Too Messed Up To Be Real: Selling Babies

The other day I went to visit a friend of mine and she told me her son has been involved with a 26 year old woman who’s had 11 kids. The couple recently had twins and adopted the children out at birth. At the birth the mother handed him some medication, and then called the police. When they showed up he tried handing the medication back to her, but she told him to keep it. He was arrested for stealing her medication. He’s out on bond now.

Recently the he and the mother, his girlfriend, were at the adoptive mother’s house. The actual mother of the twins went inside to visit the babies, and the father had to stay in the car. Eventually he went up and knocked on the door several times and go no response. He called his Mom, my friend, and told her he was worried that they were trying to set him up to go to jail again. So his mom calls his girl friend and asks her to please get him out of there because he’s freaking out. She has to call back, and starts telling his girl friend that she thinks that Lisa, the adoptive mother has it out for him, while she’s saying that, Becky (the girl friend) hands the phone to Lisa (the adoptive mother). Lisa attacks the mother, accusing her of making threats, then making threats of her own. Lisa ends up calling my friend’s boss and tries to get her fired, files a police report stating that my friend is harassing her and is a drug dealer, and all manner of psycho ass bullshit.

Now you have to wonder why in the hell Lisa would choose to adopt a child from a woman who’s had 11 kids, drug problems, no job, etc. And why the fuck has this woman had 11 kids? Lisa is actually paying 6 months rent for Becky, and her boyfriend, she bought them a car (which was from a towing company and a complete piece of shit), basically she bought the babies, but why from this woman? Is it because she knows she’s an easy pay off. Why could Becky go into Lisa’s house and be all buddy buddy and paranoid about my friend who’s just trying to get her son the hell out of that situation?

My friend who is a child protections investigator is convinced that Lisa is buying and then reselling babies. I can’t even fucking believe this kind of shit. People like Lisa and Becky both should be sterilized and thrown under the jail imo.

Reality

Some say reality is static. Like steel, nearly impenetrable. Imagine the poor child who’s mother believes in aliens and dresses his or her head in tin foil for school. He or she has most definitely faced the cackling wall of “reality.” He or she must have been permanently set in the stone of keeping up ever changing appearances.

But I say to you oh zealots of absoluteness, behold your Poison!

Haunting Myself Perhaps

Well, today is another day that I’m waiting for school registration.  I feel worthless.  I can’t sleep.  I looked at my last journal entry on paper, and I was complaining about a friend of mine that killed himself on 7/26/07.  In response to my ideas of him and his perceptions of this city that I adopted just to survive here I had made fun of all the crap that he endeavored to fill my head with every time I was around him.  Niggers, fags, and butt fucking.  You can laugh, it’s ok.  Now I realize that he may have made jokes, pushed buttons concerning those things as a way to make fun of bigots and ignorant people in his own way.  I wrote that 10 days before he committed suicide.  I think he was the way he was because he was extremely unhappy as well.  I’m sorry man.  I hate this town.

Ever since February of this year I’ve not been able to sleep at night in my house.  I think I have a ghost.  The specific sounds that I used to hear like someone walking across the bottom floor and then coming up the stairs have gone away, but I’m still freaked out.  For the past few days I feel like I’m going to lose my mind completely.  Every noise in my house sends adrenaline pumping and echoes through my head.  When I blink the shadow of my own eyelid makes me think I saw something out of the corner of my eye.  The way the lighting looks at night creeps me out.  Even the way the sun light looks right now is just dark and creepy.

The world doesn’t make sense to me.  Everything on television bothers me.  All the commercials.  Everyone is aspiring to be so hyper productive, healthy, sexual, safe, and responsible.  Hyper consumers with extreme everything.  The world is dying alone, and people are  faster, safer, and more isolated.  Natural must be beautiful again.  Decay and death must be acknowledged.  True health valued.

