I'm having a hard time writing this book...it's something I am not familiar with. I am used to writing and reading books about the paranormal, instead I'm writing a book about an actual disease which will end up into a crime/drama novel. I hope it ends up being good. If not at least I wrote another book. It's more than most writers do. :)
I am going to tell you all a secret now...I have been holding it in for almost 2 weeks now...I'M PREGNANT!!!!!! I'm scared as hell, I'm nervous, I'm sad, I'm happy...I'm about every emotion in the book. I went to the doctor today, I am probably around 5 or 6 weeks along and I started heparin shots today. (Heparin is a blood thinner) I have to give them to myself twice a day and OMG does it burn when I have to shoot myself with it. It feels like there is a flame coming out of that nasty needle. But hey, as long as it helps I'm happy with that!!
I miss Adrian and Elijah, and this new baby will have just as much love as I have for the other two. This new baby will know of their brothers that came before them. And I will make sure I do my best to be a great mother!! Please keep me and my baby in your thoughts and prayers, we will need all that we can get!! :)
Happy Blogging!!
BTW, Don't tell anyone about me being pregnant. lol :D
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Chapter two rough draft.
Before I post the rough draft of the second chapter I want to refresh your memory on what the book is about. Clinical Vampirism, where a human being has an obsession, a craving for blood. Within the next two chapters or so you will find out more information and you will understand more. I will only be posting the first 4 or 5 chapters though. Anyway here's chapter 2:
Chapter Two: Caught Red Handed
I know it sounds a little strange, okay maybe more than a little, but by Bill giving me the baggie of blood he had already done more for me than my parents ever have. I think for the past seven Christmas’ I got a $20 gift certificate to Jumpin Joes Burger Shack, and maybe a new shirt or two. I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful, because I’m not. They have the means, money wise, to buy me actual gifts. A $20 certificate to a burger joint for a ten year old is ridiculous.
My parents are so self-involved it’s disgusting. For instance, I have been drinking blood for the past four years, right under their noses and have they noticed? I could probably go out commit horrible crimes and they would never know. I could have killed Scruffy my dog, gruesomely and they would have been convinced it happen by natural causes. They don’t give a shit about anyone but themselves and they sure as hell don’t pay attention to what’s going on with their child. Maybe if they were paying better attention to me I wouldn’t have climbed onto that roof so long ago. If they paid attention maybe I wouldn’t need to drink a couple ounces of blood everyday to feel strong, they could have gotten me help.
Instead my life is shit, my world is crumbling, and I’m left alone with nothing and no one but my addiction to satisfy me.
I take that back, I do have Bill. I always have, even after he found out I was a disgusting blood drinking creature. He continued to treat me like family even though I told him everything about my blood drinking. During the months before he found out about me he was kind-hearted and treated me like his own son. Once I told him the truth about it all he treated me even more like a son. He was and is more of a parent to me than my own father.
I remember the first time I went into work after he had caught me with the cup of warm steamy blood. I was nervous and scared that I would walk into work and there he’d stand with two men dressed in white ready to put me in a straight jacket and drag me off forever. Instead, he pretended like nothing had happened the day before. He would sneak a few concerned glances every now and then thinking I didn’t notice, but other than that, he was pretty cool.
At the end of the day Bill had called me into his office where he asked me to sit down. He then began asking me a number of questions about what I was doing, why I started drinking blood, and what caused me to begin craving it in the first place. I told him the truth about everything, I told him that I didn’t understand it and that I hated myself for it. I explained that I felt as disgusting as he thought I was. His reply only proved how nice he actually was, he said that there is nothing disgusting about me, I have an illness and it needs to be addressed that’s all.
We continued talking for over two hours after we closed the store and by the end of the conversation he handed me another small baggie with blood in it. I looked up at him with an almost envious feeling. How was he so accepting of something he really didn’t understand? Why was he being so compassionate to a person who clearly has major issues to deal with? Why in the hell was he helping me?
I grabbed the small bag of blood from him and gently placed it in my back pack in a slight grin on my face. When he asked what I was smiling about I couldn’t help but joke, saying that he was now my blood dealer.
Things continued this way for months, and Bill and I became closer and closer. He was really beginning to be like a father to me, I would call him if I needed help with anything rather than go right across the hall to my actual dad. Bill never had any children and his wife passed away back in ’97, which are the only things I know about his life. So I think he needed me just as much as I needed him.
By the time I turned 17 I was handling my ‘illness’ a lot easier, Bill helped me to realize it wasn’t my fault. I still hadn’t gone to get help yet, being only 17 I needed parental consent to do so and my parents did not need to know of this. It would be just another way I was a screw up to them. I decided once I turned 18 I would go to a councilor immediately. I wanted help, I needed it. Unfortunately I never got the chance to get it for myself though.
On April 8, 2010 I woke up like any other morning wanting a taste of blood before school. I noticed if I drank a little bit before school I wouldn’t drink as much later. It was kind of like my coffee and afternoon tea. I hit the snooze button on the alarm when it went off at 6:30 and rolled back over. The alarm went off again fifteen minutes later and I hit the snooze for a second time. The third time it went off I pulled myself out of bed and went over to my small refrigerator I kept in my room to grab out a small amount of blood.
As I’m slowly sipping the cold, thick, metallic piece of heaven my door flew open. My mother stood in my door way angrily staring at me as if I’ve ruined her entire morning. I continued to hold the small cup in my hand, afraid if I moved she would sense something strange was going on.
‘That damn alarm went off three times. You need to have consideration for other people in this house Darin! Do not wake me up again!’ She turned and hurriedly exited my room slamming the door behind her. Just as I began to breathe again she came rushing back in outraged.
‘And another thing, you need to start contributing to this household young man! You are 17 years old, you need to act like it instead of going out and buying yourself secret refrigerators where you keep God only knows what!’ She barreled through my room and ripped the cup from my hand throwing it across the room and pushed past me to open the fridge.
She stood there with the refrigerator wide open staring wide eyed at the four baggies of blood sitting on the top shelf and the small cups filled on the bottom. She glowered at me as she slowly began backing away from me and my small stash of blood. ‘What the hell is wrong with you! Richard!’ Her voice was ten octaves higher than a dog could even hear.
My dad came rushing into the room with a half-crazed look on his face, ‘What’s wrong? What’s the problem?’ He was clearly out of breath, and it was apparent on his face that he was absolutely clueless to what my mother was so angry about.
‘Look in that refrigerator! Look at what your despicable son has in there! It’s revolting!’ My mother was pointing frantically at the fridge shaking. Her face began changing colors and I found myself hoping and praying that she would just drop right then and there! Dad I could deal with, he was more of a loner, he would just continue to ignore me, but her…I hated her!
My father leaned over the bed and looked into the refrigerator before glancing up at me disgusted and confused. ‘Is that…blood?’
I didn’t say a word, I just continued to stand there dumbfounded. I spent so many years hiding these things from them. I was almost free, I almost had enough money saved to move out and I’ve just gotten caught. My father continued to stare at me waiting for a response and when they both realized they weren’t going to get one my mother rushed to my side and grabbed my arm with more force than any 115 pound woman should have.
‘Your father asked you a question you little asshole! What the hell do you have blood for!? What the hell is wrong with you! We raised you better than this, better than some sadistic freak!’ She stopped and they waited again for a response, this time when they didn’t get one she hauled off and slapped me. I stumbled backward into the fridge knocking it over and spilling all of the cups of blood on the floor.
