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... but then I thought, fuck it. Who cares about that?

Then I posted some pictures from my recent trip to Germany, to try to remember the good times.



A view of Heidelberg castle, the famous old bridge, and an indifferent swan chilling on the river. It was fucking hot that day, something like 35 C in the shade.



The start of a path not far from my Uncle's place in Hirrweiler (a tiny town maybe an hour from Stuttgart), which eventually led to an old, semi-ruined tower.



The sun, setting, through a window in the tower. The wrought iron work in the window is from the original tower, built in 1100.



A macro shot of part of a huge crystal xmas tree at the Swarovski Werke in Innsbruck.

I was going to post more, but I'm limited to 4 pics per post, so nuts to that.

I've got sorrows that need drowning. Take care Bloggers!

Day 1.


Center.


Tramadol crisis averted. I am lucky grapefruit. and here is another chance.

Yoga class

Cleaning

time to just be

it's hard because i really want this journal to be about myself. it's difficult to be sure that what i say is because i want to say it, and not because i want to show you. i want to find the separation. but i guess it's something i'll need to develop. and i hope someday this journal will something you'll be able to see me through.

it's only lonely because i'm not my own friend. i'll need to be someone i can like before i can be there for myself. and then i can be there with myself, and that won't be alone.

When you were young
and on your own
How did it feel
to be alone?
I was always thinking
of games that I was playing.
Trying to make
the best of my time.

I don't know what to do. Do I take down your pictures? Do I stop reading our stuff?

How do I keep my fucking self from looking at your pictures?

I'm terrified. How do I stop crying? If I lost you... I'm not going to lose you. I may have lost you now, and you're right, n I don't see any other way.

Really what have I done? And for what? Is this what I wanted? And what the fuck do I want

This is not who I want to be.

I made you cry. I made you cry

Your heart

I did us wrong.

I'm tired of building on shifting sand

I just have to start.

I don't know how much to say, how much to not share, so that maybe I'll take it in instead of presenting it to you, and stop caring more about what you see than what I really am.

All my pictures are falling
from the wall where I placed them yesterday

I'll go be with my mom today
ill write tonight.

I'm fascinated by the Dreamtime of the Aboriginal people.
I also don't feel I know enough about it as I think I would like to.

Really great stories! I think I would have coped well if I has have been born in the Outback, in the real red centre. I plan to drive right around Austalia and through the centre one day. I look forward to it.

yup.

Apparently at Platte Valley High School a female teacher was just treated for a illness earlier this week, come to find out it was form Marijuana Brownies that were given to her by a senior student. The students name was Christopher Archer and he is now out of jail on a $50,000 dollar bond but, looks like his graduation will be put off for awhile as he is now currently suspended and has been charged with distribution of marijuana.

Archer's defense is that the teacher gave him $50 to buy some prescription pain killers, but because the student couldn't get a hold of the pain killers he made the brownies instead. This whole incident became known at 11:00 A.M. on Monday when the teacher became very sick. Currently there are no charges against the teacher, but this could change depending on if Archer's statement about buying drugs is true.

Sources:

• http://www.greeleytribune.com/article/20090424/NEWS/904249936/1005/NONE&parentprofile=1001

a tree

i should have been there
i should've been.
i should have danced in the waves

i wonder why i keep going...not much to do...i'd like to fight but there is no fight, i'd probably just get beat up or walk away and that thought made me sad today.

i quit my job a few days ago and it wasn't the best thing ever. it made me serene and just a void.

do these people exist?

or are they just a dream.

While going through some old word document's a found one of my assignments I had to do while I was in rehab. It was a relapse scenario where we write about the most likely way we would relapse. It's long, but I'd figured I'd post it, what the hell.
I woke up for the first time feeling a little better than before. Still felt like shit, but not as bad as yesterday. I found an old rig stashed in the weight room the other night. I'm sure I had a dozen more I had forgot about in the basement somewhere, my phone goes off. I read the text, and it's one of my friends asking if I want to go to go out to the movies tonight. Let's just call her Mama's, just because it fits the story a little better. I'd been in rehab for about the past two months. Meaning I hadn't been downtown for two months. I text Mama's back to see where she wanted to go to the movies, her reply was the pavilions.

