When I was a kid my dad was a pretty big alcoholic, so was mom. Mom would be obnoxious and my dad used that as an excuse to beat the living crap out of her. I’m talking about slamming her head in a doorway over and over again. He was really good at making sure not to leave bruises, so typically he would beat her in the scalp so no marks would show up.
Eventually in August of 2001 my mom decided to secretly move all of us up here (sister and I), to stay with her sister so she could get away from my dad. It really sucked for me because with all of the issues that were going on, my dad was my best friend. I’ve struggled with that for a long time. It seems horrible, I know. But I was a kid and it was hard for me to understand what was going on. Anyways! I’m sure you might realize that August 2001 was quite a time to move from rural South Texas to the bustling life of West Seattle.
I went from having a school bus and my driveway, to having to take the metro bus for 1 hour to my school. September 11th was the first day my mom didn’t ride with me on the bus. She felt confident that I knew what I was doing at that point. She taught me that if I got confused at all, that I should get off the bus, cross the street, and get on the same bus going in the opposite direction. I knew how to do it. I was ready.
When I got on the bus that day, everything seemed fine. But the closer I got to my stop, things became strange. There was a woman and she was sobbing. Another rider on the bus asked her if she was okay. She started bawling that her fiance was on the 82nd floor. I had no idea what that meant. I didn’t understand what was going on. People were so silent while this woman was crying. It was beyond surreal.
I missed my stop.
I got off the bus and dutifully crossed the street.
I caught another bus going in the opposite direction and the whole thing was full of people freaking out. I was trying to understand what was going on so of course, I missed my stop again. At that point I decided to just walk.
When I got to school everything was quiet. I went into my classroom late and my teacher told me to go to the office. The TV in the classroom was on and she told me I just needed to go to the office. My mom had called and said that she was going to pick me up. Again, I hadn’t the slightest idea what the hell was going on.
In hindsight even though it was all so crazy to me, I had just lost my father, my whole life. When I saw the images on TV, I couldn’t fathom it. I couldn’t relate. I had already disassociated from so much of my pain, and this terrible experience of watching people literally jump to their deaths only solidified that in me.
We were supposed to stay with my aunt when we moved here, but she turned out to be a total nutcase. She has some kind of undiagnosed crap going on with her. She said we could stay as long as we needed, haha. Turns out my aunt’s other roommates didn’t like having two kids and a new lady living there (in a single room I might add) so they were threatening to move out. My aunt had spent their deposits so she kicked us out instead. (She also convinced my mom to let me bring my dog Loba, my husky, and then my aunt fucking stole her, got her microchipped and everything).
Long story short with that, we were out and had nowhere to go. Mom found a place called New Beginnings, and they helped her with housing. Housing meant a hotel room. My mom spent the next few months cooking us dinners of soup in the hotel coffee pot. She made everything as normal as she could and I still marvel at what she did. It felt like an adventure to me. I never felt her stress, but as a mom myself now, I can’t imagine what she was feeling.
After that 9 months, We finally got approved for section 8 housing. We lived in that apartment for quite some time but I met some not so great influences at my new middle school. They were super cool, loved snowboarding, smoked weed, drank, and ate whatever random medication they could find. Me, as a little girl who had just lost everything was desperate for friends, well… I’m not going to say that weed was the gateway drug, the fact is that dysfunction was the gateway to drugs.
I did my time there then moved to another school in order to have more structure because apparently I’m just wishy-washy like that. Guess what? Bad fucking idea. I ended up meeting the first person I would ever fall in love with. I also ended up realizing that I was bisexual. She taught me how to crush pills in a certain way, she even convinced me to snort penicillin, tf? Gotta love that 13-year-old idiot. So we did it for a while, and I broke some hearts of some guys who thought they could make me not be in love with this girl, and yeah.
Her and I were together for about 2 and 1/2 years and then I think some kind of undiagnosed thing hit her. Not trying to judge, I’m actually bipolar myself, but she’s got the kind of thing where you tell lies and then completely believe them? It really started messing with me so we had to go our separate ways. I actually ended up babysitting her kid for a while, but that’s a different story about 6 years later.
So anyway, she introduced me to cocaine and ecstasy and raves. I got really hooked on certain kinds of pills and I wouldn’t know until looking back that they were the kinds of pills that had lots and lots of meth in them. Yikes. So when the pills weren’t doing it for me anymore, I went straight to the source. I never shot anything into my arm, but I smoked the crap out of that stuff. My mom was fully aware of what was going on and wanted me to come home, begged me, called police on me, but I was like, no ma’am, you got me into this mess, I’m gonna to get myself into some more mess. I hid.
