It’s pretty shitty that the quality of people has dropped so low. Maybe it’s always been like this but I’m not so sure. I feel like when I was a kid people were way different. I feel like they cared about each other more and weren’t so low rent. I feel like morals and integrity are a dying concept. People these days are more concerned with being savage then they are with being kind. Kids didn’t go into schools and waste the other kids because someone was making fun of them. We thought about it and that’s where that shit ended because something inside you stops you short telling you that shits wrong. They do these kids not have that? When I was a kid I was taught to respect my elders for fear that if I didn’t I was gonna get my ass beat. I was taught that if an adult told me to do something I did it, regardless of whether or not I wanted to do it. Apparently we aren’t teaching that anymore, apparently we have decided to let the kids run the show. Dictating to us how they are gonna be brought up and what they get to do. I used to fear my father, now it seems we fear the kids. Or at least the loss of them. You know how we fix the fucked up situation that we find our society in these days? Through the children. We need to teach them the right way to be so they can teach their children and eventually things get turned around. That’s not what we are doing. Day by day we slip farther away from our humanity, growing more self-absorbed and shallow daily. More numb to the needs of others with every passing day. The hidden truth is that we need each other in order to become all that we can be. Good luck with that.
I think I’m gonna leave on Friday, possibly Saturday morning. Regardless by this time next week I’ll be gone. Off to new adventures, new experiences, new people. A new life. I am excited. There’s gonna be some shit I will miss, some people, but not many. This has all gotten to be rather cumbersome, so much so in fact that I am more suicidal at this stage of my life then I’ve ever been before this. We’re it not for the people I would victimize by doing it I would have killed myself a while ago but how am I gonna take away my own suffering and give it to the people I love? Yeah I’m not. So instead I’ve just been spiraling down the rabbit hole, deeper and deeper into the sickness inside of me. I’ve gotten so far down that I no longer can see the light, I’m no longer even trying. Momma didn’t raise no fool so instead of continuing down this path like a drunken sailor looking for pussy, instead I’m gonna turn around and head back towards the light. I mean if I’m not gonna kill myself then what’s the point of being miserable? Exactly, there’s none. I’m not even really sure which way I’ve been coming from. I have no idea how to go about finding the light again, I’m not even sure that I ever really saw it in the first place. But the last place I thought I saw it was west so I’m just a few short days I will be heading west, in search of my long lost happiness. This is one of those shit or get off the pot moments, sink or swim. Get busy living or die trying.
I’m getting ready to go to my first Colorado Rockies baseball game at Coors Field. I’ve been a fan of the Rockies since their very first season but I have never actually managed to make it to a game. I’ve had opportunity after opportunity, shit last season my mom got me tickets to a number of different games and I missed every single one. Today though me, my mom, and my girl are all going to see the Rockies battle the Pirates tonight at 6:30. Got pretty sick seats too. Club level seats pretty much right behind home plate, my homeboy told me that they got like a little suite so I’m pretty excited to see how good they really are. Not sure how good the Rockies are doing right now because baseball season are 160+ games long and I haven’t been paying the closest attention but regardless this should be a pretty good time. Might even get on TV. Oh shit, just got a phone call from the homie that’s giving me the tickets and he informed me that my tickets have been upgraded and now my seats are directly behind home plate and they come with dinner at the home plate restaurant as well. The homie told me to wear something nice. Haha, yeah ok. I’ll make sure it’s real nice.