I start having flashback's of dirty metal puncturing the surface of my skin and the fifthly bathrooms in the streets that I once called home. The word "smack" slipped through my lips. Taboo I thought. I considered telling Mama's that I was in rehab. But I figure two months sober...she doesn’t need to know.

I fumbled around on the cold concrete towards the two red lights resembling eyes that would lite up the cold summer cave. I looked around and started walking upstairs. Grandma was playing with my baby sister, for the first time all morning I smile and feel like I have a decent sense of purpose in life.

I spend most of the day lying around. Most motivation I used to have is gone. I run a few errands, maybe even do a few chores. But the thought of doing anything else just seems like too much. The night time rolls around and I tell my grandparents I'm off to the movies. I start walking to the light rail, already I’m not even in the city and old memories are playing in the back of my mind. I reassure myself that I can do this and take a seat. When the train arrived at the mall, I decided to walk, besides the movies was only a few blocks up and I figured the chances of running into anyone were slim. Walking down the mall I start feeling back at home, the people and city just seem all too familiar. Passing Virgin Records I hear someone call my name. My heart stops, and with good reason. It’s Olive. She runs up to me and gives me a hug.

Her first reaction is to ask me where I’ve been, apparently her and the rest of my old friends all thought I had died of an overdose. Mama’s still hadn’t texted me so I figured she wasn’t at the pavilions yet so I saw no harm in catching up with Olive. It was a little after eight and she said she was on her way to cop and asked if I wanted to walk with her. I reminded myself that I wouldn’t do heroin, as a matter a fact the more I thought about it, I couldn’t. I didn’t even have a rig on me, so why would I even get any? We walked to the top of the mall over to Pennsylvania. While on the way I told her that I had been in recovery and was clean off dope and on Suboxone. She seemed pretty supportive, and even told me that she and her boyfriend both were planning on getting clean off dope soon. This would be her fourth time kicking the habit.

I saw her accomplice in the distance, when we got there and were done with greeting’s it all went back to old routine. He asked if I needed dope and instead of giving him the same story I did with Olive about rehab I said I was out of rigs. He handed me two. I took a deep breath and told him I was in rehab and couldn’t do dope. To my surprise he was also supportive and said it was alright. He mentioned something about my number not working and without even thinking I gave him the new number.

Then it all dawned on me…I had the chance to get high. I considered it for a brief moment then blew it off, Mama’s would know something was up. By this point the temptation was getting too overwhelming, I had to go. I told Olive that I had a friend waiting down on the mall for me and that I had to go meet them. Just as we parted ways I turned around and asked what kind of junk they were picking up. They said it was good powered dope; it was even from a new dealer because the last one they had was putting too much cut. I threw them a $20 and said “get me quarter, only because it’s good dope”. Of course they weren’t going to tell me no, it was perfect timing. Mama’s texted me as soon as I was back on the mall with my balloon of dope. I told her that I was walking from my parking spot and I’d be there in a few minutes.

I went to 7-11 to get pop can to cook up my dope in the theater. Because it was power I wouldn’t need to cook it long but I didn’t know how long it would take to find a vein and I didn’t want Mama’s getting suspicious.

When I met up with Mama’s we walked through the theater doors and I parted off and told her I needed to go to the restroom for a minute and I would meet her in the theater after I was done. This had to be at least my third or fourth time shooting up in this bathroom; I already knew that the stall on the corner was usually the best spot. I put my hoodie up on the door to cover the crack so no one would see what I was doing.
I opened the balloon with my teeth and took it out from the foil…I got a whiff of the faint smell of vinegar. My body trembled, I couldn’t wait. The surrounding people in the stalls and bathroom’s just added to rush of getting high, I took a small scoop of dope and poured it in the cooker with a little bit of water and heated it up. I dropped a cotton ball in and watched it suck up the dope just like how I would be in a few brief moments. I took the clean rig I had and stabbed it straight into the heart of the cotton, pulled back the plunger, and watched the syringe fill with a dark brown liquid.

