An Edited Life?: June 2010

So this is a story I am working on. It is based on actual events in my life, volume two is true, somewhat memoir as I cannot remember all that was said but definetly the gist of what was going on and the mood. I remember more visually really. I hope whoever may see this gives it a chance. I will be editing it daily, this will be my draft of my first "memoir" I am thinking of removing volume one and making that a fictional yet based on me tale anyway now. I realized I have so many crazy life experiences, I never wanted to write it down chronologically. Now I know I can just tell stories as I want, add in different nights and days and ridiculous dreams and nightmares where ever I chose and hopefully have an enticing tale! Thank you, any who give this a chance or even only read a little bit. Remember vol 1 is fictional, as vol 2 is an actual, very accurate account of what happened when I first went to West Oaks. Yes, the FIRST time.

I'd like to say I do not think of myself as an attention whore =) I simply love to write and all I can think of is getting out all I've been through, and maybe find company with others who have felt the same way or been in similar situations. Love you all, please take care and be safe! Enjoy!
(also, I don't believe this is close to being good enough to getting printed, but please don't jack my shit or I'll have to fuck you up ^.- loves)

Vol 1

I'm sketching a small drawing onto an index card, a small girl holding a bouquet of flowers, on the back of the card, which is blank, I write "Stolen hART" in a strange font, write TRS for "the red series" and AKV for my initials. The small piece of art is done, I will do this, with different drawings and different fonts, for about an hour, then deliver my self proclaimed "art".

We shall call it a new hobby of mine. I sip coffee in a small Houston cafe called "Budd's Cup", somewhat of a new age hippie joint.

I leave a five on the table, covering the small black coffee and tip, and proceed to leave an index card on ever table, underneath each corner of every dessert menu. I smile and wave to the cashier and exit. Readjusting my "satchel", bookbag, whatever, from my left to right. I open up the flap as I get to the crosswalk and have to grin at the bountiful amount of index cards I've made in the last month.

After doing this same process to each small business cafe, coffee shop, tattoo parlor, book store, and other such accepting joints, I meet my boyfriend at Budd's again smiling like Pennywise.

"Soo? What happened Cakes?" Josh asks as he sets down a copy of the Houston Press. I can see they're paying some attention to the cleanliness of popular Houston hot spots. Great!

"Hey Bebe," I plant a kiss on his lips and sit opposite of him, waving towards Miguel, the waiter we've known since, when? The beginning of all things, it seems. "Well it appears the are quite a few places that don't mind me laying my minds excess of shit around! Or art, whatever people call it!" As proof I open the flap for him and show the diminished index cards to now only a few dozen. I already feel a bit daunted at the task of making a few hundred more.

"Well shit that's great! Have I even asked you yet what you expect to get from this? You don't leave it clear who you are except to Budd here, and you tell people it's some weird art project for UH. Are you just getting kicks out of being able to anonymously express yourself or what?" He sips his large black and I stare into his brown eyes wondering how it took me so long to find him, then I also find a proper response.

"I was wondering why you hadn't asked earlier when I told you about you waiting here while I did this, well babe, it is a bit of what you said, I love expressing this to no one and every one. I also hope people on their own will want to know who is doing this, or at least get something positive out of it, whether it's a laugh, at the thought or the contents. I feel it's one thing I can do and must at the same time. It's almost a bit confusing, really. Egh, I don't enjoy these hard to figure out thoughts!" I squash my temples with each hand and clench my eyes shut. After a few moments I let go and sigh, "Ice Caramel Coffee, please Miguel, if you aren't gonna come ask!" I mutter "motherfucker" under my breath. Josh laughs.

"Al', why are you so angry at this innocent waiter? What'd this boy do?" His eyes change to his all penetrating gaze and he then turns and glares at the 20 year old chicano. "He was hitting on me, oh so blatantly, just some nasty stares and shit, I called him on it, but still come in here. I guess he expected the opposite. I always see his ass starin' at the floor when I'm here though." I allow myself the pleasure of a chuckle.

"Fine, let's fuckin' get outta here then." Joshua lays down exactly $2.50 for his coffee and walks to the door, holding it open for me. "Well what'd you have in mind?" I turn and ask him before leaving. "Goin' home and gettin' you where you belong." He kisses me neck, grabs my ass and helps me out the door, I'm smiling and laughing all the way to the house.

