My favorite memory

I look up and see you and your blue shirt your white shorts, walking towards me in the baggage claim. I had just picked up my army bag standing there in uniform. I turned and started sprinting toward you. I dropped my bag just before I got to you and I jumped into your arms. I was home and you were kissing me and holding me and it was like the whole world didn’t exist. Just you and me. I can still see your face light up and that giant grin spread across your face,  all the way up to crinkle your eyes.  You were so handsome. I was always so proud to point at you and say “he’s mine”.

That was one week before I never saw that smile again. Before I’d never hear your voice,  or your laugh,  or feel your heart beat as I drifted off to sleep. The comforting smell of your skin and the quiet breath from your lips, singing me a lullaby I’d spend the rest of my life chasing to hear just one note of.. 

Donald James Vickers I miss you more than anything. And I love you forever. 

The shot

The shot cracked and I watched his body crumple. Before my eyes, only an arms length away. His body hit the ground with a thud that to this day still echoes in my head. With disbelief I grabbed a cloth and pressed it to his head. A piece of brain matter taunted me from the floor as the puddle grew larger. My mind went blank and I couldn’t reason with myself that it was too late. His breath was but a gurgle… Choking on his own blood. I sucked out three or four mouthfuls and spit them onto the ground then tried to breathe my life into him. When the others arrived, they pulled me off of him. They tried to tell me he was gone. But I just couldn’t fathom leaving here without him.

They call me Doc.

There’s an emptiness inside us that no pill or drink or drug can fulfill. The only thing that makes us feel half normal.. Is the thing that consumes us still. The comfort of your brothers right beside you.. Is the solace we crave to get us through. But when you go back home to your family.. The walls seem to magnify the guilt. You close your eyes and hear not echoes of their voices but their screams. The voices calling out to you for help. You try to reason that you’re only one person.. But how do you negotiate with hell? The look of terror in their eyes, it pierces. The wave of relief that washes over when they see you. It makes you proud but breaks your heart. You hold your brother in your arms ..and lie to him. You tell him it’s all going to be alright. You tell him how brave he was and how proud you are of him as he struggles for his next breath.. when you feel your brother go limp in your arms, it never quite registered how heavy “limp” feels. You never can just let him go. You question every move and every choice.. And you carry his weight with you forever.
There’s an emptiness inside us that no pill or drink or drug can fulfill..

Dirty

As I sit here, alone, reading a book and contemplating how it relates to me, I scratch my head. My hair is greasy. I try to remember the last time I showered and I can’t. Maybe a week? Maybe a few days? I have no idea. I wonder if it’s laziness or depression or isolation or something else that causes me not to bathe regularly. I can’t remember the last time I brushed my teeth. Two days? Three? I wonder if it’s because I don’t talk, so I know no one will notice. I don’t bathe because I’m not around anyone anyway, so what do I care if I’m clean? I wash my clothes regularly.. Sort of. I wear a suit to one of my jobs and I washed the pants and shirt for the first time two days ago. I’ve been working there a month. I wonder if anyone notices or smells me. I don’t clean my house. I just try to put things away as I use them so it doesn’t get out of control. I haven’t vacuumed in over a month and a half at least. The dog poop in the backyard is starting to smell. No one notices because no one visits. Once upon a time I had chairs in the backyard. Donald and I would sit out there and smoke cigarettes and talk and cuddle together on one of the chairs. I used to have friends over and we’d have a fire and roast marshmallows for the kids. The last time the fire pit was used was when I still had my kids, my boys.. His kids, not mine. We laughed and cuddled and I was happy. Happy.. I can’t remember what that feels like. People think I’m happy. I’ve gotten so good at pretending and smiling, fake laughing and acting normal while in public, people think I’m ok. I’m not ok. I’m just good at faking being functional. After being out with people, going home seems more empty. Seems more daunting. I’m afraid of the emptiness. I’m afraid of my thoughts. Most of all I’m afraid of myself. I hate myself. I hate myself for what I’ve become. For what I used to think I was.And for what I thought I could be. But I fell short. I always fall short. I go through the motions and I do what needs to be done, but it’s empty. Hollow. My life consists of pretending. I don’t even remember who I am, who I was, who I used to want to be. My tears consume me when I am alone. I am alone most of the time. No one knows. No one notices. And no one cares. No one calls. More than half the time, no one responds even if I reach out. They’re tired of me. Tired of being bothered by my burdens. By the neediness. Even if I ask for them to come over, they don’t. Or they say they will but never show. No one wants me around and no one invites me anywhere. No one rings the doorbell. And no one calls. It’s a lonely empty existence. A pain that never ceases. I wish I had the courage to let it go. But losing Donald. Losing RoRo. Losing someone I barely knew, Mathis. Losing them to suicide, is an emptiness I’m not comfortable with. If anyone is out there that still cares, I don’t want them to feel that hurt. Although it would be exactly how it is now. They don’t ever see me or talk to me, or even try, so how would it be different? I wish I had the courage. But I’m just too scared it will hurt. Too scared to mess it up. Just like I’ve done with every other aspect of my life.

