Gremlins, knives, and government spies

                Well, I promised some stories for this post. I’m really exhausted…so I’m hoping my explanations of everything I’m about to type makes sense. I promised knives, gremlins, and government spies I do believe…

                When you’re a child, your parents do things sometimes that don’t make sense to you. But you’re told to go along with it…and you do…because quite frankly, you don’t have much of a choice. My father did things sometimes that I questioned…but I quickly learned to not question anything. It didn’t matter how weird it seemed…there was a reason behind it. Reasoning that made some kind of sense most of the time. And considering asking him about his behavior usually led to anger…I stayed out of it.

                One of these situations I’m referring to involves the vents in the floor of some homes. You know what I’m talking about…those metal grates in the floor? Well when I was about 12-13, we had a house with those vents in every room. My father used to pull the metal pieces out of the carpet, so it would just be these big gaping holes in the floor. It drove me nuts (I have a little OCD)…but I would leave them out. The one time I did ask my dad why we left the vents open like that, he explained that it was for “better circulation”. With the metal pieces not being in the floor, air could circulate faster…thus making the house warmer/colder faster. At the time, this made perfect sense to me! In addition he told me, with my asthma…that would help keep down the dust in the air. Without the metal at the end of the vent…less dust would collect and then get blown around. Again…what perfect sense! What a loving awesome father...so concerned for my health. HAHAHAHA. Right.

                When my father would come off of a high (as most addicts)…he would get very honest. It was kind of nice, because before he would hit the “angry…need another fix” guy…he’d be the loving father we all knew he could have been. On the nights where he would come down…he’d put himself on a guilt trip, and feel the need to confess everything in the world. Whether it was how much he loved his children, or admitting to something he’d done…he would just talk your head off. It was one of these nights that I found out the real reason for the removing of the vents.

                As I’ve mentioned, my father is an extreme addict. When he would be on the harder drugs, (cocaine, heroin, etc)…he would hallucinate. Apparently one of the more common things he’d see were gremlins. Tiny little beings that would hide in the vents watching him. He had himself convinced in his high state that if the metal vents weren’t there…the gremlins would be trapped in the vent. They’d have nothing to cling to in order to climb out. He was terrified of these little things that were “watching him” and thought it was impossible to get rid of them. They would continuously follow him from house to house, and keeping those vents out were the only way to protect himself.

And people don’t believe me when I say he’s insane…

                So moving on. I was a big outdoorsy kind of kid. I loved spending time on the lake, at the park, in the yard. During the summer I would babysit my little brother during the days and of course I’d take him outside (he was little so he’d really only hang out in his bouncer/on a blanket). But while we’d be outside I’d plant flowers, work in the garden, or just play with him. I was going through the front flower beds the one day…when I almost cut myself on something shiny deep in one of the bushes. I carefully reached in to pull it out…to find that there was a VERY large butcher knife sticking up out of the bush…blade up. I was highly confused…but took it inside, and kind of forgot about it. A few days later I mentioned it to my dad…and he acted like it was this huge accident…he couldn’t BELIEVE he left that out there. After all, he just took it out there because he “couldn’t find anything else strong enough to cut some branches off the bush”. Now again…as a kid…this made sense to me. Seemed a little strange, and now that I look back on it, it seems completely insane…but at the time…it made sense. Now the real reasoning for the butcher knife I’ll explain in a moment. But there are some other details I should explain first.

                Strange habit #3 of my father. He would take blankets/large towels/sheets, etc. and put them up over the windows. Every night he would close the blinds, and then proceed to cover all of the windows with darker material (including the bedrooms, living room, and so on). He told me that it was to help keep out the extra light in the morning, and told me that it would help me get a deeper sleep. And yet again…made PERFECT sense to my 12 year old brain. Now the real story behind the butcher knife and the blankets wasn’t something I found out until years later. In one of his “admission moments” he told my step mom all about the government spies watching him. Apparently these spies came at night…(what for, I still don’t know). They would go around the house peering in the windows…watching for him and just waiting to come get him. I have no idea what exactly he thought they were going to do to him…but he was terrified of them. If he blocked out the windows they couldn’t see in…and if he got lucky…they would kill themselves on the butcher knives placed strategically in the bushes under all of the windows.

