bipolar but now that I might be schizophrenic it's only because of the drugs?!"

So what came first... the psychosis or the drugs?

Mother doesn't understand... this fits much more than bipolar ever did. And while my first psychiatric episode might have been triggered by the drugs, it doesn't change the symptoms I had before I even got into drugs.

"You need to get off the drugs."

"NO THE MORE PRESSING MATTER IS WHERE THE FUCK I'M GONNA LIVE COME A DAY AND A HALF!!"

I hang up on her, she's stressing me out. She's not listening. Not helping.

My brother calls me. David, who will probably be the only one I can talk to about this without the need to freak out.

He's got some odd tone in his voice, I can't place it. He's worried, like I'm some breakable thing or something. I don't like it. He keeps telling me that I need to figure out something to do. He doesn't understand that I can't think, I can't make a decision, someone else needs to.

"Your sounding like Mom, only a tad less annoying."

"Thanks, I'm glad you just compared me to Mom, Mary."

No problem. Hang up the phone. Go to sleep. Gotta run away from everything. Again and again and again....

The TV keeps making me cry, it's five in the morning, no one's awake. I call Mom anyway, cry some more.

After awhile, she gets the I need stability first before I decide what to do with the drugs, and my craziness, and whatever else needs to be fixed.

Mother is sending me $300. Money she can't afford to send. I feel like a loser, I'm almost to pushing a grand that I owe her now. I don't like being on this end of things. I liked it better when I had money. Fuck this economy, it's ruining my life.

I keep realizing how messed up my brain is becoming. Sometimes I can think and analyze and go over everything with all the details, not missing a second.... and then other times I'm sparatic, only pointing out major details and having a hard time describing anything. I was fine at first, where did my brain go? I feel lost again, damnit.

How do I fix this problem? How do I even make it feel like life is worth living? Whether I stay here, go home, go to my sister in Atlanta... it all just seems like it's going to be the same.

The same bullshit over and over and over again.

I wish I had the desire to get high, maybe I could feel normal again. I feel so high right now... and I've been sober for a long time......

Labels: delusions, depression, dope, drugs, ghb, hallucinations, meth, paranoia, schizophrenia, x

I tried to write about this a couple days ago when I was drunk, but it ended up being a babble of incoherent sentences that I’m sure repeated the same thing I wanted to say over and over, just in different ways. I mean, I know I have a problem with repeating myself, but I think that’s because I’m always afraid people won’t understand what I mean the first time around. Or the second.

But I’ve come to a point where I need to be honest. I know I’m usually honest to the point of TMI most days, but it’s never about anything important. Not really. Or, well, it’s never about anything I’m ashamed of. This, both of these, I am. So much that ever since then I’ve been having problems getting to sleep at night. I lie awake in bed every night and think about this shit. I can’t help it. Trust me, I wish I could. I’d prefer to have a normal sleep schedule for once instead of lying in bed until 9am.

Anyway, both of these things happened in June.

Most of you know that I had a problem with meth and made it past the one year clean mark. That’s still true. I didn’t lie to anyone about that. But It was kind of fucked, because all it took was being around it one time before I ended up spending $600 on meth in a single fucking month. One time. A bunch of random guys offered to give me a ride to work but they needed to go to their dealer’s house. The dealer lived a block away from me. ONE BLOCK. Are you serious? It was fucking over the moment it started. I was tweeked out through the entire month of June. I think I slept maybe a total of five days out of that whole month. Maybe ate a total of, eh, we’ll give it seven or eight days. It was so sad how EASY it was for me to say yes to it. I didn’t even think twice. Even after being clean for over a year, I said yes without a moments hesitation.

And you know what’s sad? Part of me loved it. I fucking love that drug, I’m sorry. I know it gets me in so much trouble and coming down is like being in hell but sometimes I crave it like I crave air to live.

I love what the drug lets me achieve. I’m a creative person, okay? If I’m not creating something I feel like I don’t have a purpose. But I have focus problems and it can screw up a big project I’m working on if it’s taking too long and my ADD kicks in. Then I’m like fuck this and try to wrap it up as quickly as possible, half assed. Like my fanvids, for example.

On meth, I make amazing fucking fan videos. My Nate addiction one, my Beth Starry Eyed one, my Leverage South Park one that everyone fucking loves? Meth. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on making shit of that caliber without the focus meth gives me. Especially the South Park one. I mean, finding clips that kind of match to the words, do you know how long that takes? I couldn’t do that to save my life sober.

You know how long its taken me to build my own website right now? For my fan fiction and fan videos? It’s been months, months. And I’m still fucking it off and making it half assed. But when I was on meth, I made my entire Beth Riesgraf fan site in a little over a week. Fuck, to be honest, most of the shit I’ve ever done for Beth has been built on meth, but let’s not go there.

Point is, meth stimulates my creativity and allows me to focus better. That’s why I have a hard time not doing it. I’m not a tweeker that smokes, then fucks off with their friends in stupid ass ways to get arrested, or cleans the house like a maniac. I do shit. Productive fucking shit, thank you.

I’ve been clean since I moved to Portland, by the way, but fuck knows how long that’ll last. I know I can’t see it without wanting it, and how am I supposed to go my whole life never seeing it? But whatever.

I didn’t have the time of my life on it though, of course. The guilt was fucking eating me alive and yet I still kept it a secret. It’s hard when people say “I’m proud of you” and you know that there’s really nothing to be proud of anymore. So, what did I do? I did the same thing I did when I knew I was spiraling out of control the first time on meth: I focused far too much on Beth. Which wouldn’t have been much an of an issue if the situation was still the same as it was back then. Back then I had never met her, back then I wasn’t able to freaking email her. Do you see how this became an issue, and fast? Dear lord.

But yeah, back then, when I fucked off every day and living in a motel room with my three cats and miserable about it, I focused on Beth. I made the website, the YouTube channel. I obsessed heavily because it let me not focus on my own life. So I guess when that happened again, I went back to my comfort zone. Except, you know, this time, it made shit so much worse.

This time, I had already met her. I was able to talk to her whenever I wanted. I ended up looking up to her so much and at the same time developing a sort of crush on her and desperately felt the need to impress her; to get her to like me. It was awful, really, because I’m bad with people to begin with, so I have no idea how to talk to a person normally in the first place. And then there’s her. I was worse with her.

Look at my YouTube channel. Do you know how many fan videos of her I made in June? Every single one I would send her an email to show her and be all LOOK WHAT I MADE BLAH BLAH VALIDATE ME LOVE ME BLAH. It was embarrassing, really. At the time I didn’t think so, I was so wrapped up in trying not to feel guilty about what I was doing that I felt like if Beth liked me than I wouldn’t have a reason to feel so awful. I kind of went overboard though.

And then something kind of went down at the end of the month that made us stop speaking to each other. I won’t go into what it is, it’s between us and really isn’t anyone else’s business, but long story short: she hurt my feelings and I retaliated in a really fucking awful way. Like, I was a huge cunt to her. HUGE. I didn’t yell at her or anything, I didn’t tell her to fuck off or say fuck you or call her any names (to her face, anyway) but I was really fucking mean to her regardless. Now, to be fair, I really don’t think she meant to hurt my feelings. She never meant for me to find out the real reason about something, because if she did, she would have told me straight up. I think she did when she did to spare my feelings, but because I knew the truth I went the fuck off at her.

That was also the point where I realized meth was fucking me sideways. Because when you’re up for a week straight, bipolar like a bitch already, it kind of makes you… snap. And I think if I wasn’t doing meth, maybe I would have taken a second to think about what was going on and respond in a more adult way. But I didn’t take a second to think. At all. I just reacted. Because in that moment I hated her with every inch of my being.

I’m one of those people who do things and don’t think about tomorrow. I’m convinced I won’t be alive much longer so I look at things like it doesn’t fucking matter, only to hate life when I’m still alive and it matters somewhere down the road. And it matters now, I feel fucking awful.

Beth is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met who seriously had no reason to even give me the time of day in the first place, and yet she did. And I think I really ended up hurting her because of what I did. I mean, I’m her biggest fan. I think she’s so incredibly talented, more than any other actress I’ve seen, and I’ve supported her in ways no one else ever has before. I’m the one that always stuck up for her and had her back when other people were being douchebags. So for me to turn around and be horrible to her like that? That really must have hurt.

Yeah, I feel like a cunt.

Not that I’m invalidating my own feelings on the matter. She did hurt me and to be honest I doubt I’ll ever get an apology for it. I’d like to think that it doesn’t matter, but that’d be a lie.

