#my ex went to prison once for being in a place that had meth despite him never touching it and being heavily against it

[tittyinfinity]

Or they show up and arrest the wrong fucking person

[secretbloggerme]

An Addicts Reality

I would like to take a little time to discuss addictions. The reason I chose this topic is because I can relate. Hello, my name is Kassandra and I was once an addict. My drug of choice was Crystal Meth. I grew up with an addict, always considered one of the “guys”, so I was around a lot at an early age. My first hit was given to me by my father at the age of 14. Prior to that, I was sent to score for him as well as a couple others in the family at the age of 12. My first beer was given to me at the age of 9. So, as you can see, it was not a choice I made on my own. I was raised in a different lifestyle, until my mother finally was able to leave and escape the abuse. There are a few things I would like for people to understand. First of many is about rehabilitation centers that are there to assist those who cannot get cleaned on their own. In addition, I would also like to touch basis on the importance of family. Also, I would also like mention the counseling that is also provided for situations like this. People can be so judgmental of addicts they see or come across, rather than trying to understand the circumstances. 

Rehabilitation centers aren’t all what they seem to be. I cannot speak for others, but I am speaking from my experience. The most frightening of all when entering is being able to get through all the pain that comes along with it emotionally, physically, as well as mentally. My worst pain I had to endure was the body aches, the cold sweats, and not being able to drop a bowl movement for 1 week and a half. Also, I was not eating for approximately 8 months, besides alcohol and the drug of choice. To having to endure all the emotions at once with all the past trauma that I will not speak of. Not only emotionally, but to mentally be able to be stabled enough to deal and confront my issues was also something that I struggled with until this day because I was taught by my father emotions were a sign of weakness; currently, I have a challenging time with my girlfriend speaking of what I feel; yet I can write it down, which is not the greatest, yet it is an effort. Finally, my biggest issue I had was being able to keep my sobriety. Not many know that the most drugs you can get or that are the fastest to find is in rehab itself. That is how after almost making it a month, I relapsed; because another member had it in hand and offered it to me and many others. As an editorial staff states, ( Hardy was ordered to go to rehab by the court after a string of run-ins with the law. We’re told the staff at the rehab got suspicious of Hardy’s behavior on Friday and gave him a breathalyzer test on the spot... which he failed). So, it is not exactly the most resourceful-but in all reality what is?

In addition, I would like to discuss the importance of family. Not many realize that deserting someone that is struggling with addictions, in my opinion, really shows the fear of being unloved is becoming a reality. For instance, Kristina Murray, an author, who writes about the importance of family roles in sobriety also states;” Despite seeing a loved one struggle, family members can and ideally do play a major role in the treatment process.” When I was going through my tough time, the words I got from my mother was and I quote, “ I will not have a drug addict as a daughter” and from there I was on my own. Not ever trying to understand as to why or even bother to ask how it happened, but in our family, we never speak emotionally so to grow up with no affection also was not beneficial. When I was on my own is when I had met my ex-wife, who was the one who reached out to my mother, who then decided to assist me.So, if it wasn’t for my ex-wife, my mother would have never known much about what i have been through. I do also understand that you cannot help someone who is not willing to help themselves. I also tried to talk to my father about becoming sober, but it has not happened until this day. Even if he is not ready to become sober, I will never stop being there, even if it’s to buy him food, clothes, shoes, blankets etc. Family support goes a long way to show affection, to be able to have that one-on-one talk because you get them to think beyond the front they try to impose. Tough love does not work for everybody, but I can admit, it gave me some thick skin. I have also met women who were not working for the greatest job in the world, as well as men who even served this country, and being able to hear and listen to their stories also was an eye opener for me, it made me that much more of a genuine person.