So I did that. The only person I ever talked to that was my true friend was my brother Joshua. We had the same dad but different moms. I was in Seattle, he was in New Hampshire, but we spoke every weekend. We were only 2 years apart and he was always the first person I would call before I did anything stupid. Sometimes I would listen to him, most times I wouldn’t. I loved him more than anybody until I had my children.
I ended up living in one of those really creepy places that you see that have a bunch of drug addicts living in them. It was awful. I was 16 at that time. I remember one time some cops came in looking for a runaway, which I was, but apparently I wasn’t the right one. We had drugs everywhere, I was staying with some random guy (I was still a virgin and in fact in the entirety of the story I never traded drugs for sex) but even though the cops saw that I was a kid, and that girlfriend I was talking about, she was there too, they just let it go.
The people I was living with were massive meth dealers. It was insane. They (male and female) thought we were super cute because we were about 5 ft tall and weighed about 90 lbs. Anyway, it’s not that cute when you’re feeding children a bunch of meth.
My brother told me stay away from them. He said he was having a hard time and he wanted me to come visit him up in new hampshire, but I didn’t want him to know what I was doing. I was super ashamed. I started ignoring his calls even though they became more and more desperate.
On December 18th he shot himself in the head.
That was pretty much my wake-up call. I got completely sober and began cutting myself. Not a very good trade-off, but at least I was sober. I just remember screaming over and over again. I was the one who had to tell my dad on the phone that his son had committed suicide. I had the choice to either go to Josh’s funeral in New Hampshire or fly down to my father in South Texas to comfort him. Naturally, I chose the latter.
I don’t regret it, but it certainly wasn’t healthy. Turns out, my brother just wanted his mom and stepdad to come to a Christmas party together, but because they were getting divorced they refused to come because they thought he was just trying to get them back together. Incidentally, my brother also got a star tattoo under his eye (not weird, my brother was a bassist, lead singer, drummer, guitarist, sick skateboarder, and a brilliant tattoo artist) but anyway, he got that star under his eye because he started telling all of his friends that his birth father died.
So when I went down to texas, detoxing and full of rage, and I kind of told my dad that Josh got that tattoo because he told everyone that our dad was dead. Did not go well. It was cruel and I regret it. It’s one of the few things I do regret. Anyway, anytime I would cry about my brother’s death, my dad would just bring me a glass of whiskey. Over and over and over again. Guess what? I became an alcoholic.
So I came back home and it turns out that girl I was in love with ended up dating one of the guys that begged me to be with him so that really fucked me up because we were literally a trio of best friends. So what did I do? I drank. A lot. It’s around that time that my bipolar disorder kicked in. I would go to parties and drink and suddenly become a completely different person. Not like a normal drunk person, but like a bipolar drunk person. Not a happy picture.
Did I mention that I was homeless for like that entire time between my girlfriend introducing me to drugs when I was 13 or 14 to the point that my brother died? Because I was. I guess I wasn’t fully homeless because part of the time I was living with the meth dealers, but still…
Anyway so I went back to my mom who was completely heartbroken at the fact that I had been gone for so long. I started hanging around the drop-in centers that gave me food for so long because they were the only people I knew. I met some guy called “Matt Thrasher”. He was tall and thin and had this like perfect hair and and was that perfect combination of guy and girl that a bisexual lady like myself appreciated. Little did I know he was a liar. Not sure how I didn’t notice with that kind of a name.
The drop-in center I went to had a head guy, he was super cool and everybody loved him. He pulled me a side one day and let me know that this guy I was dating, he was a compulsive liar and his name was not “Matt Thrasher” (who could have guessed? Not me.)
Again, so what do I do? I run off with this idiot. He started telling me that he had been in the military blah blah blah, we had this moment where he was trying to explain that he was a compulsive liar and I slapped him and said shut up and kiss me and it was super romantic and highly dysfunctional.
Anyway, we had been together for about 3 weeks and we’re walking down the street and all of a sudden this guy comes up to me, I barely recognized him but he was like “hey, Checkers! (That was my street name) Do you want to go to Vegas with me?!” And I looked at him, and then I looked at this guy who I recently found out was actually called Travis and not Matt Thrasher, and for some stupid reason I was like, yeah as long as I can bring this liar. Tf was I thinking?
So he realizes that I have a boyfriend, (not the free pussy he was looking for) and he makes me find some other chick I have to bring. The only person I could think of was this crazy ass bitch called Ava I used to go to school with back in middle school where I met that girl I used to love. So I’m like, hey let’s call this crazy bitch up. Lo and behold, she’s totally down.