I probably shouldn’t care what some woman I barely know thinks about me, but I do. I can’t help it. She’s important to me, you know? I’ve gone into this before; about how Parker helped me and stuff. I mean, that’s fucking important. And how when I wanted to kill myself because I was in this dark fucking hole of tweaked out shit, I used her to feel happier. I mean, indirectly, she did save my life. So yeah, she’s fucking important and that’s why it mattered.

Anyway, regardless of all of that and how I feel about her side of it, I do know that I fucked up worse. I do know that I had no right to say what I said to her and to act like a complete angsted out teenager on crack. It makes me feel awful because I really don’t think she deserved that, even if she did hurt my feelings. It’s not like she was cruel to me or anything. So, I’ve been needing to seriously apologize to her for awhile now.

Which brings me to her birthday gift and why the fuck that isn’t sent out yet even though it’s been over a month.

All the stuff is wrapped and ready to go out. Has been for weeks. I have a big letter in there in which I apologize for being a complete ass. And has it gone out? No. Why? I’m fucking terrified to send it. This is one of those things where I seriously only get one shot at and I still don’t know if what I said will even make a difference. I mean, I’m shit with people, really. Like absolute shit. I’m worried I said the wrong thing and… fuck, I don’t know. I don’t know what to do with it.

And it’s not fair to everyone else who sent their stuff in. It’s not just my present, it’s everyone’s. Fuck. I don’t know.

I just feel bad about it and this crap keeps me awake at night. Beth, the meth thing, fucking all of it. I continuously beat myself up over it. I can’t help it. That’s just who I am. I’ve never had shit go on this long. Ever. I don’t know how to handle it.

So yeah. There’s honesty right there. The entire month of June and why it sucked. I’ve just kept this shit inside for way to long and maybe, I don’t know, talking about it will allow me to try to move past it. Hopefully. I just need to quit lying to everyone.

Though, in all honesty, I’ll still tell people, when directly asked, that I’ve been clean for a year and a half. I can’t say three months outloud. It’s just depressing.

Fuck. Idk.

Labels: beth riesgraf, drugs, meth

It’s an emptiness that feels like it’s hollowing you out. But your skin burns as you scratch at it, trying to rip off the scars that prove your worthlessness. A pattern that means nothing but yet tells a story filled with self loathing and fear. Every mark destroys you; eats at you until there’s nothing left but there’s still the compulsion; the need to try to murder yourself a litter faster than before.

You feel like you’re suffocating but still you can take a breath. Your body feels heavy, but it may only be the weight of your soul. Your feet feel like they’re dragging even though you walk with a steady precision; you know where you’re going – it’s inevitable at this point. You always question the when but not the how; never the why. You know; you’ve always known. It was him and her and them and everyone that paved the road to this place:

Bodies upon bodies and lust upon hate; the weight of one man feels like a hundred because of his number. But it’s required; it’s what you do. It’s what we all do. We play the game and do what’s expected because it’s the way we’ve been taught; the way you’ve been taught. You know how to obey, more than you know how to protest.

The word ‘no’ sounds foreign for all the good it does; most of the time it never makes it out of your mouth anyway. It’s a coy look and a smile; a laugh like it’s a joke even though your skin is crawling because you already know the way this game ends. There is no choice anymore; it’s all a lie. It’s laughable how easy people make it sound; but they don’t know reality. They don’t know what it’s like to feel trapped by repetition and habit.

You learned young, didn’t you?

This is what you do; this is how you do it. And you will always, always give it when it’s needed.

And it broke you.

Fool. You thought it gave you power. Do you feel powerful now? To have lost count? To feel sick every time you touch yourself? But you still persist; let the insanity of this addiction consume you whole and spit you back out again until you lie there; naked and bleeding and wondering yet again why people think this is fun; sexy.

You have the fantasy; consume yourself with it. Of what it’s supposed to be like, what it’s supposed to feel like. So you sit and you write and you run away… but you never run far enough. It’ll never stop, and no matter how much you write about perfection, you will never have it. No matter how much you write about the pain, it doesn’t make it go away.

It was bearable with the distraction. Fill the pipe, spark the flame; watch the smoke swirl in the little glass bowl and taunt you with promises of forgotten nightmares as you inhale and feel the weight be lifted from your shoulders, just a little. But the pipe is broken; the release long gone. What’s left? Your skin can barely handle the torture anymore; mistakes, excuses, and destruction are starting to rise up instead of blend with the background. It’s ugly and that’s something you can’t bear.

You’re ugly on the inside; you must be beautiful on the outside. Fix your hair and pound on the makeup and have cleavage that goes for miles. But that’s not beauty; that’s a sign on your forehead. You make it true; all of it. It’s the way you dress and the way you speak and the habits you’ve fallen into so deep that’s near impossible to climb your way out of. You feel like trash and all you do is make yourself look like beautiful garbage.

So you take a swig of the liquor and swallow more of your new salvation. The room blurs around you but you lather, rinse and repeat as the numbness settles in your chest. It’s a finality; a calm. You aren’t scared, for the first time in your life. It’s an expected closure that you’ve been waiting on bated breath for. You need it; crave it.

Save me.

There are no tears; tears would imply sadness. You aren’t sad; you’re relived. Finally, finally… a promise of peace. The voices stop screaming in your head and you feel yourself smile slightly; the muscles shutting down even in your face making it more difficult. But it doesn’t matter; you know your smiling.

Are you beautiful now?

Tell me, are you beautiful now?

Labels: drugs, sex, suicide

I used to live my life like it was one great story.

I did everything I did just to be able to say that I did it. I’ve done more, seen more, than anyone my age should ever do or see. Which, honestly, in the long run it still doesn’t help because I’m still naïve as all fuck in some areas; some of them important areas. I still have this picture of the world in my head; all drawn out and colored in with multicolored crayons with a fucking smiley face in the sun. And this world isn’t real; it isn’t something anyone sees but me.

I thought I was on top of that fuckin’ world, honestly. For a long ass time. Look at me; all giddy and happy in the sun, looking down at all of you.

I was sexually free and partying, having fun, but keeping time to do all my geeky little things that I did. I had friends, I had lovers, I had a woman who was more to me than just a lover… but whatever. That’s past. Point? Nothing could bring me down. I was fuckin’ untouchable.

… Until I got bitch slapped in the face by reality.

The sad part? I’d go back there in a heartbeat; even knowing what I know now. Even knowing how it all turns out, how it all goes to shit, how I got taken over by a drug I thought had no control over me because my best friend managed for so much longer.

She might just be stronger than I am though.

I’m sorry, but I was happy. I was more in control of my life than I am right now. Right now I’m the equivalent of nothing, and that’s not a dig at myself. That’s the cold hard truth. I was more in control of my life even when I was strung out living in the Budget Suites and the highlight of my week was my Tuesday ritual of getting high out of my fucking mind and watching Leverage. Not that I wasn’t getting high any other day… or night, or morning. But it was special; Tuesday. Leverage night. High and screaming at my TV about how Nate’s being a jackass and how Parker should have more screen time.

It’s sad, but I watch that video of me… the one where I’m watching the season one finale. Cussing at Nate and what have you. I watch it and all I can remember is how everytime I commercial was on I was scraping the bowl for any kind of release. I was practically out that day. I remember it. But god, can you get a lot from a pipe you haven’t cleaned in a week.

I miss the taste of it. I miss the smell. I miss the feeling. I miss getting high because you know what? My addiction made me go to work so I could afford to get more. It was a shitty incentive, yes, but it was still a fucking incentive.

Almost a year clean. I’ve been in Atlanta now for almost a year. You know what I have to show for it?

Nothing besides a whole lot of fanfic. And fanfic gets me a big fat nowhere in life; in the long run. I used to live my life like a story… now I tell it through other characters because I have nothing left.

I can’t handle my own life. This is supposed to be it, yeah? The big fucking finish. I’m clean and the world has opened up to me; so many fucking possibilities. Well you know what? Go to hell.

Most days I want to slit my wrists then go for my throat. Fucking finger paint in my own blood.

I’m cracking worse than I was when I was strung out. At least then I had a reason to be fucked up. Now? I have no excuse; no reason. Scratch the dope covered surface and what do you find? A shell. Nothing. Nobody. I wasn’t a fuck up because of the drugs; I’m a fuck up as it is. Hell, the drugs helped me be less of a fuck up.

Storyteller. Storytelling.