I’ve spent the last couple of months gathering quite the collection of camping and backpacking gear, getting ready for a summer filled with a lot of both. My shit is all top shelf, the very best equipment that you can get. Money wise my outdoor equipment is worth over a couple thousand dollars all together but thankfully I didn’t have to spend a dime. Everything that I’ve got I acquired through the barter system trading someone the things they required in exchange for the things that I required in order to be set up like a boss if and when I decide to go into the wild. I’ve got a really nice 2 man tent made by MSR. It’s super lightweight and although I haven’t used it the reviews all say it’s a great tent. I’ve got a badass sleeping bag that is also super lightweight and it’s rated to 0° so I will probably never have to worry about being cold, if anything I might be to hot. I can’t think of who made the sleeping bag at the moment but I know it cost $500 at REI. For underneath the sleeping bag I’ve got a $300 therm-a-rest sleeping pad. I’ve got no idea what makes it worth $300 but it was the best one available and it said something about it being geared towards winter camping so I guess we’ll see. My backpack is a Gregory and it cost like $400. It’s a 60 liter pack, which is super lightweight and as far as I can tell it’s gonna be pretty comfortable because the frame molds to my back nicely and the belt is snug around my hips. Only time will tell how comfortable it really is. I’ve also got a jetboil camp stove, a fishing pole which folds down to about a foot long and a handful of other camping equipment. One idea that I had was to go and get one of those national parks passes and travel around going to national parks all over the county and camping and backpacking all over. The pass is only like $80, or it was a couple of years ago when I got one, which saves a bunch of money if you plan on going to more then a couple of parks throughout the year. There are some pretty cool National Parks that I wouldn’t mind spending some time in, so that’s seriously one of my options. I would have to come up with some kind of hustle so that I could finance the whole thing but I’m a hustling motherfucker so I’m sure I could figure out something. Backpacking and camping is not really all that expensive so the main thing I’d need money for is gasoline for my truck and that’s gonna be an expense no matter what I decide to do. It would be nice to have a travel companion for this adventure but I have grown accustomed to being alone and the nice thing about flying solo is that I only have to take care of one person. If I was to have someone come with me then that would just burden me with another mouth to feed and another person to have to worry about, so it’s gonna be easier but lonelier. Regardless of whether or not I go into the wild the final destination is somewhere I can get a little place for me and my mom and a job I can sink my teeth into and which doesn’t make me want to swan dive off a building into the asphalt. Probably somewhere in Oregon but also possible in Washington. Or maybe Montana.
Oh shit son. We’re getting close now. After all of the feet dragging and procrastinating we are now only moments away from starting round 2 and by moments I mean like 10 days, maybe less. Coming back to Colorado was pretty much the only choice I had. I needed a whip and at the time I made the decision I was fucked up, needing to heal my body which I had just beat up in a car accident so Colorado was the easy, logical choice to make. It had the possibility to go either way, good or bad, and until we are actually in the truck, exiting the state, we won’t be able to call it exactly but I feel like this went good. For the most part. It definitely took longer then I had planned because in the beginning it was supposed to be in and out. I just wanted to stay long enough to get a vehicle and to heal my broken bones, both things of which I had taken care of months ago but I definitely wasn’t trying to stay here another winter. Regardless, I’m gathering up my shit, taking care of all of the loose ends I’ve got out there and readying myself for departure. My plan this time is nowhere close to what it was last time. In fact it’s more of an anti-plan because I have absolutely no idea what exactly I will do. Last time I had a destination and some structure to the plan as well as some support when I got there. This time, not so much. My destination is west, there is no structure, I’m flexible as fuck, basically letting the wind take me where it may. As for the support? Well, that shit is overrated. My support last time turned out to be something else entirely when they ended up kicking me out of the house a day after wrecking my truck, then since I didn’t have a whip and so having no way to get my property from their place they were supposed to hang on to my shit until I came back and got it. Proving that they were not support when they refused to pay me the money I was legitly owed, $1200 and stealing all of my worldly possessions. Yeah it’s probably a good thing that I no longer have that support. And so once again starting from the bottom, now we’re here. On the very edge of starting the next chapter of my life, I have butterflies. I’m full of angst. I’m nervous but excited, as the countdown begins.