Now, just a heads up, at this point in my life I had been sober off of all drugs except for alcohol for like 2 years? I was 20 years old at the time? I don’t know I’m not one of those people that keeps track of my years. I do it a day at a time. Guess who wasn’t sober? Ava and the guy who asked me to come, his name was Skye, but actually his name was Donald. But we’ll find that out later.
So Skye says that we’re going to take some really good weed down to Vegas from Seattle because we can sell it for way more. He says we can sell a gram of weed in Vegas for $50. I didn’t care, I didn’t even know what he was talking about, free trip to Vegas. We all get in the car and start driving. We spun out twice on the iced over freeway, and for the rest of the time this guy was doing 100 to 110 mph. He was also falling asleep at the wheel and it was my job to wake him up when he started to nod off. People wonder why I don’t have a driver’s license? Well, that anxiety is something I will never forget.
So! We get to Vegas and the first place we check out is the Bellagio. The toilets are great, I don’t know much else to say about that place. It was fancy. Then he lets us know that we’re going to have to take these dime bags of weed and sell them on the strip for $50 a pop to pay our way.
I have never seen so many people consecutively laugh at me so many times in my fucking life. Guess what? Nobody in Vegas is going to pay that much money for a dime bag of weed. It was terrible. At least Skye had managed to get us a hotel for a week so we had a home base. Me and Travis tried and tried and tried to sell any of that weed and we couldn’t move any of it. In fact, if you’ve ever been to vegas, and you see those people that just like flip cards across their fingers trying to get you to go to a certain club, that’s what we ended up being.
Now, being the alcoholic that I was, and not being 21, I spent a lot of that time on the strip finding those abandoned giant Eiffel Tower slushy drinks with a bunch of booze in them. I would just pick anything up off the street and drink it. Yikes. But it was fun. No regrets.
One day we go back to the hotel and my boyfriend and I fell asleep. We wake up to find that Skye and that crazy ass friend Ava from middle school had been crushing up a bunch of cocaine with my ID. Now, being a rehabilitated drug user, I was not okay with that, and they could not figure out what my problem was. A fight ensued.
She’s got knuckles like you wouldn’t believe, she’s only about 3 inches taller than me but holy crap, she’s got knuckles like an Irish boxer. I was pissed that they were using my ID for crushing up cocaine, and she was pissed because she was probably coming down off a massive cocaine binge. So we got into a huge fight. She probably kind of won that fight? But honestly it was just too idiot girls throwing each other from side to side. Not a single actual punch was thrown, but those Irish knuckles scared the shit outta me. We ended up breaking the hotel tv. In half. Nobody had bruises or cuts or anything, it was just really stupid.
So me and my idiot boyfriend decided that, hey maybe we shouldn’t stay here. Well guess what? The next day we get a phone call from crazy coke head Ava and she tells us that Skye got arrested at a poker table for trying to sell cocaine. Seriously? Yeah. He was that stupid. They both were. She was supposed to be his lookout. -.-
The craziest part about this story? This has all taken place within 3 days. He had a babysitter for his four-year-old daughter back in Seattle. He was only supposed to be gone a weekend to sell weed and instead, now he’s in jail for dealing coke at a poker table in Las fucking Vegas. So me and this idiot Travis, who have probably gotten into about a thousand fights since we left because like I said, super toxic couple, are trying to figure out what we’re going to do to take care of this little girl, how are we going to get her anywhere? Well, Skye called our crappy rent by the week hotel room to let us know that his name was actually Donald, and to call his grandmother.
Grandma was the sweetest lady ever. She lived in Arizona or New mexico, I can’t remember, but anyway, she just wanted to know where her granddaughter was. She couldn’t care less about Donald. Donald gave his grandmother the phone number of the babysitter who was at her wit’s end since it had been 4 days at this point. Grandma got in contact with the babysitter and started relaying messages between her and I.
Basically, we had to get Donald to sign a release form from jail to say that his daughter could get on an airplane with a piece of paperwork signed by the babysitter in order to go to the grandma who was in either Arizona or New mexico.
This is not what I signed up for.
But we got it done.
I don’t even know where Ava was at this point, I think she got a plane ticket home from her super rich ass crazy ass family. It was just me and Travis and we had about 3 days left at that hotel. He wasn’t doing anything but being jealous that I wasn’t spending time on him, but I didn’t care, I was trying to get this little girl to her grandma. (His very obsessive jealous personality comes into play later).