Maybe I just haunt myself.  All the reasons I am alone, unemployed, a drug addict, second class citizen.  I am lonely.  I find a lot of fault.  A friend of mine has views on fame and selling yourself that bother me greatly.  She always wants to take me out around town and show me off.  She is much older than me.  She wants to show me off to all these people she has grown up with, and I feel absolutely horrible.  Keeping up appearances when I have lost so many friends bothers me.  I’m nowhere.  I belong nowhere.   I can’t cry, I can’t pray.  I hit myself in the face earlier this morning.  I haven’t done that in a long time.  I guess that’s my version of self injury.  I feel better though.

God For The Lonely

I have never really known my Dad’s side of the family.  My father almost purposely seems to not stay in touch with them.  I’ve spent some time with one uncle, and been to one family reunion when I was young. My grandfather on his side of the family died when I was 9 or 10, and spent time with on maybe 5 occasions that I can remember. I live in a two story garage behind my parents house. There’s a black Cadillac outside right now. Cousin Chris has finally arrived, and he is here to cook dinner!  From what I’ve been told he can’t cook what he eats without an oven, and his Hotel only has a stove top. He was a cartoonist before he retired, and his father was curator of the Paleontology department at the Smithsonian.  My mother was absolutely floored, “He sounds like a damn nut!” She’s obsessed over housekeeping practices ever since I was born. There’s definitely more going on here than meets the eye, and I’m thrilled! This family has denied it’s own existence for way too long.

When I woke up and saw the car I got a sense of peace. My parents, who’ve tried to escape God knows what over the years are now having to coexist. Even if it’s just our own interpretation I think there is something magical about seeing where you’ve come from in another living person…when or if you can. I’ve never even cousin Chris, and I’m not going to today, but just seeing that black Cadillac outside has given me a seldom felt sense of a higher power.

This makes me worry slightly about the future. I believe I will never talk to my family even on my mother’s side. I believe I will be alone. Could it have been the idle belief in the end of the world that kept my parents, my father more specifically, from spending more time with our family? Could it have been the work and distance just like everyone else? Could it have been the fear of non-religious persecution? Herein lie the not quite sterilized marks of our maker. The seeds of beauty, tragedy, genius, perversion, sophistication, comedy, and madness. The inexplicable heart of instinct, and evolution. And what are we alone? Here on the internet, minced in the super market. Lost in traffic unable to change lanes.  Are we missing something?

Deflection

I’ve been acting for most of my life.  I’ve worn a lot of masks.  Anything to get through the day.  Anything to get the drugs I wanted without appearing quite as white as I actually am while drinking my juice in the hood.  Anything to keep a job.  Anything to make my friends believe that I’m ok, and not to worry.  Anything to keep on talking in a normal voice until the panic attack goes away.  Anything to believe the world isn’t the way I think it is during a flashback.  Anything to keep it together in front of people that don’t know me.  Anything to make you and me laugh.  Anything to keep you at a distance after I try to make you get too close.  Anything to make the time pass.  Anything to keep a little bit of hope.  Anything to keep from getting rejected.  Anything to keep the same mood.

It makes me wonder with the anonymity of the internet how honest will I be.  Is it like wearing sun glasses, or a paper bag?  If no one knew who I was  I think I would finally be free, but even here the fear can find it’s way in.  Drugs really do make you forget everything.  Do you think no one knows you like you do?  I don’t sometimes.  Sometimes I think everyone can tell I’m as bare and confused as a baby because I compromised every last thing about myself for drugs.  I had to leave everything behind.  I had to start over with nothing.  In rehab I got the idea that everything I did up to that point was unhealthy.  Nearly every memory had some association with drug use, or would lead there.

A lot of the time when I try to act like a person, I’m not really being myself.  It’s all an unnatural joke.  A perversion of a life without closure.  There’s something in the 12 steps that deals with that.  Something about clearing up the wreckage of our past.  something about praying to God to remove our short comings.  Something about admitting you are powerless, and therefore liberating yourself.