Also, I would also like to mention the counseling that is provided for situations like this. I can agree this can help some people; as for me, it was not much helpful. Take into consideration, I have done counseling most of my entire life, it just reminds me of my past trauma, but at the same time, I finally was okay with it. Meaning what i went through, I see it as normal every woman goes through it; but for my counselors they see me as crazy, and not a normal person, because I am content with my trauma. They have all told me the same thing you will never forget but you will learn to let go. Since I have let go, I think it is normal they assume I am not mentally stable. I believe I am stabled and I have let go, but with the outcome of my traumas my anger built, my mindset changed, my personality has been destroyed, and now I am serious, observant, and my trust is broken. I keep myself away from family because they do not like how I have become. They do not understand I am in this situation because I have protected them since I was young. So out of all the counseling I have done, all it has done to me is remind me of all the pain I have been through and had me continue to be so closed in from everything, as well as everyone even to be able to move forward. I will have to go back to counseling once again just to be able to transfer my medication from Arizona to California. Counseling really in my opinion is not the best source because all I am doing is re-living my traumas which is not the best way to live your life. But again, what can one do, when the medication keeps your mind at ease and it makes you live as normal as it can get for you? Therefore, I do my best to avoid counseling for the reason being the whole reason for my addiction was to cover my emotions, hide away a pain that is unforgettable, and to be able to continue and move forward with my life. As Kate Anderson, B Sc. author of tech-based delivery of CBT shows promise for alcohol use treatment states, “ Cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) focuses on challenging unhelpful thoughts and behaviors, and is proven treatment for alcohol disorder.” Not only is counseling like an alarm clock but a goos percentage of the counselors have also once been an addict. I have worked in a prison facilities where we have had counselors compromised by these inmates and have brought drugs into the facility for them. So how is one to know that your counselor is trustworthy of hearing your most silent pain? There is a saying “ once an addict always an addict” with the reason being that it is a lifelong battle and you can relapse at any given moment. 

In all reality, people that have not been through addiction should not be so judgmental. It does matter if you have seen a loved one, a friend, ex co-worker through addiction; you will never be able to understand it unless you have been through it yourself. I have had many people around me speak ill of them and degrade them that enough is enough. All this talk about removing the homeless is in my opinion ignorant. I have fed the less fortunate, I have met amazing people when I went to feed the homeless. Yes, addiction is a disease as well as STDS, HIV, and AIDS, but do people stop having sexual relationships? Now that I am also in this position of going place to place or even motels I can minus the addiction, I am still grateful enough to push forward and to continue my sobriety, because it is one of the hardest things to overcome in a city full of it. The day I began working in Corrections I made a vow to myself to be honest. So, May 9th of 2016, during mt academy, I had spoken to my Sergeant and advised her I  that I have only been clean for 2 months and if I ever doubt myself in turning anything in is the day I will quite because a job is not worth losing my sobriety and she respected that. So, the next time you think to yourself about rehabilitation centers, or family,as well as counseling, understand that it is not always best for everyone.It is easier said then done hearing it from someone who knows nothing about it or even lived it. So instead of judging them, why not assist them with food clothing, or even see how there day is going?

Written by: Myself 

Based on real life experiences 

[truthbeetoldmedia]

Brooklyn Nine-Nine 6x11 “The Therapist” Review

Since Season 1, Jake’s refusal to go to therapy (and even outright dismissal of the validity of therapy), despite the obvious lingering issues he has from being abandoned by his father as a kid, has been a recurring theme. In “The Therapist”, all of this finally comes to a head, as Jake comes to terms with why he’s been so resistant to receiving help for some of his past trauma.

For the most part, this episode handles the topic of mental health well; both Terry and Charles talk about how they regularly go to therapy, and Terry is astounded that Jake has never sought out a therapist after everything he’s been through. (To recap: Terry brings up how Jake was shot by Amy, held at gunpoint and forced to write his own suicide note by his ex-girlfriend’s ex-boss, sent to prison for a crime he didn’t commit, and joined and gang and tried meth while at said prison. And that’s not even mentioning the time Jake spent in the mafia, or in witpro in Florida, or all the other traumatic stuff he’s exposed to just by being a cop.)

