#// who cares if hes a creep! hes paying for her lego addiction!!

[gethellbcnt]

@andact1on shrieked at your post! ; she gonna get that so fast

this is their dynamic but reversed, and she's very content to KEEP IT that way!!

[he-licked-his-lips]

Myself - A Hellish Three Years

When you grab a hold of me Tell me that I'll never be set free But I'm a parasite, Creep and crawl I step into the night.

Sublime "Badfish"

I wasn't okay after R, and I'm still not. For the most part, though, no one preyed upon me. That didn't start up again until I was 17. I spent the latter half of my teen years fucking up and trying to bury past trauma with drugs and self-harm. It wasn't just what R did to me, both of my parents being uninvolved addicts fucked me up a lot more than I'd like to admit too.

I started smoking weed when I was 13, because R smoked weed, and I thought it was cool. I was one of those middle schoolers who wore "legalise weed" bracelets. Drugs were cool and fun, and they helped me forget. Plus, it was just weed, right? What's the harm in that?

I didn't smoke weed because I liked the creative high it gave me. I smoked weed because it made me not sober, and I would do anything to not be sober. Being alone with my own thoughts terrified me. I used weed as an escape. I wouldn't just smoke it and chill out, I'd smoke it till I was dumb high.

Self-harm was another futile attempt at escaping. When I was bleeding, I wasn't thinking of anything else. It was calming. I just watched the blood pool and drip from my wounds. I remember rubbing my fresh cuts underneath my jeans when I started getting anxious in class. It was really comforting, knowing that I had at least some sort of control over something in my life. Knowing that I had some sort of control over being hurt. I fell in love with self-harm, and it was an addiction just like any other.

Bulimia was another great coping mechanism I developed in high school. It gave me control. I felt like I could control what was going in my body and what was coming out, so I spent four years throwing up my food after every meal. It got to the point where I would just eat in the bathroom, away from everyone else, so I could throw it up right after. I remember chewing my food, but being careful never to swallow. One of my ex boyfriends used to start knocking on the bathroom door if I was in there for too long, because he knew what I was doing. It fucked my teeth up really badly. All of my front teeth are fake as a result, and the dental bill was probably around 10,000 dollars. They told me that I would probably need dentures by 21, because my teeth had literally no enamel left. I still haven't got them. The dental assistants were all so sweet when they found out I had been bulimic since I was 13, they cried for me. It was so kind for someone to finally realise I needed help and I wasn't okay. My mother just rolled her eyes and told me I was stupid. I never smiled in high school with my teeth until I got them fixed. To this day, when I laugh or smile, I cover my teeth. They look pretty okay, but I never really moved past it. My esophagus is permanently fucked as well, or more preciously, my epiglottis. It doesn't stay shut so after every meal or liquid I consume I have the pleasure of regurgitating it back up again in the form of very painful stomach acid. I didn't lose any weight. But making a ritual of going into the bathroom after eating and sticking my fingers down my throat, hugging the toilet bowl, must have eased some emotional pain somehow. Maybe not. Maybe it just made it worse. Sometimes I still miss it, but these teeth are way too expensive to fuck up.

When my mother found out I was cutting myself, she just told me that I should “make sure to use a clean razor”. Incredible parenting. How could someone like me, the recipient of such wonderful parental advice, ever be fucked up? She was way to consumed with her alcohol and the Bible to pay attention to me.

Eventually, weed stopped numbing the pain. I turned to anything I could find. Norco was the first hard drug I started doing, at age 14, which was okay for a while. I would do a cold-water extraction to get the acetaminophen out. I was totally in love with this drug for a while.  I was also starting to realise I was slipping into addiction pretty quick. When you listen to addicts, specifically opiate addicts, talk about their addiction it always starts off with something like Norco. When I say I was in love with this drug, I mean it. I even wrote a fucking shitty poem about it.

It was yellow like the sun And dandelions by the pond In the middle of the new hope of spring

It swallowed me whole I let it steal all of my control Until I had become positively nothing

The blood trickles down Across lips frozen in a frown Broadcasting the sad signs of suffering

Anything just to get to sleep Just be mindful not to cut too deep Or the side effects will start to become troubling

Making sure that nobody suspects Your friends don't know what to expect Barely able to just keep on living and functioning

I need help, I know I can't keep this up I feel my will being drained, I'm out of luck Trying to survive, nothing but constant struggling

I have keep going, I have to at least try If I don't fix this soon, I may just possibly die My life is slipping away, my condition is worsening

I have to live to see another new day I can't just let the beautiful gift of life slip away I will persevere, I will succeed, no matter how challenging  

Incredible, right? And see, I actually wanted to get better at this point. Then I started doing oxy at age 15. Next thing I knew, I was a 16 year old heroin addict. What type of heroin did I like the best? Why, the worse kind, black tar heroin of course! Injected straight into my veins for a healthy dose of wound botulism. But fuck it, right? Kurt Cobain did heroin, and he was a pretty cool guy. Sure, he died young but at least he didn't die of an overdose. I'm pretty sure Courtney killed him, but nonetheless he totally didn't die as a result of the drugs, right? 16 year old me thought that this was a safe enough reason to pick up heroin. Plus, just look at "his" suicide note, where he mentions a quote from Neil Young. It's better to burn out than fade away. 16 year old me thought that THIS was the quote to live by. I'd worshiped Kurt Cobain since age 12, so dying as "glamorously" as he did was the dream. If 16 year old me was this stupid as to use a dead heroin addict’s suicide letter for life guidance, then 17 year old me was definitely not many pegs up on the intelligence ladder.

This is where I kind of lost all functionality. I turned 17 in December of 2013, and my family actually kind of started noticing I was pretty badly fucked up, and kind of started guessing that it might be a result of terrible parenting. Plus, I had started drinking, just like mommy and daddy! Oh the best thing of all? I was pregnant. I was a 17 year old, pregnant, drunk heroin addict. I miscarried at five months, which I was devastated about at first. I'm pretty glad about it now though, and I don't really care if that makes me a cold hearted bitch. I wouldn't trust 17 year old me with building a lego set, let alone caring for an actual child. My parents chucked me into a 60 day rehab at 17 in May of 2014, and for a while I was okay. By a while, I mean until July. I was sober off of heroin for a year after coming out of rehab, but I went straight back to drinking after I was out.

Then I met V. And a few months later, J. But we'll talk about V first, because I still don't really have closure and since sobering myself up for realsies (meaning no drugs, alcohol or self-harm) this time I'm faced to confront all the things that are wrong with a 30 year old man trying to sex up a 17 year old junior in high school.