Awful...

Wow, Its been forever since I posted....again. Well first, I was on a little weekend vacation in Illinois, then I was getting some bills paid, going to a couple events for my niece and getting some stuff put together for her, and i'm currently in the process of getting all of my affairs together for my daughter. I'm also getting her bedroom repainted and put back together for her to be with me primarily and her father on the weekends, more than this back and forth stuff. I want to fill in a few gaps of what has gone on in the last 15 years, and that is going to take a while. My oldest sister/half sister (Whom we will call Danielle) has four children, by four different men. Variety makes things more interesting, right? Let me add that this does not make my sister a bad person, nor does it make me hate her. I have other reasons for not getting along with her. I'm sure you all know what heroin is, but for those who don't, please, let me explain. Actually, let Wikipedia explain, as they do it so well. 

Heroin (diacetylmorphine or morphine diacetate (INN)), also known as diamorphine (BAN), is an opioid analgesic synthesized by C.R Alder Wright in 1874 by adding two acetyl groups to the moleculemorphine, a derivative of the opium poppy. When used in medicine it is typically used to treat severe pain, such as that resulting from a heart attack. It is the 3,6-diacetyl ester of morphine, and functions as a morphine prodrug (meaning that it is metabolically converted to morphine inside the body).^[4] The white crystalline form considered "pure heroin" is usually the hydrochloride salt, diacetylmorphine hydrochloride. When heroin is supplied illegally, though, it is often adulterated to a freebase form, dulling the sheen and consistency to a matte-white powder.^[5] As of 2004, roughly 87% of the world supply of opium and its derivatives, including heroin, was thought to be produced in Afghanistan.^[6] However, production in Mexico has risen six-fold from 2007 to 2011, changing that percentage and placing Mexico as the second largest opium producer in the world.^[7]

As with other opioids, diacetylmorphine is used as both an analgesic and a recreational drug. Frequent and regular administration is associated with tolerance and physical dependence, which may develop intoaddiction. Internationally, diacetylmorphine is controlled under Schedules I and IV of the Single Convention on Narcotic Drugs.^[8] It is illegal to manufacture, possess, or sell diacetylmorphine without a license in almost every country. Under the chemical names diamorphine and diacetylmorphine, heroin is a legally prescribed controlled drug in the United Kingdom, and is supplied in tablet or injectable form for the same indications as morphine is, often being preferred over morphine due to its lower side-effect profile. It is also available for prescription to long-term users as a form of opioid replacement therapy in the Netherlands, United Kingdom, Switzerland, Germany, and Denmark, alongside psycho-social care—in the same manner that methadone or buprenorphine are used in the United States or Canada—^[9][10] and a similar programme is being campaigned for by liberal political parties in Norway.

Danielle first used heroin when she was 15 years old. It became her best friend as it does for us all, and is also what betrayed her in the end... as it does to us all. At the time, our family situation was really messed up. From her perspective, it had to be absolutely insane. She had dropped out of high school, was dating a dj, but also living in her mothers basement. Having witnessed every parental fight, seen all of the horrific events such as our sister being hit by a Mac truck, our fathers industrial accident, and being told that her biological father was her stepfather by marriage, it had to be like "what the fuck is going on here???" Most addicts are self medicating when they use heroin, cocaine, pills, what have you. I'm sure she was no different. I was around 10 years old, we had only been in Indiana for a year or two, and i was too naive to even have a clue as to what was going on. Locking myself in my bedroom and listening to K's Choice while writing bad poetry was my life. The next couple of years would consist of my parents divorce being final, and some fun things like being legally kidnapped by Sue Spurr.

Apparently when Christians kidnap you its legal. Now again this is another entry entirely, but the story in a nutshell, I was kept at their house for an entire week, was forced to sit with their daughter at lunch, and they even arranged for me to get off the bus at their house, and their stop was before mine, I was like 10-11 years old. assholes...still hate that family. They were high up with the church and community so...yeah.