I can’t make this stop. I was lying in bed and I thought to myself, “I can’t wait until this is all over. Until I can tell stories about it. How I was fucked up for three years only to get clean and realize I was nothing without the drugs.” And you know what? Like the idiot that I am I still have the fantasy that some brave white knight is gonna ride in and save me from myself. We can all make note that this said knight is a woman, no matter what my wavering sexuality has been indicating these last couple months. I think I’m just out of things to do, so why not try men? That’s… new. Ha.

I don’t leave my house. Hell, I barely leave my couch. I wake up and sit on my computer and I stay there until I fall asleep.

I keep telling myself day after day that I’m going to go to work tomorrow… or no wait, maybe the next day… until I’m out of money and crying to the only people who will listen and bail my ass out again. It makes me feel worthless; horrible. I feel like I’m just this waste of space and air that people cling to in the small hope that I’m worth something more than that. I love how everyone can see the other side but me.

I should be looking forward to the Leverage convention, but I’m terrified of it. I’m a mess, you all know it. Rather not have you all actually see it.

I’ve thought of going back to Massachusetts, getting all that nice free health insurance and then checking myself into a mental hospital for the long haul. At least I won’t have to try to act sane then. I can claw at myself until I bleed, scream until they restrain me, finally succumb to all the madness in my head.

Fuck. I just want to be free.

I need an escape, any fucking escape. Just point me to the door, honey. I need to breathe, I need to run, I need to scream, I need to do some violence and then fuckin’ vomit. I don’t care anymore. I just feel so trapped. And the fucked up thing is that I’m trapping myself.

I’m not an idiot, I can see it. I can feel it. But it doesn’t make it better. My head likes to torture me every single fucking day.

This is why I tell stories. I’m no longer a part of one, so why not relive them. Pain, agony, heartbreak, remorse, slavery. Look at my stories. Each and every one. Somewhere in each of them is a part of me. Its so funny how my beta actually picks them out, and it’s even funnier that most of the time I don’t even realize I’m doing it when it’s something little.

Big stuff though... yeah, I know. Parker. Faith. Their pasts? Hi, welcome to little bits and pieces of my life. I’m just lucky that both of the characters are so screwed up that it’s believable to be theirs too.

My head hurts. My stomach hurts. It’s almost 10am and I should be sleeping because I need to work tonight. I NEED TO. Will I get there? Probably not. Same shit, different fucking week.

You know what hell is? Hell is when you relive the same day over and over. When you do the same shit over and over and expect different results.

Fuck hell. Fuck this. Fuck everything.

Labels: drugs, fucking life, leverage

Before I go into my whole… horrible part of last night, I do want to talk about some good parts.

I made a grand at work on Tuesday night. Actually, technically, I made $1200. But after tipping out our ungodly percentage, I walked with a grand. Dead fucking Tuesday night. I wasn’t enjoying being back – it was awkward for me. But my friend was there, happy I was back… and she found a customer who was willing to take us both to VIP. We thought he’d only be in there a half an hour. Four hours later… well… yeah. Cleanest fucking time in VIP I’ve ever had in that club. Cleanest I’ve ever made that much amount of money. All we seriously did was dance and drink. It was crazy.

I thanked God so much for that. And you know me, I’m a skeptic. But that? I in no way deserved that. My lazy ass didn’t go to a work for a month. An ENTIRE month. I should not have been given that.

Anyway, so. My thing with money though is money + drugs = sexy. So when I get the chance to get free coke, did I say no? Of course I didn’t. Free drugs are free drugs, and as long as it isn’t meth I thought I wouldn’t feel bad about it. After all, since I’ve been “clean” I have done ecstasy once, adderal maybe three times. Nothing major, but you know, just sometimes. So when I get money, for some reason I associate that with drugs. Not even spending it. But to me? Snorting a line or six with a hundred dollar bill feels fucking sexy to me.

Of course the guy giving it to me wants in my pants. I’ve been clear on this matter many times to him and he just doesn’t seem to get it. But that’s not my problem. I’m sick of repeating myself.

Right so. Pretty much passed the fuck out that night… went over my friends house and we played WoW a bit and then passed out. Next day we slept pretty much all fucking day, then get up, went out to lunch, came back, passed out, got up, went to Dave & Busters, ate, played games, went out to a bar.

Come back to their house: sex.

Which, don’t get me wrong, I very much like both of these people. I enjoy having spontaneous threesomes one cause holy HELL can this girl squirt more than I’ve ever seen anyone do in my ENTIRE LIFE, and two, it’s just… IDK. Fun. Ha. Anyway, problem is… once I had woken up I had been doing lines the whole night. I didn’t tell them. They both like for serious don’t do drugs.

Of course she finds out. Knows I’m not drunk, that something else is wrong with me. I tell her. She’s fine with it at first – not happy – but fine. She’s not now, not after my freak out. She called me an addict. I got upset. Really upset. She was trying to help, but I can’t be called an addict.

Coke makes me hyper aware of what’s going on. For all the times I’ve had sex in my life, I try very much to be on something that dulls everything around me. I don’t ever want to know my own sex.

So she totally called me out on faking my orgasm last time. I told her I just do that and make all the damn sound effects so I don’t fuck peoples self esteem up. It’s really really hard to get me off. Seriously. I can’t even get myself off half the time. Anyway, of course I try to compensate by telling them I do enjoy sex, but I enjoy sex for another reason: abuse.

They tried, they really did. But they are not abusive, hurtful people. They couldn’t do it the way I needed.

And then I just… fucking broke. I don’t know how, or why, but I ran into the bathroom and chain-smoked like a bitch to try to get myself to calm down.

She came in, tried to make me talk. I refused, I didn’t want to explain. More pushing and I just told her I can’t be aware of what’s going on when I have sex because I THINK SEX IS WRONG. I know that’s stupid, it makes no sense, but I feel like it’s wrong. Like it’s a dirty thing to do and I shouldn’t be doing it. That I’m disgusting for participating in it. I started crying, and she kept saying its okay, the way I want sex, everyone fantasies about weird shit and I told her no, that she has no fucking clue the fucked up things I fantasize about. There is one that I vowed to never, ever tell another living soul.

And she pushed and pushed and I screamed and I broke and I told her. Its disgusting, vile, horrible shit that makes me feel like I should kill myself for even thinking about.

I will not write it here.

I can’t believe she told me it’s okay. It’s okay that I think about that, that it makes so much sense because of what I’ve been through. And I KNOW that. I know WHY, psychologically I can think that. That doesn’t make it better. I would never do it, I couldn’t. I’d rip my fucking goddamn face off before I ever did something like that. But that doesn’t change how disgusting it is. Thoughts like that should never run through someone’s mind. And the main reason being to just destroy, lash out, revenge, steal someone else’s soul… that’s sick, twisted crap.

I hate myself so much for it. For everything I do or even think about sexually. I hate sex, I really do. Sex just continues to destroy me.

And yet I run my entire fucking life around it.

I have a serious problem. I know I do. I just… fuck. I’m so sick of all my problems. No human being should be allowed to have this many fucking issues. It’s just not right. It’s just not fucking fair.

Labels: abuse, addiction, drugs, sex

I have this issue where I like to ruin my own life. It’s like some sick kind of game with me.

I haven’t left my house in a week. I need to look for a job, but I’m terrified to go outside. And would you like to know why? Because Mary has been half-lying to everyone for about a week and a half now, and all the shame that goes along with it is starting to eat me alive.

Not last Saturday, but the one before, I started feigning. Bad. Like shaking, I needed it. Found one of the local corner drug dealers, gave him $40, he handed me a baggie, I put it in my purse, not looking at it because we were on Moreland freaking Ave. That was that, done.

I went home, and felt guilty like fuck for buying it. Doing it would have disappointed so many people I made promises to. But I needed it, and I hate that somehow that makes my word worth jack. So I wait until Nicole leaves (this was when I was living with her) get some old school ghetto ass tin foil and hollow out a bic pen, get the dope and… it was sugar.

The bastard sold me sugar.

I didn’t even have to taste the shit, you can just tell. Who the hell tries to pass off sugar as meth? The shit isn’t cut the same at all. I wish I looked at it before, but another part of me is glad I didn’t. Though I want my $40 back.

Which, to be fair, I totally had that coming, and I know it’s the universes way of telling me that I was being a fuck up, but that won’t help HIS cause any when I see him. I tend to get violent when people rip me off with drugs.

But that’s why I haven’t left my house. I’m just convinced I’ll do it again. Feigning here in my own private hell is fine, but I can’t go out in the world and need it, because automatically I’ll try to find it. Shit just falls out of my mouth before I can stop it. Some guy asked me what drugs I did in normal conversation (yeah, seriously, these are the people I attract) about a month ago and automatically I said meth, even though I had been clean at the point for a little bit.