Vol 2

We're sitting in our incredibly cramped kitchenette type whatever. A closet sized kitchen I'd say. Sipping on apple juice and toking on a jay, we're discussing how to handle the feedback from the cards. My Stolen hArt.

"Well, it's a positive thing, this is definite, I'm just not sure how to go about organizing much of anything, or what I should be organizing! Am I suppose to create a gallery? With little cards? Keep posting them though people might be looking for me?" My right foot is tap tap tappin' on the tile, the joint is working but not as much as I need it to.

"What I would recommend is talking to some of your artsy friends and find out what they do. Them or someone they know might be able to tell you where to go from here." Joshua is using a toothpick to get leftover steak out of his teeth, even these things I don't mind, I'm thinking about the emails and speculation I have been given.

"I guess I expected a reaction like this, guess it's my fault for not thinking it through, didn't really think anything would come from it, I 'spose, subconsciously." I can see he is taking this in as he takes a long swig of Mickey's. I shrug and take one last hit off the joint, well now roach, and put it in the ashtray, for later bowls, or to be recycled.

"Well you need to be happy that there were far more positive reactions than negative, you could be getting shit mail out the wazzoo, or angry business owners saying they've lost customers or some such shit. No, people are happy when they see the cards, intrigued, and now want to know about the person who is doing this for this shitty city." He finished the Mickey's, throws it at the trash can and goes to grab another from the fridge.

I finger the tablecloth, silently acknowledging what he said and taking it in. People NOTICED. They're not all pissed! It appears that I've done something everyone will not look down upon. How the Hell did I even manage this? I keep these thoughts to myself and pull another rolled joint from the silver cigarette container I use for these purposes and spark it. After a deep drag and looking off through the screen door, I speak.

"I suppose I'll go back to my old blog, add onto it though, call it Stolen hArt and all they'll have to do is look that up. I'll give away little information other than my possible intentions and who I am exactly. Hopefully I don't need to worry about anyone delving in too deep." All these things are coming to my mind as I say them, I've never been a think before you speak type. Always impulsive, thus, always getting into shit.

"THAT is a good idea. A small way of letting people know you aren't some creepy guy or crazy bitch. You're trying to do something good, but we have to find a way to advance this...I think you should." His eyes are becoming a tad glazed as the malt hits him, a smile is allowed on my lips and I consider this then respond. "Well, I can work on getting followers, or just finding random blogs and ask them if they will post a scanned copy of random new index cards, net cards. Then a link to my blog, but no information nor warning, the picture out of nowhere and underneath a link! What do ya think?" I can't help but grin as he smiles, tugs my ponytail gently and kisses me. "Fucking fantastic baby. You should start on it tomorrow even, before work, afternoon shift, right?"

I snarl and think of this. Yes from six pm to six am I will be working at Animal Emergency Hospital off Highway 6. "Yeah...shit on me! I want a fucking day to do this, replies will probably take time, and who knows who I can get in on it, I don't have to many blog "followers" I just go there to vent, now I've got a purpose and I need to exploit it."

Vol 2

I am shaken from a deep sleep, I'm groggy and pissed off, who's waking me up? "C'mon Alice, wake up, you've got fifteen minutes to pack your things." I slump up and look up to see my Dad and court ordered therapist, Destiny, standing above my bare mattress that lays on the ground. "What the Hell are ya'll talking about?" I rub the sleep from my eyes and look at both of them. Destiny looks like she's veiling her anger and my father simply looks confused.

"You're going to West Oaks, your Dad found the bottle of Xanax. You have to go, you've got fifteen minutes to grab your stuff." Destiny tells me and my father is nodding with her, I'm sixteen and now very very irritated. I note that Destiny seems irritated with the whole situation. Her annoyed gaze tells me "let's drop this kid off and get on with our lives. I have other patients.". What can I say? I ain't the easiest kid to deal with.

"What the Hell?! Fifteen minutes! This is bullshit!" The previous night I had taken the majority of my Xanax and somehow survived, though there was a mess throughout my home from my devious anger that accompanies that many pills. It is still surging through my body, though I don't know it.