Outraged I picked up the last few drops in each cup and dripped them into my mouth right in front of them, watching their expressions change from fury to pure panic. I continued to drink each little drop from every cup before throwing them all at my mother. I then picked up one of the small baggies of blood and opened it holding it high above my mouth so they could watch it slowly slide from the opening of the bag into my wide thirsty mouth.
I glared at them from the corner of my eye and they were both still standing there with the same panicked expressions on their smug stuck up faces. I stopped drinking and lowered the bag to my side, blood gliding down my chin and landing on my t-shirt. I couldn’t help but laugh, they looked so frightened like I was going to cross the room and drink their blood. My mother went to take a step forward and just as her tiny little foot hit the ground I chucked the open bag of blood at her. It flung through the air, blood splattering on the walls and ceiling before finally making contact with her scowling face.
She started gagging and screaming while my father still continued to stare at me horrified. A hysterical rumbling laughter escaped my lips which only angered my mother even more. She turned to hit me again so I made a motion like I was going to reach for another bag and she jumped back screaming.
‘If you two don’t mind I have to clean up and get ready for school now.’ I calmly stated as I slowly made my way to the bathroom to take a shower. When I got out they were gone but I knew that wasn’t the end of this, they would make me pay for what I’ve done.
I went to school just like every other day and to work right after. Bill immediately noticed that something was different with me. It could have been the way I practically ran into the store or the chuckles that kept involuntarily escaping my lips. He asked me what was going on and when I told him he too began to laugh a little before realizing what I had yet to.
‘Won’t they put you away? Or get you in trouble for this?’ He asked concern creasing his already wrinkled forehead.
‘Probably. But Bill, you don’t understand how good that felt. I have been wanting to do something to them for years, and now I finally have. It’s almost worth being locked up.’
I drank my blood at work that night because I was positive that there wouldn’t be any more in my room. I slowly walked home, dreading what I knew was coming. I sluggishly made my way through the front door and made it half way up the stairs before my dad came into the hallway. ‘Darin, can I talk to you for a minute?’ He actually sounded sincere, concerned. He sounded like a father.
I turned around worried about what was going to follow. Were there people waiting for me in my room, where they going to tie me up and shoot me full of drugs so they can drag me from the house? Before my thoughts could get much more carried away he began talking.
‘Your mother left for a few days. Um, I called and made you an appointment to talk to a psychiatrist. You have to be there by 9 am tomorrow morning so you’ll have to miss some school. I know you may not want to do this but I think it’s the best thing for you…something is seriously wrong.’
I was completely taken aback by his concern. In all my life he had never shown any interest in me or what was going on in my life and now here he is acting like a father. I couldn’t muster up any words so all I did was simply nod my head and turn to walk back up the stairs.
I got into my room expecting to find the mess of blood all over the walls and ceiling, but instead my room was spotless. Even the sheets had been washed. Out of pure curiosity I opened the fridge, it was empty. I changed my clothes and laid down in bed wondering what in the world was going to happen to me tomorrow.
There was a quiet knock on my door at 8 in the morning, ‘Darin you have to get up, do you want me to make you anything to…eat?’ He sounded almost scared to talk to me. I refused his offer and told him I’d be down in twenty minutes.
At the psychiatrists office she bombarded me with questions on what I was doing why I was doing it and so on, just like Bill did. The only difference was that she was doing it in a way that made me feel small, like a child again, ashamed of what I’ve been doing. She asked if someone was telling me to drink the blood, as if I had some unseen demon forcing me to do these things. She made me feel like I was psychotic and had to be put away immediately.
After the session she called my father in who sat inches away from me on the love seat in her office. He was leaning toward the far side trying to be as far away from me as possible. She directed him through this entire conversation, explaining what was wrong with me.
‘Darin suffers from a very rare syndrome. A syndrome called Renfield’s Syndrome, or Clinical Vampirism.’
I glanced over at my father who looked just as shocked and confused as I did. ‘What in the hell is Clinical Vampirism?’ I asked frantically.
‘It’s a mental disorder where the sufferer has an obsession to drink blood. There are typically three stages to this disorder. The first stage is auto-vampirism, where you drink your own blood. The second stage is zoophagia , where you drink not only your own blood but the blood of other living creatures, IE…rabbits, hamsters, mice. By you drinking the blood from the butcher shop you work at puts you under this category as well as stage one. The third stage is true vampirism, which is when you drink other human’s blood, willing or not.’
She stopped talking for a moment, letting it all sink in I assume. Once we made eye contact once again she continued to explain more about it. Ending the conversation with the one sentence I was hoping not to hear, ‘There is a hospital here in Massachusetts that specializes in vampirism. I believe it’s in you and your entire family’s best interest if you attend there willingly for awhile.’
That was it, dad was reeled in. I knew he would be sending me there, I’d be lucky if I made it the rest of the day before he packed my stuff and drove me there. When we arrived home it was around 4 pm so I ran upstairs and got changed for work. If this was going to be my last few days here, I wanted to spend them with the only person who treated me like family.
I arrived at work and informed Bill of the whole situation and explained what it was that she said was wrong with me. I told him that I would probably be sent away soon, and that I wouldn’t be able to see him anymore because the hospital is on the other side of the state. He promised me that he would come to visit as often as possible, I believed him. Bill loved me like a son and I loved him like a father. He would end up being the only one to visit me.
A few days passed with no word from my father about me leaving for that retched hospital, so I was beginning to think that he wasn’t going to force me to go unless provoked. My mother had come home and refused to speak to me, which was more than a blessing. She wouldn’t walk into a room if she knew I was there and would leave the second I entered one she was in. I wish my entire childhood could have been that way.
It was early on a Saturday, eight days after they caught me drinking blood. I was barely awake when my mother, yet again, came plowing through my bed room door practically tearing it off the hinges.
‘Get up! We’re leaving in ten minutes.’ She turned around and rushed back downstairs throwing things around the house and making a horrible racket. I sat up dazed and confused wondering what was going on, I didn’t have to wonder long. My father came in the room with an apologetic look on his face. He didn’t even have to say a word.
‘No! I’ve been good, I haven’t been doing it! You can’t make me go there!’ I practically cried.
‘I’m sorry Darin, this isn’t my choice. I shouldn’t have told her about the hospital, I didn’t think she’d react this way. I’m sorry. ‘
I fought the tears that were beginning to well up in my eyes and stormed off into the bathroom slamming the door behind me. The truth was that I hadn’t been good, I was still drinking the blood at work. But I didn’t deserve to be put away, for all they knew I was doing better. I hate my mother. She belongs in a nut house, not me!
When I came out of the bathroom my dad was still standing in the center of my room, tears about to spill over out of his eyes also. He grabbed my duffle bag from underneath my bed and then walked over to my dresser where he started handing me clothes.
As strange as it sounds, I wasn’t angry with him, I was angry with her! She was forcing this on me, she was making me go. He helped me pack everything I had into two duffle bags and left the room without a word. I reached under my mattress and grabbed all of the money I saved up and stuffed it into a hidden pocket in the bag. I glanced around the room once more trying to think of anything else I might be forgetting.