The worst part about all of this is that because I won’t leave, I haven’t looked for a job. I’m seriously past fucked right now, and I feel like I’m almost trying to force myself back into stripping, because if things get that bad then that’s what I’ll do.

I don’t want to.

Yeah, I miss getting pretty. I missed it today when I was getting pretty for my webcam chat. I never get pretty anymore. I either need to be in that kind of environment (strip clubs) where I expect to be hit on and use it my advantage, or else I just can’t go anywhere looking good because I don’t want to be hit on. Why I enjoy online attention – no one can touch you. I don’t’ feel awkward by it.

I’ve been so over emotional lately it’s been driving me insane, and now I know it’s due to my period… but I still feel so stupid about freaking out. What does it even matter if some woman was freaked out by me? I mean really. I do what I do because I love it, and I enjoy it, but at the same time it made it seem like it was all worth crap. I cried a bit, like a stupid prick really, and that was even more stupid because in the end I took it the wrong way. Like completely the wrong way. No freaking out at all.

I’m such an idiot. I don’t ever want to see her. God. Really don’t. I’m such a jackass sometimes. Like it should even matter to me.

I’m mad at myself because it did though. It was kind of like, when you work so hard at something and then the person it was for tells you it’s shit, kind of thing.

But it isn’t shit. It was actually a really good thing, which makes me feel even stupider for all the previous shit. It was helpful, good. Which makes me feel good now, but still feel stupid that that should even make a difference either.

Why do I care so much? I used to not give half a shit. I really didn’t. I'm turning into one of those people I hate in regards to the subject, and I don't want to be that person. It makes me want to back off from it all just so I don't turn into something I hate, but yet at the same time I know now that I can't because if I did that then the good might turn into bad. It's complicated. Self esteem issue basically.

And it gets even more confusing for me, because at one point while I'm calling myself and idiot for being that way, one the other hand, since it helped I feel almost like we're even, since she had helped me out previously in regards to something else. But really its all helping without knowing we're doing so, so it's pretty ridiculous. Even more ridiculous if you even knew who I was talking about. It's just all dumb, yet strangely symmetrical in a good way.

I obviously can't make a decision on how I feel about the matter. Clearly.

And it’s horrible, all of this, big parts of my life are such a secret, and I’ve always been such an open person. I always talk about everything, no matter if it’s too TMI or anything of that sort. And stuff that upsets me, or stuff that makes me happy, I like to share. But I just can’t.

And I try without really saying anything. Just get it out there, but yet dance around it so much all it does is confuse everyone around me. I get so many questions on Twitter when I post things like that, and while none of them are ever really close to right, I feel bad because I can’t answer. I have to ignore, or say “I can’t talk about it,” which in turn makes me sound like some snob, and kick myself for even trying to express my feelings about what is going on in my life at that moment.

I share everything… not doing that is really really hard for me. I didn’t know how hard it was going to be until now. It’s so everyday for me now, that I don’t even see why it should matter… but I know exactly why it matters for the same reason. So I try to shut my mouth, dance around things but never talk about them.

All of you have no idea what I’m talking about, I realize this, but this is my journal, and I just need to do this for me. When I let things out I feel so much better, and it just… sucks that I can’t.

It sucked that I cried and couldn’t talk to anyone about it because of how I knew. It sucked that I got really happy after that and couln’t say anything about that either. It sucks when I have something I want to show off, but can’t. I’m so proud of myself for something I’m doing right now, and I really enjoy it, but I can never say anything. It's really all due to my large identity crisis of Sapphire Smoke vs. Mary. I used to regard us as two separate people, but we're just not. I am Sapphire Smoke. I write and talk about my real life as Sapphire Smoke. It's just a name, not a different persona, and that's what's become the problem. I don't know who I am anymore, and one is allowed to do stuff and the other isn't. I wish I did have MPD or something, would make this easier. No clashing.

I hate secrets.

My own secrets I can’t keep to save my life, but when they involve another person or more than one person I have to. It’s not just my secret to share.

It’s just hard. I’ve been beating myself up over a lot of shit recently.

I just laugh when I look in the mirror. I’m so fucking pretty that it’s just so pathetic sometimes about who I am underneath the physical.

I feel like shit right now. I want to cry again, but that’s probably just me PMSing again.

Labels: drugs, meth, secrets

I got a new tattoo. It's lovely, it really is. You like?


I wish I had the effort to squee over it, but I'm really depressed right now. I am such a liar, and the worst part of it is that I don't think I'm lying because I justify it in my head. And you know, that's the only reason why I can tell it. If I knew I was lying I wouldn't be able to do it.

I've been clean since I got out of jail, right? Wrong.

Two weeks in I bought some shit. An entire half a gram of meth, smoked the entire fucking thing to myself and... didn't even get high. It was bullshit, so I decided that since I didn't get high I really was still clean.

Well, even if that was true I'm not now. I've been awake since... 2pm Saturday. It's 3am Monday and while that's not too long, the fact remains is that I'm coming down and miserable and yet I'm not even tiered in the slightest.

My back hurts. My jaw kills. My head is pounding. My throat is sore.

And I still have at least another half a gram left.

Will I do it now? Of course not, you can't force yourself to go back up after coming down this far, it never works and you end up feeling worse.

I'm supposed to be doing community service in the morning too. I have 30 hours to do. Stupid court.

I just feel like shit. I'm such a weak little fucker, aren't I? I mean I went through the cravings, the physical ones. I got past that. But my mentality to me is so much worse. Someone mentions it and all of a sudden I need it.

It's quite ridiculous.

I need to go to bed. I need to get up early and do community service. I need to work later that night.

Will any of it happen?

I doubt it.

I hate my ability to make decisions.

And wtf, what the hell is David having me watch? This show, 'Jericho' makes absolutely no sense to me and I just finished the first episode. Most I get is that it's like apocalyptic or in the midst of a really fucked up World War where Americas getting their ass kicked.

But the scenes are short, they switch quickly and only show pieces. I can't follow this thing, I'm ADD for christs sake. My brain can't pay attention to something that's so rapid. Then it aggrivates me because I can't follow it, because I don't like not getting things.

David, find me another show to watch. Srsly.

Labels: drugs, meth, tattoo

I have half a gram of meth in front of me.

In my drunken state yesterday I apparently ordered some but promptly passed out before I could smoke it. I woke up this morning, picked it up, picked up my pipe... and just stopped.

I've been clean for two weeks as of today. Two weeks. I already passed the worst part of the dope sickness, and now it's just a matter of will power.

I don't like wasting my money, not when the economy is as bad as it is. But I don't want to smoke it, either.

No, I take that back. I do want to smoke it, bad. So bad I started uploading pictures from "the 12 step job" to my Beth website but then stopped because I didn't have the focus to do it. I have to upload them and place them one by one, you see. Very hard to do when your not all tweeked out.

But then apart of me doesn't want to be a liar. I said I was going to try to stop, and should make every effort to do so.

Regardless of either point of view, it's torturing me.

Sure, I could go to work and sell it. I know plenty of people that will buy it. However I don't like to get involved in the distribution of drugs.

And in some way I feel the need to prove myself to Sarai, which to be honest I find completely ridiculous seeing as I still have no idea where the hell we stand, but then again I know we won't stand anywhere if I pick up this baggie and load my pipe.

Women just aren't supposed to effect me like this. I always do my own thing, and fuck all the bullshit in between.


I frequently do other things in the middle of blogging because of my extreme ADD. So I check my email.

SUBJECT: Dean Devlin sent you an iTunes Gift

Cue me being like, "Wait, what?" Blink. Stare. Blink some more.

Seriously, I love how blonde I've been getting ever since I dyed my hair. Its true, the bleach does sink into your skull. Here I am thinking it's just some scam or promotional email. No matter how much recognition I keep getting from the show I'm still convinced they really have no idea who the fuck I am. Probably because I find it so surreal to begin with.

"Sapphire Smoke -
Heard you missed this episode. Enjoy!
-Dean Devlin"

I love this show. I love these people. You like, don't even understand. The creators, the producers, the network... I'm gonna have thier babies. ROFL.

I wonder how he even knew I missed it. I know I bitched about it on my LJ for a minute through an update over my phone right after my desktop hit the shitter. Oh wait, I actually mentioned it on my last YT video, didn't I? Stupid jail and their stupid rules about not letting me watch my obsessions and have any kind of enjoyment.

I actually have been needing to download iTunes anyway. Was trying to update my ipod yesterday and then was like wait I need iTunes for that, don't I?

