markjs
Banned
The following is all a true story, all of what you are about to read are the real facts, without embellishment, as best as I know, if anything is incorrect, its relatively minor and its unbeknownst to me.
Today is the commemoration of Pearl Harbor day, and it is a signifigant turning point in the history of the world, and our great nation. Many brave men died because they were willing to lay down their lives for freedom and hope for a brighter future. Never forget them. Never forget this day and what it meant to America, and to the world, I shall never forget that, nor what it means to me.
For me, December 7th, 2006, was the last time I had to put a needle in my arm to bear the pain of living....
Today was a significant day in the life of my father. On December 7th, 1966 (not sure but I believe it was 66, close to that if not), he was working aboard the USS Wilhoite (DE 397), a now scrapped destroyer escort ship that was in dry dock at the time,, when an accident happened that was to radically change the course of his 19 year old life forever.
More on the Wilhoite.
My father was a fireman, a below decks hand that worked in the boiler room. He joined the Navy to escape his reality and his life of being a fledgling alcoholic and troublemaker. The Navy was just a place where he brought the same problems, but was even less tolerant than his hometown of Fairbanks, AK. He was a ne'er-do-well, and a malcontent. He spent time in a Navy brig for AWOL, and was perhaps on his way to Leavenworth, when a twist of fate saved his life and made him the great man he would become.
While walking through the boiler room, as best as we can figure, he either slipped on a spot of oil, or tripped over his own shoelace (he was known to walk around with them un-tied, and that will tell you the kind of guy he was if you know anything at all about the military). He slipped and fell striking the bridge of his nose on something very hard and made of steel. His eyeballs were quite literally popped out of his head and dangling down his face when he was found, on the small couch in the captains office. He was never to see the light of day with his own eyes again. He had plastic shells for eyes, one eye removed and one pushed back into the socket dead. He received an honorable discharge and a good pension for the rest of his life.
For a couple of years he tolled around Oahu, and had fun, and partied and tried to get by and battle his daily depression. He was less troublesome but was no more going in a positive direction than before. Eventually he "pulled himself up by his boot straps", went to blind rehab, met my mother there, got a college degree, had me and returned to work. My father never knew what I look like, other than that it is said I am the spitting image of his father. My mother was blind but only legally blind and could see things as long as they were very close.
Long story short, he worked his way from nothing and made himself a very successful man, when he died in 2001, he, along with my step mom, had been a computer salesman (owned the first talking computer business in the history of Washington state), owned a successful antique store, been a very good masseuse, handled all of the cases of blinded veterans in Washington and Alaska, was president of the Blinded Veterans Association, and more I am sure I do not know. Of course none at the same time, and not in the order I listed, but you get the point. When he died, he left my stepmother a nice home paid in full, in prime real estate in Port Townsend, WA, and a nice nest egg, and she now gets his pension checks.
Aside from the checks she has squandered everything he worked for and put it into a nice home and property, which she has let her pets and her methhead tenants, and now my tweaker brother in law all but destroy, her finances are hanging from a thread and its only a matter of time until she loses what's left of the house and property as well. I love her and bear her no ill will, but it makes me sad, and when she dies, I will be left with nothing but her debt. Its not that I'll be left with nothing that makes me sad, just that I don't know who will take care of her like my dad did, because I can't
My dad was a dry drunk. He stopped the alcoholic drinking and "white knuckled it", and just drank on special occasions. He needed recovery, and AA, but AA is not for those who need it, just those who want it.
Last year exactly one year ago today I was with some stupid tweaker bitch I had a thing for, and should have let go, but couldn't. We went to my dope connection's house to fix her computer, and I was gonna get money for it instead of meth because I had been going to NA and AA a while and had a few days clean prior to Pearl Harbor day, and I had no idea it was Dec. 7th, 2006. This woman was stealing from me and I caught her that day, she hit me a few times that day and I nearly beat the shit out of her for it but each time she did, she said she's just tell the cops I hit her anyway and they'd take me to jail. That day she was coming down from meth and she was what I like to call a "cunt with teeth".