I wish there were like a manual or something on how to lead a happy, healthy, successful life. I wish I had drank the kool-aid all them years ago and had bought into that American dream bullshit. Life would probably be easier if I wasn’t such a non-conformists, if I gave a shit what people thought about me, if I was just trying to be a cookie cutter version of every other motherfucker out there like most of the population out there seems to be about. But I just never could conform, to anything. Now at 42, almost 43 years old, with no career, no mortgage, no family, no roots, and to be honest nothing that I am really trying to look at with pride, I’m feeling a certain kind of way. Partially it’s got to do with the game. The game is fucked off right now, the players have always been kinda scummy but they’ve changed and so has the game. Fentanyl is the motherfucking devil. I call them blue devils because they are controlling motherfuckers like the devil would. Eating people alive and leaving shells of the people that they used to be. I used to say that drugs couldn’t change a person but I was dead wrong. Certain drugs mixed with certain people can absolutely change a motherfucker. It’s like being personally responsible for creating the zombie apocalypse. People always tell me that if they weren’t getting it from me that they would just be getting it somewhere else, which is pretty true but they aren’t getting them from someone else, they are getting it from me. That leaves a shitty taste in my mouth and a constant weight on my conscience. Then to top it off, I’ve got everybody and their fucking mothers owing me money right now. By noon I’ll have 10 people hitting me up for drugs, of the 10, 2 have money, and usually not the full amount. So 8 of these motherfuckers are coming at me daily with zero money, their hands stretched out, and some bullshit lie or another, some sob story about how they are gonna pay me on Tuesday, they promise. Then Tuesday comes and goes and surprise surprise they don’t pay me my money and don’t even try to hit me up and give me an explanation. Instead I have to go looking for them. And when I find them and inquire about the debt, they get all indignant about me asking them about my fucking money. Telling me shit like come on man, you know I’m good for it. Or feeding me some shit about me getting my money real soon, not to worry. Then when I don’t get paid I get mad, being an asshole and threatening injury, but what is that gonna get me,? Surely not my money. So it leaves me with 2 shitty options, bitch up and wash my hands of it, or thug up and bash a motherfucker out, neither is gonna get you your money 9 times out of 10 and both have all kinds of consequences. So I’m probably gonna just bitch up and wash my hands of it. It’s only money, and it’s a good way to get your ass thrown in prison going and bashing someone out over $50 and I’m trying to stay out of prison. The plan used to be escape to Oregon. I had a homeboy there that would help me get on my feet. Somehow that shit got all fuck up and the day after I crashed my truck, rolling it 6 or 7 times before coming to a stop and getting arrested, him and his wife kicked me out of the house for having drugs in there. Drugs, I’ll have you know that everyone was aware I was still doing drugs the whole time I was there and never once did them inside the house. 2 days after my crash I not only lost my truck, I’d lost my place to stay and my job, being as how I worked for the homie and as it would turn out I lost the homie too. That was like having a safety net, but actually more like having a crutch. Now as the noose tightens and my days if Colorado gets shorter and shorter, I have no idea what the fuck I’m gonna do. No idea where I’m gonna go. Part of me is addicted to this outlaw lifestyle more then I’m addicted to the heroin so that part of me wants to just kick back in Colorado and wait for the hammer to fall. Just keep on keeping on. That part of me is very influential, very strong willed and he’s been running the show for a long time so he knows the ins and outs. Plus he’s fearless. But that’s not what’s gonna get me into trouble, I mean it might, but what’s really gonna get me wrapped up is that he’s hopeless. There is no light at the end of his tunnel, he doesn’t look forward to tomorrow, he dreads it. He is not looking for solutions, he knows he is part of the problem and he’s cool with that. But then there’s this other part of me that just won’t give up on the idea of greatness, on the dream of saving the world, or at least my soul. For 40 years that part of me has been has been disassociated from the reality that the other part of me created but over the last couple of years he’s been awoken. He’s no longer disassociated from our reality and he is no longer content with sitting back while skank tries to destroy the world.
At the end of last summer, I think it was August but possibly the end of July, I rolled my truck right outside of Canyonville Oregon. I was cruising along at about 90 mph and decided to try and take a little nap. Bad idea. I woke up to inevitable disaster and stupidly jerked the wheel which sent me rolling. I think I rolled 7 times. Regardless of the number of rolls, I wrecked my truck pretty good, coming to a stop on the roof. Physically it fucked me up pretty good, breaking my nose, my clavicle, my orbital bone, some ribs and bruising the fuck out of every other part of my body. Someone called the cops when they saw me crash and I had just finished trying to gather my shit up when the pigs showed up. At first that asked me if I was driving and trying to avoid jail I told them I wasn’t, telling them that this chick was driving but she had already left. Of course they didn’t believe me asking me numerous times it I was sure it wasn’t me driving. Still trying to avoid jail I assured them that I wasn’t driving even after they told me that they were gonna check the highway cameras to find out the truth. Fuck it. Check the cameras, I wasn’t driving. I had given the pig my real name which he checked for warrants and surprise surprise, guess who had a warrant? When the cop first showed up he asked me if I wanted an ambulance and since I just wanted to get out of there I told him no, that I was fine. Finding out that I had a warrant made me wish I’d taken the ambulance. Instead, broken as fuck, they cuffed me and threw me in the back of the cop car. I was pretty fucked up. I can still remember the pain from wrapping the steering wheel as I started to flip. At jail they realized how fucked up I was and not wanting to have to deal with it they asked me if I promised I would go to court? I told them of course I would and they gave me a PR bond. Released from custody with the clothes