And although the episode does talk mental health — something EP Dan Goor promised they would do if the right opportunity presented itself — it’s not even the primary focus; the episode’s main plot revolves around a potential murder, after a therapist, Dr. William Tate calls in to say one of his patients, Susan Buckley has gone missing, and he’s worried her husband killed her after he received a worrying call from him.

Susan’s husband, James, mentioned doing something horrible to his wife in a park so that’s where Jake and Charles head, with Dr. Tate in tow. Jake’s hostility towards therapists is on display right from the start, as he compares the doctor to Hannibal and reacts angrily towards Dr. Tate’s mild questions. To Jake’s relief, Charles finds a body in the bushes, putting his conversation with the therapist on hold.

Now that they’ve found the victim, it’s time to track down her suspected killer. The search takes them to the couple’s apartment, which is unlocked, empty, and devoid of anything suspicious except for strange contemporary artwork featuring Jesus. Jake becomes suspicious of Dr. Tate when he’s able to immediately point out the location of a bathroom in an apartment he’s supposedly never been in before (in New York, the location of the bathroom is never obvious) but Charles just thinks Jake is letting his bias towards therapists get in the way of his detective instincts.

(Personally, I was fully on Jake’s side; I was suspicious of Dr. Tate ever since Jake mentioned that the only DNA found at the scene of the crime was of the three of them who discovered the body.)

After promising Charles he won’t go behind his back and break into the therapist’s office Jake...does exactly that. His misconduct (did he even stop to get a warrant?) pays off when he finds a notebook hidden in a filing cabinet filled with information about the dead woman and her currently missing husband.

Dr. Tate returns to the office as Jake is trying to sneak out and he finds himself taking refuge in a different therapist’s office to avoid being seen. Once there, he ends up pretending to be a man with multiple personality disorder (or dissociative identity disorder, as it’s more properly known) while he waits for Dr. Tate to leave.

This was the only part of the episode I felt weird about; while I feel like this bit was a chance to showcase Andy Samberg’s notoriously bad skill at accents, it came across as...disrespectful towards an actual mental illness, when this show usually has such nuance navigating around these topics. Since I don’t know much about dissociative identity disorder I’ll leave it at that but I feel like it could have been handled better.

Jake finally makes it back to his car, where he’s surprised by Dr. Tate, who’s been hiding in his backseat with a gun. The therapist admits to not only killing Susan but her husband as well, along with another couple several years back; in order to stall him, Jake ends up opening up about his problems with therapy: he’d gone to family counselling with his parents when he was a kid because he was acting up in class, but the sessions only brought attention to his parents’ problems, which eventually led to their divorce.

Jake blaming himself for his dad leaving makes a ton of sense not just in the context of this episode but in the context of the entire series, making it one of those well-earned reveals that’s less of a surprise to the audience than it is to Jake himself. I’m glad he had a breakthrough, and if he does choose to go forward with therapy sessions in the future I hope that’s something the show continues to address.

Before Dr. Tate can kill Jake, Charles shows up — Jake had managed to text him his location without looking at his phone. Kind of. (Actually he texted Amy a string of random characters, who forwarded the message onto Charles, who used “find my phone” to figure out Jake’s location.) So Jake got a free therapy session from a murderer who they have now successfully apprehended, win-win!

Back at the precinct, Captain Holt finds out the rest of the squad has already met Jocelyn, Rosa’s girlfriend — albeit unintentionally — and invites Rosa to bring her to dinner with him and Kevin on the weekend.

Can we talk for a moment about how far the relationship between these two has come? Going all the way back to Season 2 when Kevin wanted to have Rosa and her then-boyfriend, Marcus, over for dinner and Holt and Rosa conspired to stop their lives from becoming too entangled. Since then, the two have become a lot closer: Holt was one of the first people Rosa allowed herself to become vulnerable with when she went to him for advice during her breakup with Marcus; he convinced Rosa of her place within the Nine-Nine family when she tried to run away to Argentina; and he provides her with support, love, and understanding as the only other (out) LGBTQ+ cop in the precinct.

