This is to my demised
parents who tried their best.
All my dead friends.
To My family.
My head is really
screwed up at present and I am in chronic pain due to the accident. I
thought maybe going back and writing it all down may help me sort out
some of the crazy thoughts. Get off the drugs I am prescribed (Xanax,
Valium, Prozac). I am also self-medicating three to four days a week
with methadone or heroin. Currently they are the only days that I am
truly happy. Every other day is like the movie 'Ground Hog Day ' with
Bill Murray. I crack one of my eyes open and then I say, “Oh Shit,
here we go again, another day just like the other”.
The accident has turned
my life upside down. I tried to return to my calling 'Drawing'. It
has not worked out, so I think I will try some 'Writing'. If I learn
how to spell.
I started this document
on September 25, 2015 at 11:40 am. My daughter has since died of a
heroin and Kolonopin overdose, and who knows what else, on May 23,
2015. She will always be in my heart and part of my soul. I hope she
finally found relief where ever that may be. I cannot wait to see her
again to give her a big hug and a kiss. You will never know how much
I love and miss you.
Written during the
years 2015 to 2017
I started to write this
book after some unconscionable events took place, which in some way
may have been prevented. I could see what was happening in the
beginning and just didn’t know what to do. Rehabs are bullshit.
I’ve been there and have done that. We put our daughter in at
least six to eight rehabs. All she ever found were more connections.
On May 23, 2015 at the
age of 25 my daughter took a fatal overdose of Heroin and Kolonopin.
She just turned 25 on the 20th of the month. This didn’t
happen suddenly but was building up for a couple of months. She
overdosed at least six times prior within a two-month period. Two of
the times we put her in the tub and hit her with a cold shower. She
came to and we would keep her walking, by holding her on either
side, and forcing coffee down her. The other times she was blue with
purple lips. We tried CPR while the ambulance came. They would give
her a shot of Narcon and she would come back. She cursed us every
time for bringing her back. She was a lost soul. She was too
intelligent, a perfectionist, and just wanted to get high.
Sometimes, I believe my father cursed us, which is a stupid excuse.
When I was at my worst he would tell me, “I hope you have a child
just like you and you can find out what it is like”. Dad I had one
worse than me and I was no one to be bringing her up. I was a parent
but also a drug addict and she fed off the drug addict side of me.
She knew how to get me going, it never took much. At least you
didn't have that to contend with. My wife and I moved to North
Carolina in 2013. Our daughter was living with her boyfriend’s
parents while she finished her last year at a local community
college. I received a call from the mother telling me they were
shooting heroin. Leaving empty bags and needles all over their room.
I told her to check into a rehab and we picked her up at the door
when she was released. We brought her to North Carolina in June 2014
hoping it would make a difference, but it was one big disaster. Of
course, she found the wrong crowd. I believe the week she was there
she brought heroin home and said “Dad, look what I found?” As a
Father, I should have wrestled her for it and flushed it down the
toilet. But as a weak asshole of a spineless person I shared it with
her. We never did it in front of each other. Ha, what a warped sense
of morals, couldn't watch her do it but could share it with her.
This time her and I
were home alone. I passed out on the couch around four-thirty. I
entered her room to let her know I was leaving to pick her mother up
from work at eight o’clock. She was already on the floor, I tried
to revive her but it was useless. I called 911. They came and took
her to the hospital. Somehow my wife found her way home. I passed
out in bed. At one time my wife came to see me and told me our
daughter was brain dead and we had to pull the plug. Our oldest
daughter and her husband drove down from Pennsylvania. Our other
daughter was only two hours away and she came with her boyfriend. We
went to the hospital the next day and she looked fine to me but she
wasn’t. Hardest thing we ever had to do. She finally achieved what
she wanted all along, “The Gift of Death”.
We had her cremated and
took a ride to NJ where all our family resides. I have two sisters
who insisted on a small mass. I saw no purpose but we went. It was
the longest ten hours in my life with this little four by eight box
containing her remains. I was in a complete haze. I couldn’t wait
to wake up from this gut-wrenching dream. A small Mass was said with
family and close friends. I was in such a daze that I barely
remember anything that happened or even going back to NC a week
later. I was still waiting to wake up from this nightmare. In a way,
I still feel she is in another state and will call me to Money Gram
her forty dollars like every month.
I really do not feel
like I am here anymore. I love everyone as much as I always have, if
not more. Life has lost all meaning. What I believed in before I do
not now. I just want to sedate myself twenty-four hours a day
(like the old Ramones song). Now a lot of you will think me
crazy but I do not care. This is the only way I can explain it. We
had a real love hate relationship my youngest and I. She hated me
when I wouldn’t give in and get high with her. She would seek me
relentlessly until I caved. At this point it was my turn to be
pissed, but once we got something we were one big happy family. The
part that I feel is missing may be my soul. She took a piece of my
soul with her. That is what is missing, if such a thing even exists.