So I am at the dope house and I am all like "OK fuck it, give me a hit please!", because I couldn't stand feeling the way I did. She gave me a little over a gram of the finest ice methamphetamine about 95% pure, from Mexico, in other words the "good" shit. The kids were all over so I had to go to the bathroom and dissolve it and crunch it all up and I had to do it quickly before the lady's boyfriend got home from work, because though she was the local bigwig distributor of meth for the whole county, her boyfriend pretended to himself not to know and was clean for years prior. That was always my favorite part of the ritual, dissolving the dope and drawing it up into the needle. I was a pro at "hitting myself" by then, but I was too dehydrated to find the vein and I had my dope lady try. She missed for about 25% of the gram, but then the 75% hit home, and even at that disgustingly high dosage I never got that seductive rush I loved so much. My arm hurt, I was high, but didn't feel it really somehow, and I was pissed and depressed because I had relapsed again, before the last run's track marks had even had time to heal.
The thing is, you see, I asked for that hit because I intended it to be my last, I was gonna head home ride out the high, fuck or fuck and ditch or just ditch the whore, and make the best of it, or that was the plan. Then after I slept it off I was intending to say goodbye to it all, little did I know it was prophetic.
A few miles down the road I got pulled over and when they found out I had a bag of weed in my pocket (my dope lady gave it to me because she felt bad for "missing"), it was ALL OVER. Off came my coat, and my arms had over 100 distinguishable tracks. They had to draw my blood through the veins on the back of my hands and it was a painful bloody mess, I was put through a DRE or drug recognition examination, and charged with possession of marijuana, and DUI, and put in a segregation cell in the good old "Hadlock Hilton". The whole time with the officers I was polite, admitted I needed help and I was for the most part honest with them, except I would not confess having taken a hit that night. It took a lot of my loved ones a few days to even notice I was gone. I lost my nice car to impound, my home, and everything I owned was ransacked by tweakers, and my world as I knew it was over. I spent the whole night ranting insanely at the empty cell, until the next day, when after breakfast, they put me in population.
I know how to do time, and to any other inmate, I am usually a "mind my own business", yet social guy, who neither is nice nor mean, but is prone to explosions of rage when my case isn't going well. This time I could barely hand it through for the first couple days but I got by. I most likely slept between 18-22 hours a day for the first week.
I did wake up long enough to go to the jail AA meeting on Saturday, December 9th, 2006, and it was the worst experience of my life. The guy who runs it was a guy I knew and know and love now from my home AA group, Nuts & Bolts. He did not recognize me until I told him who I was. I sat there knowing that it was time to get clean or die. I knew I had lost everything and I knew one of the "people" (my 15 year old border-collie/black-lab mix dog, who is still alive today) I most love in the world was out there, dying of old age and I desperately hoped I'd see her again before it happened. I wanted to weep openly and it was a sheer force of physical will that prevented it. There is no cryin' in big boy jail....
I just sat there, arm swollen up and ugly by now and very painful, and I knew the meaning of "pitiful and incomprehensible demoralization". I wanted to kill myself and I hated myself all the more because I did not have the guts to do it. Later that night they brought me into the county hospital in the wee hours to get a hole cut in the arm, and a wick put in to drain it, and a course of NASTY antibiotics given to my jailers. My family doctor, who had been my father's physician, was on duty and he saw me come in and I am sure he wondered what the hell could have happened.
When I finally talked to the public defender office to get the plea offer it was like 6 months in jail and all other manner of consequences un-befitting of a first offense DUI. Turns out another guy with my name was a repeat offender, and they got us mixed up, but I did not find out for a while. I was so fuckin' pissed I'd have broken shit if there was anything to break. Instead I beat up some brick walls to no avail and cussed out the whole cell block.
When I did go before the judge I just decided to plead guilty, I was after all, so I decided it was time to grow up and take my medicine. I expected to be "PR'd" but the judge was wise enough to make me do 30 days, so I had some clean time before I hit the streets. Judge Mark Huth, was the Grinch that stole my xmas, I later thanked him when in court on another matter. He was like 'Aww shucks, you did the work!", he was right but I owed him thanks all the same. He didn't know that "good time" would put me on the streets at 6:30AM Dec. 31st, 2006. The first thing I did was call my friend who ran the jail meeting and he took me to Nuts and Bolts. When I was about to leave that jail all the other idiots tried to tell me I'd be back on meth in no time, I have not even seen meth since.
