But I did it anyway.
No shots fired yet... but they usually do that under cover of darkness.
Besides, though I *am* just the crackergirl who smokes in the park, the ghetto rats don't usually bother me. I think that's because of Plug. Plug likes hangin out over here. He talks to my dad. He tries to help fix cars and do yard work. I dunno how or when he got to feeling attached, but it's really damned cool.
Screwed up kid.
Just want to hug him sometimes, but he would clock the shit out of me if I tried.
I watched a lil HBO docu on Bellvue last night.
Some very interesting stuff.
And I can tell you beyond a doubt that all those people who have insisted that I'm bi-polar and in need of drugs and counselling can bite me.
I get enough drugs and counselling. Usually while I'm on the drugs. Nice therapuetic kinda thing going on.
I've been with bi-polar people.. I am not one of them. I have mood swings and neurotic lil issues with stuff... but that's because I've had a soap opera life. A showtime kinda soap opera... an NC17 kinda soap opera. I *am* the kid in the afterschool special.
But I've dealt with most of my stuff pretty much on my own. And hangups and all I'm pretty well adjusted at this point. Took me almost 24 years... but it was worth the wait.
Hospitals and mental institutions.
I've been in too many of them.
Never a patient in the latter, but believe me, that doesn't diminish the experience.
I still remember sitting there with Will in the lil room with the nurse watching.
I was still very attached to him through guilt and my need to make him okay. I needed all of his need so much.
And he was there, contrite, small, hunched over, rail thin... which he always was.. just the shadows of the place settled in all his hollows and made him look frail instead of wiry.
I had clothes for him and some books from his house. His mother didn't want to let me in, but his step father told me to come back when she was at work.
They had already tossed his room. I couldn't tell if it was the family or the cops.
They were both groups of pigs to me.
That sty they lived in..plates on the floor, dog shit in the hall way, dirty clothes everywhere, the kitchen, even if it hadn't been demolished by will just a couple days before (ripped off the door to the fridge, broke out all the glass shelves, half the cabinet doors were hanging on hinges and he'd even ripped up some of the loose linoleum in the corner when he went berzerk after his brother maced him) would have been the same mess as usual. Old food spills and splatters everywhere. Ants in little armies on the counters.
I hated that house and those people.
I was glad that Jack let me in for the clothes though.
I boxed up all his stuff that I could, all the stuff that I know meant something to him and took it home with me.
I sorted out clothes and a few books that would help him out.
I took the long drive.
I waited downstairs. Rode the small old elevator up to the open ward floor.
Technically he'd been self commited. But if he walked out before the end of the 3 months they would have cops waiting for him at the door to take him off to the magistrate.
Sitting there in that little room, so very little of himself showing.... remembering the bruises his hip bones always left on my inner thighs and how so much of what he wanted in me was sex....
And he didn't really talk. And he flinched when I touched him. And he smiled so gratefully at me.
And that thing... getting in the elevator and looking up just as he was being taken back and the doors were closing on the distance between us and he just smiled.
I'm not that.
I will never be that.
I can't decide if that's good or bad.