Unfortunately, it's gonna have to wait cause I need to already do a system restore because me and my dumb ass decided to try to download some program to get dial up for free so I could FTP the Leverage screencaps to my website instead of doing them one by one (since I lost my AOL dial up with my hard drive pooping out on me), and its like some kind of virus thing. Well not really, just I cant figure out how to unistall it and it keeps popping up and being in my face all obnoxious like. So fuck all that bullshit.

I guess the reason I find myself still questioning if they actually know who I am or not is because I'm a day dreamer. Bad. Like seriously seriously bad. I let my imagination run away with me, and if I actually accept that they know who I am, I'll start hoping that I can actually meet Beth one day (or even just possibly be in contact with her so I can actually expand my website into a better resource), or be able to see an episode getting filmed, or be an extra, or other impossible things like that. This is why i enjoy pessimism: you never get disappointed. lmfao.

That, and you keep getting amazed when things like this happen.

You know, before I started this post I told myself I wouldn't talk about Leverage, because I was planning in my next post to do a recap of the last two episodes (because I have things to say - like always) and also a recap of the first episode of Dollhouse. But oh well. I'll still do it, don't get me wrong, but now my brain's back to Leverage.

Laugh all you want, I know it doesn't stray from it very often so this isn't that unexpected.

I've been feeling so behind in the community lately though. Missing two weeks of Leverage fandom activities is making me feel slightly lost. So many things get updated about it every day in all the comms on LJ, that I had to go back 15 pages in my friends entries to catch up. Yet, I still feel lost.

Really, I think I just need to dive back into some fanfiction. It'll make me feel better. Like I have to time, though. Still need to upload pictures from 12 step and juror for my Beth website. Procrastinating on that due to how long an tedious it is. Really, why can't you just open up Port 21, Budget Suites, you fucking rat bastards that need to make my life harder. One thing I hate about living in an extended stay motel.

I finally got around to making the scene spam of Parker from 12 step, but I hate it. I hate that all I have is Windows Movie Maker. It squashes my creativity and makes my shit look... unprofessional. I don't like that. I have standards for myself, and for the stuff I put out there about the show. I'm an Leverage advertising queen, and it aggravates me that that video I put out is less than satisfactory.

I'm extremely anal and precise when it comes to being "the only" of something. The only YT channel dedicated to a Leverage character, the only website up for Beth Riesgraf. I am the first, I am the only, I have to be the best.

It's a thing I have. HA.

I don't have photoshop either. That makes me want to bang my head against something heavy. I cant make graphics with Paint, people.

I lost all my brushes and shit too. My fonts. Sigh. Its gonna take awhile to get this laptop updated. I also had a program I bought to rip videos from DVDs (that I actually bought and not downloaded illegally, mind you) but I cant remember for the life of me what the name of the program was. Which annoys me as well. Not that I need to rip any DVDs until the Leverage box sets come out, but still.

I really hope they do them like the Xena box sets. I love love love those box sets. Best ones ever made. And since Leverage is up there in my book next to Xena (which if you all have known me for a long time, thats saying something) I'm expecting some good shit.

And conventions. Leverage needs conventions.

Speaking of conventions, tickets to next years Xena con is already on sale. Can I afford them? No. I'm so getting annoyed at my lack of money. I hate having to rely on other people to get pictures of Hudson so I can put them on my website. Which, I have yet to get from last months either. Then again, havent been online much yet to get there yet. More pressing matters to deal with.

And yet I procrastinate doing them by writing in my blog. I gotta work tonight too. Rent and shit like that. I havent had a minute to just have a real day off where I just sit around and do nothing. I've been going and going since I got out of jail. Yesterday at work I made $200, which is pathetic. But people kept looking at my eye like I'm some battered wife.

Bitch, like I would EVER let a MAN hit me. PUH-LEASE.

I do have battered wife syndrome though. I've been so used to getting abused mentally and emotionally by women that I just laid down and took physical abuse from my best friend. I was sick all yesterday, couldn't eat. I know it was because I swallowed so much blood. I also have been having trouble breathing, which leads me to believe I inhaled some as well and that its sitting in my lungs.

Can I go to the hospital though? No. Why? Because even if I don't press charges against her, the state will. And I won't do that to her kids, man. I love her kids like they were my own family.

So here I sit, feeling like shit, beaten up, and yet do nothing about it.

I'm pathetic.

I'm also obsessed with Britney Spear's song "Circus".

rofl. How ADD was THAT moment?

Back to LEVERAGE!

I feel the need to try to analyze my obsession with Parker, because really, I can't figure out why I like her so much. When I write, things tend to subconsciously come out so I'm going to try it right now. Analyzing the character will make me realize alot of why I like her so much, or more ways I relate to her. You ready for this? I tend to get deep. lol.

I get what it's like to be looked at like your crazy when you think you said something completely appropriate in your opinion. It makes you feel like somethings wrong with you, but you can't figure out what it is and you wish to God someone would just tell you. I see that in Parker.

I've noticed I look at Parker beneath the surface. When people look at Parker like that, it's like I can see in her eyes the 'I don't get it' feeling that she has. Like I can read her thoughts. Seriously, this is why I made a fansite for Beth. I find her acting to be amazing. I can rarely feel like I can read a characters mind through just the look in their eyes, but I feel like I can with Parker. That might be partly due to me having some similarities to Parker's personality, or mental state, whichever. But it still has alot to do with Beth's quality as an actress, and it surprises me and slightly even horrifies me that she's not done alot more roles than she has. Its like people can't appreciate the talent that's in front of them. Thank god the Leverage casters did.

Parker tries so hard to fit in, and just when she thinks she is she realizes she still sticks out like a sore thumb. I actually get mad about Eliots comments about her... like in the juror #6 job, when he mentioned she shouldnt do jury duty because theres NORMAL people there. And he said it right in front of her, like he thinks shes so messed up that she doesn't have any kind of feelings. Like shes some sort of thieving robot. Like she's incapable of connecting with the human race when clearly she has some sort of connection to all of them because she's still around and they still want her around.

Its one of the reasons I prefer to ship her with Sophie. While theres not much room for subtext between the two of them thus far in the episodes (which makes me go grr cause they so gave the Eliot/Hardison shippers something in 12 step), Sophie has started to take Parker under her wing almost (at least, when shes not busy bitching/being all over Nate). Shes encouraging to Parker, and it's like she can tell how important it is to Parker that she can interact with people, even though Parker pretends like she couldn't care less.

But we all know everyone cares. Parker included. I've come to realize the secret of life isn't what you do, how much money you make, or how happy you are. The secret to life is interacting with people, because everyone that comes into your life plays some role - whether large or small - to shape who you ultimately become. Everyone that comes into our lives impacts in one way or another, and we grow as human beings. When you don't communicate with other people, you might as well be dead, because you no longer grow. We all learn from our experiences with other people in this life, more so than the ones on your own. Most people don't even stop and think and realize how much interacting with others is an important part of living.

Parker hates who she is. Maybe not hate, thats a little strong, but dislikes a large part of herself. But shes like most people, she puts on a shell of "I don't care what you think" and prays that it doesn't crack when she's around someone else. Crying in front of Hardison in the stork job didn't make her happy, you could see it on her face. You could tell by how she tried to calm herself down quickly and wiped her tears away, rapidly rebuilding her walls so she didn't have feel reality anymore. She even seemed slightly mad at herself for allowing herself to break down like that in front of him. Feelings are what Parker suppresses most of all. I did that for years. I protected myself from my own feelings and hid everything inside myself until finally I broke and went crazy. But during that time I actually acted a lot like Parker did. Slightly detached from reality.

Parker is terrified of her own feelings. She doesn't want to recognize that she does, wether she likes it or not, have major issues. Probably due to being abused. Mentally, Emotionally, Physically, or Sexually. People foolishly think some of those are worse than others. They all do the same amount of damage, just in different ways. So no, it doesn't matter to be how she was abused. I'm just pretty damn sure that she was in some way or another during her childhood.

I'm planning on writing a fanfiction centered around the anti-depressants the rehab made her take in 12 step. Only because I see so much of myself in Parker, I'm sure that when she got off of them she hated what they did to her. Yeah they make you happier, but they change who you are. They change everything that makes you YOU. Its like feeling that people drug you because the way you were made just isn't goo enough for the real world, so they try to change who you are. Its a horrible feeling to feel like who you are isn't good enough for anyone, and that you have to be someone else to be liked by anyone at all.

That's why I don't take my medication anymore. Sure I "self medicate" with drugs, but not to change who I am, but to stimulate the qualities and abilities I dont have access too when I'm not on them. Like the ability to patiently be able to upload over 200 screen caps one by one. Productivity, basically.