                I have these strange memories of those last few years with him. Memories in one house in particular of him creeping around the house at 3 in the morning. I remember there being nights where I would stir slightly in my sleep, and just barely open my eyes. But when I would…I would see him crouched down in the hallway, slowly going around corners, and staring into rooms. I would quickly shut my eyes, and attempt sleep again. Talk about drug induced paranoia.

                It’s all completely crazy…and it still throws me off. These stories sound crazy to me…and I lived them.

Newsflash- I'm not perfect

Next post I promise is going to be “fun”. Maybe not fun…but entertaining/possibly a little disturbing for all of you with naive ideas of what drug addict life is like. I’ve had some stories I’ve been keeping in my back pocket for whenever I feel the right time is. And for some strange reason…I’m ready to talk about them now. It may boggle a few brains…things including butcher knives, gremlins, and government spies. Do I have your attention now?

                Anyways…I was looking at the blog today, and realized my picture was still anonymous. Kind of funny considering the whole “front page of the newspaper” and “full size picture on page 3” thing. But…it seems to be that part of me was still hiding behind the anonymity of the web. So…I’m done hiding. Pictures are being changed…my name is already out there…and as far as I’m concerned…I want these stories to travel. I’m encouraging gossip. After seeing how the newspaper article affected people…and all of the responses I got to it…made my heart happy. No one realizes how common some of the stuff I talk about is…because everyone is so damn SCARED to say anything. And there’s no reason for that. The entire point of this blog is to get people talking…get people thinking…(and help me express my sometimes unhealthy thoughts/emotions).

                I’ve gotten a LOT of criticism for posting about all that I do. That I should stop “giving personal details” and stop “broadcasting my personal life”. After all…people might see my weaknesses and that’s just not acceptable! Oh BITE ME. Ya ready for this? I’M NOT PERFECT! I’m…stubborn, emotionally damaged, I’ve got enough baggage to fill a 747, I talk a lot, I don’t censor myself, I have a very LOW patience level…and quite frankly, I’m bitter sometimes! If you don’t like it…get off my page ;) I say what I think…and that will NEVER change. And to everyone who thinks I should stop talking about all of these “personal topics”…I hope you know that YOU are part of the problem. It’s people like you, that give victims the idea that they aren’t allowed to tell anyone what’s happening to them. It’s people like YOU that make them feel guilty…like the situation is somehow THEIR fault. Wake up!!!

                I plan to go on a rant soon about the word victim as well. I’m thinking it all right now…but don’t really have the time to write it all out. It needs some more fine tuning in my head before it’s set in stone. Be sure to stay tuned for that one…it should get interesting.

                Was checking into all the stats on the blog…and it blows my mind. 6 continents, 47 countries, about 5,300 hits…all in less than 6 months. Sheesh.

                Random thought before I stop myself from babbling all night…I’m usually not a big Taylor Swift fan…something about her kind of annoys me. No good reason for it…and I’m sure she’s wonderful, but something just irks me. Anyways…heard her latest song today “Eyes Open”…and it’s been stuck in my head. Very interesting…you should check it out. Well played Taylor…well played.

That movie I saw once

I haven’t posted in weeks…and I’ve gotten a lot of emails and comments since then. I haven’t been ignoring them, and I hope I haven’t lost any readers. Things have just been so busy and chaotic. Not to mention I’ve been really irritated with my father’s situation, and haven’t really wanted to talk about it. I know…weird. Me not wanting to babble forever.

                Anyways, a lot of people have been waiting for an update pertaining to my father’s court date. And unfortunately, I don’t have any real interesting information. His court date was rescheduled…again. I spent days trying to get ahold of his public defender to get more information…and after almost a week, and multiple temper tantrums to his secretary, she patched me through to him. I found out a lot more that I honestly didn’t know how to take. If my father is convicted, he’s looking at (at the LEAST) 8 years in prison. I’m not even going to go into how much time he COULD be sentenced to. And as much as I hate to be negative…I don’t think he’ll make it out of there. Even with only 8 years…at his age and with his health…that’s where he’ll be for the rest of his life.