My connection ended up going down shortly after I did. She's a good lady and I hope she makes it out like I did.
The above another person I did dope with I hope makes it out someday....
This is the face of meth....
I have more than one friend just since I have been clean die of it....
BTW, my dad was a lifelong democrat and fairly liberal, but he paid a price serving his country and don't anyone dare call him a traitor. I am attaching his obituary. His ashes were scattered into the water on Waikiki beach, the place in the world he most loved.
This is my preprepared speech when I get my one year chip tomorrow:
My name is Mark I am a grateful alcoholic/addict/bipolar guy/fill in the blank….
Well I could just share, and tell you all the vast wealth of spiritual wisdom I have amassed over the years and blow all of your minds, or I could just stick to the facts, so that is why I just wrote it all down….
What it was like; insanity, I did the same thing over and over expecting different results, if you are here you know what it was like, enough said.
What happened; for the past 23 years, up until a year ago AA and NA saved my life, by being a support group to help me hang out, and give me a safe place to clean up and get ready for the next run. Thing is though, about a year ago, I finally experienced pitiful and incomprehensible demoralization, to a level I found unbearable, and surrendered. I got a sponsor, I worked all twelve steps to the best of my ability, and became willing to continue to do so, and aware that I have no other choice if I want to live successfully.
What it’s like now; I finally realize I am one of God’s children, no better or worse than any other, that I am a worker among workers, and that my real purpose is to be of maximum service to God, and my fellows. I always thought in the back of my mind that a year was the graduation, and time to go fix the rest of the sufferers, and this is my fourth, one year, year birthday. What I realize today is that all of us, no matter how much time we have, are only one drink from our next drunk, one drug away from our next run. Today I am only as healthy, as I am willing, to apply all these principles to my life, and practice them in all my affairs. I am eternally grateful to this program, and I love you all, check with me periodically anytime you really want to know if I like you, but know that I will always try to love y’all the best I can. Thanks for being here.
Today is the commemoration of Pearl Harbor day, and it is a signifigant turning point in the history of the world, and our great nation. Many brave men died because they were willing to lay down their lives for freedom and hope for a brighter future. Never forget them. Never forget this day and what it meant to America, and to the world, I shall never forget that, nor what it means to me.
For me, December 7th, 2006, was the last time I had to put a needle in my arm to bear the pain of living....
Today was a significant day in the life of my father. On December 7th, 1966 (not sure but I believe it was 66, close to that if not), he was working aboard the USS Wilhoite (DE 397), a now scrapped destroyer escort ship that was in dry dock at the time,, when an accident happened that was to radically change the course of his 19 year old life forever.
More on the Wilhoite.
My father was a fireman, a below decks hand that worked in the boiler room. He joined the Navy to escape his reality and his life of being a fledgling alcoholic and troublemaker. The Navy was just a place where he brought the same problems, but was even less tolerant than his hometown of Fairbanks, AK. He was a ne'er-do-well, and a malcontent. He spent time in a Navy brig for AWOL, and was perhaps on his way to Leavenworth, when a twist of fate saved his life and made him the great man he would become.
While walking through the boiler room, as best as we can figure, he either slipped on a spot of oil, or tripped over his own shoelace (he was known to walk around with them un-tied, and that will tell you the kind of guy he was if you know anything at all about the military). He slipped and fell striking the bridge of his nose on something very hard and made of steel. His eyeballs were quite literally popped out of his head and dangling down his face when he was found, on the small couch in the captains office. He was never to see the light of day with his own eyes again. He had plastic shells for eyes, one eye removed and one pushed back into the socket dead. He received an honorable discharge and a good pension for the rest of his life.
For a couple of years he tolled around Oahu, and had fun, and partied and tried to get by and battle his daily depression. He was less troublesome but was no more going in a positive direction than before. Eventually he "pulled himself up by his boot straps", went to blind rehab, met my mother there, got a college degree, had me and returned to work. My father never knew what I look like, other than that it is said I am the spitting image of his father. My mother was blind but only legally blind and could see things as long as they were very close.