Parker steals to compensate for the things out of her reach. She cant have mental stability, and I find it doubful that she's had any type of realationship in her life other than one based on sex. She can't connect, so she takes what she can get from other people to make up for the things she can't take, have, or get. Or at least, thats my opinion at least. My whole analyzation is actually my opinion, and can't ever be sure unless it plays a role in canon. One thing about TV shows, speculation will always be there. You can ever write an entire person, if you understand what I mean. People are just too complex.

Her ability as a thief is one thing she can be proud of about herself. It's a skill that's meaningful to her, because as a regular human being she has so few. She has to be the best at something, excel outstandingly in one area, to make her feel like shes worth something.

I really could go on forever about Parker and keep bringing up new points and make an entire deduction just based on a simple hand motion she gives, but I won't do that to you all. You have no idea how much I enjoy analyzation, and how deep I can really go. So I'll stop, for now.

Mainly because I just realized its 5:30 and I need to start getting ready for work. Lord, I've been writing forever.

Labels: dean devlin, drugs, leverage, meth, parker

I'm in quite a strange predicament.

So. I have about a half a gram of meth in my house right now. I've had it in my house for oh... since Saturday afternoon.

I haven't touched it.

Well okay that's not true. I tried to touch it. Tried to smoke it, and like... I really didn't want to. I just have no desire to do the damn drug at all.

This has never happened to me before.

Ever.

Sure, I've had no desire to do it when I don't have it. But it's here, in front of my fucking face, and I'm like eh, no.

I spent the entire day yesterday sleeping. Seriously, I was only up for about five hours. I had dreams that consisted of Phoenix getting hit by a car and no one wanting to help me bring her to an animal hospital, so I had to carry her and walk to one. I woke up and snuggled her after that, it really depressed me.

I also had a dream that I had a dog, and my dog had ten puppies (yeah ten, like that's realistic lol) and on top of that, some of them were blue.

Blue? wtf?

I want a blue fucking dog xD

I have a bunch of stuff I need to do, and no desire to do any of them. No desire to smoke so I can want to do them.

Blah. I just want to sleep. I know I'm not tiered, I just don't wanna be awake right now. I don't know why.

I also just want to eat. I'm not hungry, I just really want some food.

Depression symptoms, I know. BLECH. Annoyance.

I wish I could get the effort to do something productive on my days off today & tomorrow.

The Closer tonight. YAY. Brenda FTW.

Btw, added a button so you can subscribe to the RSS Feed. Dunno if that's easier for some of you or not.

Labels: depression, dreams, drugs, meth

I haven't slept since I woke up at 3pm on Wednesday afternoon. While it was all good and lovely at first, right now it kinda bothers me because I sadly am forced to go to work tonight to participate in a photoshoot.

Yeah. A Photoshoot. On no sleep. Probably looking cracked out.

FTL.

I don't know, I get ahold of those pictures before anyone else first cause I get to be the one to put them on the stupid website, so I can always attempt to edit my cracked out-ness.... but IDK if it'll work or not. Never took pics like this.

Videos, yes. Videos I wish I never did take because I didn't know how fucked up I looked until I wasn't and watched it back. Its funny cause you always think your acting normal and your just not.

IDK. Maybe I shouldn't go. But I do need money, have to pay my room this week, and I am thus far... $200 short. Well, that is if I ever get my fucking check cashed. But then again, I don't have to pay it until Monday. So ugh.

I swear to fucking god this dope is never ending. I get some Wednesday before work because I had a rough night the night before, but really needed to be awake to work.

I order $20, pay for $20, get a $50 because apparently my new dealer is fucking awesome, and gave me more because his last batch was kinda bunk.

But seriously, $50 used to last me a day. ONE DAY. How in the fuck am I on day three and at the rate this shit is going, I could probably still be up for another two.

And I can't just stop doing it. IDK if any of you have done it before, but coming down is the worst feeling in the world. The only time people will let themselves go through that much pain and sickness is when they run out.

Either that or their body finally collapses and falls out. That's usually better. Well, I like it better anyway. I sleep for like 24 hours after that.

Blah, drugs suck. This shit needs to finished.

LOL I kind of find this funny. Here I am, I have the best dope I've gotten in awhile. Burns slow, lasts long, isn't making me grind my teeth, I can still eat on it (maybe not as much as I usually can, but I can eat a small meal) and I can take a short nap for like an hour every now and then. I don't feel horrible. I just feel... unmotivated. I suppose.

In other news, I finished my website. Finally...

http://beth-riesgraf.info/

I was having some issues with the domain earlier, but its all cool now. So yay. MaryWIN.

Also, for any of you that actually looked at what I did via the last post... I've been requested to do more, so I am. & they got worse. So so soooo much worse. But I love them. They're so twisted and perverted and fucked up and it makes me LOL.

UGH. I wanna take a fucking nap.

Work bad. Sleep good.
Work bad. Sleep good.

Fucking blah. You know my cats are eating dog food? Yeah, apparently the stupid store decided to stock 476384 thinsg of dog food, and no cat food... but yet cat litter. I'm like wtf dude. SRSLY.

Fuck all the bullshit, I need to eat something before I die. The end.

Labels: beth riesgraf, dope, drugs, meth, website design, work

Does anyone remember the video I made on YouTube awhile back called "I Want My Obsessions Back"?

Well, obviously I have them back. I know most people think I'm certifiably insane, getting caught up in fictional worlds, characters, or stories. What people don't seem to understand is that I am the most happiest when I am. When I don't have to focus on how much bullshit there is in life, or how while I'm managing to finally support myself in only the matter of working one day a week because I have a problem with trying to live past my means, then I'm perfectly happy.

On a side note, it also tends to be my anti-drug. Imagine that.

I have had absolutely no urges to do meth in almost the last week. I've been so caught up in being a Parker-obsessed weirdo, thus labeling me as the Crazy Parker Fanatic (not that anyone has said that, but I'm sure it's coming), that I don't want to smoke. At all.

And it's interesting really. I used to say I smoked because it got me more focused, and I could finish more tasks that way, and while it's true and maybe it would help me be even more of a crazy Leverage person, I just don't want to.

Partly, because while I can make icons/wallpapers/fan videos while I'm high, I can't focus enough to write fanfiction. I wrote a chapter of my Bellatrix one once while high, and when I was sober ended up reading it and throwing it out because it was such epic crap. When I write I'm very big on incooperating and describing a character's manerisms, quirks, facial expressions... all the little things that most people leave unnoticed. I have to fully be in the characters mind and play out the scene in my head a couple times before I can correctly and acuratly descibe what I saw in my head, because I want other people to see it too.

On the downside, however, my obsessions make me not want to do anything else but. Work? Pfft, only to get my rent and food money (cigarettes too, but that goes without saying). I only worked Friday last week. This week, I only worked Friday too. Made $500 and burned the fuck out.

I had an urge to start a Leverage blog, but I won't. I need to stop overloading myself with a bunch of projects, I tend to hang myself that way. I have the YouTube channel, which I'm doing fabulously on by the way, already ten video's up. Seven episode videos (theres only been six episodes aired, but "The Stork Job" had to be split into two parts for obvious reasons if you've seen it), two fan videos, and an introduction video by me for the channel. I'm also still in the middle of a Parker/Sophie fanfic, and as of right now have writer's block which is kicking my ass. Do you guys remember the story arc thing they used to teach you in school?

__/\__

That thing, lol. But yeah, got up to the peak, and now I'm stuck. Fail.

I should probably take a nap and fix my sleep schedule. Yesterday I got home from work, passed the fuck out drunk as hell, but then woke up three hours later and couldn't get back to sleep until 3:30pm. Hence the no working. I swear I really was planning to go... >.>

Oh, fantastic idea hitting me!

When the season is over, I'm planning on making Parker ship videos for every character (to satisfy everyone's pairings) and I think for the Parker/Eliot I want "Poker Face" cause it takes about gambling and Texas (where Eliot is from). Hm, I must make a note of that somewhere. I'm not much looking forward to the Parker/Nate video, I think that would just be icky, and don't understand the pairing at all. I can see Parker/Hardison, Parker/Eliot, and Parker/Sophie easily, but Parker and NATE? Really? Seriously? Come on now. But whatever.

Moving along now... until next time.

Labels: drugs, eliot, fan videos, fanfiction, hardison, lady gaga, leverage, nate, obsessions, parker, poker face, sophie, youtube

Whoever said skitzers aren't productive? Lies, all LIES.