As I sluggishly made my way downstairs I knew I had to find a way to say goodbye to Bill. I couldn’t leave without seeing him first. I walked up to my dad and whispered to him asking if we could stop by there for a moment so I could say goodbye. He agreed.
I walked in tears about to consume me and told Bill what was happening. I told him that I would call and write him if it was possible. I hugged him and fought with myself to say goodbye. As I walked out I came to the realization that my life was never going to be the same, I would never see Bill again and I would never be able to at least pretend to be normal again. I lost it all, I lost everything.
I slid back into the back seat of the car and sat quietly through the hours and hours of driving until we reached the institution. Riley’s Hospital for the Mentally Ill.
A plump red haired woman greeted us at the door saying that this is where I would have to part with them. I turned to my father and nodded my head once in understanding and didn’t even look at my mother before moving forward through the doors. I looked back once to see my dad staring after me with a look of pure anguish on his face.
The plump woman led me to a room where others were sitting doing various activities. I only had a moment to look around before the woman continued walking down a long corridor which brought me into a single room. ‘This is your room, get settled and later I’ll introduce you to everyone.’
Great, just what I want.
Chapter Two: Caught Red Handed
I know it sounds a little strange, okay maybe more than a little, but by Bill giving me the baggie of blood he had already done more for me than my parents ever have. I think for the past seven Christmas’ I got a $20 gift certificate to Jumpin Joes Burger Shack, and maybe a new shirt or two. I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful, because I’m not. They have the means, money wise, to buy me actual gifts. A $20 certificate to a burger joint for a ten year old is ridiculous.
My parents are so self-involved it’s disgusting. For instance, I have been drinking blood for the past four years, right under their noses and have they noticed? I could probably go out commit horrible crimes and they would never know. I could have killed Scruffy my dog, gruesomely and they would have been convinced it happen by natural causes. They don’t give a shit about anyone but themselves and they sure as hell don’t pay attention to what’s going on with their child. Maybe if they were paying better attention to me I wouldn’t have climbed onto that roof so long ago. If they paid attention maybe I wouldn’t need to drink a couple ounces of blood everyday to feel strong, they could have gotten me help.
Instead my life is shit, my world is crumbling, and I’m left alone with nothing and no one but my addiction to satisfy me.
I take that back, I do have Bill. I always have, even after he found out I was a disgusting blood drinking creature. He continued to treat me like family even though I told him everything about my blood drinking. During the months before he found out about me he was kind-hearted and treated me like his own son. Once I told him the truth about it all he treated me even more like a son. He was and is more of a parent to me than my own father.
I remember the first time I went into work after he had caught me with the cup of warm steamy blood. I was nervous and scared that I would walk into work and there he’d stand with two men dressed in white ready to put me in a straight jacket and drag me off forever. Instead, he pretended like nothing had happened the day before. He would sneak a few concerned glances every now and then thinking I didn’t notice, but other than that, he was pretty cool.
At the end of the day Bill had called me into his office where he asked me to sit down. He then began asking me a number of questions about what I was doing, why I started drinking blood, and what caused me to begin craving it in the first place. I told him the truth about everything, I told him that I didn’t understand it and that I hated myself for it. I explained that I felt as disgusting as he thought I was. His reply only proved how nice he actually was, he said that there is nothing disgusting about me, I have an illness and it needs to be addressed that’s all.
We continued talking for over two hours after we closed the store and by the end of the conversation he handed me another small baggie with blood in it. I looked up at him with an almost envious feeling. How was he so accepting of something he really didn’t understand? Why was he being so compassionate to a person who clearly has major issues to deal with? Why in the hell was he helping me?
I grabbed the small bag of blood from him and gently placed it in my back pack in a slight grin on my face. When he asked what I was smiling about I couldn’t help but joke, saying that he was now my blood dealer.
Things continued this way for months, and Bill and I became closer and closer. He was really beginning to be like a father to me, I would call him if I needed help with anything rather than go right across the hall to my actual dad. Bill never had any children and his wife passed away back in ’97, which are the only things I know about his life. So I think he needed me just as much as I needed him.
By the time I turned 17 I was handling my ‘illness’ a lot easier, Bill helped me to realize it wasn’t my fault. I still hadn’t gone to get help yet, being only 17 I needed parental consent to do so and my parents did not need to know of this. It would be just another way I was a screw up to them. I decided once I turned 18 I would go to a councilor immediately. I wanted help, I needed it. Unfortunately I never got the chance to get it for myself though.
On April 8, 2010 I woke up like any other morning wanting a taste of blood before school. I noticed if I drank a little bit before school I wouldn’t drink as much later. It was kind of like my coffee and afternoon tea. I hit the snooze button on the alarm when it went off at 6:30 and rolled back over. The alarm went off again fifteen minutes later and I hit the snooze for a second time. The third time it went off I pulled myself out of bed and went over to my small refrigerator I kept in my room to grab out a small amount of blood.
As I’m slowly sipping the cold, thick, metallic piece of heaven my door flew open. My mother stood in my door way angrily staring at me as if I’ve ruined her entire morning. I continued to hold the small cup in my hand, afraid if I moved she would sense something strange was going on.
‘That damn alarm went off three times. You need to have consideration for other people in this house Darin! Do not wake me up again!’ She turned and hurriedly exited my room slamming the door behind her. Just as I began to breathe again she came rushing back in outraged.
‘And another thing, you need to start contributing to this household young man! You are 17 years old, you need to act like it instead of going out and buying yourself secret refrigerators where you keep God only knows what!’ She barreled through my room and ripped the cup from my hand throwing it across the room and pushed past me to open the fridge.
She stood there with the refrigerator wide open staring wide eyed at the four baggies of blood sitting on the top shelf and the small cups filled on the bottom. She glowered at me as she slowly began backing away from me and my small stash of blood. ‘What the hell is wrong with you! Richard!’ Her voice was ten octaves higher than a dog could even hear.
My dad came rushing into the room with a half-crazed look on his face, ‘What’s wrong? What’s the problem?’ He was clearly out of breath, and it was apparent on his face that he was absolutely clueless to what my mother was so angry about.
‘Look in that refrigerator! Look at what your despicable son has in there! It’s revolting!’ My mother was pointing frantically at the fridge shaking. Her face began changing colors and I found myself hoping and praying that she would just drop right then and there! Dad I could deal with, he was more of a loner, he would just continue to ignore me, but her…I hated her!
My father leaned over the bed and looked into the refrigerator before glancing up at me disgusted and confused. ‘Is that…blood?’
I didn’t say a word, I just continued to stand there dumbfounded. I spent so many years hiding these things from them. I was almost free, I almost had enough money saved to move out and I’ve just gotten caught. My father continued to stare at me waiting for a response and when they both realized they weren’t going to get one my mother rushed to my side and grabbed my arm with more force than any 115 pound woman should have.
‘Your father asked you a question you little asshole! What the hell do you have blood for!? What the hell is wrong with you! We raised you better than this, better than some sadistic freak!’ She stopped and they waited again for a response, this time when they didn’t get one she hauled off and slapped me. I stumbled backward into the fridge knocking it over and spilling all of the cups of blood on the floor.
Outraged I picked up the last few drops in each cup and dripped them into my mouth right in front of them, watching their expressions change from fury to pure panic. I continued to drink each little drop from every cup before throwing them all at my mother. I then picked up one of the small baggies of blood and opened it holding it high above my mouth so they could watch it slowly slide from the opening of the bag into my wide thirsty mouth.