Thinking

Most of the time I am alone. Alone with my thoughts. My fears. My emptiness. My hatred for myself. My pain. My memories. My tears. Alone. No one calls. It’s been months since I’ve heard from my family. Sometimes I wonder if they even love me. If they loved me they would call. If they loved me they would visit. I’ve come to the conclusion that I am just a disappointment. A lost cause and a failure. If they loved me, they would care. They would want to know what I was up to, they would want to say they love me. I used to call them.. But I’ve since wondered how long it would take before they reached out to me. My friends have all but disappeared. Too many times I’ve needed something. Love. Comfort. Money. Attention. Too many times I’ve asked for help. I never ask for help. It took a lot for me to admit that I needed it. I’m about to be homeless because I was jobless for too long. Depression, exhaustion, defeat, fear and I don’t know what else prevented me from being able to get of my ass and try. I miss my best friend. I lost him to meth.

Six months ago was the last time we spoke. We got in a huge argument about his lying and his habit and I kicked him out of my life. He beat the ever living shit out of me. Hit me so many times in the head I was stupid for about 9 hours. I was slurring my words and couldn’t formulate a complete thought. I was confused when I spoke and halfway through a sentence I forgot what I was going to say. I couldn’t eat for a week because my jaw was so messed up. He choked me. For those 3-4 minutes that I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream, couldn’t even gasp or whisper, trying to grasp what was happening, I thought he was going to kill me. He said, “I hope you die bitch” as he choked me tighter. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t scream. My best friend for the past four years. My protector. My confidant. My strength. He was trying to kill me. I played dead for about 10 seconds, hoping he would let go. He didn’t. I reached up, still not really wanting to hurt him, and reached for his eyeball. I didn’t want to gouge it out. I hoped he would let go. He did. I ran into the house and grabbed my gun. I held the phone for several seconds, not wanting to call the police. I wanted to save him. I wanted him to get better. I wanted my best friend back. I was terrified he was going to kick in the door and finish what he started. I called the police. I was hysterical. I was terrified.

It took them a month to arrest him. He still hasn’t been sentenced. Two months ago he was arrested for grand larceny. The court website said it was greater than $3500. I was thankful. I was sad. I wondered how he got to that point. I wondered what would happen to his children if he went to prison. I loved those boys more than life. For a time, I almost felt like they were my own children. I pretended they were. They pretended they were. They loved me. And I was happier than I’ve ever been. A family. I had a family again. And they loved me. I miss them so much it hurts. I constantly think about them and wonder how they are doing. But I can’t call them or see them because of the restraining order I have on their dad. If you can call him a dad. He is a shell of a person. A walking mannequin of who he used to be. Once upon a time, he was a good person. I miss that person but I don’t know him anymore.