Getting back on track, I used to say when i was younger that i would never do drugs, especially heroin. I used to think that heroin came in little bags already liquefied, lol, that's how much i didn't know about it. You could say that i followed in my sisters footsteps in a way i suppose. She got pregnant the first time when she was 18 years old. She had a beautiful little girl named Violet Faye, but didn't stop her from using. Admittedly using while pregnant, she is lucky that her daughter has turned out to be as smart and witty as she is today. In the end of her birthing reign, she now has 4 children. Two little girls, Two little boys. Now to the reason we do not speak. When i was 18, i got pregnant with my own little girl. I say that this saved my life, and though being pregnant didn't stop my using either, i still stick to that claim. I was the family drug runner. Getting heroin for my sister and I, Ritalin and adderal for my mother and stepfather, and Oxycontin for us all, they could always depend on "Bec" to always have or get what they needed. One night Danielle begged and begged for me to bring her stuff over to my dad's before i went home to my mothers. I should have listened to my gut feeling which was to go home, but manipulation prevails and i give in. Having had a fight with my mother, Danielle was living with my father with her three young children. After warning her not to do all of it at one time, she does it anyway. Long story short, she overdoses and the emt/cops get called, I go to jail, and she goes to the hospital. I had taken all the drugs so she wasn't caught with anything. I wanted to prevent her children from being taken by the state. My efforts did no good and the children were removed while i was in jail. That will lead to an epic post that will take me forever to write, so please hold on that one. Up to even now, she still somehow says that her children being gone is my fault. Now, when i was trying to convince her not only to stop using but to wait till i went home first, how is her not listening to my instructions my fault???? I'm honestly confused here. I'm done with this for now. It's bad writing to stop mid story, but i promise that i will continue this tomorrow. More reasons, more story, and more dysfunctional goodness :)  

Strange little girl....

I should have started this yesterday. I suppose I can start with one of the two happier parts of my life. We all say that we have issues, that we have problems. I suppose its a matter of opinion, but perception is everything. Even if our perception isn't entirely reality, that doesn't matter, because our emotions are still valid. I'll go ahead and start with what i feel was the better part of my life/childhood. I would say that this was a time when my family was truly a family, despite our oddities and deceptions. If there was ever a time i would re-live, this is it. From our sunday best, to inside jokes about friday night shows like "are you afraid of the dark" and "beavis and butthead", this is my childhood home. It always will be home to me. 
                                                                    Hellertown, PA

Considering, i think this is a good place to start. Hellertown is on the eastern end of PA. A beautiful state if you ask me. I was born in 1987, the youngest of four girls. I love this house, always have. I guess you could say that we had a semi-normal routine. I mean what is normal anyway? I was young, so i don't remember too much, but i can tell you what i do know. We had a good time. My dad worked for Bethlehem Steel before it shut down. We had a nice pool in the backyard, and we would go swimming at night in the summer time. We had pizza on Friday nights with movies and friends. Every Sunday we would go to church, and walk to Judd's for penny candy. We were respected, the neighborhood thought highly of us. Coming to "the Jones house" was a big event i guess.I remember three main parts of what made life great at that time. My mom was a seamstress out of the house, and she would let me sit and watch her sew while i would pretend to do the same with cardboard sewing cutouts and yarn, while we listened to Raffi and talked. There are times when i still think about that and can hear it playing in my head. It makes me sad to think that we aren't as close as we used to be. There are alot of crazy circumstances that i wish were't there, but that's something different entirely. When my dad got home from work he would play badminton with me in the backyard or push me in the tire swing we had. I used to help him with raking the leaves as best as i could for an 8 year old. I've always been a daddy's girl, especially when i was little. We also have our differences, but those are mostly a difference in opinion. No matter what, i'll always be there for my dad as best i can be. I've made mistakes, done drugs, crashed cars, got pregnant at 19, etc etc.....so much for making him proud. At 24 years old, i still try to do things right, i just let my emotions get in the way. It may not seem like i try very hard, but i need to make sure that I am happy to. I love my dad. There's a saying "Any man can be a father, but it takes someone special to be a daddy". 

There was a woman named Mrs.Lydia (Lilian)Muschlitz who lived across the alley from us. Everyday after school i would go to her house and we would spend the whole afternoon together. We would make chicken noodle soup from scratch, and bake together. Sometimes her son Richard would come over with his wife Eleanor, and they would take me to the bakery with them. At the end of the night we would watch "wheel of fortune" and "Jeopardy", and either my mom or dad would get there at the beginning of the credits. It never failed, the exact time, every night, they would be at the door to get me. I think it was a relief to my parents in a way that i spent so much time with her. I have never spent much time with people my age. I didn't have many friends as a kid, because Lilian was my best friend. I learned so much from her, nothing that i could have learned from my peers. So i suppose it was better that i socialize with a mature adult than with a bunch of the wrong kids or not at all, right? I remember the teachers having to bribe me to go to recess, since i never wanted to go play with the other kids, i just wanted to spend more time with the adults than i did the rest of my classmates. So again, in a way i'm sure it was a relief that i was socializing with anyone at all, but at the same time i know it was concerning that i wasn't all that interested in making new friends my age. 
I recently took a trip back to PA, and i drove around a little, took some pictures, and time really does change everything. My little main street is now a main road, my old house is so different now, and there is a CVS across the street. My elementary school has been torn down, and there is a huge "fancy pants" school that now replaces it a block away from my childhood home.