I glared at them from the corner of my eye and they were both still standing there with the same panicked expressions on their smug stuck up faces. I stopped drinking and lowered the bag to my side, blood gliding down my chin and landing on my t-shirt. I couldn’t help but laugh, they looked so frightened like I was going to cross the room and drink their blood. My mother went to take a step forward and just as her tiny little foot hit the ground I chucked the open bag of blood at her. It flung through the air, blood splattering on the walls and ceiling before finally making contact with her scowling face.
She started gagging and screaming while my father still continued to stare at me horrified. A hysterical rumbling laughter escaped my lips which only angered my mother even more. She turned to hit me again so I made a motion like I was going to reach for another bag and she jumped back screaming.
‘If you two don’t mind I have to clean up and get ready for school now.’ I calmly stated as I slowly made my way to the bathroom to take a shower. When I got out they were gone but I knew that wasn’t the end of this, they would make me pay for what I’ve done.
I went to school just like every other day and to work right after. Bill immediately noticed that something was different with me. It could have been the way I practically ran into the store or the chuckles that kept involuntarily escaping my lips. He asked me what was going on and when I told him he too began to laugh a little before realizing what I had yet to.
‘Won’t they put you away? Or get you in trouble for this?’ He asked concern creasing his already wrinkled forehead.
‘Probably. But Bill, you don’t understand how good that felt. I have been wanting to do something to them for years, and now I finally have. It’s almost worth being locked up.’
I drank my blood at work that night because I was positive that there wouldn’t be any more in my room. I slowly walked home, dreading what I knew was coming. I sluggishly made my way through the front door and made it half way up the stairs before my dad came into the hallway. ‘Darin, can I talk to you for a minute?’ He actually sounded sincere, concerned. He sounded like a father.
I turned around worried about what was going to follow. Were there people waiting for me in my room, where they going to tie me up and shoot me full of drugs so they can drag me from the house? Before my thoughts could get much more carried away he began talking.
‘Your mother left for a few days. Um, I called and made you an appointment to talk to a psychiatrist. You have to be there by 9 am tomorrow morning so you’ll have to miss some school. I know you may not want to do this but I think it’s the best thing for you…something is seriously wrong.’
I was completely taken aback by his concern. In all my life he had never shown any interest in me or what was going on in my life and now here he is acting like a father. I couldn’t muster up any words so all I did was simply nod my head and turn to walk back up the stairs.
I got into my room expecting to find the mess of blood all over the walls and ceiling, but instead my room was spotless. Even the sheets had been washed. Out of pure curiosity I opened the fridge, it was empty. I changed my clothes and laid down in bed wondering what in the world was going to happen to me tomorrow.
There was a quiet knock on my door at 8 in the morning, ‘Darin you have to get up, do you want me to make you anything to…eat?’ He sounded almost scared to talk to me. I refused his offer and told him I’d be down in twenty minutes.
At the psychiatrists office she bombarded me with questions on what I was doing why I was doing it and so on, just like Bill did. The only difference was that she was doing it in a way that made me feel small, like a child again, ashamed of what I’ve been doing. She asked if someone was telling me to drink the blood, as if I had some unseen demon forcing me to do these things. She made me feel like I was psychotic and had to be put away immediately.
After the session she called my father in who sat inches away from me on the love seat in her office. He was leaning toward the far side trying to be as far away from me as possible. She directed him through this entire conversation, explaining what was wrong with me.
‘Darin suffers from a very rare syndrome. A syndrome called Renfield’s Syndrome, or Clinical Vampirism.’
I glanced over at my father who looked just as shocked and confused as I did. ‘What in the hell is Clinical Vampirism?’ I asked frantically.
‘It’s a mental disorder where the sufferer has an obsession to drink blood. There are typically three stages to this disorder. The first stage is auto-vampirism, where you drink your own blood. The second stage is zoophagia , where you drink not only your own blood but the blood of other living creatures, IE…rabbits, hamsters, mice. By you drinking the blood from the butcher shop you work at puts you under this category as well as stage one. The third stage is true vampirism, which is when you drink other human’s blood, willing or not.’
She stopped talking for a moment, letting it all sink in I assume. Once we made eye contact once again she continued to explain more about it. Ending the conversation with the one sentence I was hoping not to hear, ‘There is a hospital here in Massachusetts that specializes in vampirism. I believe it’s in you and your entire family’s best interest if you attend there willingly for awhile.’
That was it, dad was reeled in. I knew he would be sending me there, I’d be lucky if I made it the rest of the day before he packed my stuff and drove me there. When we arrived home it was around 4 pm so I ran upstairs and got changed for work. If this was going to be my last few days here, I wanted to spend them with the only person who treated me like family.
I arrived at work and informed Bill of the whole situation and explained what it was that she said was wrong with me. I told him that I would probably be sent away soon, and that I wouldn’t be able to see him anymore because the hospital is on the other side of the state. He promised me that he would come to visit as often as possible, I believed him. Bill loved me like a son and I loved him like a father. He would end up being the only one to visit me.
A few days passed with no word from my father about me leaving for that retched hospital, so I was beginning to think that he wasn’t going to force me to go unless provoked. My mother had come home and refused to speak to me, which was more than a blessing. She wouldn’t walk into a room if she knew I was there and would leave the second I entered one she was in. I wish my entire childhood could have been that way.
It was early on a Saturday, eight days after they caught me drinking blood. I was barely awake when my mother, yet again, came plowing through my bed room door practically tearing it off the hinges.
‘Get up! We’re leaving in ten minutes.’ She turned around and rushed back downstairs throwing things around the house and making a horrible racket. I sat up dazed and confused wondering what was going on, I didn’t have to wonder long. My father came in the room with an apologetic look on his face. He didn’t even have to say a word.
‘No! I’ve been good, I haven’t been doing it! You can’t make me go there!’ I practically cried.
‘I’m sorry Darin, this isn’t my choice. I shouldn’t have told her about the hospital, I didn’t think she’d react this way. I’m sorry. ‘
I fought the tears that were beginning to well up in my eyes and stormed off into the bathroom slamming the door behind me. The truth was that I hadn’t been good, I was still drinking the blood at work. But I didn’t deserve to be put away, for all they knew I was doing better. I hate my mother. She belongs in a nut house, not me!
When I came out of the bathroom my dad was still standing in the center of my room, tears about to spill over out of his eyes also. He grabbed my duffle bag from underneath my bed and then walked over to my dresser where he started handing me clothes.
As strange as it sounds, I wasn’t angry with him, I was angry with her! She was forcing this on me, she was making me go. He helped me pack everything I had into two duffle bags and left the room without a word. I reached under my mattress and grabbed all of the money I saved up and stuffed it into a hidden pocket in the bag. I glanced around the room once more trying to think of anything else I might be forgetting.
As I sluggishly made my way downstairs I knew I had to find a way to say goodbye to Bill. I couldn’t leave without seeing him first. I walked up to my dad and whispered to him asking if we could stop by there for a moment so I could say goodbye. He agreed.
I walked in tears about to consume me and told Bill what was happening. I told him that I would call and write him if it was possible. I hugged him and fought with myself to say goodbye. As I walked out I came to the realization that my life was never going to be the same, I would never see Bill again and I would never be able to at least pretend to be normal again. I lost it all, I lost everything.
