I kinda looked over my last post and... wow... I mean wow...
I guess it's nice to look back and see what my life was like, and it's a little awkward to remember that part of my life and that I was at the time;
"This is as good as it gets, it may get a little better years from now, but as for now, this is as good as it gets."
I'm not saying there was anything wrong with that part of my life, I enjoyed it as much as I could I guess, but honestly compared to what my life is like today, that was no way to live. It's nobody's fault but my own, it's obvious what my Higher Power was at the time and no surprise that I went back to my old ways shortly after writing that post...
A few highlights to hit from there to here; I fell off long before I got caught falling off. I quit my job, got high while I was babysitting Alisha's child, went to jail, went to rehab, went back to jail, went to another rehab, fought with every fiber of my being that one day I might get Alisha back and tried to accept the reality that that was never going to happen.
9 months of self inflicted torture.
December rolled around, and despite all the love and support I got from my family and friends, regardless of the pride I could have taken from the fact that I made it past the death of my grandfather without using, and even with all the help around me that I could have used to get me past the situation... I wasn't getting a card from her, so what the fuck did any of it matter?
I went around town huffing paint thinner, in and out of blackouts, hating the world... With two thoughts in my head;
1. I really hope Jesus love's me like everybody has been ranting about, because nobody can.
2. I hope I don't jump off a bridge in a black out.
Sometime later in December, I woke up out of a comma in a hospital. I had no idea what was going on or why my arm was broken in 3 different places or why I had staples in my head.
Half in half out, I talked to my mom on the phone and she told me that I had jumped off a bridge.. My first thought was "figures, had a feeling that was gonna happen."
Even that wasn't what it took for me to realize that the happiness I got from huffing paint thinner maybe two or three times in my life wasn't worth the pain that doing it always seemed to cause. (Me, and everybody that's involved in my life.)
It went on pointlessly for days, thinking that the first thought I had while I was walking around town didn't matter.
Then it just hit me, I wanted to stop more then I wanted to go steal more to get high again. The urge to stop only lasted a moment, but that was all the time I needed to start thinking about a few other things to combat the thought that I'd never be able to stop huffing paint thinner.
The thoughts started slipping in, and I just ran with them.
1. I shouldn't be alive, how the hell did I live after a 15 foot drop onto my skull?
2. How the hell did I live after all the crazy shit I've done?
3. Why the hell am I not brain dead? I've been huffing paint thinner on and off for 16 years, why am I not brain dead yet?
4. God has to be real, the stories I've herd for years have to be real because there's no other explanation. Somebody with superhuman powers has to be looking after me, because I've been trying to kill myself for years, and I mean really trying not just cries for help... yet I'm still alive...
I decided that I'd quite, I'd just stop. I'd lay in bed for a while until I got to feeling better, then once I got healthy again I'd get up and start looking for work.
For 24 hours I laid in bed unable to sleep, and I had the craziest thoughts I'd ever had in my life. (One thought that I kept having over and over again was that somebody was gonna come in the room and stab me for no reason, or beat me to death with a baseball bat while I was asleep.)
I couldn't take it anymore. After laying in bed for over 24 hours, somebody knocked on my door and I thought "This is it, clean 24 hours and somebody's going to kill me, I knew this was going to happen."
I had no idea what was gonna happen, or what was even going on, but the guy that knocked on my door said "Hey, come check this out, I bet you've never seen anything like this before!"
Sicker then anything I'd ever been in my life, I followed the guy into the backyard convinced that he was going to kill me, and berry my body back there.
I followed him with a pale look on my face, and some really twisted thoughts.
As we walked out the back door, he said "check that moon out" and looked up. I looked, and the moon was blood red. (12/21/2010)
The only thought I had after that was "Oh shit, He's real..."
I walked around for the rest of the night with the guy, waiting for God to strike me down for all that crap I've done in my life... but He never did.
After we walked down to the store to get the guy I was living with some more beer, I did everything I could to keep my thoughts from coming out of my mouth...
After we got home, I said that I was going to bed, walked in my room, dropped to my knees, and begged God to help me. I admitted his existence and that I knew I could never turn from Him again. I asked what I had to do, and the answer I got was a lot simpler then I thought it would be... It was as simple as "Go to a meeting."
I didn't like the idea, but that one meeting started a chain reaction that hasn't stopped.
HAHA my hands are tired, and I need to get to another meeting, but I'll write more later, I just wanted to get that much out for now.