on my back and wearing a pair of shower shoes the only other things I had were my wallet and my cellphone. I immediately called the homie James, who I was living with about an hour away from where I crashed and explained what had happened. I told him my truck was totalled and asked him if he could come and swoop me up. Even though he had a working vehicle, wasn’t busy doing anything and was only an hour away, he told me that he couldn’t come get me, giving me some bullshit excuse which I can’t even remember and said he would try and find me a ride. Pretty sure he never even tried. Anyways my homeboy Boston was living outside of Portland and had a whip so I asked him if he could come save me. Portland is 6 hours away from where I crashed but Boston agreed to come and get me. James wouldn’t even drive an hour. It took Boston forever but he finally showed up and we started heading slowly back to where I was staying. The next day we made it to Grant’s Pass and even though it’s only 12 miles from there to where I was staying when Boston got a hotel room in Grants Pass I decided to stay the night there with him. I was feeling a little salty that James wouldn’t come and rescue me and had no desire to go “home” so I stayed with Boston. In the morning Boston told me that he felt like taking his dog for a walk in the redwood forest and I agreed to go with. Before we even got to California but after we’d already passed Gold Hill I got a message from James freaking out telling me that I was kicked out of the house and wasn’t welcome to come back. Apparently his wife was looking for dirty dishes(which is bullshit, that bitch didn’t do the dishes one time the whole time I was there) and deciding to look in my safe(because I stash dirty dishes there) found a bag of dope. Because of this bag of dope, which I might add, I wasn’t even doing, hence it being left behind at the house and not with me, I was in violation of the rules of no drugs in the house which I thought was actually no using drugs in the house but apparently I was wrong because a couple days after wrecking my truck and almost dying I was now kick out of the place I was staying. Plus I worked with James so in a 3 day period I lost my truck, my place, my job and as time would tell, my best friend. With very few options I decided that my best bet was to return to Colorado, heal up, stack some bread, get a new whip and then go back to Oregon. I had originally planned on being in and out. Get a vehicle ASAP and bounce. My plans never work out like I want them to. Months later, after a full cold ass Colorado winter, here I still sit. At first I thought that someone was gonna come with me so I was waiting for her to be ready to go but shit changes fast around here and once again it’s just gonna be me. I had a new whip pretty quickly once I got back, a Ford explorer that my homegirl hooked me up with but that truck got stolen from right in front of the house. That shit fucked me off pretty good. I need wheels with the lifestyle that I live and my truck getting stolen threatened to derail any plans I had wanted to have in place. Fortunately I have been blessed with some super amazing people in my life, one of which is Jesse. Jesse Astuto has been my friend since highschool. We once went to a Grateful Dead concert with my mom and a couple other friends when I was 14. Although there have been stretches of time when we didn’t see each other or hang out we have remained friends the whole time. A couple days after the explorer was stolen I went over to Jesse’s house. As soon as I walked in he handed me a piece of paper along with the title for a 1993 Ford F150. He told me he wanted to give me his truck and the piece of paper he’d given me was a bill of sale. My fucking parents never even gave me a vehicle as a kid but Jesse did. He told me there were a few issues with the truck but that it was mine. Driving away I found out that one of the issues the truck had was a death wobble. The death wobble wasn’t to bad when I first got the truck so I didn’t rush to fix it. But as time went on and death wobble after death wobble occurred, they steadily got worse. I decided to fix the problem but death wobbles are tricky and they are caused by a number of different things so I didn’t even know where to start. I replaced the tie rods, inner and outer because when I did my little inspection the tie rods were movable by hand which they are not supposed to be. The the tie rods were the initial cause but the death wobble was so violent that it was destroying my truck. One death wobble shook the front end so bad that it broke a bracket that was holding one side of my dual I-beam axle to the frame of my truck. That was the motherfucker and it took me quite a while to figure it out. It wasn’t until this dude I knew who works at a mechanic shop offered to let me put my truck on a lift and raise it up so we could inspect it from underneath that we noticed the broken part. I was gonna have the homie weld it, going as far as acquiring a $1,000 welder so he could do it but when he showed up to do the job he informed me that I’d be better off just going to a pick and pull and getting the part I needed off of a junked truck the same as my truck. So the next day we went to Denver to do some business and go to a pick and pull. My time management is trash so I didn’t make it to the pick and pull until 4:00 pm and the closed at 5:00 pm. I had 2 bolts left to get the part and end the death wobbles but even though I had and cordless impact wrench, I left it at home and so with only two bolts left to get the pick and pull closed and I was forced to bounce. The next day after handling some pretty rewarding business I went to Home Depot and bought a beast of an impact wrench with 700 lbs of torque for $400. Best $400 I ever spent cause the next time I went to the pick and pull it took me less the an hour and $30 and I had the answer to my death wobble problem. Replacing the part on my truck took 24 hours of soaking the whole thing in PB blaster and about an hour to actually do the job. And with that the death wobble was no more, at least for now. It’s like I have a new truck. I’ve never driven it in as good of shape as it’s in now. It’s a 1993 Ford F150 with only 150,000 miles on it. It has had basically one owner before me, an old man who did all the maintenance regularly. When I got the truck it had a huge pile of receipts for everything done to it so if I pay attention to fluids and maintain the maintenance, I can easily get another 150,000 miles. I’m currently murdering it out and I replace the stereo and got 2 12 inch subs in a ported box that fit nearly perfectly behind the bench seat. She’s a bad bitch. My new pirate ship. What grand adventures we will have.