I slid back into the back seat of the car and sat quietly through the hours and hours of driving until we reached the institution. Riley’s Hospital for the Mentally Ill.
A plump red haired woman greeted us at the door saying that this is where I would have to part with them. I turned to my father and nodded my head once in understanding and didn’t even look at my mother before moving forward through the doors. I looked back once to see my dad staring after me with a look of pure anguish on his face.
The plump woman led me to a room where others were sitting doing various activities. I only had a moment to look around before the woman continued walking down a long corridor which brought me into a single room. ‘This is your room, get settled and later I’ll introduce you to everyone.’
Great, just what I want.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Rough draft of Chapter one of new book.
Here is a rough draft of the first chapter of my new book!! :D Let me know your thoughts. :D
Chapter One: The Beginning
Being raised in Warwick, Massachusetts has left my life dull and boring. With a town that has a population of only 750 people, what else did I expect? I could count on one hand how many people I was friends with and about triple that amount for the ones I wasn’t. I have always been a little odd, I guess you can say an outsider. I usually stay to myself most of the time and try to keep myself out of the way of others.
I never had a negative thought about myself, never wanted to take my own life. But the morning of August 22, 2005 was the day that brought all those thoughts and feelings into my life. Like I said I didn’t have that many friends, and even more enemies. I’m about 5’10 ½ and weight around 137 pounds, dark hair almost black with eyes just as dark. I wouldn’t say that I have a nice body, but it’s pretty average I suppose. I’ve had a couple of girlfriends but the relationships didn’t seem to last more than a few weeks, because of me of course.
That’s me now, but then I was a geeky 96 pound 12 year old with glasses and a bad case of Star Wars fever. I was made fun of constantly, I was bullied, teased, hit, spit on, and many other things that are too embarrassing for me to admit right now. So that’s how I ended up there, standing on the roof of my two story house on the eventful morning of August 22, 2005. I was only 12, but I was already sick and tired of living a life that wasn’t even suitable for an animal.
I don’t think I really intended to kill myself, I think I just needed a quiet place to clear my head. A place without people yelling or calling me names, or calling each other names. I needed to listen to my own thoughts, my dreams, my desires without the constant noise surrounding me. So I crawled out of my upstairs bedroom window and stood at the very edge of the roof, staring out into the wooded area that lay ahead. I’m not sure how long I was out there before my mother came out and started yelling at me to get back in the house, but I do remember feeling like I was in some sort of trance.
Staring at the beautiful green and brown colors blending in front of me was the most peaceful I had ever felt in my entire life. I was watching the birds fly gracefully through the trees and tag each other playfully as they flew. They reminded me of a childhood I never had of playing games with others my age and having fun. I continued to stare blankly, peacefully, out into the open woods until a shrieking yell pierced through my solitude. I slowly glanced down and saw my mother standing on the lawn looking up at me, fury and concern taking turns crossing her face.
She continued to shriek and yell for me to go back in the window, she screamed for more than 10 minutes before my body acknowledged her anger and began to move, almost involuntarily. I almost made my way to the window when my foot slipped on a loose shingle, I slid backwards and began falling. All I could manage to think about during that time was that maybe I would die, maybe I wouldn’t be so unhappy any more, maybe my mother and father would finally get along if I wasn’t around any longer. It wasn’t until my mother was at my side screaming for my father that I realized I had already hit the ground.
I couldn’t move my legs, my back was throbbing, my arms felt numb. I felt warm and sticky all over and it pulled at my face and neck. With each move I tried to make of my head the blood gushed out of the gaping hole on the side of my face and slithered down almost instantly. That’s when I realized it, I landed on one of mom’s decorative rocks for her garden. I’m lucky to be alive, I shouldn’t be alive. I tried to move my head once again only this time the blood didn’t only slide down my smashed and broken face, but into my open mouth and down my throat, filling my taste buds and mouth with the taste of a warm metallic liquid that was almost heavenly to me.
I found myself deliberately moving my head so that more and more of it would drip down into my mouth. My mother tried holding my head still saying that I shouldn’t move at all, which infuriated me. I ignored her pleas and continued to tilt my head from side to side, welcoming the wonderful flow of red sticky fluid onto my awaiting taste buds.
To my dismay two paramedics showed up and put a neck brace on me as well as leg and arm braces. They loaded my still broken body onto the stretcher and wheeled me into the van. My mother begged to be allowed in but they refused her saying she would have to follow behind them. I was thrilled, finally a break from her screeching voice. We arrived at the hospital in what seemed like only seconds and before I knew it I was flying high on something I remember them calling morphine.
They stitched me up, cleaned me off, and sent me home. Telling my parents what to keep an eye out for, just in case I had a concussion or any internal bleeding they may have missed. I was relieved to be out of the hospital but also furious that now I was stuck here, in my home with my mother and father staring at me like I’m suicidal or something. I tried speaking to them calmly to explain what I was doing but they refused to hear any of it. Instead of making sure I was okay and taking care of me, they started yelling, not at me at each other. They were going back and forth on whose fault it was, and who should be responsible for taking care of me since I am obviously so reckless.
That same argument continued for about two weeks. My life continued to be the same also, all arguments no conversations. I was never able to explain what happened that day, every time I tried they would yell or change the subject, so eventually I gave up.
After a few days I was able to get around the house on my own, getting up the stairs was a little tricky though. The pain was starting to ease by day six but it was being replaced with something else, something I couldn’t understand. I kept getting this craving for something, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. I ate everything I could think of and yet that craving just wouldn’t go away. It wasn’t until I was cutting an apple one day and sliced my finger that I figured out what I had been craving all along.
I raised my dripping finger to my mouth and sucked on it as hard as I could. It was wonderful, delicious. I tasted the iron in the raw, warm, devastatingly tasty blood. I couldn’t believe how much better I felt after having even those few drops from my finger. I felt stronger, more powerful, happier. At first I didn’t think anything of it, I didn’t think about the fact that people aren’t supposed to crave blood. In fact, I convinced myself that I hadn’t craved the blood parse I was just craving the iron in it.
By day ten I was frustrated, angry even, because I wanted more blood and I didn’t understand why. I kept asking myself what was wrong with me, why would anyone want to drink blood? I fought the temptation for a few more days, but after day sixteen I couldn’t bare it any longer. I had such a hunger for the blood it was driving me insane, so I gave in. I cut myself, not very deep, and licked little moist droplets of blood out of the wound. After a few minutes I felt better again.
When I first started cutting myself and drinking the blood I would wait as long as I possibly could in between ‘feedings’. I already hated myself for what I was doing, and it’s not like I really understood what was going on or anything. Almost a year after the roof accident I was cutting and drinking at least once a day, sometimes more. I would do it when I was bored, angry, sad, hungry, lonely. It was like my drug, my nicotine, my liquor. Drinking blood was what I needed to feel better, in all ways.
By the time I turned sixteen I had been drinking blood for four years. I figured by this point that there was no way to stop, nothing I could do to prevent it. I never told anyone about my thirst, my obsession, no one would understand. It was getting harder and harder to hide this from my parents also, the horrible scars on my arms were hard to cover up now. I needed to move out, get my own place, run away… something. Being sixteen years old I knew I could get a job, and if I saved up enough money I could move out within a half a year or so.