I fell off the sober wagon today. And while I was beating myself up over it earlier, because the only reason I smoked was so that I could stop being dope sick AND having a cold at the same time. That was really killing me, and it was very hard to try to get to sleep. I also started getting really nauseated and started gagging.

Gagging, not puking. I never puke. Sometimes I think my body doesn't know how. Then I remember the times that I do, and they only include food poisoning and a massive pill overdose. But I can stick my fingers all the way down my throat and wiggle them about and nothing happens. It's really quite annoying, actually, because you know when you puke you feel better. So do I ever feel better? Nope!

It was ten in the morning, and I was really tiered. My eyes were getting heavy, my back was hurting, and I was feeling even more nauseated. Then one of my friends calls, and tells me she's gonna come over early in the afternoon. I say that's fine, after all, it's been awhile since I've been able to hang out with my friends.

I know if I went to bed then, then by the time she got here, would be when she wakes me up. And my house... was disgusting. Not dirty, not messy... DISGUSTING.

So me, completely sober and VERY sick, starts to obsessively clean my house for about two hours. And not just pick up trash, but wiping down surfaces and stuff. If you know me, that's pretty damn good. I hate cleaning, really, I do. The only time I ever do it is when company comes over. Otherwise, I'm perfectly happy living in my filth. Gross, I know. But true.

Later on in the afternoon, my friend comes over bearing... dope. And to be honest, there was no thinking, no choices, it was there and I did it. And to be honest, after I did it, I started to feel SO much better. And I don't just mean from the high. My sickness was pretty much gone, besides the cough. Dope is my medicine, apparently. How quaint.

Later on in the evening, we meet up with another friend, and everyone comes back to my place. I was currently in the middle of redoing the layout to my website, which I started late last night.

Now see, most people are under the impression that meth makes you do things like clean obsessively, or sit there for hours doing some stupid mundane thing. No, not me. When I skitz out, I need to be on my computer. I do productive things. I am a VERY productive skitzer. And hell, today, I was fucking hella productive.

After watching the new Leverage, my friends take over the TV and I sit my happy little ass on the computer. I finished the layout for my personal website ( Sapphire Smoke Online ) and even added the bones one shot story, and a Bellatrix/Narcissa fan fiction I'm currently in the middle of.

Then I decided, well fuck, my website for Hudson needs a new layout too!

So what do I do? Redesign my entire layout for the website ( Hudson-Leick.Info ). Really, I've been meaning to redo that thing for months now. MONTHS. And I got it done in a matter of... I believe four or five hours. I'm very proud of myself.

Is it wrong to think I shouldn't quit?

Probably.

Everyone has been so supportive of me overcoming my drug problem, but this is why I've always liked it. It gives me the focus and desire to do things that usually I don't have the patience to do, but I need to get done. I'm just starting to think that maybe I just shouldn't combine that many drugs again, but the meth is okay.

Which really, I know it's not, because I know without a doubt that I'm addicted to it now, which I never thought I would be. But I NEEDED it, and I've never in my life needed it. I've never in my life gotten sick because I didn't have it.

I don't know, I got a lot of things to think about.

Labels: addiction, cleaning, dope sick, drugs, hudson leick, ice, meth, productivity, sick, website design, withdrawals

I find it surprising how much I've gotten done today with being horribly sick. I keep coughing up some really gross things, and it's not very fun. I also have yet to clean my house, but um... tomorrow? I decided to take a couple days off because of my sickness, and to get all the things I need to get done, done.

I'll be back to work on Wednesday, and will probably end up working through Sunday. I have yet to decide to go back to Mainstage yet, because Ft. Worth Gentleman's is really not doing me or Dani any good right now, but we'll see.

So I woke up today with absolutely no text messages. You have no idea how wonderful that is for me right now. I usually wake up with about ten missed calls and five new texts. I did have three missed calls from Brandi, but I called her back a little later in the night.

I crawl my sick ass to the computer, and sit in the most uncomfortable computer chair in the world, and start to check my things. I go on facebook, and see that Hudson accepted my friend request. So I send her a message on her wall, pretty much saying that I was under the impression that her and computers don't mix very well, but that I was glad she was on there. And to be honest, I am now. I've gotten over the fear of Hudson knowing all my little things that I do, she knows the kind of person I am, and that I'm influenced a lot by sexuality, so I know it's no surprise for her. She wrote me back a couple minutes later with:

"keep surrendering
i send you much love
h"

Of course I was like wait, surrender to what? Sometimes I have a hard time understanding her, so I sent her a private message and asked. She explained that I need to surrender to God, or my idea of God (basically whatever I think put me on this earth), that I need to scream, cry, pray, do whatever it takes. That my addiction is ruled by my mind, and that I shouldn't surrender to it.

I attempted to grasp that concept, and kind of just left it at that. I kinda need to take what she tells me in small doses, otherwise when she overloads me I feel trapped and vulnerable and then I start to get angry at her honesty. She hasn't done the bluntly honest thing with me yet, but I'm damn sure it'll come in time.

Anyway, she leaves a couple picture comments, and then so do a bunch of my yoga friends, so when I came back I had like 14 new notifications or something, and was all overwhelmed by the large conversations on my pictures.

I'm overcome my blog music problem, if you haven't noticed. Mini YouTube videos! Good enough. And by the way, why the fuck adsense in taking over my tageboard is beyond me. Someone write some shit in there so it might go away. I've never seen that happen before.

I decided it was time for my website to get a new layout, so I made one on Photoshop. After that though, I stopped. I have yet to do the coding. I'll get there eventually though.

Later on, I decided it was time to finally do that smoking fetish video request. It was supposed to be at least 20 minutes, but it only ended up being 10. I'm going to explain to the guy that I'm sick, and I couldn't do 20 minutes. I swear, after each cigarette I stopped the video and coughed up a lung and a half. It was bad, it was getting me light headed and shit. I can't chain smoke sick, people!

Afterwards, I get a brilliant idea to do a new porn video, in the style of my lip sync music videos I did on YouTube. It was a lot of fun, even sick, and I think it turned out awesome. I have some bad ass makeup, and at the beginning I made it like how the beginning of "Poker face" starts (which is the song I did it too, have you noticed my obsession with this song yet?), with the stop, go, rewind, go, stop, thing only I'm undressing myself. Its really really bad ass. I'm proud of myself.

I wish I had some deep thoughts to post today like I did when I was all crazy and shit, but I don't. Maybe tomorrow, but lets not hold our breaths, shall we?

Labels: addiction, drugs, facebook, fetish, hudson leick, lady gaga, layout, poker face, porn, smoking, videos, websites

I didn't write yesterday, I couldn't write yesterday, I was so mad... so fucking mad.

Me and my friend went to Jaguars in Ft. Worth. My first day back to work in over a week since my paranoia... attack, I suppose. Worked a night there, fucking loved it. I saw my old makeup artist, and we bonded over Lady Gaga, meth, and old times. The DJ loved me, the housemom was alright, the girls that I talked to were real nice... and fuck I loved working nude again. I left there with more money than most of the girls.

The manager walks up to me.

"Before you leave, I need to speak with you in my office."

Alright, that's fine. I figured it had to do with the scarred up, cut up disaster that my legs were. He saw me undress, and saw the war zone that was my legs. I cover them with boots, I'm not stupid. But to be honest, that's all I thought it was. I'm in his office.

"Have you considered working day shift?"

"I don't work day shift." I'm not a whore anymore, thank you.

"Well I don't mean to be rude or mean in anyway but... You need to lose weight before you come back here to work night shift."

I stare at him, he's kidding me, right? I know he's not but... seriously?

"I made twice as much money as my friend I came in here with, and she's half my size. I make my money."

"I'm sorry."

I'm sure you are mother fucker. It's managers like you that got me on my drug addiction in the first place. Just another Art... just another fucking Art. That hedgehog looking bastard.

I cried in the car. I did, like some pussy ass punk bitch, I cried.

"I'm so sick of being fat!"

"You're not fat," She tells me.

"BULLSHIT! This is the third club we went to work at that I got rejected because of my weight, how is that I can work at all the nice clubs in Dallas, but I can't in Ft Worth, yet Dallas has bitches twenty times hotter than this shit hole?"

Back to work tonight at Ft Worth Gentleman's club. The only nice club in Ft. Worth that will hire me. Thirty girls... not enough customers to satisfy all of us. Me and her would walk up to tables together, and yet the man would chose me.

ME. An overweight freaky ass looking chick that looks like if you fuck me I might kill you in the process, over my friend who's a little skinny pretty blonde girl. What is going on in the world?