I barely know myself anymore. I’m a joke. My life is a joke. I don’t have a life. I purely just exist. Most of the time I wonder how long it would take for someone to notice I was gone if I could just work up the courage to pull the trigger. Months probably. My dog would die of starvation. I love him. He is the single reason I still exist. He is my world and I barely even take care of him. He eats regularly and we snuggle, but it’s been so long since we’ve left the house. I rarely take him on walks. He is depressed. So am I. I feel guilty for not taking him out, but I just can’t find the motivation to do it. And more than that I’m scared. I’m scared to leave my house because I no longer trust anyone. I don’t feel safe. I’m always looking over my shoulder wondering if he will come back to finish what he started. Simultaneously, I wonder if he’s getting help. If he’s getting better. I hope that he is. But I know that I will never speak to him again even if he is. I’m scared of him. And I hate him. But I love and miss my best friend. And I know I will never have him back. Meth changes people. Forever. I will never trust him again.

I don’t trust anyone. No one cares about me anyway and it seems so easy to break that bond. I wonder if I will ever matter to anyone again. So many times I wonder if I even matter at all. I long for comfort. For friendship. For love that never comes. A few times I’ve say in my bathtub, holding my revolver. The and revolver that Donald shot himself with two years ago. I play Russian roulette, but I’m too much of a coward to hold it to my head and pull the trigger. I count how many times it lands on a bullet. I wish I had the courage to pull the trigger. I wonder who would find me. I wonder if they even would.

So I sit and write. Hoping someone will read this. Hoping someone will care. Hoping that maybe someone will respond. Tired of taking to myself. I have gone weeks only talking to my dogs. Only speaking at work. And starting at a phone that never rings. I want someone to care. I want someone to notice. But no one ever does. So I’ll sit. And I’ll write. And I try to gather the courage to do something other than exist. But it is an endless cycle that I have been living four years. No one ever stays and I am always alone.

Fucking coward

I’m sitting in my bathtub gun in hand playing Russian roulette and I start to cry. Not because I’m afraid to die, no. Because I’m afraid of failing. Afraid that I won’t do it right and somehow I will survive. Afraid that my dogs will starve to death before someone notices I’m missing.. Because no one ever comes to my house or calls or really even notices I exist. I pick up the phone to call or text someone, because by now I am bawling and it’s not I really want to die, I just want the pain to stop. I want to have someone pay attention to me. To love me. To make me feel like I have a reason for not pulling the trigger. And I can’t think of anyone, not ONE person who would actually pick up, let alone actually show up to hold me and let me cry and tell me that I matter. I’m a fucking coward. Because I’ve fucked up literally everything else in my life, I don’t want you fuck this up too. Maybe if I use two guns simultaneously.. That’s really the only option here. Ensure no limit for error..

Please help me.. I am begging

Every time I feel like I almost have a leg up, my world seems to kick me right in the teeth over and over and over. Today I came home and my water was shut off. I swear every time something like this happens it makes me want to just walk over to the drawer and suck start that pistol. I’m going to try to ask for help… something I don’t usually do. But I’m going to try anyway. Unless you know someone who would just come over and shoot me in the forehead and walk out.. .that would honestly be preferable. I’m waterless, soon to be powerless, and homeless. I can’t feed my dogs. I’ve been drinking expired protein shakes for something like 8-9 months. Idk, I stopped counting. I just want life to NOT suck. But it’s a never ending battle. Seriously never ending.