I filled out applications at every store in our little town, I begged people to mow their lawns and walk their dogs. Just as I was about to give up I finally came across a butcher shop on my way home from school one day. I had decided to take an alternate route home, to avoid crossing paths with the bullies I have always had problems with. I saw a sign on the window that said ‘Now Hiring’, I went inside to talk to the owner, thinking there couldn’t possibly be anything I could do here, but I had to try.
The instant I opened the door the smell of fresh blood overwhelmed me. It wasn’t as sweet smelling as human blood, but it still smelled fantastically metallic. I slowly walked up to the counter and looked around anxiously, the smell was driving me crazy. The butcher came from behind the counter and approached me, one hand out. He informed me that his name was Bill and that he owned the place. I told him I was there to apply for the job. Before I left Bills Butcher Shop that day, I had a job as a meat wrapper. I was ecstatic.
I showed up every day for work right after school, happy as can be. Not only was I thrilled to be out of my horrible house, but I was also making money to start my own life somewhere. I worked there for about four months or so before the smell of the animal blood literally started to drive me crazy. I loved my job but I couldn’t resist the blood any longer.
I waited for Bill to go out and do his deliveries for the day, leaving me alone and in charge of the store. Before Bill was fully out of the door I practically ran to the cooler where we kept the meat that was to be thawed and cut the next day. The closer I got, the stronger the smell, and the more excited I became. When the boxes of pork and beef came into view I could barely contain myself.
I slowly walked forward and opened one of the boxes of beef, I stuck my finger down onto the bottom of the box where all the blood was. I brought my hand out and licked my fingers, as I did I almost died from contentment. It wasn’t warm, but it still tasted wonderful, I knew if I could get enough and warm it up I would be set for the day. I ran out into the break room and returned to the cooler with a plastic cup in my hand ready to fill with blood. Once I did, I raced to the microwave to heat it up, knowing I didn’t have much time before Bill returned.
The microwave beeped after 45 seconds but before I could reach my hand out to open the microwave and grab the cup Bill came walking in.
‘Eating lunch? Day’s about over, you could of waited. Ah well, whatcha having?’ Bill asked with his thick southern accent as he reached out and opened the microwave. He removed the cup and looked at me confused. I felt as if my body was going to burst, not only was I petrified as to what I should do or say, but he was holding the one thing I wanted most right now. He continued to stare at me until finally I spoke up.
‘It’s kool-aid.’ I tried to grab the cup from him but he pulled it back and stared at the cup full of blood.
‘Kid this is not kool-aid. Kool-aid is not this thick and definitely don’t smell this foul.’ He took a sip out of the cup. He was barely able to swallow it before a look of outraged fury mixed with fear crossed his face. He took a few steps backwards and set the cup down. ‘What the hell is goin on kid? That’s blood there, whatcha doin drinkin blood?!’
I sat quiet for a moment trying to get my thoughts together, trying to figure out how and what to say. He continued to stare at me and I knew he wasn’t going to give it up. I don’t know if it was the pure fear that he would tell my parents, or the fact that I trusted him, but I told him the truth. I told him how I drank some everyday, how I’d cut myself and drink my own. And how curious I was to taste animal blood, in hopes that it would take the place of me cutting myself all the time.
Bill didn’t say anything the whole time I explained, and even afterward all he did was hand me the cup of blood and walk back into his office. I finished up my work, not drinking the cup of blood that started this whole mess, before going back into Bills office. I half expected him to fire me, call my parents, and then call a mental hospital to have me committed. Instead when I walked back into his office he sat there with a bag full of blood.
We stared blankly at each other for a few minutes before he pushed the bag of blood toward me, ‘To each his own I guess.’ He said as he got up and walked out of his office, ‘See you tomorrow kid.’
Chapter One: The Beginning
Being raised in Warwick, Massachusetts has left my life dull and boring. With a town that has a population of only 750 people, what else did I expect? I could count on one hand how many people I was friends with and about triple that amount for the ones I wasn’t. I have always been a little odd, I guess you can say an outsider. I usually stay to myself most of the time and try to keep myself out of the way of others.
I never had a negative thought about myself, never wanted to take my own life. But the morning of August 22, 2005 was the day that brought all those thoughts and feelings into my life. Like I said I didn’t have that many friends, and even more enemies. I’m about 5’10 ½ and weight around 137 pounds, dark hair almost black with eyes just as dark. I wouldn’t say that I have a nice body, but it’s pretty average I suppose. I’ve had a couple of girlfriends but the relationships didn’t seem to last more than a few weeks, because of me of course.
That’s me now, but then I was a geeky 96 pound 12 year old with glasses and a bad case of Star Wars fever. I was made fun of constantly, I was bullied, teased, hit, spit on, and many other things that are too embarrassing for me to admit right now. So that’s how I ended up there, standing on the roof of my two story house on the eventful morning of August 22, 2005. I was only 12, but I was already sick and tired of living a life that wasn’t even suitable for an animal.
I don’t think I really intended to kill myself, I think I just needed a quiet place to clear my head. A place without people yelling or calling me names, or calling each other names. I needed to listen to my own thoughts, my dreams, my desires without the constant noise surrounding me. So I crawled out of my upstairs bedroom window and stood at the very edge of the roof, staring out into the wooded area that lay ahead. I’m not sure how long I was out there before my mother came out and started yelling at me to get back in the house, but I do remember feeling like I was in some sort of trance.
Staring at the beautiful green and brown colors blending in front of me was the most peaceful I had ever felt in my entire life. I was watching the birds fly gracefully through the trees and tag each other playfully as they flew. They reminded me of a childhood I never had of playing games with others my age and having fun. I continued to stare blankly, peacefully, out into the open woods until a shrieking yell pierced through my solitude. I slowly glanced down and saw my mother standing on the lawn looking up at me, fury and concern taking turns crossing her face.
She continued to shriek and yell for me to go back in the window, she screamed for more than 10 minutes before my body acknowledged her anger and began to move, almost involuntarily. I almost made my way to the window when my foot slipped on a loose shingle, I slid backwards and began falling. All I could manage to think about during that time was that maybe I would die, maybe I wouldn’t be so unhappy any more, maybe my mother and father would finally get along if I wasn’t around any longer. It wasn’t until my mother was at my side screaming for my father that I realized I had already hit the ground.
I couldn’t move my legs, my back was throbbing, my arms felt numb. I felt warm and sticky all over and it pulled at my face and neck. With each move I tried to make of my head the blood gushed out of the gaping hole on the side of my face and slithered down almost instantly. That’s when I realized it, I landed on one of mom’s decorative rocks for her garden. I’m lucky to be alive, I shouldn’t be alive. I tried to move my head once again only this time the blood didn’t only slide down my smashed and broken face, but into my open mouth and down my throat, filling my taste buds and mouth with the taste of a warm metallic liquid that was almost heavenly to me.
I found myself deliberately moving my head so that more and more of it would drip down into my mouth. My mother tried holding my head still saying that I shouldn’t move at all, which infuriated me. I ignored her pleas and continued to tilt my head from side to side, welcoming the wonderful flow of red sticky fluid onto my awaiting taste buds.