                I’ve been thinking a lot about my life lately, and how the experiences with my father have shaped me. My mom put it really well the other day…we were talking about how sometimes it really feels like “why me?” Why were we put in such a terrible situation? Even if God wanted us to learn something by it…wasn’t there some “less dramatic” way to teach us? She said that after thinking like that for a while, she realized that maybe he wasn’t in our lives to help us grow…but we were in his life to try and help him learn. He had everything, a beautiful wife, a beautiful daughter (if I do say so myself)…and he chose to screw it up. He chose other things over this perfectly packaged family right in front of him. And then he did it again and again…with every new woman he was with. He had the chance at being in the lives of 3 wonderful kids…and it didn’t mean enough to him. God was giving him chances to get on the right path…and he continuously walked away from it.

                That was strangely calming. But at the same time it made me sad. I hate my father sometimes…with everything in me. Occasionally I get so mad at him that I just want to drive the 13 hours to the jail and scream at him endlessly. But then there are other times where I just feel bad. I feel terrible that my father is most likely going to die in a jail cell. Granted he deserves it…and everything else coming to him…but it’s sad. It hurts me knowing how he must feel sometimes. Looking back with a sober mind (as sober as it gets)…and seeing the path of wreckage he left in so many lives. Knowing that he wasn’t there for my wedding, graduations, and will never meet my children. Knowing that he’s missing out on my little brother and sister’s firsts. I’m rambling on something completely off topic again…

                I have a lot of questions now that things are at a bit of a stand still. Court isn’t going to be rescheduled until this fall…meaning I have a lot of time to think. Lately I’ve been really curious as to his mindset. He’s started attacking my little sister just like he attacked me…and while I know he’s completely bat crazy…I have to wonder what goes on in his head. He says that his children are his world…and the only things that he’s ever worried about. But I wonder how that can possibly be true when he treats us as he does. I know drugs are addicting, I know mental disorders are overwhelming…but I can’t see myself EVER choosing something over my family like that. Especially my children. I can be mean…I can be downright cruel sometimes…but if I ever am…it haunts me. And I could never do something to intentionally hurt someone I loved.

                I’m really overtired at the moment. I’ve been working two jobs…70-80+ hours a week…and the exhaustion makes me really emotional and confused. I overthink things and second guess myself. I go from wanting to scream at him, to feeling bad…to wanting to cry for hours. This still doesn’t seem real. It’s been 14 months…and I still feel like I’m reading some screwed up thriller novel. I replay the morning I found out in my head constantly…and it’s like I’m watching it from someone else’s body. Opening credits to a young girl sleeping on the couch, getting irritated by the phone that keeps ringing. Finally waking up to read a message, respond, and roll over…grasping to those last few minutes of sleep. The phone chirps again…and again…and again…until she finally sits up extremely frustrated, and still half asleep. You watch her face go from confusion…to almost panic…to confusion again. She stumbles over to the other side of the couch, and pulls open the computer, still half asleep. Types something into the search bar of the internet, and looks away to stretch and try to fully open her eyes. She turns back to the computer and scrolls down the opening page still looking confused…until she freezes. You see the color completely drain out of her face, her hands start to shake, and you watch her knees give out. She struggles to breathe normally…until the choking breaths just turn to sobs. You see her husband come into the room, just as confused as she had been…and looking half asleep too. She points at the computer unable to speak…and you watch his face go from concerned, to angry. The scene closes to him holding her on the floor as she sobs.

                That’s how I see that morning. I don’t remember my own emotions to be honest. I just remember thinking how it couldn’t possibly be real. That mugshot on the front page couldn’t be my father. That article with all the comments about how sick and disgusting he was…couldn’t possibly be about him. The phone calls from reporters, and hateful people couldn’t have been directed at me. It doesn’t seem real. Over a year later, and the more time passes…the more it seems like a movie I saw once. Yet here we are. I still see his blue eyes in the mirror, I still flash to him playing his guitar in the kitchen late at night every time I hear one…and I still struggle with missing him.

                I’m done for now…I’ll try to get back into writing…it really does calm me down. And I promise to respond to all of the comments/emails that I’ve neglected. What can I say…? I lead kind of a crazy life.