My life for the past 3 years...

What a wasted life. (with added "side note") Monday, September 28, 20091

In the past 7 years, I have not been sober for more than a month straight. What a wasted (metaphorical/literal) life. Name it. I've done it. Guess it. I've been addicted to it.2

I hate this. I hate what I am. I hate what I have become. I miss the past. I hate the present. I feel like there is no future.3

For years I didn't feel I had a home because I never knew what I was walking into... but I HAD A BED GODDAMMIT...- not in a million years did I guess I would be an ex-junkie, ex-tweaker, on-and-off and current methadone addict, homeless, on the run because of stupidity and irresponsibility (all I needed to do was keep up with my P.O. and go to my court date! Jail, here I come!) with 2 absolutely beautiful daughters (cruel fate that I would be their mother. Tell me- how is it possible that pure love can come from a dirtied body filled with fear and anger?) that I cannot see, with no contact with friends or family (my dad even convinced my grandma not to talk to me)... all at the age of 21.4

I am pretty sure that "family" is a made-up word, along with "love", "home", "promise", and "peace". They all look so wonderful and perfect on greeting cards and so sweet in tales with happy endings... But I have yet to encounter something I can comfortably call a family, I have yet to learn how to give love (and until I do, I fear it and, because I'm afraid, I push what could be true love away), I have yet to have something I truly consider home, I have yet to meet someone that has the ability to keep promises- at least most of the time!... as for peace? Look around you...5

It's obvious that last one is a farce.6

And yes, I know I am only 21, life is long, I am young, don't dwell on the past... BLAH BLAH BLAH!7

If I could actually follow all the cliche advice and feedback well-meaning people give, I wouldn't be to this suicidal point I am now. It's not that I want to specifically die... I just don't see the value of my life.8

I am a mother whose two daughters do not know, I am an old friend that no one talks to, I am a family member no one trusts, I am a twenty-one-year-old that has become so jaded with this world I don't! feel young. I don't! feel life is long. I don't! feel like there is hope for me.9

In other words- I am no one. The roles that add the meaning to many lives- being a parent, being/having friends, being/having family; the role of simply being a person fulfilling what makes them happiest... None of these roles apply to me.10

And yes, I have a name, parents, education, good memories; I realize that those in themselves puts me at an advantage compared to some. I am not going to sit here and say "boo-hoo, my life's the worst"... I have seen true poverty, destitution, abuse, violence, drugs, hunger, hopelessness...11

That is actually one of the most frustrating points as of yet- what I have seen. What I have been through. My old friends and family- they will never understand. Upper, white, middle-class, Catholic high school, dance team... that is my upbringing (there may have been drugs and alcohol and, although I obviously did things I regret, I was having FUN! I hadn't let them ruin my life yet ). Even if I ever get better, even if I ever dip back to the life that once was me- it is going to be near impossible to mend these relationships.12

While my friends were first starting college, I had a baby, got post-partum depression, and got addicted to heroin.13

While my friends were Sophomores in college, I was still doing heroin, pregnant with a second -born with opiates in her system- which led to both of my children being taken away by child protection.14

While my friends were Juniors in college, I was still doing heroin, officially lost custody of both of my girls, went to a treatment, left because I met my now-ex, got in a terribly abusive relationship, got exposed to anger and violence and possession (all under the name of "love" told you it was made up!), quit heroin for a month or so only to became addicted to meth, got kicked out of my house, that man went to prison (for violating parole... not anything to do with assault or drugs... I always find that darkly amusing), bashed a rock the size of my head into a basement window...15

While my friends were partying through the summer and awaiting their final year as Seniors, I was still doing meth, spent 5 days in jail because no one would pay my 50$ bail, got a P.O., failed my first scheduled U.A., updated with her only once, my father left me in front of the Minneapolis Public Library, showed up at an old friend's/ex/baby daddy... (now boyfriend) ... because I had no where else to go, have been hiding out in secret places ever since, let myself get readdicted to heroin and methadone even though he isn't....16

And now, as my friends enter their year as Seniors, I am getting ready to turn myself in to jail.17

I will miss my friends. I am slowly coming to terms that the lifestyle I chose very few will understand, and the few that will understand are going to be hard to win back because, very understandably, they do not trust me and do not want to get hurt by me again. And even if I get the trust of those few friends back (and I want to try my hardest), I do not feel I can expose some of the shit I have gone through. None of them will know the hellish life, the hellish lifestyle surrounding being a junkie or living with a meth dealer...18

As a junkie, I saw depression in it's truest forms, the damned in their truest forms. As a tweaker, I saw anger to the point of black-out and violence way beyond necessity.19

(Side note- Observing those around me when I was a tweaker, I noticed it seemed like the girlfriends of dealers were the ones most fucked up (physically and mentally)... the shit we see, the shit we go through, topped off with bruises and a bowl... okay, I am veering towards a topic I feel is best left unshared as of now.)20

Reading over this... I am ready to go to jail. Ironically, it's the only way I can ever be free again. And seriously... what the fuck do I have to lose?21

(ADDED):22

(Side note- And not to be concieted, I once was beautiful. Truely beautiful- inside and out... minus some bonafied mental health issues... but none-the-less...people fell in love with me, cared about me, adored me, crushed on me... people thought I was beautiful. One of the most beautiful things about me? My eyes. My eyes once were alive and giving.23

I am not beautiful by my standards anymore. I felt beautiful when I laughed, when I smiled, when I hugged my friends, when I hung out with them, when I took care of my body. I was beautiful when my eyes shone like lighthouses, guiding so many to my large heart and open arms, for I once was giving and trusting. Now?24

Barely can I have an open conversation with someone, much less welcome them into my heart. My eyes have dulled. I learned how to close the curtain so people couldn't see in, only I could observe. I don't feel happiness in my heart anymore; I don't feel alive anymore.25

God.... Dear God... please let my laughs become a constant occurance again....)