Rosa turns down Captain Holt’s request to have her and Jocelyn over for dinner, but not because she’s worried such an event will bring them uncomfortably close, as she was in Season 2. Now it’s because they are close, and her captain’s opinion matters so much that she’s afraid he won’t like her new girlfriend.

Rosa’s so worried about this that she goes to lengths to introduce Captain Holt to an actress she hired to play Jocelyn, so that she can gauge his reaction; when Holt realizes what’s going on, he’s understandably upset. While he thinks the reason Rosa won’t introduce him to Jocelyn is because she’s not as close to him as she is to the rest of the squad, it’s the opposite that’s actually true.

Captain Holt — and the audience — get a chance to meet Jocelyn for real, when she appears in the precinct break room and introduces herself to Holt through a bad joke that instantly endeared me to her. I don’t know if Jocelyn is Rosa’s forever-girl, but I hope she sticks around for a while.

Footnotes:

Two episodes in a row now that Charles has mentioned doing couples activities with his dad. I realize his dad is going through a breakup, but what happened to Genevieve?! I miss her.

“It’s just that sometimes you can be...judgemental.” “What a stupid thing to say.” Never change, Captain Holt.

Holt’s conversation with Kevin about rice is adorable, when can Marc Evan Jackson guest star on the show again?

“Mentally ill people are much more likely to be the victims than the perpetrators” was a really nice line for them to just throw in there.

Charles’ tendency to be unconsciously sexual is one of my favourite things about him, please don’t take that away.

It was nice to get confirmation that Scully and Cindy Shatz are still going strong.

The brief kiss between Rosa and Jocelyn was the first kiss between a same-sex couple on this show (still waiting on Holt and Kevin); not only that, but it was a kiss between two LGBTQ+ characters portrayed by two LGBTQ+ actresses, which I think is pretty cool.

Brooklyn Nine-Nine airs Thursdays at 9/8c on NBC.

Sam’s episode rating: 🐝🐝🐝🐝

[lilphxrising-thebigbootyboss]

my twenties: specifics to come

I don’t think there was a doubt in my mind that Brad was no longer a fixture in my life. But there was a fear that I would let the weak voices become loud again and let him in. It was always so easy for me to accept the calls, read the messages, press the letters to my chest after reading them, hoping that some remanence of his scent would linger. But prison doesn’t smell of rich cologne and he wasn’t the same man that once wore it. I wasn’t the same girl either.

Oh god, do I wish that I was though. I see so many young women, so ripe with life and think back when I felt that freedom. That sense of being untouchable, naïve, and open to love. My current mask is one of pure jubilation and laughter but there’s no sport in it when they believe it. There’s no hope for refuge when the hidden messages, go unread. I wander about, feeling like a puzzle. A living, breathing Winchester mansion, only no one visits, no one calls, and no one stays for longer than a night. Probably on account of all the ghosts.

I hold firm that one day, the walls will come down, completely. That all my thoughts and fears and stories will come tumbling out, richer and richer with every layer. But the freedom seems further away, the more I reveal those memories. Each one, kind of feels like a paper cut; quick, painful and invisible to those that weren’t there to witness it. Despite the subtle pain, and distance in freedom, it does feel…lighter. I do feel the rays of hope. I do know that it will be okay. But for the story to have a real ending, it first must be told.