ANYWAYS- With that secured, I have 3 days to be crazy in Vegas and I totally lived it up! Our hotel was about 4 miles off the strip and at one point I hitchhiked, but the guy who picked me up thought I was a prostitute and asked me to show him my boobs to which I kindly let him know I wasn’t a prostitute. He apologized profusely, bought me a pack of cigarettes and an Arizona tea and dropped me at the hotel. Super nice. But anyway…
We can stay there forever and the week ran out. We had nowhere to go. There was a really nice family who got to know us at the hotel and decided to take us in. It was a super sweet husband and wife and they had a 2 y/o old son. They were happy and sweet, and living in a hotel. I was drinking way too much, and I needed an earthquake at midnight (not proud but it’s not meth or a coke). We didn’t have a car and the store was quite a while away so he said I could ride on the handlebars of his bike. You see where this is going?
He conveniently crashed into some bushes, and before I could even get up he had his dick out trying to get into my shortsb IN THE BUSHES! I screamed and slapped at him and he told me that he thought that’s what I wanted. Seriously? This guy had a kid and a wife.
When I told my boyfriend about it we decided we needed to leave at the crack of dawn the next morning because Las Vegas was feeling pretty weird.
So that’s exactly what we did. We hitchhiked on the highway until somebody picked us up and you will not believe who picked us up!
So this was right after the major earthquake in Haiti, and the guy who picked us up was a gay man but he hated gay men and he told us that the reason the Haitians had the earthquake was because they were all gay and God was smiting them. I shit you not. We rode with him for about 200 miles until at one point my boyfriend woke up while I was in the gas station buying a map (I spanged in Vegas illegally) and that guy was literally feeling him up under his shirt. We also had to pull over multiple times before that so he could smoke meth. He was a meth smoking gay hating christian. Even though he was gay. I’ll never understand it.
So we got out of the car with that guy because he was totally nuts and also molesting my boyfriend and we started hitchhiking again. We ended up getting picked up by the super nice guy in a minivan who was going all the way to Tucson where we needed to go. He noticed that my boyfriend’s shoes were falling apart and he even bought him shoes. He was just super kind. He took us all the way to my boyfriend’s childhood friend.
Everything was going to be great. It was a safe haven. We could regroup there, just going to be perfect.
Apparently in the years since Travis had seen him, this guy had turned into a total KKK Nazi loving neckbeard. He and his mom lived in a double wide trailer. And I have nothing bad to say about heavy people, but I’m just trying to paint a picture: his mom was so heavy that she couldn’t get off the couch. She couldn’t move to go to the bathroom or anything. She also had a tube in her throat. So she just sat there smoking and pooping and eating in the same spot. I don’t even know how it happened with the pooping or peeing, I never saw that. But that’s what it was.
Travis realized that was not a very good spot especially after neck beard tried to tell me that Travis was a compulsive liar (shocking!) So we left, went over to his next best friend’s place. You think it was a good idea?
This best friend lived in a very dumpy trailer park with his mom and he is the definition of what you would call a “Kyle”. In fact, his name actually was Kyle. He was addicted to heroin and there were holes all over his mother’s walls. Now, I’m not too proud of myself for this, but I was so desperate for booze that at one point I actually did try heroin. It was on a piece of tin foil and doing it is something I do not regret because I hated it so much. We had to pull one of the outdoor trash cans inside so I could vomit repeatedly. I just remember their dogs screwing and his mom spraying them with the hose, and little kittens being born and Kyle put one of them in the dryer and we almost beat his ass. It was terrible. You cannot imagine.
You remember that guy at the church? The one that initially told me that Matt Thrasher was actually Travis? Well I called him because I had known him since I was 13. He was a really nice guy who organized taking care of homeless youth. He told me that either he could buy me a plane ticket out of there, or he could get us both a bus ticket. I’m such a ‘sweetheart’, I chose the bus ticket for both of us because I couldn’t imagine leaving anybody there.
We got back to Seattle after a ridiculous Greyhound bus ride that broke down several times and a driver that was going 60 MPH over switched back mountains.
Finally we got home to Seattle, and you are not going to believe this next part.
You remember the babysitter who was watching Skye/ Donald’s little girl? That turned out to be the same girl that I was in love with in middle school. She was the one who was coordinating with his grandma, and his grandma was passing information on to me. She was the one who got that little girl on a plane to Arizona or New Mexico or wherever the hell it was. Small fucking world.
That guy Travis? Well he ended up being super physically abusive. At one point I had to kick him out of the studio I was staying in, only to have him surprise me by climbing up three floors on the outside of my freaking building, literally climbing up people’s patios,, coming in my patio, beating me, locking me outsideb on said patio, and then stealing my shit.
