Friday, December 29, 2006

a sick voyueristic nature

I was kidnapped Tuesday night. Held against my will in a date's house, he had remote controls for the doors and wouldn't let me out. I suppose it was my fault for putting myself in that situation- I have to look at my part as they say in NA. Fucking NA. Haven't been to a meeting in a while, praise the good lord above. Of course, now that Christmas is over, the 'rents are gonna jump back on my rear about meetings, meetings, meetings. I go, if only to placate them, but I seriously believe those bullshit sessions do more harm than good. By the time the hour is over, I'm shook up by everyone talking about how good it would feel to do one last shot. I could have done a hit right before the meeting, I still leave feeling sick. If it's not that, it's people talking about the stupid shit they did while smoking crack. We've all done stupid shit. I didn't realize these meetings are designated Story Hours, focusing specifically on stories that make the storyteller look like a total asshole. I think the only reason people keep coming back to those meetings is a sick voyueristic nature deep inside everyone. Listening to the struggles and the fuck-ups of strangers is riveting, and it keeps you from thinking about your own problems. But does it help? I'm sure it helps some, but most people I know have either left the program or go in-and-out, following a relapse/recovery relapse/recovery pattern. It's all a pile of shit.

The reason I got kidnapped was because I was making money to keep Micheal and I high and in a decent motel room. I love spending time with him, talking to him, holding to him, having sex with him, sleeping with me. Sometimes I wish I could stop loving him, but I can't. If shit doesn't work out between us this time, I'm joining the other team. I'm sick of men, they are all pretty much the same and I've heard it all before. But with Micheal, the biggest problem is his mama, Connie the Cunt (CtC). A couple hours after he left the house, CtC started calling me- and she didn't stop.

"I know Micheal is with you."

"Let me talk to Micheal!"

"Don't lie to me, tell me where he is."

"I'm going to press charges if he doesn't show up for work tommorow."

I covered for him, of course- I never saw him and he never saw me. We did have a great time together and got real high. Then I went to Miami to see my family, where I shot too much dope in the bathroom and almost fell out in front of my parents and aunts and uncle and everyone. It was wonderful and awful.

try me with pain, try me with fire
just deliver me my one desire
bind me, gag me, beat me up
but when you're through, fill up my cup
make me cry, make me bleed
but give me everything I need
stretch me on your torture rack
steal the clothing off my back
make my path a dreary black
just give me all that I lack
lock me up and toss the key
charge for it a deadly fee
make me miserable and blue
why even ask? you always do
destroy my joy, my faith, my trust
all I ask is that you're just
make sure the misery you serve
is exactly what I deserve
and when you finally kill me dead
send me back to hell instead
nothing to lose, nothing to gain
and by this point I like the pain
give it free and snatch it away
just like every other day
love me like a mother would
then take away all that is good
fill me up with all your lies
but when I'm god, everyone dies


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