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I remember when I was happy.

I remember when I had friends, a girlfriend. When I loved my job, and when I loved being Sapphire Smoke.

I miss it.

Timeline for those of you have known me for awhile:

The summer of 2007, until the winter of 2007-08. That’s when I was happiest. For those of you that followed my sapphiire YouTube channel, it was around the time my brother came down to visit, I was geeking out hardcore to Harry Potter (when I discovered HexRPG.com), I was going webcam chats, still modeling, I started going out with Amanda, and started making my little “music videos”.

That’s when I was happy.

I worked at The Fare Room in Dallas, and I fucking loved my job. I went to work four times a week and made more money than I should even be allowed to possess. When I had a home, not just a place to live, like I do now. This empty fucking place. I hate it here, it doesn’t feel like mine. I don’t have anything that’s really mine anymore. I remember when I LOVED going to work.

Somehow I found the time between working, being with my girlfriend, and hanging out with friends to constantly be online.

No, I wasn’t tweeked out then. At least, not as bad as it got. Only once or twice a month.

I remember when I hated meth then. Did it to have fun but remembered the bad come downs so I didn’t do it for awhile after that.

I remember when I had so much fun vlogging. And not the stupid crap you guys see now… the great shit I did with the little scenes I’d play out, the skits I would do… I remember when that was fun.

I remember how happy I was to be with someone I loved, and I remember the pain of losing her, and I remember how I decided right after it happened that I would never do that to myself again. I would never give so much of myself to another person, work so hard at a relationship (and you guys have no idea how hard I worked to keep it alive) just to see it fail. And yes, she was pregnant, and didn’t know exactly what she wanted. I understood that, but that didn’t mean I didn’t decide that if she wanted to be with me that I would help her raise her child. I loved her that much.

I remember when I loved having fans. I remember loving to talk to them during the webcam chats, or on my forum, or through whatever else. I remember when I loved doing stuff for them.

I remember when everything changed.

The last time I saw my family was when it all changed. The summer of 2008. I went home, came back… and everything fell apart.

I remember moving in with a really good friend of mine so we could split the rent and since we spent all our time together it was kind of obvious we should just freaking live together.

And then I remember when she became pregnant by what I have to assume is some kind of demon child, because then she changed.

I remember that’s when I started getting really bad on meth. I remember her constantly making me feel like a victim. Locking me in the basement (where my room was), screaming at me when I’d go out with my other friends and lock me out of the house after because I wasn’t allowed to have a key. I remember her making me feel like I was nothing, no one, that I didn’t even deserve to eat the food in the house.

I remember the first time I ever TRULY wanted to die. I remember writing the longest suicide note in the history of the world, I remember the calm that settled over me when I accepted that I was going to die that night, I remember taking twenty 600mg trileptal, fifteen 150mg welbutrin, and 10 (I forget the dosage) risperal. I remember crying, slicing up my leg the worst I ever have because I knew it wouldn’t matter when I died. I remember listening to Celine Dion’s “A New Day Has Come” when I felt my muscles get really heavy, and my heart slow down and fight to pump blood through my system.

I remember dying.

And I fucking remember how scary it was, and I remember fighting to live after that. I remember when I was conscious enough again, sticking my finger down my throat and throwing up all over myself. I remember hallucinating. I remember hallucinating that SHE was down there. And it was scary, because I really thought it happened. I was talking to people that weren’t there, voices that weren’t real. I saw demons, I saw it all.

I remember Brandi saving me.

I remember leaving all of my furniture and going to live in Motel 6. I remember smoking meth every day because I hated everything about my life. I remember how good it felt, how good it fucking TASTED, and god… I remember how beautiful it was, the smoke, swirling around in that pipe.

I remember when I moved to the Budget Suites, met a new friend, and was a little happier. I remember I was living there when Leverage first came on, and how I would sit on my couch with my laptop and write fanfic while TNT was constantly on on the TV next to me, even if I wasn’t watching it. But I also remember doing more drugs with her than I ever had in my life, and all the horrible shit that went along with it.

I remember the betrayal when I realized that my friends stole everything from me.

I remember that’s when I decided I didn’t want anymore friends. I’m so good to them, I really am. I give them places to sleep when they don’t have any, I’m always fucking there for them. I let them into my fucking house when I adore living alone and dispise when other people are around. But they need it, so I do it.

And then what?

People take shit from you, always. I remember when I realized I have too good of a heart and am too stupid to have any friends. Because they aren’t really friends, are they? I’ll do anything to help them out and they all fuck you over in the end.

Except Brandi, she never did. She beat the shit out of me once, and because once again I’m a stupid prat, all I did was hold her down because I couldn’t hit someone I love.

I’m a flashing neon sign that says, “Abuse me!”

And I just take it. All the time. I take it and I cry about it but then I forgive everyone over and over… until now when I cut myself off from everyone.

I can’t have friends, they kill me.

I can’t have a girlfriend, because I’m afraid they will too.

I’m scared of people. All they do is be so fucking cruel when you try so fucking hard to be good to them.

I’m stupid, I’m naïve, and that’s why I hide here, by myself, in this little hole.

I REMEMBER WHEN I WAS HAPPY.

And I don’t understand why I can’t be that way again. Even for a moment.