I’m not proud of the fact that I stayed with him for about a year and a half after that, but I did ¯(ツ)/¯
I actually begged him to stay with me. He left for another girl and I wanted to die. Ughh.
I went to downtown Seattle and I decided to start doing drugs again. I was sitting on the sidewalk crying and crying because I was so afraid to make that choice, and some random street performer walked up to me and just started playing guitar at me. He was so happy and smiling so much that I couldn’t help but lift my head. He was also an idiot. A goofy idiot. A sweet, innocent, goofy idiot.
His name was Willem, and he had no idea what he was doing in Seattle.
He had just come here from Colorado, he had a family chock full of money, but he didn’t want to live that life. He wanted to be free. That man was the best goddamn musician I have ever seen! You know Trace Bundy? He was nearly as good as Trace Bundy but he had only been playing for nine God damn months! So anyway, I was homeless, and he was homeless, and he was head over heels in love with me. I wasn’t in love with him, I was just fascinated with him. I will always feel bad about the way that relationship turned out.
I showed him to all my street friends, he showed me Dr horrible’s Sing-Along blog and Scott Pilgrim. sigh
At the same moment, all of my old friends, my healthier ones, started looking for me again since I had come back from vegas. There was Corey and Chelsea and Zoe and everybody was looking for me so I started hanging out with them and bringing my super talented boyfriend around.
Then I saw Vince. I had been watching that guy since Valentine’s Day. I loved him the moment I saw him. He was dating a friend of mine called Chelsea, what am I going to do? Nothing. I know this sounds super cheesy right now. I know it does. I’m really sorry. Just keep reading. I’m almost done.
So since I’m homeless, I got nowhere to go, Chelsea decides to let me come and stay at her place. We talk girl talk, she was really obsessed with Twilight which was really, really difficult to deal with, but I did. She was super into drinking so, that was nice.
Then, she, the girlfriend of the guy I’m in love with, lets me know that she doesn’t care about him at all, she’s just using him for money and concert tickets. I said nothing.
I realized at that point that I had to get away because I would have done something that would have ruined my friendships. I went back with Will and we lived on the streets. He would play guitar and I would sing and dance. We would make easily $60 a day. We did this for two months. It was happy and carefree and beautiful.
One day, some idiot I hadn’t seen in a long time walked up and recognized me. He was an old mutual friend between me and my other group. He asked me if I had heard about the breakup between Vincent and Chelsea.
I’m not proud of this, but I did what my heart told me to do. I did what years of falling for the wrong guy, years of drugs, years of homelessness, years of wrong decisions, I did the opposite of all this choices. I immediately broke it off with Willem and I followed my heart to this idiot called Vincent.
Started hanging out with the old friends and almost immediately, within a few days, he saw me. We saw each other.
I had to pick up the pieces of my other life. I had to let Will go. I told him that I couldn’t be with him anymore and I did it in a really messed up way. I told him I wasn’t ready for a relationship and that is the worst thing you can say. I’m ashamed of it. I left the home that we were staying at and I walked down to the bus stop. I didn’t know he was following me.
I meant Vince, and we greeted and kissed. At that moment I looked over his shoulder and realized Will was right there watching me. He immediately ran back to the house we were at and started swallowing as many pills as he could find. I chased after him, because, just because a person doesn’t want to be with another, doesn’t mean they don’t love them. I ended up having to stick my entire hand and wrist down his throat to make him throw up everything he had eaten. He just sobbed and hated me and hit me over and over again. It was traumatic for both of us.
Willem is now a businessman with an account on linkedin. He is everything he’s for he would never be and I can’t help but think that it’s my fault. He’s the most talented musician I have ever met, but he is stuck in a necktie. It’s been hard to forgive myself for that.
It’s been a crazy decade since then, but Vince and I have been together non-stop. We have two children, two cats and a corgi. He helped me get off the streets and I helped him find a job that would pay better than Domino’s. We have gaps, that’s what we call it. Perfect gaps. Where I am lacking in one thing, he excels and vice versa. I have bipolar disorder, he has adhd. We fully help each other in every way that we need to, and there are some days where neither of us are able to fully give each other 100%, but that’s okay, because we always give each other and our family the best that we are capable of giving.
So that’s most of my story. And I doubt anybody will read this far. There’s a lot more to it, I could go into way more depth about the times I’ve dated a few other guys in that time., The time I was jumping over a fence got my pants hooked and broke my teeth out, the time where my mother sobbed her eyes out when I finally came home, the time it took me to get over the suicide of my brother…
But this is where I am now. Typos and all. And I don’t regret a single moment.