Most young love starts with a promise. “I’ll love you forever,” “I’ll never hurt you,” “You are my everything.” My first love, was a lot like that. Whole lot of promises. Not a whole lot of follow through. He was a friend of a friend. Numbers exchanged. I was in school, dreaming of being an actress in LA and Tony came into my life. It started innocently enough. He was just going to be someone that I would pass the time with. Up until that point, I had never shared a kiss. Or came close. Of course I didn’t want to tell anyone. Who wants to admit that at 19, they were kissing virgins? Tony wasn’t my first kiss but he was the second. More on that later. At first, I couldn’t believe that an attractive guy would be into me. Dorky, awkward, distant me but he was. And it felt like magic. I fell in love with his voice. That soft growl right before bed, “Sweet dreams sweet cheeks.” Cheesy as it was, it was better than any melatonin I would ever take to ease me into slumber. Every dream so vivid and he was real. As the semester came to a close and the reality of coming home hit, I could think of only one thing that made me race through the hellish heat of the desert; Tony.

Now, why would I bring Tony up when we were talking about Brad?

Tony and Brad were cut from a very similar mold. Both came from a broken home, addiction in the family, foster care, abuse and eventually found themselves behind bars, so far away from me and the promises that each of them made about our future. Tony, would eventually push me away, Brad would ultimately syphon from my heart and I was hopelessly addicted to their love.

None of it was perfect. I spent that summer, after LA with Tony, holding his hand through his addictions, pretending to be something that I wasn’t ready to be. I didn’t know how to handle the urges and the different personalities that came with meth. I didn’t know how to be an “easy” girl. To him, I was something pure and innocent. Someone that was so far outside the scene that he could maybe still feel normal. Summer turned to fall, then winter, then spring and before we knew it, it was a year later and Tony was more committed than ever to his drug. I visited jails and prisons because I didn’t want to leave someone I loved, feeling so alone in a place that was built to isolate and break wills. It was the summer of 2010 that he went in and 7 years later he was released. When he got out, we spent some time reconnecting on a friendly level but it didn’t feel the same. I wasn’t really sure where he was or how to contact him but I did think fondly and wonder. One day, I received a message from his sister. She was playful and sweet and spoke wonderfully about him. That he was doing great, working his programs even got himself a new car. We agreed to meet up and just like it began, we were texting again. I smiled at my phone more, felt a sense of closure long before we had the discussion about it. I was still angry at him though. Still mad that he chose those people and those drugs and that he failed to believe me when I told him I loved him so fucking much. He commented on how distant I had become. I was still me but a harder version. Hearing that reminded me that he really was away. He remembered the person I was before loss and abuse and real fear struck me. I was jealous. How could he remember that sweet girl and I couldn’t for the life of me summon her presence again? I had given those seven years to someone else and Tony knew that. I remember when he asked me, why I was able to forgive Brad over and over again but with him, there seemed to be no hope. It was a simple answer. “I was in love with you Tony and I really believed you loved me too. You don’t hurt those you love.” I stayed until he told me to leave and when I did, Brad entered.

It was serendipitous. Every journal entry I have about that time with Brad is filled with the romantic ideas of a school girl in love. I met Brad online. While he was still in prison. The first time. I’ll get into that later, should time allow. But mostly, it was me being played. It was a series of broken promises, half-truths, a meddling ex-wife, multiple women in the back ground and me; an inexperienced, pretty young woman with expendable income. What more can a guy ask for?

There was so much and I forgave him for all the varying levels of abuse because he was attractive and strong and so good at being bad. In my mind, I believed I deserved every nasty thing he did. That maybe, all of it was in my head. Maybe I was really creating this whole fantasy. Feeding the chance that I was the crazy one, made it easy to forget that I was in a bad place.  He was the kind of drug that made you high enough to forget the consequences, even when you saw the fall before you. We talked about creating a family. Having a real home but he wasn’t ready for what he was asking for. He wasn’t ready for a life with me and to be honest, I wasn’t in a place to build that either. I was 22 years old, moved to a city I didn’t know to be with a man that didn’t know how to love me, who still kept relationships alive with other women, so he didn’t feel so alone when he drove one of us away.