I like to tell people that I’ve got so many problems that my problems got problems. This isn’t really a joke. As a person I’m a straight fucking mess. I have no boundaries at all and have no idea how to even begin creating them, let alone maintaining them. I hate the word no, both saying it and having it said to me, and so I am constantly putting myself in a bind because I don’t just tell people no and to fuck off. I get something out of being able to help people out and hook people up, it does something for me internally although what that is I have no idea. While I don’t really give a fuck what people think about me and the shit that I do, I do still want to be liked and to make people happy. I suck at communication. I have no idea how to express myself in a positive manner, no clue how to convey what it is that I want or need out of someone or something. While I like to think or myself as an exceptionally good listener, allowing people to tell me all kinds of deep ass shit, when it becomes my turn to share I close up tight. Even if I did know how to express myself I wouldn’t do it because truth be told I don’t trust any of you, not one. My trust issues are deep seated, probably steming from my dad and the beatings I received from him. All things considered, my father loved me probably more then anyone has or ever will, excluding my mom. There were times as a child that I didn’t believe this but hindsight is 20/20 and looking back I have no doubt. Crazy as it sounds 80% of the abuse stemmed from this love and his desire to make me the best possible version of me, at least as he saw it. The other 20% came from him being insane. It came from him not being able to get over his fucked up childhood and Vietnam, both of which caused him to become an extremely violent person. Regardless of why, the abuse caused me to trust nobody. I mean if the person who loves you more then anyone can do the things he did to me, then anyone can do them. It’s one of the reasons I don’t like to be touched or to be physically close to people. I’ve been socially distancing myself from people way before it became a thing. Next, I have no idea what self care or self love is. They say you need to love yourself, and I agree with this, but I wouldn’t know where to start. While I think I’m pretty good at loving and caring for others, finding both things enjoyable and rewarding, I can’t do it for myself. I don’t love myself, I borderline hate myself and I don’t care for myself much at all. I refuse to forgive myself for certain things that have gone on in my life which is one of the things I would need to do in order to love myself but I have no hope for a future. I used to have hopes for the future but one by one they were stolen from me leaving my hope well bone dry. These things keep me stuck. They make a happily ever after virtually impossible mainly because I refuse to allow it. I’m a long ass ways away from being anything close to ok. I’ve been in active addiction for pretty much as long as I can remember. There have been blocks of sobriety, mainly when I’m locked up but also when I’ve had my children in my life, but I’ve been faded for the most part. I’m a self-medicater. I run from my feelings and emotions, embracing only anger. In fact I am not even sure how to identify what it is that I’m actually feeling. I’m not boy-friend material, husband or father material either for that matter. I am emotionally unattainable. A lost cause. I’m on a fast ride to nowhere, nowhere to be and all the time in the world to get there. I need to give a fuck about something but I’m struggling to figure out what. I crave the flash, a restart. I wish I would catch amnesia. I wish I had a time machine. I’d go back to the womb and hang myself with the umbilical cord.