To my dismay two paramedics showed up and put a neck brace on me as well as leg and arm braces. They loaded my still broken body onto the stretcher and wheeled me into the van. My mother begged to be allowed in but they refused her saying she would have to follow behind them. I was thrilled, finally a break from her screeching voice. We arrived at the hospital in what seemed like only seconds and before I knew it I was flying high on something I remember them calling morphine.
They stitched me up, cleaned me off, and sent me home. Telling my parents what to keep an eye out for, just in case I had a concussion or any internal bleeding they may have missed. I was relieved to be out of the hospital but also furious that now I was stuck here, in my home with my mother and father staring at me like I’m suicidal or something. I tried speaking to them calmly to explain what I was doing but they refused to hear any of it. Instead of making sure I was okay and taking care of me, they started yelling, not at me at each other. They were going back and forth on whose fault it was, and who should be responsible for taking care of me since I am obviously so reckless.
That same argument continued for about two weeks. My life continued to be the same also, all arguments no conversations. I was never able to explain what happened that day, every time I tried they would yell or change the subject, so eventually I gave up.
After a few days I was able to get around the house on my own, getting up the stairs was a little tricky though. The pain was starting to ease by day six but it was being replaced with something else, something I couldn’t understand. I kept getting this craving for something, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. I ate everything I could think of and yet that craving just wouldn’t go away. It wasn’t until I was cutting an apple one day and sliced my finger that I figured out what I had been craving all along.
I raised my dripping finger to my mouth and sucked on it as hard as I could. It was wonderful, delicious. I tasted the iron in the raw, warm, devastatingly tasty blood. I couldn’t believe how much better I felt after having even those few drops from my finger. I felt stronger, more powerful, happier. At first I didn’t think anything of it, I didn’t think about the fact that people aren’t supposed to crave blood. In fact, I convinced myself that I hadn’t craved the blood parse I was just craving the iron in it.
By day ten I was frustrated, angry even, because I wanted more blood and I didn’t understand why. I kept asking myself what was wrong with me, why would anyone want to drink blood? I fought the temptation for a few more days, but after day sixteen I couldn’t bare it any longer. I had such a hunger for the blood it was driving me insane, so I gave in. I cut myself, not very deep, and licked little moist droplets of blood out of the wound. After a few minutes I felt better again.
When I first started cutting myself and drinking the blood I would wait as long as I possibly could in between ‘feedings’. I already hated myself for what I was doing, and it’s not like I really understood what was going on or anything. Almost a year after the roof accident I was cutting and drinking at least once a day, sometimes more. I would do it when I was bored, angry, sad, hungry, lonely. It was like my drug, my nicotine, my liquor. Drinking blood was what I needed to feel better, in all ways.
By the time I turned sixteen I had been drinking blood for four years. I figured by this point that there was no way to stop, nothing I could do to prevent it. I never told anyone about my thirst, my obsession, no one would understand. It was getting harder and harder to hide this from my parents also, the horrible scars on my arms were hard to cover up now. I needed to move out, get my own place, run away… something. Being sixteen years old I knew I could get a job, and if I saved up enough money I could move out within a half a year or so.
I filled out applications at every store in our little town, I begged people to mow their lawns and walk their dogs. Just as I was about to give up I finally came across a butcher shop on my way home from school one day. I had decided to take an alternate route home, to avoid crossing paths with the bullies I have always had problems with. I saw a sign on the window that said ‘Now Hiring’, I went inside to talk to the owner, thinking there couldn’t possibly be anything I could do here, but I had to try.
The instant I opened the door the smell of fresh blood overwhelmed me. It wasn’t as sweet smelling as human blood, but it still smelled fantastically metallic. I slowly walked up to the counter and looked around anxiously, the smell was driving me crazy. The butcher came from behind the counter and approached me, one hand out. He informed me that his name was Bill and that he owned the place. I told him I was there to apply for the job. Before I left Bills Butcher Shop that day, I had a job as a meat wrapper. I was ecstatic.
I showed up every day for work right after school, happy as can be. Not only was I thrilled to be out of my horrible house, but I was also making money to start my own life somewhere. I worked there for about four months or so before the smell of the animal blood literally started to drive me crazy. I loved my job but I couldn’t resist the blood any longer.
I waited for Bill to go out and do his deliveries for the day, leaving me alone and in charge of the store. Before Bill was fully out of the door I practically ran to the cooler where we kept the meat that was to be thawed and cut the next day. The closer I got, the stronger the smell, and the more excited I became. When the boxes of pork and beef came into view I could barely contain myself.
I slowly walked forward and opened one of the boxes of beef, I stuck my finger down onto the bottom of the box where all the blood was. I brought my hand out and licked my fingers, as I did I almost died from contentment. It wasn’t warm, but it still tasted wonderful, I knew if I could get enough and warm it up I would be set for the day. I ran out into the break room and returned to the cooler with a plastic cup in my hand ready to fill with blood. Once I did, I raced to the microwave to heat it up, knowing I didn’t have much time before Bill returned.
The microwave beeped after 45 seconds but before I could reach my hand out to open the microwave and grab the cup Bill came walking in.
‘Eating lunch? Day’s about over, you could of waited. Ah well, whatcha having?’ Bill asked with his thick southern accent as he reached out and opened the microwave. He removed the cup and looked at me confused. I felt as if my body was going to burst, not only was I petrified as to what I should do or say, but he was holding the one thing I wanted most right now. He continued to stare at me until finally I spoke up.
‘It’s kool-aid.’ I tried to grab the cup from him but he pulled it back and stared at the cup full of blood.
‘Kid this is not kool-aid. Kool-aid is not this thick and definitely don’t smell this foul.’ He took a sip out of the cup. He was barely able to swallow it before a look of outraged fury mixed with fear crossed his face. He took a few steps backwards and set the cup down. ‘What the hell is goin on kid? That’s blood there, whatcha doin drinkin blood?!’
I sat quiet for a moment trying to get my thoughts together, trying to figure out how and what to say. He continued to stare at me and I knew he wasn’t going to give it up. I don’t know if it was the pure fear that he would tell my parents, or the fact that I trusted him, but I told him the truth. I told him how I drank some everyday, how I’d cut myself and drink my own. And how curious I was to taste animal blood, in hopes that it would take the place of me cutting myself all the time.
Bill didn’t say anything the whole time I explained, and even afterward all he did was hand me the cup of blood and walk back into his office. I finished up my work, not drinking the cup of blood that started this whole mess, before going back into Bills office. I half expected him to fire me, call my parents, and then call a mental hospital to have me committed. Instead when I walked back into his office he sat there with a bag full of blood.
We stared blankly at each other for a few minutes before he pushed the bag of blood toward me, ‘To each his own I guess.’ He said as he got up and walked out of his office, ‘See you tomorrow kid.’
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Happy 4th of July
It's almost 11:30 pm, and I'm sitting here watching True Blood...again. I love this show.
Yesterday was tough...It was sad. Greg came over around 9 or so and we sat in my room watching Lockup Raw. We didn't talk about him...I thought it best not to. I didn't want to upset Greg any more than he already was, which would in turn upset me... I thought of him all day, which is just like every other day, but it was more intense yesterday. I said Happy Birthday every second I thought of it...if he could hear me he was probably sick of it. :)
Today has been a blah day. I cleaned and ate A LOT and that's about it. I don't really have much else to say, but I felt like blogging for a moment or two. And now I have so now I'm leaving. True Blood here I come!!