I think the most telling part of our time together was how easy it was to allow someone to keep you on standby.  No matter how strong you think you are, you really don’t know how weak you can become at the will of a pretty face.  All of it made me more aware of what a good person is. A good person doesn’t lie. A good person doesn’t lay hands on you. A good person loves all of you. A good person respects you and what you stand for.  

Being constantly tested, makes the journey itself worth it, like there is nothing you can’t face. No hill too high or ground too uneasy. Over time you adopt new fears, anxieties solely based on the trauma inflicted, the rejection involved with it all and you lose yourself. That piece of you that lived long before the most painful of goodbyes. That is the person that I’ve wanted to be.      Imperfections and all.

Depression is a bitch. There’s no matter around that part of it. Some episodes are better than others if you can believe it. Imagine there being an upside to having depression. I’d take my happiest sad day over any day where driving into oncoming traffic, seemed like a rational idea. There is a stigma with talking about it because those that haven’t experienced its true weight, can’t possibly relate and those that do know it, are too ashamed and fearful to admit that vulnerability exists. The thought of hurting myself and ending my time here has been something that has played in my head since I can remember. As a child, I dreamt of it but cowered back because I didn’t want to hurt those I loved. I thought of my mom a lot and when she passed, the urges got stronger. So then I thought of my father but when he passed, for a while there, I wasn’t sure that I could win. Everything was just so fucked up and I saw no glimmer of hope. None. Then, there was the day I heard a little voice call me, “Tia.” That was it. I had been an aunt for many years before I heard that, but I was Lily to them, the older ones. But for these little guys, I was a Tia goddammit. It snapped me back to center. I don’t know if I’ll ever me a mama but me being here for them is my reason to take back those imaginings. I think of them, all of them, when I need to remind myself it will pass.

My mental health has been a great source of confusion and pain. Honestly, I didn’t know what I was feeling or that it had a name until college. Growing up, I was “dramatic, emotional, sensitive, and moody.” And in all that time, I can only remember a few moments where someone stopped to ask me, “why?” A question that I never really had an answer to because I was taught to let it out then let it go; quickly. For some that works and makes perfect sense, but for me? It could be hours, days, weeks before I get to feeling semi “normal.” Normal for me is hiding just enough of the sadness with a giggle and a smile, hoping that they won’t call my bluff when they want to know more. I’ve gotten really fucking good at that. It seems so fucked up to say. That I’ve in a sense been playing all the people in my life into, hopefully believing, that I am in a better place than I am. I have days where I get in my car, leave for the day and just drive. I have no plans. No place to go but anything is better than sitting in my living room waiting for a call, a text, or an email that will never come. I entertain myself of course. Get lost in the pages of a good book, attempt to write one myself, sing, eat or sleep. I’ve worked the gym into the rotation as well, not to mention some random flings here and there but nothing compares to a genuine connection. Doesn’t even have to be romantic. You could have a genuine connection with a piece of art and feel something that means more than silence. Anything to tone down the eagerness of the depression wanting all your attention again.

When Tony and Brad were serving their time away, they’d call and write to ask how I was doing, what I was doing and my answers lacked luster. In a most ironic way, I wasn’t living my life any differently than they were. They fucked up and got sent away. My brain’s fucked up and so I locked my whole being away. Call it a prison of the mind, if you will. I’d get up, go to work, school, home and repeat.  They never understood it and I was always so jealous of that fearlessness they had. That ability to just live. I was so crippled with my own shit that I had no idea how to let go and never really trusted them to be there should I fall. Being seen at the “strong” one, the one “holding it down,” or whatever, that gave me a sense of purpose in our relationships. It was also a huge lesson in codependency.  A term that I learned in therapy, which I went into after my mom passed away. It was a healthy step and one that I strongly recommend to anyone that feels this lost. When you work on your shit you do feel less crazy and more aware that the world wasn’t designed to fit any one construct. There is no fine print on the contract of life. Everything is right there. We complicate it with entitlements. So we set boundaries. That’s probably what the title of my twenties should be.

More to come....promise