Ive been suggested time and time again to either start a blog or vlog and share my story.. and philosophy. Most recently it came from my mother who had finished reading Furiously Happy for the 3rd time and she regularly asks me if I had seen the authors latest blog post. My mother insists that my story and way of explaining things is going to be worth putting it all out there. With that said, I welcome you into my corner of our world..
Now what do I write? I guess Ill tell you a story from my past..
Choosing the first story to share is kind of difficult, a lot to consider that this may be your first impression of what you might expect from me. I can guarantee you, my life isnt boring or to be expected..
Houstin, we have a problem.
Age 16 Tucson, Az. As I remember it.. My mom and I moved from Mississippi to Arizona, would be the simplest and non-telling way of explaining what happened. When I was 15 I met my biological father who had us move from Oregon to Mississippi with weeks after the initial visit. Thatll be a story for another day. In Mississippi near the end of our 9 month stint my mom met a man named Wesley. Wesley is a piece of shit human being. There was one incident I remember vividly when him and my mom were fighting and I got myself involved, violently after he had already hit my mom and threatened me. I called 911, with my mother standing by his side, Im cuffed and put in the cop car.. So, yeah, that guy. We all 3 were moving to Tucson, Arizona together. I flew out to Sacramento to spend time with my grandparents for 2 weeks while mom and Wesley did the move. Without warning my mom disappears in my first week at my grandparents, it wasnt until the third week was she able to call and let us know that he beat the shit out of her and she was in a womens shelter and just got out of black out. For whatever reason she did decide to stay out there and flew me in. We lived in an empty 1 bdrm apartment. I was enrolled into public school for the first time in 3 years, one of those high schools with over 1,500 students. I was 'special needs' due to my self harm and recent hospitalizations recorded at the time. There was a boy I met from walking to and from school. He was cute, seemed like one of the popular kids. We had sex after school once. Back them I was fat, with short hair, I tried too hard to be cute. To be liked. To be wanted. I had told a pretty popular girl that I think he might liked me and she laughed, I told her we had sex. He later came to me in front of a group of others telling me Im crazy, fat and ugly and I shouldnt lie like that. It was awful. At that school I also met 2 friends. It was with them did I start regularly smoking cigarettes and marijuana. Our friendships only lasted a little after my 2 months stay at that school, I was transferred to an alternative arts program based out of a shopping mall. Here I met a girl who I became very close to. She introduced me to raves, drugs and ICP. Though I understand the amusement and the making of fun with ICP, I have a very special spot in my heart for my experience in the Juggalo Family. Shortly after moving schools did mom and I moved into a 2 bedroom house. My mom, during all of this she admitted to using cocaine again and soon after was bar-tending at the Devils Disciples clubhouse. It wasnt long after moving into the house did she move out to move in with her friend. Id scavenge through her room for clothes, at this point it was known though denied that she was using meth and prostituting on the street. She eventually got her own website and was calling herself an escort. I wouldnt see her for days or weeks at a time, when I needed money for drugs and rave tickets, Id call her telling her how much and for what and within a couple hours some john or another would stop by my house with a few hundred in cash. I lived off of fast food, ramen and lucky charms. I was left unattended. I had a short phase of experimenting with drugs and sex. There was on 'boyfriend' I had who was 28 and I later learned told me a lie for his name. I did have one of those boyfriends that make you wonder what couldve been if I had stuck around. One day I was raiding my moms room and being nosy and came across a weathered cell phone box that wasnt any phone of ours. Inside the box was a shit ton of an amber colored rock salt looking mess with a syringe kit and broken light bulb and straw. Going on with leaving out some details I ended up calling my grandpa. Hes always been my safety net. It was the first time and only time in my life that I heard him raise his voice and curse out of anger. My grandparents bought me a oneway ticket back to Sacramento in 3 days. I had to then go into hiding from my mom and her friend who were both after me/ the drugs they knew I had found and disposed of, I believe I flushed it I dont recall exactly what I done with it. The night before my flight I stayed the night at a friends friends house. The girls mom was very kind and worried and tried hard to comfort me in some of the realest shit a teenage kid can go through. I was scared, alone, abandoned, though this wasnt the first time I was put into a position of betrayal, neglect and disposal. Back in Sacramento I tried to normalize my life as much as possible. For a short time I enrolled into a charter home school program, when I was there doing my placement tests I crossed paths with a family I was closely affiliated with when I was 13. With warm embraces after confirming it was who we all were, I had some sense of family back. Mind you, these werent any kind of normal people either, thisll be saved for a story for another day as well. I dropped out of the home school, Ive never been real good at self motivating myself to do things Im not interested in. About a month or so before my 17th birthday my mom called again and this time my grandma insisted I talk to my mom this time, my mom was offering money. From about 17- 20 my mom sent me anywhere from $500- $2,500 a month. I then became a regular at my loal western union office. I used to try to make light and joke about how I was like her pimp. It was sad, my life has on the rarest occasion felt safe and comfortable. Almost 6 months after moving back in with my grandparents, Christmas Eve, my grandpa went to the ER. I woke up Christmas morning I woke to my grandma hysterically waking me telling me to get dressed grandpa is dying. 2 days in the hospital, 2 days back home with liquid morphine. Abdominal aneurysm with emphysema keeping the life saving surgery impossible. The night he passed, my intuition knew it was coming and I stayed the night across the street at a friends. Around 1am I saw the ambulance lights and ran home, I saw my grandpas lifeless body, the fireman covered him with the blanket my grandma made for him a few years earlier. That same blanket is now in the top shelf in my closet. My grandpa was my light, in him housed my hope. I lost him, 10 days after my 17th birthday.. Dewey LeRoy Meredith Sr.
Helluva year, right? One of the most challenging and defining of all my years. Of course theres plenty of finer details left out and frankly I dont have the energy to let my mind dig deeper to fill them in but it gives you a glimpse of how real this life really gets.. We all have our stories, I agree its time I start telling mine.
I thank you for taking the time to read this and hope I can utilize this means as an outlet of some of my inner and concealed wounds. For those of you in my personal life who chose to keep up with my shares, please keep in mind I am going to speak only from my perspective. Some of what I have to share isnt going to be pretty and I will not make it to fit as nice, I need to be raw and let it out. Im sorry if these hurt you, mom, but Im still hurting. I love you, and am grateful for better late than never..