Happy 4th of July
Happy Blogging!!!!
Yesterday was tough...It was sad. Greg came over around 9 or so and we sat in my room watching Lockup Raw. We didn't talk about him...I thought it best not to. I didn't want to upset Greg any more than he already was, which would in turn upset me... I thought of him all day, which is just like every other day, but it was more intense yesterday. I said Happy Birthday every second I thought of it...if he could hear me he was probably sick of it. :)
Today has been a blah day. I cleaned and ate A LOT and that's about it. I don't really have much else to say, but I felt like blogging for a moment or two. And now I have so now I'm leaving. True Blood here I come!!
Happy 4th of July
Happy Blogging!!!!
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Elijah
Elijah's birthday...I'm not quite sure how I feel today, I know I'm sad...but I also feel as if I should celebrate it a little bit. Today I would have had a beautiful baby boy! A beautiful son, a gift from God... I love him. I miss him. I have the pictures out, I'm looking at them...He was so gorgeous... He would have looked just like his daddy. I know he would have.
I'm going to post a couple pictures of him over on my other blog. I'm warning you all, because they are sad, and heart breaking...but he is my son, and he is beautiful. He deserves to be seen, loved, and known of. I feel a sense of...I don't want to say peace, but I can't think of another word, today. Like I know he's okay, I know where he is, and that he is looking down on me. I know that he loves me and misses me almost as much as I do him...
I know that Adrian is taking care of him, and will continue to do so until I can again. I know that they come to visit me, even if I can't see or feel them here sometimes. They are always around me, watching me, comforting me, loving me. I believe that it is God that is making me feel these things, making me realize that while they may not be here, they are not gone. They will always be around me in one way or another. They still visit and watch over me.
It doesn't make this day hurt me any less, and it doesn't make me miss either of them any less. But it comforts me to know that they are around me. And maybe even here with me today. I am going to light a candle for my sweet Elijah today, and I am going to tell him that I love him so very much and that I can't wait until the day that I get to hold his gorgeous little body in my arms.
I'm going to post a picture of him, a picture of his feet, a picture of his hands, and maybe one other. So if you do not want to see it, please don't look...If you do, you'll understand my pain once you see...
I love my children, and I live for the day that I can hold them again.
Happy Birthday my sweet Elijah, and Adrian take care of him!
Mommy loves you both!!
I'm going to post a couple pictures of him over on my other blog. I'm warning you all, because they are sad, and heart breaking...but he is my son, and he is beautiful. He deserves to be seen, loved, and known of. I feel a sense of...I don't want to say peace, but I can't think of another word, today. Like I know he's okay, I know where he is, and that he is looking down on me. I know that he loves me and misses me almost as much as I do him...
I know that Adrian is taking care of him, and will continue to do so until I can again. I know that they come to visit me, even if I can't see or feel them here sometimes. They are always around me, watching me, comforting me, loving me. I believe that it is God that is making me feel these things, making me realize that while they may not be here, they are not gone. They will always be around me in one way or another. They still visit and watch over me.
It doesn't make this day hurt me any less, and it doesn't make me miss either of them any less. But it comforts me to know that they are around me. And maybe even here with me today. I am going to light a candle for my sweet Elijah today, and I am going to tell him that I love him so very much and that I can't wait until the day that I get to hold his gorgeous little body in my arms.
I'm going to post a picture of him, a picture of his feet, a picture of his hands, and maybe one other. So if you do not want to see it, please don't look...If you do, you'll understand my pain once you see...
I love my children, and I live for the day that I can hold them again.
Happy Birthday my sweet Elijah, and Adrian take care of him!
Mommy loves you both!!
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Ramblings
Greg just left. :( I hate when he leaves and I'm stuck sleeping alone. It makes me feel lonely and like he doesn't want to sleep by me. I know that probably isn't the case but that's how I feel when he first leaves. It makes me sad... I love him very much, and I wish he would move back in. I hate that he isn't here like he used to be. I know I still see him almost everyday, but it's hard going from living with someone to only seeing them half of the time you're used to. I don't know, I don't want to sound like a little cry baby or anything, but I guess that goes to show how much I love him.
He asked me tonight what I say about him when he's not around. To be honest, I don't usually say anything bad about him, unless he pissed me off. lol I don't agree with certain things he says or does, IE moving out, but if he feels that strongly about something how can I talk him out of it? It makes me sad that he doesn't miss living with me, and sleeping by me every night, like I do him. Maybe he does, but he doesn't say so. I know he loves me though, I guess that's all I should think about right?
I have smoked maybe 1 1/2 cigarettes yesterday and maybe 2 today. Mom is trying to quit also, so tomorrow we are both waking up with NO cigarettes in the house. Think good thoughts for us, I really need to quit!! i know if she stays strong I will too.
I'm currently watching 27 dresses and about to play some pogo for a little while, maybe I can fall asleep at a decent time tonight...doubtful since it's already midnight.
We went to see Eclipse today! AMAZING movie!!! The best yet, I swear it!!! I loved it, it was fantastic!! :)
Greg's birthday is tomorrow and Elijah's on Saturday... :( Greg and I will be together for one year on August 2nd.
Goodnight bloggers and Happy Blogging!!
He asked me tonight what I say about him when he's not around. To be honest, I don't usually say anything bad about him, unless he pissed me off. lol I don't agree with certain things he says or does, IE moving out, but if he feels that strongly about something how can I talk him out of it? It makes me sad that he doesn't miss living with me, and sleeping by me every night, like I do him. Maybe he does, but he doesn't say so. I know he loves me though, I guess that's all I should think about right?
I have smoked maybe 1 1/2 cigarettes yesterday and maybe 2 today. Mom is trying to quit also, so tomorrow we are both waking up with NO cigarettes in the house. Think good thoughts for us, I really need to quit!! i know if she stays strong I will too.
I'm currently watching 27 dresses and about to play some pogo for a little while, maybe I can fall asleep at a decent time tonight...doubtful since it's already midnight.
We went to see Eclipse today! AMAZING movie!!! The best yet, I swear it!!! I loved it, it was fantastic!! :)
Greg's birthday is tomorrow and Elijah's on Saturday... :( Greg and I will be together for one year on August 2nd.
Goodnight bloggers and Happy Blogging!!
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Bored
Eclipse came out last night at 12:01, I didn't go to see it though. :( Mom had to work this morning. With Twilight and New Moon there were 3 people all together that knew how to open the store, now there's only mom and Coco, and Coco went to see the movie, so mom couldn't get off work. :( How sad for us huh!? We will probably be going on Saturday.
Saturday is Elijah's birthday...Mom wants to go then because it might help take my mind off of it for a couple hours. It's going to be a sad day!!
I'm watching IN SESSION of TruTV, it's a court case about a woman found mummified under her house... I think I might go work on my GED now...Maybe I can get a bunch of stuff done. :D
I don't have much else to say at the moment, maybe I'll write later on.
Happy Blogging!!
Saturday is Elijah's birthday...Mom wants to go then because it might help take my mind off of it for a couple hours. It's going to be a sad day!!
I'm watching IN SESSION of TruTV, it's a court case about a woman found mummified under her house... I think I might go work on my GED now...Maybe I can get a bunch of stuff done. :D
I don't have much else to say at the moment, maybe I'll write later on.
Happy Blogging!!
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