By this point I couldn’t stop myself, I had no control over my hands, no control over my thoughts, this was how it had to be. I unstrapped the belt from my waist and tied up. I let my hand hang low so I could see which vein would be the best pick. For the first time in months…I actually had a choice for which vein I wanted. I pushed the needle in and felt it break the surface. It was time to register; I pulled back a little till a small air bubble filled the tip of the barrel. As I went deeper with the needle the bubble filled with blood. By this point I could barely contain the overwhelming feelings. I let go of the belt with my teeth and it spiraled around my bicep till it was a loose hold.

I took one deep breath and pushed the plunger down. I watched the barrel empty into my vein. By the time I pulled it out I could already feel my head spinning and legs going limp. I stumble to clean up but manage. I walk to the theater and meet Mama’s, the darkness provides the perfect cover…

boring

The following was originally written August, 2008 and revised for Disconnection Notice...

The potential for insanity may be the first sign that we are truly intelligent beings, but it’s also the first sign that we have a lot to learn. As our society moves more toward approval of right brained activity now that we need not be focused only on survival, and as diving within the self through study and through drug movements flowers out, we will find some of the answers to our troubles. Troubles we weren't even aware we had. There is a reason most instabilities reside in the right brain. We are the ones who don’t get caught up in the details and see the world for what it is, we are the ones who know enough to go mad. How can most people not see that society as a whole is going mad? How our own creation is bringing itself down? Us nut jobs are merely a reflection of the whole, the ones who take the world personally.

The reflection is best seen in the arts. We understand society and we think nothing of it, and this opinion is becoming more and more validated.

It seems like the only thing stopping this from being realized is our own collective ego, society's defense mechanisms. Insanity exists to expose the cracks in the system.

I just can't get over the idea that the answers do not all reside in our logic, that we are emotional beings for a reason. That art, theology... angst, everything abstract, is merely a response to, well, reality. This sense that something isn't right here. That if an ideal mind is merely a perception machine, something that isn't caught up in any delusion, then it has two hemispheres for a reason and we need to acknowledge everything that comes with it, and the bulk of society is still really struggling with the idea that everything might just not be very logical. They don't want to acknowledge that logic is our own invention and that there's something much bigger outside of it, some sort of logic that we can't comprehend so it comes out as emotional and abstract.

October 1-14th (yeah, I missed it yesterday!, Sorry)
is.............
PETS!!!!!!

Share photos, stories, or anything you want on your fuzzy little friends!!



Here is My Little Bitty- She is the queen.


And the little Princess- Fuzzy Buttons-

Pretty tired tonight.

For once in this long and wet British summer the sun was out today. Must have been 28c or so and I spent most of the day in the shell of a car in my yard, slowly stripping out wiring looms and the fusebox, dials, dash, alarm brain, proximity sensor, tamper alarm, rear seats, steering column, pedal box, brake calipers - okay the last one was outside the car - but I was fucking fried alive, I swear.

Spend most of the night since cleaning up said items and others from the same car and listing them on ebay. It's an old, collected, model so there will be financial gain from all this. It's still a ballbreaker though. My fingers are all cut up and my back is far too sore for a young bastard like myself.

Ah well. Sativa will comfort me.

I don't want to do anything- I don't want to clean my house, make dinner, or do ANYTHING.
I just want to lay in bed and stare atthe wall.I have been trying to force myself.
I walked the beach, I did a couple loads of laundry, some dishes and went to town to get food and this journal.
Kassi bought me a dozen roses when I miscarried and Andrew put them on the dresser next to the bed for me.
I stared at those roses for I don't know how many hours.There was one of every color.
They were beautiful.
A few days ago she told me someone was walking the beach and saw rose petals in the water and on shore and thought it was me.I told her I was far too selfish to give them up. Today I decided that I stared atthem so long, pouring my sorrow into them, that I would give them to the ocean.
I walked over and did my own thing, saying what I felt, and it was like letting go of my grief.
In a small way.
There is still so much inside but hopefully with the help of the ocean and this journal, I can begin to let go.