Ever since I rolled my Jeep my vehicle situation has been touch and go. Originally, my plan had been to come back to Colorado to regroup, heal, stack some bread, get a new whip and then bounce. In and out, quick and easy. Ha. So now, like 8 months later I am finally close to completing this plan. I’m all healed up, broken bones and bruised ego no longer an issue. I’m as regrouped as I’ll ever be. As far as stacking bread, that’s a day to day thing and really I just need to worry about this the last week or two, right before I jet. The first couple months I had enough money to buy a whip 10 times and every time I pissed away the money at the casino. My circumstances aloud my priorities to get a little skewed and getting a whip took a backseat to playing captain save-a-hoe. Once I had a little reality check I managed to acquire a Ford Explorer from my homegirl. It was beat up but she had balls and with the proper attention she would have been a decent ship. Hard to say how many miles I would get out of the explorer because I never got to fix her up like I had wanted to do. One day I was on the deck smoking a cigarette and looking around I noticed that my truck was gone. My first assumption was that the property management had towed my truck for whatever reason. After a phone call and a little investigation we discovered that my truck hadn’t been towed that in fact it had been stolen right out from under my nose. The explorer was fucked. The steering column was all torn up from where my homegirl and her daughter had tried to get it started with keys missing the little chip that newer car keys have to have. Shifting it into gear required you to stick you fingers inside the column and manually move the broken lever from park to reverse/drive. It was not an easy car to steal and with it’s beat up condition and all of the much more appealing cars surrounding it, my truck made no sense to steal. Not unless you had the keys. When I first got the truck I only got the one set of keys because my homegirls daughter had the others and her dude was some kind of controlling douche so to avoid trouble I didn’t really think twice. The plates on the explorer were good for almost a full year and since I have no license and I’m apparently a cheapskate I never bothered to reregister the truck, leaving it in my homegirls daughters name instead. The girls a gangster so I didn’t imagine there being an issue. I mean not until she stole my whip. As soon as I realized that my truck hadn’t been towed I immediately knew that my homegirls daughter jacked it. I called my homegirl and before I was even able to accuse her daughter she said, “Kayla, that little bitch.” I had the title in my possession and so one idea was to hurry over to the DMV, reregister it in my chicks name and then report it stolen. I don’t call the police. Plus the truck was fucked up, it had busted wheel bearings which I had been waiting to arrive in the mail so I could replace them and it they stole it and drove it all over probably fucking up God knows what else. I foresaw more problems then it was gonna be worth to try and recover it so my plan was to find out wherever it was and go over there in the middle of the night and toss a firebomb through the window, I’m still not quite against this idea. Anyways before I could carry out my plan of fiery destruction, saving me from all kinds of trouble and avoiding the numerous consequences that were sure to arise, I stopped over by my homeboy’s place to get some money he owed me, only $60. When I walked in he handed me $40 and a pile of papers. A few weeks prior he had tried to trade me his truck for a few ounces of weed. I agreed but he got cold feet and we never made the trade. This time as I walked into his spot he said to me, “I want to give you my truck, this time I won’t renig.” Included in the papers he’d handed me were a bill of sale and the title for the truck. I’d driven my chicks car over there so I told him I’d come back the following day and get the truck, figuring I’d give him a chance to again change his mind. Showing up the following day he asked me,”Are you here to get the truck?” I’ve had it ever since. My fucking parents never gave me a vehicle. Jesse has. And it’s not just some lemon piece of shit. It’s old, granted, but it’s basically had one owner(Jesse’s grandpa) and it was well maintained. It’s a 1993 Ford F150 and it only had 144,000 miles on it. I’ve seen cars 15 years younger with more miles. It’s got a V6 which helps me on gas vs a V8 and it’s got 2 gas tanks. It’s not the prettiest truck you’ll see being red and having 30 years of bumper stickers and wear and tear, but I just so happen to be a beast when it comes to white trash auto body repair, so just wait. I’ve already put about 4000 miles on it and as far as I can tell the only problems it has are some front suspension issues which I’m fixing right now, or at least trying to. This might actually be the time to swallow my pride and just take it to a professional. Once the suspension issue is taken care of, as long as I continue to maintain fluids and filters, I can easily foresee me getting another 150000 miles out of her, easily. She will definitely get me back out to the coast, which I think is where I’m trying to go. I no longer have any friends out there but looking back I guess I didn’t really have any when I went out there the last time. That’s probably not true. I tend to overlook a lot of my blessing when I am depressed and my depression has gotten so bad it’s all I can do just to not swan dive off the top of the casino parking garage.