Labels: fucking life

I remember when I was happy.

I remember when I had friends, a girlfriend. When I loved my job, and when I loved being Sapphire Smoke.

I miss it.

Timeline for those of you have known me for awhile:

The summer of 2007, until the winter of 2007-08. That’s when I was happiest. For those of you that followed my sapphiire YouTube channel, it was around the time my brother came down to visit, I was geeking out hardcore to Harry Potter (when I discovered HexRPG.com), I was going webcam chats, still modeling, I started going out with Amanda, and started making my little “music videos”.

That’s when I was happy.

I worked at The Fare Room in Dallas, and I fucking loved my job. I went to work four times a week and made more money than I should even be allowed to possess. When I had a home, not just a place to live, like I do now. This empty fucking place. I hate it here, it doesn’t feel like mine. I don’t have anything that’s really mine anymore. I remember when I LOVED going to work.

Somehow I found the time between working, being with my girlfriend, and hanging out with friends to constantly be online.

No, I wasn’t tweeked out then. At least, not as bad as it got. Only once or twice a month.

I remember when I hated meth then. Did it to have fun but remembered the bad come downs so I didn’t do it for awhile after that.

I remember when I had so much fun vlogging. And not the stupid crap you guys see now… the great shit I did with the little scenes I’d play out, the skits I would do… I remember when that was fun.

I remember how happy I was to be with someone I loved, and I remember the pain of losing her, and I remember how I decided right after it happened that I would never do that to myself again. I would never give so much of myself to another person, work so hard at a relationship (and you guys have no idea how hard I worked to keep it alive) just to see it fail. And yes, she was pregnant, and didn’t know exactly what she wanted. I understood that, but that didn’t mean I didn’t decide that if she wanted to be with me that I would help her raise her child. I loved her that much.

I remember when I loved having fans. I remember loving to talk to them during the webcam chats, or on my forum, or through whatever else. I remember when I loved doing stuff for them.

I remember when everything changed.

The last time I saw my family was when it all changed. The summer of 2008. I went home, came back… and everything fell apart.

I remember moving in with a really good friend of mine so we could split the rent and since we spent all our time together it was kind of obvious we should just freaking live together.

And then I remember when she became pregnant by what I have to assume is some kind of demon child, because then she changed.

I remember that’s when I started getting really bad on meth. I remember her constantly making me feel like a victim. Locking me in the basement (where my room was), screaming at me when I’d go out with my other friends and lock me out of the house after because I wasn’t allowed to have a key. I remember her making me feel like I was nothing, no one, that I didn’t even deserve to eat the food in the house.

I remember the first time I ever TRULY wanted to die. I remember writing the longest suicide note in the history of the world, I remember the calm that settled over me when I accepted that I was going to die that night, I remember taking twenty 600mg trileptal, fifteen 150mg welbutrin, and 10 (I forget the dosage) risperal. I remember crying, slicing up my leg the worst I ever have because I knew it wouldn’t matter when I died. I remember listening to Celine Dion’s “A New Day Has Come” when I felt my muscles get really heavy, and my heart slow down and fight to pump blood through my system.

I remember dying.

And I fucking remember how scary it was, and I remember fighting to live after that. I remember when I was conscious enough again, sticking my finger down my throat and throwing up all over myself. I remember hallucinating. I remember hallucinating that SHE was down there. And it was scary, because I really thought it happened. I was talking to people that weren’t there, voices that weren’t real. I saw demons, I saw it all.

I remember Brandi saving me.

I remember leaving all of my furniture and going to live in Motel 6. I remember smoking meth every day because I hated everything about my life. I remember how good it felt, how good it fucking TASTED, and god… I remember how beautiful it was, the smoke, swirling around in that pipe.

I remember when I moved to the Budget Suites, met a new friend, and was a little happier. I remember I was living there when Leverage first came on, and how I would sit on my couch with my laptop and write fanfic while TNT was constantly on on the TV next to me, even if I wasn’t watching it. But I also remember doing more drugs with her than I ever had in my life, and all the horrible shit that went along with it.

I remember the betrayal when I realized that my friends stole everything from me.

I remember that’s when I decided I didn’t want anymore friends. I’m so good to them, I really am. I give them places to sleep when they don’t have any, I’m always fucking there for them. I let them into my fucking house when I adore living alone and dispise when other people are around. But they need it, so I do it.

And then what?

People take shit from you, always. I remember when I realized I have too good of a heart and am too stupid to have any friends. Because they aren’t really friends, are they? I’ll do anything to help them out and they all fuck you over in the end.

Except Brandi, she never did. She beat the shit out of me once, and because once again I’m a stupid prat, all I did was hold her down because I couldn’t hit someone I love.

I’m a flashing neon sign that says, “Abuse me!”

And I just take it. All the time. I take it and I cry about it but then I forgive everyone over and over… until now when I cut myself off from everyone.

I can’t have friends, they kill me.

I can’t have a girlfriend, because I’m afraid they will too.

I’m scared of people. All they do is be so fucking cruel when you try so fucking hard to be good to them.

I’m stupid, I’m naïve, and that’s why I hide here, by myself, in this little hole.

I REMEMBER WHEN I WAS HAPPY.

And I don’t understand why I can’t be that way again. Even for a moment.

Labels: fucking life

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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