gmax38

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I'm trying to learn from my dad and mom, particularly, how they learned to be able to talk to everyone, for their own survival, and stability socially, economically, mentally, and physically. I haven't learned how to talk to cops or security though. They call me violent. hahahaha.

I still remember the cop's face when he pointed at me when I was yelling in the holding cell, and said, "You. Are Violent." It made me feel like shit, but I mostly laugh about it now.

I was in court for 10 minutes before my release because the Judge couldn't stop laughing because I called him OG instead of Sir or Your Honor. The public defender said I would be pleading not guilty. My lawyer says the case will be thrown out. I don't have to go back to court until the first week of January.

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I've been on Tumblr again for 2 hours, and I already have 18 posts. LMAO.

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I got out of bed feeling really hungry, depressed, and clumsy. Not feeling my usual self, despite the odds. While I was waiting for the library to open I talked to another "southern belle" who just moved to Seattle after serving in the military in Vietnam. And homeless. Talking to people like that always make me feel loved and seen, like I am home. I don't know if they know how much our brief interactions build me up, and make me feel human again.

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I have a lot to say. My dad says I'm too smart for my own good, and react before I think much about it. And that's what gets me in trouble.

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I'm the type of girl, who can ask a random dope man if she can have a cigarette, and he says yes, and gives her his LAST one.

Is that the type you can take home to Mom? Depends on who the Mom is, Ha.!

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The intersections of the physical and emotional landscapes that I experience, parallel to people like young Meek Mill, on the daily, are deeply precious to me.

I see him in the men who are dear to me and look out for me. And make sure I have I have warm clothes and food. It makes me want to cry. I am barred from entering the place that they work, but they still make sure I eat. In their words, they get in trouble for giving me "special treatment." When they say my name, Grace, it sounds like a prayer. They are everything to me.

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Seattle folks reach out to me!! Especially if you are 21 and over, an addict, in recovery, have mental illness, been homeless, been incarcerated. Let's tear ship up! Ha.

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I need more friends. My friends that I have are very dear to me. But they have their own stuff going on, being in active addiction, and having to live outside. They also have enough to deal with my bullshit when I go off in neutral areas. And my place is a depression hole. Or I would invite them to hang out at my place more, with respect to the apprehension they already with being inside for extended periods of time.

It's really hard for me to relate to people my age. They think I'm too crazy, too troubled, too mean, "too real." They wonder why I "act like their homeless schizophrenic dad who served in Vietnam." It's hard for me to access recovery spaces because I don't save "the ugly stuff" for circle but prefer to talk about it loudly in the lobby with other peers. They call it menacing, but I think I am largely misunderstood. I think it's respectability politics.

I am unemployed partly because I am afraid of having enough episodes at work, I'll get fired again, in an undignified way. My fault, or not.

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I haven't seen my partner in several days. Not that he likes staying at my place anyways because it is a depression void, but usually when he is gone for several days it means that he is in jail. Most times, he isn't able to tell anyone that he is there. So no one tells me. But sometimes there's a little voice in the back of my head that tells me no one bothered to tell me because they don't care. Most likely, motherfucker probably just got out today and he's going to spend the next night or two at a buddy's house and then they will drop him off at my place at 6:30 in the goddamn morning on Christmas day. Which is how he wound up on my place on the morning of thanksgiving. He will roll up to my window with his suitcase at the corner of the window where I am on my bed. And peer inside, fearing retribution --- being ripped new ones, and worse, for him, not being let inside (ever again). He looks at me terrified like a little boy who just came home from running away or like HE had just seen a ghost. I look at the window like, "Oh, it is you isn't it, motherfucker. Yes, you can come inside, jerk off." Lmfao.

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I had to stay in bed yesterday because I smoked a 200 dollar rock of fetty to myself over the past 3 or 4 days. And stopped, abruptly. I didn't see any of my friends. I couldn't eat anything. I threw up the corn nuts and cheetos I ate the day before. I was afraid to get up because I thought I would throw up again. Now I'm sitting in the library sweating and shivering because I didn't layer my clothes correctly on my walk to get breakfast today. I don't like hard drugs very much. Especially fetty. But sometimes it's the one that is "there," if you don't have income to go to a marijuana dispensary. If I don't have weed I should stick to meth. It keeps me calm/safe and slows down my anger, anxiety, add, and mania. A lot of times I call drug dealers out who I know are predators. I am the louder one so it usually gets dismissed as me going wacko and responding to internal stimuli. Or I harmlessly joke around with strangers, I don't let it lie, and then get beat up. Meth minimizes the amount of times this happens. So I feel like I need it. I hate fetty. It makes me sick and I can't eat. Meth doesn't do those things.

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Advice if you love/care about an addict but they're not ready for abstinence. This is meeting people where they're at- the most important part of harm reduction

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Fuck yeah it has

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by dimda_