I don't understand it. She does, but I don't.

"It's because you look seductive, you look like the opposite of the wives they're going home to, and I look too innocent."

Deja vu. I said this to a customer yesterday at Jaguars. Why older men like me. I was talking out of my ass, I guess it might be true though.

"I cant do this anymore."

"Yes you can, it always fucking blows over the holiday season."

She doesn't understand how shitty it is. Even last year when times weren't this bad it still sucked. She wanted to resort to prostitution. I try like hell to talk her out of it.

"You won't be able to look at yourself in the mirror every morning, trust me."

"I don't care."

You might not now, but you will. Oh my god, you will. You think you can handle it, you think it won't matter because of how much money your making, but after a couple of months it eats your alive. I only do it if it's an issue of survival, no other time. It's disgusting, and beneath girls like us.

She still doesn't care.

"I can't do this anymore, Mary!"

I sigh. "Fine, I'll fix this, but you best know I don't want to fix it this way."

After this week, it's day shift for us. It's whoring ourselves to those rich buisnessmen stopping in on their lunch break. God knows this is the last thing I wanna do, but she needs the money, and she won't be able to learn how to do it without a teacher.

I hate this, god I fucking hate this.

I don't want to do this again. I grew out of this a year and a half ago.

I'm not a whore anymore.

Labels: crying, drugs, fat, money, prostitution, strip clubs, strippers, whores

I sat on the couch in my small, mismatched, tacky motel room that I was forced to call home. I had taken the comforter off my bed, and curled myself up into a ball as I watched mindlessly the TV that was on at three am. Roseanne, I believe that it was. They had won the lottery, like that was realistic. Fuck, I would love to win the lottery right now. I could at least pretend all my problems could go away with money, and fake happiness for a little while.

Rich people are always great at that, faking happiness. Hell, if I was rich I could just be on some permanent roll and then I'll never be unhappy. Then again, I'd probably never have the patience to ever do anything productive again, because the first bright shiny pretty thing that went past me would have my attention for six hours. Or I could be logical, and realize at some point I would probably OD and die, but then hey, then I'd be dead and dead people can't be unhappy.

Or can they?

My cat Nemesis was perched above my head, making small little whines to point out the fact that I haven't given her enough attention recently. I lift my hand up to her head, more to shut her up than to actually comfort her, and stoke her soft fur was I try not to think about the fact that I'm most likely going to be homeless come Monday at noon.

Some Christmas commercial comes on, and I start crying. I haven't cried this much since I was sixteen and thought life was hell because I was grounded and couldn't use the computer to do my role playing and escape from reality. Sometimes I wish I could still do that, but I think my brain lacks that kind of focus now.

I start thinking about last Christmas. I has my own apartment, I had money coming out the ass, so much I didn't know what to do with it. I bought everyone great gifts, I bought my own plane ticket home, I was happy.

Money does equal happiness, isn't that ridiculous?

How the hell did I get here? How did I get from having everything to being here, with nothing? Not even enough money to buy myself something from McDonalds dollar menu, and not even having the mindset to be able to work.

At least last year when I went through these phases I had thousands of dollars saved up and I could afford fucking off for long periods of time while my brain battled itself and I fought my way away from the razor blades and the pills trying to pretend I actually have something worth living for.

I'm crying harder now, I wish I could just get myself together and go to work and function like a normal human being. But this week had fucked with me, fucked with me more than I thought it would have. I was happy a week ago, wasn't I?

Load up the dope and smoke the pipe. How did I end up at a crack house?

"You want a cap?"

"That would be lovely."

I had never done GHB before, why did I say yes? I was already high from the dope, but who's to turn down good hospitality?

Then suddenly we're all rollin' too... more hospitality I couldn't turn down. I feel lovely, and I want to breed with the pretty light thing I decided was my best friend in the world.

We were supposed to be there only a night, we were there for maybe two, three? I can't remember. It felt like forever, I never slept.

Then suddenly everyone's conspiring against me. Fear grips my chest and my heart is pouding and I think everyone's out to kill me. I don't know where I am, I don't have a way to get home, my cell phone is dead, I have no money, I'm so high....

"YOU LIAR! I HEARD YOU SAY IT!"

I'm freaking out. My knifes my my hand, I'm sweating, I'm trying to breath properly. I keep hearing all of them outside the room, talking to each other, deciding on a way to get rid of me properly. I realize I'm going to have to kill someone before someone kills me.

"That crack whore believes me, I'll take care of it."

I keep hearing things, they sound so real, they are real to me. I think my friends are trying to kill me, even though they keep telling me I'm being paranoid.

You can't be paranoid when you actually hear them.

I'm home finally, safe. But I hear the bounty hunters outside my door. My knife is my hand, my eye is gued to the peephole. I hear them, they're there. They're waiting for me.

I hear a woman's voice in my closet, they're already in my room.

I can't breathe, I'm not safe. I'm not safe anywhere.

Charlie keeps looking at me. At least, I think that's what his name is. He never speaks, he just sands there in my living room, a boy no more than eight, and just stares. He looks so sad. Go away Charlie, I can't help you right now.

"THERE'S BUGS! THERE'S BUGS EVERYWHERE!"

I'm on the phone with my best friend. She tells me I'm hallucinating, by this time I'm sure I am. I'm sure none of this is real, but that doesn't make it go away. I hadn't taken any drugs in over twenty-four hours, why am I going crazy?

Open google.
P-A-R-A-N-O-I-D.
S-C-H-I-Z-O-P-H-R-E-N-I-A.

I start crying, my life is over. I could deal with the doctors telling me I'm bipolar, I can't deal with skizophrenia.

I want to go get evaluated. I want to know if it's real, even though looking at it made more sense to me than bipolar ever did. But if I get evaluated, I get thrown in the loony bin, and where will my cats go? Where will all my things go? My cats are my children... Phoenix, Hades, Nemesis... they're the reason I have any sort of responsibility left in me. I get away from the crack houses because I have to feed my cats...

My mother's on my phone. Arguing with me, telling me my skizophrenia is drug induced, and it makes me angry.

"So basically my drug use before was in response to me being bipolar but now that I might be schizophrenic it's only because of the drugs?!"

So what came first... the psychosis or the drugs?

Mother doesn't understand... this fits much more than bipolar ever did. And while my first psychiatric episode might have been triggered by the drugs, it doesn't change the symptoms I had before I even got into drugs.

"You need to get off the drugs."

"NO THE MORE PRESSING MATTER IS WHERE THE FUCK I'M GONNA LIVE COME A DAY AND A HALF!!"

I hang up on her, she's stressing me out. She's not listening. Not helping.

My brother calls me. David, who will probably be the only one I can talk to about this without the need to freak out.

He's got some odd tone in his voice, I can't place it. He's worried, like I'm some breakable thing or something. I don't like it. He keeps telling me that I need to figure out something to do. He doesn't understand that I can't think, I can't make a decision, someone else needs to.

"Your sounding like Mom, only a tad less annoying."

"Thanks, I'm glad you just compared me to Mom, Mary."

No problem. Hang up the phone. Go to sleep. Gotta run away from everything. Again and again and again....

The TV keeps making me cry, it's five in the morning, no one's awake. I call Mom anyway, cry some more.

After awhile, she gets the I need stability first before I decide what to do with the drugs, and my craziness, and whatever else needs to be fixed.

Mother is sending me $300. Money she can't afford to send. I feel like a loser, I'm almost to pushing a grand that I owe her now. I don't like being on this end of things. I liked it better when I had money. Fuck this economy, it's ruining my life.

I keep realizing how messed up my brain is becoming. Sometimes I can think and analyze and go over everything with all the details, not missing a second.... and then other times I'm sparatic, only pointing out major details and having a hard time describing anything. I was fine at first, where did my brain go? I feel lost again, damnit.

How do I fix this problem? How do I even make it feel like life is worth living? Whether I stay here, go home, go to my sister in Atlanta... it all just seems like it's going to be the same.

The same bullshit over and over and over again.

I wish I had the desire to get high, maybe I could feel normal again. I feel so high right now... and I've been sober for a long time......

Labels: delusions, depression, dope, drugs, ghb, hallucinations, meth, paranoia, schizophrenia, x

My name is Mary. I'm a 24 year old creative mess. I like to tell stories in anyway that I can, though mostly through visual artwork. I enjoy film editing, writing, modeling, photography, dancing, and website design. I'm a lesbian. I'm bipolar. I'm stronger than I usually give myself credit for. I'm a recovering drug addict. I'm passionate as all hell. I'm a beautiful disaster. I want to be free. I want to fly.

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