 I didn't expect Lilian to live forever, but it made me sad to find out that she died the year i graduated. Which is only weird to me because her husband died the  year i was born. So its almost like i was meant to be a part of her life. I like to think that i made her happy for the time that i was there to keep her company. She used to sing " you are my sunshine" to me every night almost. We had her over for dinner once or twice, I was so proud of my "grown up best friend". It may seem odd to post a picture of a gravestone, but to me it makes her real for you and it is somewhat therapeutic for me to see it, so I know its true. I never really got a chance to grieve for her, because to me she never died. Its not so much denial (i wasn't there for it so it didn't happen right??) as much as she was such a big part of my life that i feel like she watches over me. I know, I know, cliche' and over rated. "they are watching over me". Its more like she helped make sure that i was the happy little girl I tried to keep being in Indiana. She helped mold me into the woman i am today, and i also hope that i would have made her proud. Now again, and i know i'm repeating myself, I've done some stupid stuff in my life, but I've also done some amazing things. I've written two books, I have an amazing daughter, I've had single works of mine published multiple times, and I've influenced so many people for the better. You people know who you are. So I'm hoping that in the end, I will be a better person, and be able to face some of my demons head on by writing "my story".Actually dealing with some of the worst times I've ever had will help me grow, and just maybe answer some of my own questions as to why i am the way i am, and what happened to that happy little girl on main street. She's still in there somewhere, its just going to take the right person to find her, and hopefully, help her find herself. 

The next little tidbit of info, the next entry. I was gonna start off with some fin little blog to give a good impression, but if you can't accept me for the good AND the bad, then you can't accept me. This isn't gonna make me look great, but its gonna be the truth. 
So lets start here-I've never had a relationship where everything was perfect. Maybe in the beginning, yes, but I always somehow fuck it up. I've always been told "you're not the kind of girl guys date, you are the kind of girl that guys marry". Now first, that doesn't make much sense. Second, doesn't the dating come first? The problem is that i'm not enough of something. Not pretty enough, Not skinny enough, Not emotional enough, I don't hide enough of my feelings. I'm an emotional person, like i said, so if you know that about me, then my emotions should be expected. I want to say next that I've never had a relationship where both parties were completely faithful. Now i mean this in more ways than one. Everybody has a vice. Drugs, Gambling, Sex, Technology. have always been the downfalls in my partners. I'm going to take some of the blame as well, since i'm recovering, as i said. I'm no angel. I'm not perfect. I don't deal with my problems like i should. I've been an addict since i was 15, but my life wasn't easy, either. Screw it, you have no background, so i'll fill you in. Next!!!

...and so it begins...

So first, wow, i haven't blogged since my free open diary days in high school. I"m gonna tell you the good, the bad, the ugly, and everything in between. I"m not here for pity, for praise, or for anything like an ulterior motive. I'm here because i'm not ready for a therapist and I can't help but want to tell my story somehow. My name is Becca, I'm 24 years old, and I am a writer/stylist. I've had the furthest thing from a normal like you could possibly imagine. Haven't we all?? Now i can sit here and tell you all the grizzly details and you can take these posts as you will, or i can just tell my perspective and you can put your own twist to my story. Hell, maybe i'll do both. So here are the basics. As i said, i'm 24 years old. I have a beautiful daughter named Isabelle Lynn, and she is the twist of fate that has kept me on this earth, and always will be. I am a recovering addict, I've had a struggle with drugs since i was 15, and everyday is a battle. Addiction is a horrible disease that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I am also manic-depressive, so some of these posts will be happy-go-lucky, and others will be the so far from positive that it will make you crazy. 

I decided to start another blog because two of my very close friends told me that it would be therapeutic. I had a blog before and i loved it, there were times that my writing has given me purpose, and i think it can save me again. Honestly this is going to be an introduction, and really wont tell you much about me at all. I'm not asking anyone to be interested, hell, half or all of you (the whole three people that might actually read it) already know me so there isn't much more to tell, is there? I'm going to do my best to keep up with this, and i will be as truthful and honest as i would in a therapist chair. I'm done hiding, done pretending, and done with all the pain,guilt, and associated feelings of a broken home, and a shattered family. This is me doing what i feel is best, and if I fall on my face, then so be it. However if i thrive and flourish, that would be fantastic. Writing is what i feel i do best, along with hair. I have so many hair designs that its hard to keep up. I am a very self expressive person, and i feel that its only healthy to express myself in every way possible. That's why i started writing. To not only express myself, but to let out some of what i was feeling, and share one hell of a story with the world. Some of it is lost, some has been published, and i hope to have my next work published within the next year.
 I am an extremely emotional person I've been told that my emotions make my decisions for me, and that can be taken as both a good and a bad thing. I suppose I feel like i have plenty to be emotional about, others might say i'm just a big baby. As the youngest of four girls thats not so hard to do. That, in itself, is another blog entirely. So i close with this. I will do my best to keep you interested, though that's not my main purpose. I've been told i should write a book, so i guess i'm about to start the outline on this page.