I loved her so much and I do believe she loved me. How many late
teens or early twenties think of anything else except the way they
feel. Especially when drugs are involved. I am totally lost at this
point in life and have no idea of what to do. Senseless to be here
nowhere to go. Not really knowing who you are accept knowing you did
have a past and most likely not a very good one. I do not blame my
daughter for what happen but I look at the spineless creature I am.
I caused all of this. I do not blame her, I blame myself for being
such a weak asshole. I take full responsibility.
Presently, I lay down
for bed around 10:00 or 11:00 pm. I take Elavil to help me sleep
(which is complete crap), sometimes one or two Xanax, and Prozac in
the morning just to face another day (which does not help much). I
will lay there, sometimes, for two to four hours before falling
asleep. My mind is racing a million miles a second. All the thoughts
flood my being from the top of my head to the tip of my toes. Trying
to get it to stop is next to impossible. Some really bad things
happened over the years and I really hurt the ones I love the most.
Then my mind wakes to the same thoughts by 4:30 am. I recorded
everything that came to my head one evening:
And 88 and two WordPad.
I hope I can get this version of word and to work as well as one
member name was on the Mac and two she didn't miss a beat. I wanted
to record my dreams but the pork I want the record sure all share
listening OK now you're listening let's finish our documents in
word. I want to recall my faults as I lay there and tried to go to
sleep my mind races I think I would get some men and while this idea
is for drawings, for books and who knows what else I think you'd be
very wild and interesting because we have no control over our
thoughts as we tried to turn to sweep. We have one thought after
another diff of flowing into our brain and we find ourselves
thinking of one end if end of spectrum to the other listening it
could not be a very long book I believe that the most 6070 pages
after that and reader would get bored with it bought from 40 to 80
pages I think it would amuse people are the CL wearily thank as
relayed ended than an attempt to alter a story had fishing people
cannot sleep we'll lay there for two or 3 hours and use both
Israelis from one spectrum to the other that that some 80 five had
helped in the past three years and it has helped I get my mind of
the race is march were all I get a duo is don't take the medication
and there ought be just like before I'll be there for 2 to 3 hours
just all kinds of boats going to my head making in some areas making
up stories are rom what is this happened was that had they not do
this idea that he and superman 999 they too weird AIDS is an
insane............ . . . and on .. ..... . ... and on . . .
. . where it will stop nobody knows... .. ... . . .
. . ... . . ... . . . . ..
and on . .. . . . . . . . . .
. . . . .
a little background on myself will shed some light. I am sixty years
old and have battled narcotic addictions since the age of twelve.
This was the first time I tried heroin. I was not impressed. I
continued to try it on and off until it grabbed me by the balls.
Over my life time I had periods of pure joy and no addictions. I
have the same wife, for thirty-three years, who means the world to
me, and three daughters. The oldest daughter is now thirty and
pregnant, recently she was married to a great guy. The middle
daughter is twenty-eight. She lives with her boyfriend who I happen
to like and they get along well as far as I know. The youngest
daughter will be forever twenty-five. She is a beautiful woman, very
intelligent and loving.
I was born February 21,
1957. I cannot remember anything after that before starting
kindergarten at the age of 5 in 1962, Nothing ever happen.
First grade, at the age
of 6, sticks out a little because I did something nasty. Have you
ever wonder why some kids are born with a wild streak and others are
timid as mice? In my situation, I had a black streak not wild. My
first memories of fifty-five years ago, are beating the shit out of
another person (I will use the term ‘geek’ because it paints a
picture). I must have been at least five maybe even six. At that
period parents, didn’t worry about where their children were. The
kids were just outside playing. If you showed up for lunch, dinner,
and came home when the street lights came on. Everything was fine,
just like, ‘Leave it to Beaver”.
The boy I beat up was
the same age as me. I still remember his name and will never forget,
‘Francis’, which was enough reason to hit him at least at my
age. He was very thin, pale, with coke bottle eye glasses. I can
still see his face when I shut my eyes. He carried all his school
supplies in a book bag. Three of us caught him on his way home which
was at the end of the block. I was so excited because I was chosen
to kick his ass. I believe I struck him several times until he fell
on the side walk. Now, I sat on top of him while I continually
punched him in the face until I broke his glasses and his nose was
bleeding, I felt elated. Like I did something bad but it felt so