I dreamed last night that me and my mom were chasing this 30 something year old woman around on Vespas trying to preach to her about teen pregnancy when she already has 3 kids. The dream ended with me drinking apple juice while watching ice cubes freeze in the work break room.

Weird.

It really helps to take part in the process, rather than live in focus and fear of the future.

The past will always be with me. My childhood will remain
right there where it always has been and always will be

It does no good to thrash about in the water, relax and she will carry you to the surface

and then there's the sun.

there are better days ahead

Because I love wasting away the inexorable, execrable hours that fall into the steamy shit-pile of my life, I am actually watching the Dungeons and Dragons movie, starring Sir Marlon Wayans as...yes...you guessed it! The zany black thief! He can instantly be recognized as himself due to his constant utterance of the highly original catch phrase, "dayyuuum!" When I'm 90 and looking back upon my life, I'll undoubtedly wish I had more than memories of this tripe. Fuck it, time to get going, get coffee, and go to some hc show my friend is getting me into.

So on Monday, I decided I needed to talk out what I was feeling with my mother. Andrew and I were both so miserable and had talked so much. He was throwing up from stress. I didn't want to upset him even more that day so I decided to call my mom while he was finally getting some sleep.
She couldn't handle talking to me and told me not to dwell.
If my mother, who I needed desperatley at that moment didn't want to help me, who would?!?!
So I began to bottle it.
I read online about a Grief journal but sort of dismissed it.
I went through alot of anger at the world.
Why, when I wanted my baby so badly, did I lose it?
Why was the world going on outside my door, when in me, I was empty.
I felt angry that we were mourning alone-Everyone should be mourning my child.
I felt angry that I could be shown something so incredibly beautiful only to have it taken away.
After my anger phase I thought I was accepting what happened.
I tried to just accept it without figuring out the reason it happened.
Then I realized my first day back to work, I was NOT okay. I was not ready to face the world.
I was pissed at all the people going on with their lives, so I decided to try the journal thing.
I have moments when I am angry, I have moreso, moments when I am sad. I will start crying in the car, crying in the store, crying on a walk or alone in my house. There is nothing to trigger it- I just cry.

So, yesterday I was reorganizing and went thru this huge box of papers-
In it I found a journal I started keeping when I lost my baby.....Here is some of it.
(I may or may not continue with other entries until the last entry?)

"So, I decided to start this journalto help me say all the things I need to say.....I figure if I am able to get it out somehow, maybe I'll have an easier time moving forward.Eventually I would like to find this journal and be at a place in my life where I can burn it, and release the memories.

I found out I was pregnant after 6 years on wanting a baby, trying fertility treatment twice which failed and then ..... It happened.
When the Dr. said "And the blood test shows that you ARE pregnant"
I was SHOCKED, to say the least. It was the best thing I have ever heard.
The word pregnant in relation to me.....
'Pregnant' since then has sounded so different.
The next day I call everyone I knew to share our happy news.
I've never wanted anything more than to be a mother, and all of my family and friends knew this.
So when I told them, everyone was truly happy for us. I kept thinking of Mothers Day coming up and how, though my baby was still growing inside of me,I was excited b/c it would be my very first Mothers Day.
The days go by- I check out every book I could find on pregnancy (at the library), I read online what was happening inside of me- I was happier than I have ever been in my life. Everyone says "when you see your child for the first time, you are so filled with Love, Nothing Compares". When I found out I was pregnant , I felt that love, and so did (husbands name). We were on Cloud 9.
Then May 10th.
I went to the hospital b/c I was spotting.
They told me my HCG level which should have been around4-5000 was 121.
I was miscarrying.
My baby died.
Some people may not see being between 6-8 weeks something I should mourn.
Some people say its not a baby.
BUT I had life growing inside of me.
My child was growing inside of me.
I was devastated.
I cried like never before. Andrew and I cam home and hugged and cried together.
Then the pain started, and the bleeding started.
The pain was in my bones.
Every part of me, physically, emotionally and spiritually was in unbearable pain.
My first Mothers Day never happened.
I spent that day in complete despair."