Long story short, he worked his way from nothing and made himself a very successful man, when he died in 2001, he, along with my step mom, had been a computer salesman (owned the first talking computer business in the history of Washington state), owned a successful antique store, been a very good masseuse, handled all of the cases of blinded veterans in Washington and Alaska, was president of the Blinded Veterans Association, and more I am sure I do not know. Of course none at the same time, and not in the order I listed, but you get the point. When he died, he left my stepmother a nice home paid in full, in prime real estate in Port Townsend, WA, and a nice nest egg, and she now gets his pension checks.
Aside from the checks she has squandered everything he worked for and put it into a nice home and property, which she has let her pets and her methhead tenants, and now my tweaker brother in law all but destroy, her finances are hanging from a thread and its only a matter of time until she loses what's left of the house and property as well. I love her and bear her no ill will, but it makes me sad, and when she dies, I will be left with nothing but her debt. Its not that I'll be left with nothing that makes me sad, just that I don't know who will take care of her like my dad did, because I can't
My dad was a dry drunk. He stopped the alcoholic drinking and "white knuckled it", and just drank on special occasions. He needed recovery, and AA, but AA is not for those who need it, just those who want it.
Last year exactly one year ago today I was with some stupid tweaker bitch I had a thing for, and should have let go, but couldn't. We went to my dope connection's house to fix her computer, and I was gonna get money for it instead of meth because I had been going to NA and AA a while and had a few days clean prior to Pearl Harbor day, and I had no idea it was Dec. 7th, 2006. This woman was stealing from me and I caught her that day, she hit me a few times that day and I nearly beat the shit out of her for it but each time she did, she said she's just tell the cops I hit her anyway and they'd take me to jail. That day she was coming down from meth and she was what I like to call a "cunt with teeth".
So I am at the dope house and I am all like "OK fuck it, give me a hit please!", because I couldn't stand feeling the way I did. She gave me a little over a gram of the finest ice methamphetamine about 95% pure, from Mexico, in other words the "good" shit. The kids were all over so I had to go to the bathroom and dissolve it and crunch it all up and I had to do it quickly before the lady's boyfriend got home from work, because though she was the local bigwig distributor of meth for the whole county, her boyfriend pretended to himself not to know and was clean for years prior. That was always my favorite part of the ritual, dissolving the dope and drawing it up into the needle. I was a pro at "hitting myself" by then, but I was too dehydrated to find the vein and I had my dope lady try. She missed for about 25% of the gram, but then the 75% hit home, and even at that disgustingly high dosage I never got that seductive rush I loved so much. My arm hurt, I was high, but didn't feel it really somehow, and I was pissed and depressed because I had relapsed again, before the last run's track marks had even had time to heal.
The thing is, you see, I asked for that hit because I intended it to be my last, I was gonna head home ride out the high, fuck or fuck and ditch or just ditch the whore, and make the best of it, or that was the plan. Then after I slept it off I was intending to say goodbye to it all, little did I know it was prophetic.
A few miles down the road I got pulled over and when they found out I had a bag of weed in my pocket (my dope lady gave it to me because she felt bad for "missing"), it was ALL OVER. Off came my coat, and my arms had over 100 distinguishable tracks. They had to draw my blood through the veins on the back of my hands and it was a painful bloody mess, I was put through a DRE or drug recognition examination, and charged with possession of marijuana, and DUI, and put in a segregation cell in the good old "Hadlock Hilton". The whole time with the officers I was polite, admitted I needed help and I was for the most part honest with them, except I would not confess having taken a hit that night. It took a lot of my loved ones a few days to even notice I was gone. I lost my nice car to impound, my home, and everything I owned was ransacked by tweakers, and my world as I knew it was over. I spent the whole night ranting insanely at the empty cell, until the next day, when after breakfast, they put me in population.
I know how to do time, and to any other inmate, I am usually a "mind my own business", yet social guy, who neither is nice nor mean, but is prone to explosions of rage when my case isn't going well. This time I could barely hand it through for the first couple days but I got by. I most likely slept between 18-22 hours a day for the first week.
