Well, well.

The last time I have to write about this fucking misery, you know, Monday-Wednesday were high vibes, today were reaaaaal low. I’m not sure if it has anything to do with this writing protocol, or just some other shit I have going on, either way let’s get this shit over with.

When I was like 6 my parents became addicted to prescription drugs. God I’m sick of saying that. This changed the entire trajectory of my life, I don’t know how, but I’m sure I’d be a different person if they didn’t do drugs. Whether for better or worse, it happened. It was a dark road. My dad says he got addicted because a doctor prescribed them for work injuries. My question, how does that lead my mom to be on them? Well I have a theory. My mom struggled with depression and anxiety and panic attacks most of her life, my theory is she was depressed, my dad said these pills made him feel good, and boom, two fucking heroin addicts. I will say what isn’t fair to them is today I’m writing from a place of anger, a place of they had a fucking responsibility to raise me and my siblings, and instead they did drugs, instead they committed crimes, and they fucking dragged me along for a lot of it. In a lot of ways I wish they’d abandoned me completely, at least then I wouldn’t have seen heroin, crushed up pills, needles, crime, etc. all before the age of 10. I think it’s bullshit what they did. I think they kinda show remorse but in a way where they are the victims. Fuck that, wake up and realize you chose that path, and you chose not to get help, for that I lack empathy. I get it, drug addiction is seen as a disease, and it’s hard to beat, but is it a disease if it can be cured? one day they stopped doing drugs, now they don’t do drugs, they don’t wanna do drugs, they don’t wanna be around drugs, theyre done with it. Is that a disease or is that a choice? Look there is no target for this anger really, so it means I’m the one hurting and it’s not fair to take out what I went through as a kid, on people around me, or my parents. I saw some shit, it stunted me for a few years, even made me a shitty fucking person for a few years, I’m sorry for that, but there’s nothing I can do to change any of it. I wish there was, in a lot of different ways. Some days I wish I acted better. Some days I wish my parents acted better, some days I wish I had different parents. Fuck some days I wish I wasn’t born in the first place. I didn’t ask for this life, or any life for that matter, so the fact that this is how it’s played out over 28 years is a bit utter bullshit to me. And I know I sound like a first world brat as I type this drinking filtered water, in a warm bed, with a brand new MacBook, a tv, an Apple Watch on my wrist, a phone next to me, food in my stomach, a roof over my head. I live a good life now but I didnt always have these things so don’t think for a second it’s lost on me how lucky I am. I just also believe that some days I’m allowed to me fucking angry, or sad, or whatever the fuck I feel right now. I’m glad this writing protocol is over, I think it gave me both good and bad perspective, I think in the long run I’ll be a better person for having done it.

Where the skies are gold not gray,

J.