Yesterday after work I was planning on helping my friend move. After I got off work and gave her a call she told me that instead she wanted to do it tomorrow (today) which was fine but every Friday my family goes out meaning when I came home I would be coming home to nothing so I still asked her if she wanted to hang out. She said that was fine so right after work I headed her way. On my way she sent me a text asking if I would stop by the store and pick up some orange juice for screwdrivers so I went and got a small bottle of OJ (pretty much all I could afford till I get my first paycheck in two weeks). When I got there I couldn't even explain the feeling of seeing my buddy Andrea. I only see her every couple of months because we both just get so caught up and busy that we never have time to see each other.

She had my sit on the couch while she mixed us up both a drink, then loaded a few bowls in her pipe and then just kicked for about 3-4 hours. That girl makes me laugh man...she was telling me some stories that had me busting up laughing. I was going to stay a little longer but it turned out that her "hubby" called and was coming over so she aplogized and said it was nothing personal but she had to rush me out so she could get herself ready for him when he came over.

It was still early when I left so I didn't want to go home so I called friends to try and find someone else to hang out with but no luck. One of my old using friends wanted to hang out...but I didn't want to risk hanging out with him and relapsing on smack...and I know it would or could happen because it has many times before when I hang out with him. I ended up just driving home and crashing in the car for a few hours then went inside and crashed out on the bed. Andrea just texted me now and said that we might have to move later in the evening instead of the afternoon because she wanted to see if she could find anyone else to help, but I know for a fact at some point I'll be over there helping her move today. I also have my friend Amanda's daughters birthday party I have to go to for awhile, even if I really don't want to go I kind of need to out of respect.

cant find any dope in providence ri, its fucking getting to be ridiculous already being this hard

Well, today is 31 days clean for me.

Things aren't bad at all. I'm feeling better about myself. I'm more confident and haven't been depressed in a long time (It looks like I was misdiagnosed back in '93).

I'd still like to get high.

When I was heavy in my addiction getting high wasn't fun. It was something that got me through the day free from feelings and emotions.

Now that I'm a month into this I find myself thinking "Hmmm, I could run to the city, grab a couple of bags and a spike and have some fun".

Getting high hasn't been fun for me for well over 16 years. Why do I think it would be different now?

Cravings and thoughts of using are always going to be there. I just can't fool myself into thinking it will be different this time.

I need to remember that I need to focus on my need to stay clean and can't jeopardize that for others.

I've been planning on stomping on this dude that is selfishly sucking everything he can out of the girl I'm seeing. He is heavy into his drugs and is doing what most of us addicts do.

I think I want to hurt him so much because he reminds me of me.

Do I still hate myself?

Maybe I simply hate who I was?

Most likely it is a little of both.

...yet I continue to do so.

I just got back from driving the girl I've been seeing home. We met in rehab which was her first experience with getting clean. It isn't my first time in a facility and I've had significant time/experience with Narcotics Anonymous so you will see why I am well aware of my role in her current despair and HOMELESSNESS.

We were instantly attracted to each other at rehab and I was conflicted about doing or saying anything about my desire to get to know her on a deeper level. Yes, I am talking about a sexual knowledge but it was much more than that.

I knew that emotions would return once the drugs left our systems. I knew that our sex drives would return as well. I knew that addicts like us cling to others as the confusion of being clean starts to occur. I knew that I would be interfering with her recovery if we 'hooked up'. I knew that the excitement of flirtation, jealousy of others and 'wrongness' of our affair was an escape similar to the drugs. I knew ALL of these things but still pursued. This is the beginning of the harm I've caused.

She left rehab Against Medical Advice (AMA) so she could see/be with me. When a person goes AMA they lose any benefits, such as placement into a halfway house, provided by the state/county/facility.

She stayed with me at my apartment for maybe a week and then we picked up her 4 year old son from her ex-boyfriend. Her ex was/is DEEP into his addiction and could very well be one of those who is 'constitutionally incapable of being honest' with himself that the 12 Step programs speak of.