//funds.gofundme.com/Widgetflex.swf

Finding yourself

It’s so easy to get stuck in our world, stuck doing the same mundane things every single day. It’s easy to get sucked into your job and convince yourself that you have to stay or it’s your responsibility to make that company work. Especially if you’re a manager people feel responsible and then you end up staying even though you’re unhappy because you use it as an excuse to hide from what you really want. But all it does is drag you down and make it harder for you to chase your dream. The moment you stop living for everyone else who doesn’t matter is the moment that you wake up and start living a life that will make you happy. I’m still trying to figure out where I fit into that. But it’s so easy for me to sit on the sidelines and tell other people how to find their happiness. It’s so easy to see in someone else’s life but so hard to see in my own. I wish somebody would just tell me how to wake up because I’ve gotten so far away from the person I used to be I don’t even remember who she is anymore. I miss her. I miss the girl that used to smile. The girl that used to be able to make everyone else last. The girl that was ready for anything and could conquer it all. I started working out again and I hope that that will find me some peace and the ability to see who I really am.

Feety Massages

I’m sitting here watching TV feeling all of my muscles being sore from working out all this week. I stretched my feet and caught a cramp… It made me think of you. It made me think of all the times that we cuddled together on the couch and you would insist on rubbing my feet. Every time I was surprised you actually enjoyed it and how you would insist on using the Ped Egg and rub lotion on my feet sometimes for hours. It made me think of how you would rip my shoes off after I had a hard day at work and say “let me rub mommy’s feetys” and I would complain about how I smelled and I didn’t want you to touch my feet because they were sweaty from being at work all day. And you would hold my foot to your face and inhale deeply through your nose and kiss my and  or lick it and say “I love mommy’s stinkies!!” Or how I would try to rush to the shower because I knew I smelled bad from work and you would follow me and just to prove a point you would smell my armpits. God I just miss you so much. It’ll be 2 years in August and my life feels just as empty now as it did the day I lost you. I miss the laughter. I miss our silliness. I miss your smile. I miss your smell. I miss putting my cold feet under your warm legs in bed and listening to you squeal. I miss you pulling me closer to you while I slept. I miss waking up to your handsome face and covering you with kisses. I miss you packing my work bag and putting little notes to remind me of something that I always inevitably would have forgotten without it. I miss your laughter. I miss how bright my life was with you in it. I miss everything about you. My sweet Daddy Grinch.. This world is not the same with you not in it.

Competition…

At my new job, with women I’m not sure even like me.. we started an “office competition” to see who can lose the most weight. I am 5’5″, 169lbs..I’m not fat.. just a little pudgy in the belly. My teammate is 5’7″ish, 190lbs and has the body of a woman who has 3 children by C-section. She’s not fat either, just a little extra baggage. The closest girls to our weights are well over 200lbs. One girl just had gastric bypass and the others are taking thyroid medication and some weird OTC weightloss supplement, and quite possibly a tape worm. I feel like this is high school. Although the competition is supposed to be “friendly” I feel like everyone is ready to sabotage each other rather than support and help one another.  I’m playing along with their joking and smiling.. I’m trying to laugh at the mean comments, although I’ve said several times they make me uncomfortable. I was called “the Duff” by my coworker and boss yesterday.. I didn’t know what it was. I asked and they just smiled and told me to Google it. Google says.. The DUFF: Designated Ugly Fat Friend.

Seriously? I am the only one in this entire office who could not only lift but fireman squat a person. I am the only person in this office who could carry a wounded soldier off a battlefield. The only one who can legit squat 300+ pounds. I am the only one who can ride a bike 8+ miles without feeling like I’m going to die. Or rollerblade for more than an hour. I want to say this competition is stupid and they’re all cheating because they have almost twice the amount of weight to lose. But instead I am going to kick their asses. I am going to drop at least 10% body fat and lose no less than 30 lbs. I am going to show them who the “DUFF” isn’t. And then when they all fail, I am going to sit quietly with my newfound abs and rocking ass body and I am not going to gloat, or brag, or talk trash.. but I am going to be that cute, fit, amazingly nice girl you want to hate because she’s so perfect, but you can’t hate her because she’s too nice. That’s what I’m going to do.

“To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift.”

“Suffer the pain of discipline or suffer the pain of regret.”