I did wake up long enough to go to the jail AA meeting on Saturday, December 9th, 2006, and it was the worst experience of my life. The guy who runs it was a guy I knew and know and love now from my home AA group, Nuts & Bolts. He did not recognize me until I told him who I was. I sat there knowing that it was time to get clean or die. I knew I had lost everything and I knew one of the "people" (my 15 year old border-collie/black-lab mix dog, who is still alive today) I most love in the world was out there, dying of old age and I desperately hoped I'd see her again before it happened. I wanted to weep openly and it was a sheer force of physical will that prevented it. There is no cryin' in big boy jail....
I just sat there, arm swollen up and ugly by now and very painful, and I knew the meaning of "pitiful and incomprehensible demoralization". I wanted to kill myself and I hated myself all the more because I did not have the guts to do it. Later that night they brought me into the county hospital in the wee hours to get a hole cut in the arm, and a wick put in to drain it, and a course of NASTY antibiotics given to my jailers. My family doctor, who had been my father's physician, was on duty and he saw me come in and I am sure he wondered what the hell could have happened.
When I finally talked to the public defender office to get the plea offer it was like 6 months in jail and all other manner of consequences un-befitting of a first offense DUI. Turns out another guy with my name was a repeat offender, and they got us mixed up, but I did not find out for a while. I was so fuckin' pissed I'd have broken shit if there was anything to break. Instead I beat up some brick walls to no avail and cussed out the whole cell block.
When I did go before the judge I just decided to plead guilty, I was after all, so I decided it was time to grow up and take my medicine. I expected to be "PR'd" but the judge was wise enough to make me do 30 days, so I had some clean time before I hit the streets. Judge Mark Huth, was the Grinch that stole my xmas, I later thanked him when in court on another matter. He was like 'Aww shucks, you did the work!", he was right but I owed him thanks all the same. He didn't know that "good time" would put me on the streets at 6:30AM Dec. 31st, 2006. The first thing I did was call my friend who ran the jail meeting and he took me to Nuts and Bolts. When I was about to leave that jail all the other idiots tried to tell me I'd be back on meth in no time, I have not even seen meth since.
My connection ended up going down shortly after I did. She's a good lady and I hope she makes it out like I did.
The above another person I did dope with I hope makes it out someday....
This is the face of meth....
I have more than one friend just since I have been clean die of it....
BTW, my dad was a lifelong democrat and fairly liberal, but he paid a price serving his country and don't anyone dare call him a traitor. I am attaching his obituary. His ashes were scattered into the water on Waikiki beach, the place in the world he most loved.
This is my preprepared speech when I get my one year chip tomorrow:
My name is Mark I am a grateful alcoholic/addict/bipolar guy/fill in the blank….
Well I could just share, and tell you all the vast wealth of spiritual wisdom I have amassed over the years and blow all of your minds, or I could just stick to the facts, so that is why I just wrote it all down….
What it was like; insanity, I did the same thing over and over expecting different results, if you are here you know what it was like, enough said.
What happened; for the past 23 years, up until a year ago AA and NA saved my life, by being a support group to help me hang out, and give me a safe place to clean up and get ready for the next run. Thing is though, about a year ago, I finally experienced pitiful and incomprehensible demoralization, to a level I found unbearable, and surrendered. I got a sponsor, I worked all twelve steps to the best of my ability, and became willing to continue to do so, and aware that I have no other choice if I want to live successfully.
What it’s like now; I finally realize I am one of God’s children, no better or worse than any other, that I am a worker among workers, and that my real purpose is to be of maximum service to God, and my fellows. I always thought in the back of my mind that a year was the graduation, and time to go fix the rest of the sufferers, and this is my fourth, one year, year birthday. What I realize today is that all of us, no matter how much time we have, are only one drink from our next drunk, one drug away from our next run. Today I am only as healthy, as I am willing, to apply all these principles to my life, and practice them in all my affairs. I am eternally grateful to this program, and I love you all, check with me periodically anytime you really want to know if I like you, but know that I will always try to love y’all the best I can. Thanks for being here.