I viciously grab my purse, throw in some c.d's and my portable c.d player and headphones, a few books and a journal. "Fine let's get this shit over with." I look at them both, betrayers, Judas and Brutus. How could thee harm me so?

We leave in Destiny's car, a nice, new Corolla Toyota, I sit in the back, an angry teenager who is being told they tried to commit suicide. I barely speak a word the whole ride there, instead throwing on my headphones and blasting Anti-Christ Superstar and angrily mouthing the lyrics, staring into nothing. My eyes probably resembled a dead mans.

We get inside and I plop into a not so comfortable chair and stare off, not sure what to make of the situation. My Dad and therapist are talking to the receptionist about my situation, then a man walks through a locked door from the reception area. "Hey are you hungry? Let's get you something to eat!" I am greatful, I was awoken and given nothing and this is the first person today to not be angry with me for my actions. I am an angry kid but if someone smiles and I don't see perversion or sarcasm behind it, I can't help but be won over. General kindness and the want to help people, or merely lighten their day, well it's like a fifties romance for me.

I am led to the cafeteria where there aren't any people sitting at the time, it must be right before lunch, or after breakfast? I don't even know the time. I get a roll, a piece of chicken, some juice and a pudding, I sit outside in the reception in the same chair and scarf down my meal, the Xanax still coursing through my veins and making my hunger unbearable.

After sitting there for a good half hour, my therapist leaves and my Dad tells me in order for me to be safe, by the hospital standards, I must go to another not-so-mental hospital and get blood work, I'm guessing to make sure I don't seize out or something.

A memory of my mother seizing due to herself having a lack of Xanax in her system, springs into my thoughts, I rid myself of it by instantly focusing on each little task. Put on this hospital gown, get your picture taken, get on the gurney, no not gurney, I'm not dead. Everything's gonna be alright, rock a bye. This song echoes in my head. I wonder if my Mom is thinking about me?

After the ambulance "ride" I am put into a room where my Dad stays with me. I lay and clench my eyes as they insert a syringe and take a rainbow test. We are at the hospital for the whole day. Later on my older sister comes in and talks to me while I profess I was not trying to kill myself, just one too many. I found the pr0blem with Xanax was that you'd take one, then couldn't remember if you'd taken it, now I obviously ended up knowing I'd had my fill, but after three I wanted to "party" isolated and ended up taking the rest of the bottle throughout the night.

Once it's about eight or so I am taken back to West Oaks, led to the adolescent ward with my father and sister. This is after we all go through a metal detector, they take my c.d player and c.d's, my one love, music, but at least leave my journal, luckily it didn't contain wire binding.

We walk out 0f the building we entered into a grassy field that is surrounded by different units, I am to be put into unit 7. We enter and I see all the locks, as soon as you're in the ward, to your right is a door with a very small window, with a metal grate over it, inside is a solitary mattress and padded walls. I don't shiver but peak in. Soon I am taken to this room and strip searched by a female orderly. My father and sister sit and speak with the top orderlies, signing forms and finding out what is and isn't allowed. I sit with them until I am no longer needed and then see the group of kids sitting at a collapsible table playing cards, talking, and laughing.

"Zach crack!" I hear someone say and giggle. I saunter over, holding my ridiculously baggy bondage rocker pants up, they've taken my belt away. "Did I hear someone say crack?" I get the attention of the kids. There's a skinny white girl who looks a bit emo, but still smiles. A skinny white boy with curly blond hair, apparently this is Zach, a red head with glasses, an upscale looking white girl with pretty blue eyes, a goth looking black girl who looks like the murder doll chucky and is proud of it.

I pull out a metal chair and sit down, I take a look back and see my sister watching me, looking worried. "Yes, we're talking about Zach here! I'm Allison!" The emo white girl, a short cropped black cut, says, waving away my worries of not being accepted even to the other "crazies". The redhead is Courtney, blue eyes is Amanda, Tanya is chucky, and Zach is Zach. "I'm Alice, you can call me A or Al, whatever." I shake hands with each of them and sit down.

We are soon giggling and laughing too loudly, a large black woman, another orderly, tells us to calm down. We do.

Within thirty minutes of this my kin are getting up to leave, I feel scared and uncertain.