Having kids was the best and worst thing I’ve ever done. Prior to becoming a father I was an angry, angst filled piece. I didn’t care about anything or anyone and I was dangerous to everyone involved with me. I was so caught up with the past, a childhood best left forgotten, that I was just pissed. I was pissed about the beatings. I was pissed that nobody ever did anything to try and stop them or to try and look out for me. I was pissed about the way that I felt I was treated by 90% of the people I had come into contact with. I was just pissed. I wanted to set the world on fire. I wanted to bulldoze the rainforest’s and pave them so nothing could grow back. I wanted to chain the doors of churches and old people home’s and throw firebombs through the windows. I wanted to club baby seals and drowned pillow cases full of kittens. I wanted the world to feel the helplessness that was all I’d ever known. I wanted them to feel alone and cold and worthless, feelings I’d been born with. I didn’t know love, or hope, or security. I only knew anger and fear and the fear left me feeling weak so I changed it to anger as well. Basically I just knew rage. I craved death, I had no hope for tomorrow, no excitement for a future that as I saw it was ugly and cruel and bleak. By the time my first daughter was born I’d already been addicted to numerous drugs, things like heroin and meth, booze, cocaine. I’d already been locked up more times then I care to remember. My reputation was already fucked. During my chicks pregnancy I continued to party, she didn’t, she sobered up, but I just kept on raging. I was convinced that God was gonna let the pregnancy go full term and then kill both my girl and the baby during labor. I even told the doctor that when he fucked it up, I was going to kill him and every single person in the hospital. Everyone. And I would have. But then she was born. And as she started crying and I realized that she was gonna be ok, the Jason that I’d been for 25 years up to that point, well, he died. Dead like he’d never been there in the first place. And in his place was something new. Something that was completely alien to me, something that felt completely different, that thought completely different. It’s one of the craziest experiences I’ve ever had in all my life. Like a light switch being turned on and off. On the day that my oldest daughter Brooklyn was born, so in turn was I. It was amazing, and magical, and beautiful. It’s by far the best feeling I’ve ever had. In seconds I knew things I’d never known. I was so happy, so excited, so proud. I no longer craved death, no longer dreaded tomorrow, in fact I couldn’t wait for it. For the first time in 25 years I wasn’t filled with angst. For the first time I knew peace. I no longer asked myself why because I knew. All the pain, the struggles, the misery, it had all been building me up for this and for the first time in 25 years I knew exactly what it had all been for, I knew exactly what I wanted to be when I grew up. I can still feel the magic I felt that day, I can still feel the hope and the pride. But they feel differently now then they did then, they feel tainted, they feel bittersweet. They feel dreamed. Those first 4 years of being a father were the best days of my life. I honestly believe that that Jason was the purest version of me that will ever be. That was the closest I will ever get to being a “good man”. I miss that Jason, I mourn him all the time. Brooklyn mom bailed on us about a year after we’d gotten married. I seen it coming from a mile away and when she called me to tell me she’d cheated on me and wasn’t coming home I wasn’t surprised. When I told her that if she tried to take my daughter I would chop her fucking head off, she said, “I’m not trying to take your daughter.” And again I wasn’t surprised. Since the day Brooklyn was born, Jessica just didn’t seem to be into it. I thought she just didn’t want to be a mom. She was young and I figured she wasn’t done being young and having the baby would stop her from being able to be young, so she didn’t want to be a mom. I now think differently. I am no Dr Phil but I now think that Jessica had postpartum depression and that in my excitement to be a father I completely missed it. Fuck I didn’t even know what postpartum depression was. When Brooklyn’s mom expressed interest in finally being Brooklyn’s mom I welcomed her back no problem. I had come to realize that there was going to be things that I would never be able to teach my daughter, things like being a girl, and so I was thankful for Jessica finally wanting to be a mom. Our family was destroyed but at least it wouldn’t be completely wrecked for my daughter. When she started going with her mom for extended periods of time, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. I had so fully invested myself into being a father that I had no idea what to do with myself when she was gone. So about 30 minutes after my daughter would leave I would be on my way to the liquor store and an hour later I’d be drunk. I’m a miserable drunk. I suck at it. I like to say I’m allergic to alcohol, I break out in handcuffs and fresh charges. Of all the addictions that I’ve had, alcohol is by far the worst. It has cost me the most, it has destroyed the most, and it was the hardest for me to walk away from. I