She and her son stayed with me and my dog for another week and it was nice. We went to meetings every day (only missing 2). It was nice and I benefited from their company by learning a lot from the experience of being responsible and being a positive influence in that little guy's life for the brief time I was in it.

They couldn't stay with me for reasons I don't wish to share.

She was told before going to rehab that she could stay with her brother and his wife when she got out. They retracted that offer the day before she was to come home.

Her parent's didn't offer her a place in their home either.

Her other ex, the father of two of her children, said she could stay at his place at the last minute. We suspected he had ulterior motives since he has been trying to get her in bed again ever since they broke up years ago.

We drove to his house and he helped us unload her stuff. He had been drinking and had that look and attitude us guys get when we think we are getting laid.

She and I then went to grab a bite to eat. Shortly afterward she calls him and he is screaming at her that she is a pig, that she'll never change and that she hasn't been in town three hours and she was back to her 'old games'. He also said she wasn't welcome to stay there.

We drove back to his house and the guy was trashed and screaming how he shot $27,000 dollars worth of shit years ago and that anyone who can't stop on their own is a pussy. He put his hands on my shoulders in a forceful manner and yelled some other words about 'pussies' and stormed out down the street still yelling about people being pussies.

We packed her things back in my car and drove off in confusion.

I can only theorize that his offer to have her stay there was in expectation of them getting back together or simply for him to have a conditional piece of ass OR that he didn't know that her 4 year old was coming with her OR his original offer was made in haste and he was regretting it.

I think my presence affected him. He thought she wasn't seeing anyone perhaps?

We dropped her things off at her parents and drove into the mountains to talk and attempt to piece things together.

She had taken a valium or xanax earlier which her hairdresser gave her and she told me how she really wanted to drink to get fucked up.

Her daughter called her and she said that she could stay the night with her at a friend's house. My girl asked if they had any beer there. Apparently there wasn't because she told me she wanted to stop off to buy some on the way over. She only had $4 and I tried to give her a twenty so that she would have something in her pocket.

I drove to a bar upon her request and bought her a six pack. I was tired of dicking around with it, I suppose. I knew she was going to drink but needed to actually see it to make it real for me. At least I think thats why I did it.

I drove her to the house and told her I wasn't coming in.

It was a sad moment. I'm afraid that this GOOD person is going to fall into a darker place than the one she was trying to pull herself out of and I have contributed greatly to her descent.

If I could go back in time I would have convinced her to stay in rehab until her approved discharge date.

I have interfered with her recovery by distracting her from her needs provided by the facility.

I have interfered by thinking I could 'save her'.

The painful part is that my interference has not only affected her, but that little boy that has so much potential.

She is in a horrible place right now, surrounded by selfish, hurtful people that want to suck others into the same misery that they are in and I drove away to the comfort of my dog and apartment.

I am trying to justify that it was a matter of self-preservation for me but I believe I could have tried harder, thought of SOME SORT OF SOLUTION.

I never wanted to hurt anyone or be a party to someone falling into their active addiction.

I still remember the pain, loneliness and confusion of my drug infested life and yet I threw someone back into theirs. Worse than what they experienced before.

If I was only stronger, if I worked harder, if I tried harder. I can think of MANY 'ifs'. None of them are acceptable but the reality of my role in her current pain

I'm kind of an idiot sometimes.

My phone rang at about 12:30 last night but the caller on the other end hung up when I picked up.

I called the number back and got voicemail. It was the redheaded girl from rehab. I left a message saying I received a call from this number and that if it was an emergency feel free to call anytime, regardless of the hour.

She called back and we chatted a bit. It felt kind of awkward. She yawned a couple times and I said I was kinda tired as well so we hung up.

I woke up today thinking that I may have missed something. She had dug through her boxes looking for my number, called once (kinda late at night) and hung up, called back later.

I wonder if she was in a bad place and I just didn't pick up on it. It kind of has the symptoms of someone being in a bad spot in their head.

I need to learn how to pick up on these things. If she's like me, its difficult to ask for help. Personally, I rely on others to see that I'm hurting.

A thick headed person like me doesn't catch on to stuff like that until later.

I'll give a call and see whats up.