Once they are gone I am given the immediate supplies. Here is what is deemed neccesary at West Oaks Mental Hospital;
A roll stick of deodorant, travel size
a tube of tooth paste
a shitty tooth brush
a comb
hair shampoo and conditioner in one, also travel size
a hand towel
pair of beige socks
a list of rules.

I am shown my room, which normally would have someone else in it but since I make this troupe an odd number I temporarily have my own room, I guess until someone else takes too many pills. I go inside and stare at the thick glassed window, all doors are kept ajar. I manage to find sleep after not too long.

The next morning I awake early, and soon another black orderly is making their way into my room. I find it strange that everyone in this institution is most black, be it they're from all over, it's just an odd thing to notice. The orderly takes me vitals and moves to the next room. I am taken with Amanda, who apparently arrive only a few hours before me yesterday, to the front of the large room we're kept in, they sit us by the collection of folded tables that serves as their desks and first do a rainbow test on her, than I. We then sit on the two long parallel white couches. Girls on one side, boys on the other.

After about fifteen minutes Courtney and Allison awoke, and groggily walked to the "t.v room", really just an open room connected to the large living room-ish area. The t.v was about 40 inches and had a hard plastic casing covering it inside a wooden shell so as not to be thrown. We laid or sat on the couches that lined the small space, watching crappy MTV dating shows where people are horribly flirty, yet unable to tune into Family Guy less we are caught and lose said privileges, though some of us say fuck it most the time.

We watch t.v till 7:00 am when the kids whom are no longer on Suicide Watch(blue bracelet) get to go to the cafeteria. I came in only last night, have yet to see a general practitioner or psychiatrist, so I will request whatever options I'm given, some cereal, eggs, bacon, biscuit, milk, and juice.

After breakfast I learn of waiting. There are always things you are waiting for. Possible time outside, group therapy, individual therapy, family therapy, if you're in for drugs, there's PDAP mandatory group sessions. "Class", where you really only learn about mental illness from a pissed off ex-cop. Class is a grueling two and a half hours, which would maybe be okay as a change if it weren't for the fact the building seemed so governmental. Though the staff made it clear it was not a government facility. The walls were a dull, somehow, soft gray, blank white black tile, large doors with larges handles, and loud buzzing to be let through. Locks for the restrooms. One in at a time, showers mandatory every morning and night, thank God for that. No razors, wait for lunch. Lunch comes, food is consumed like an addictive video game. Girls are able to mingle with boys which merely provides for better social interaction. Wait wait wait wait wait wait don't hug, can't put make up on one another or do each others hair wait, wait, the doctor will be seeing you in five minutes, wait we're about to give out medication. Wait, open your mouth, lift your tongue, let me see the sides, wait heres another!

The days strung on like this, it was boring but I finally got around to reading The Vampire Lestat, a book I'd checked out from my school library and had brought in. I told every doctor I was fine but not afraid to be brutally honest and ask for things I needed, such as eggcrate mattress layer whatever for my aching hip. I was "prescribed" coffee in the morning for my caffeine headaches, 800 mg of ibuprofen whenever needed. I was taking Seroquel every night, and the amount was going up daily. It was a sedative and a bipolar medication, one I hadn't abused. It made me incredibly groggy in the morning and want to sleep all day, which I couldn't, less with extra special permission.

The average stay in West Oaks is 3 days. However, this can easily turn into two weeks, or if you seem to never be out of a suicidal/homicidal mode, you can be transferred. This place was merely for kids and adults to recoup and hopefully go back into the real world a bit saner, along with out patient therapy, if we wanted to pay for it.

After two full days inside, I was granted to grounds and cafeteria privileges(green bracelet). I will finally be allowed to socialize further by watching eating habits, reactions to food, and brief glances at the other in patients.

So this is the incomplete story I am currently working on. If anyone is aware of my writing you know I am flaky about continuing the same project. However, I truly love writing and will always do my best to make a story thrive and continue it for as long as I can without ruining what's already been written. I appreciate anyone who reads this and gives me constructive criticism.

Tata
Val

ps update~~~~****
I was editing this more so in Volume Two just now, so if you realize around the beginning it's better than the ending writing or not, let me know!

An Edited Life?

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

I Feel Like Dying

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Poemesque

A Series....

Comment on an Artist

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

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