still have moments where I want to drink. The day that I “overdosed” and dhs took my kid, her mom was on her way from Texas to pick her up. She was gonna be gone for a whole month, I was gonna miss her birthday. I had tried to argue this to Jessica but she didn’t give a fuck, she told me that if I didn’t want to miss her birthday then I had better hitchhike down to Texas so I wouldn’t miss it. I was emotionally fucked. I am emotionally fucked. Brooklyn is was and always will be my very favorite person on the planet, and on the last day that I thought was gonna be with her for a month, and which turned out to be forever, on that day, instead of taking her to the park and enjoying the time that I had left with her, instead I ran as far as I could from the feelings and emotions I was experiencing and I got drunk. Then as a fail safe, I ate a handful of Xanax. When the cops showed up and told me that they were gonna take my kid, I naturally tried to fight them but with all the booze and Xanax in my system my heart had different plans and so I had a heart attack. I was dead for 3 minutes. When I woke up I was in jail which is where I learned that they had taken my daughter to foster care and that I was being charged with child abuse for putting my daughter in an unsafe environment. I had been wasted the day before. All day my mm had been trying to get me to let her take Brooklyn with her, I told her to fuck off. Right before I went to the homies house where eventually the cops would show up to do a random home inspection, I had been trying to cook my daughter some food and I had set the fucking wall on fire. I had a moment of clarity and realized I was wasted and that I was probably gonna burn the place down so I bundled Brooklyn up cause it was snowing, and barely dressed myself, I carried her over to my friends house. When the cops showed up she was sitting on the couch eating Mac and cheese and watching SpongeBob. She wasn’t in an unsafe environment, she was in the safest environment I had available. Doesn’t matter. Once the system got involved I was fucked. The way they looked at it, because they didn’t know me at all, all they knew about me was what was written on my criminal record, but they way they saw it, there was no way I could be a good father. There was no way that my daughter was safe and protected and loved and in my opinion, in the very best environment that she could be in. No way were they going to let me continue on with my happily ever after, foster care would be much better for my daughter. Living with strangers who had no feelings towards my daughter one way or the other would be better then her living with her criminal father, a place she’d been living all her life. When I got out of jail I did everything that dhs asked me to do. I hitchhiked 80 miles round trip twice a week to have 1 hour of supervised visits with my daughter. I enrolled in the classes they asked me to enroll in. I took the lie detector test they asked me to take. I went to all their court dates and put up with all their judgemental bullshit treatment all the way until they sent me to jail and then to prison. While in prison they determined that due to the fact that I wasn’t complying with their treatment plan, (aka not going to their court dates) it was best for everybody involved if they terminated my parental rights. I figured fuck dhs, who cares what they said cause I’d thought that Jessica would always let me be in Brooklyn’s life as long as I wasn’t a danger to her or something like that. I was wrong. I got a visit from my sister and that’s when I realized that shit had gotten fucked. That they terminated my rights and that Jessica was going to be a piece of shit about this whole thing. That’s the day that that pure Jason, the one that was closest to being a good man died. I buried his ass that night on a lonely Colorado prison yard. What replaced him was close to what he had replaced but worse. Uglier and more bitter. Angier and more angst filled, possibly a little evil. Anyways, this shit is getting long winded, since that day I’ve died and been reborn a few more times. The Jason I currently am, a mixture of all the Jason’s before him, not as ugly as the Jason born after Brooklyn was lost, but nowhere near as beautiful as the Jason that was born when Brooklyn was born. I had another child with another chick that I knew was no good, a beautiful daughter named Hayden who surprise, surprise I also have nothing to do with, not by my choice. I’ve been to prison 2 more times for a total of 3. I revisited old addictions and haven’t had a lot of sobriety and again I crave death, once again dreading tomorrow and feeling helpless, cold and alone. More depressed and angry then I ever was as a child.. The reason I say that having children is the best and worst thing I’ve ever done is because my children are awesome. They are smart and beautiful and magical, capable of anything they will change the world. But I won’t be there to see it. Never having known the love that I have for my children, I wouldn’t know how badly I miss them. I wouldn’t know the failure that I know from failing them. I wouldn’t know a thousand ugly things that I now know. And I wouldn’t feel the helplessness that is a thousand times stronger then the helplessness that I felt as a child. But fuck me right?