Being homeless, Drugs, Friends, Getting assistance, Health, Homeslessness, Relationship

I Will Rise Again

Hello, my name is Harley (not my real name if you haven’t figured that out yet) and I’m an addict. I don’t write this particular entry with ease, please understand that. But it is important that I write it. I know some of this is repetitive and I apologize for it. But this ends differently.


Growing up,  I experimented with drugs just like many other kids/teens. I really only smoked weed on a regular basis in high school.  I dropped acid a couple of times. Stole my mom’s pain pills, which she had all the time since I was very young (I was prescribed them myself as an adult for several years after a car accident and ended up abusing them heavily). My little brother slipped me his Ritalin from time to time. I tried coke once. (In my 20’s I did do a pretty hardcore binge on coke for about 6 months to lose weight but once I lost the weight, I walked away without a problem) Rarely drank but it happened. But, I was what some people called a goody goody. I stayed out of trouble, got pretty good grades, was quiet, soft-spoken. The only time I was ever suspended was when I was a freshman and I got caught with a pack of smokes. Sure, I skipped classes and stayed out late at times. But for the most part, I kept my nose clean, so to speak. I didn’t do any real hard drugs (meth, crack, heroin) until the last 3-4 years. And was I woefully unprepared for that lifestyle. 

First, I tried heroin with my brother and his wife. They had to shoot me up at first because my veins are a bitch to hit (seriously, trained professionals have trouble finding my veins). I finally picked it up, though still needed help half the time. I have never really put much thought into that lifestyle because I wasn’t around it long.  I was living with them at the time but one of my best friends, a girl I have literally known since kindergarten, intervened. I don’t remember exactly how it all went down, to be honest. I was unhappy with some things going on between my brother, his wife, and me but I don’t remember the chain of events that led to my friend deciding that I needed to come to live with her.  And to this day I am grateful to her. Opiates are my drug of choice. I LOVE the way they make me feel. I know had she not swooped in as she had, I would have become addicted.

Unfortunately, while living with her, I was introduced to meth. I don’t blame her. I made the choice to use. I only wish I had educated myself better, or at all really. I didn’t know anything about meth except it rotted your teeth and my teeth were already fucked from years of improper care, I really didn’t think too hard on that. I liked getting high on meth. I had more energy, I THOUGHT I was getting a lot done, I was more confident. I just felt better. But early on I started experiencing side effects but I didn’t know that’s what it was at the time. I started getting paranoid. I kept thinking I heard my friend and her boyfriend, who moved in a couple of months after I did, talking about me a LOT. And not in a good way. I thought they were judging me, talking throwing me out, nitpicking things I said or did or didn’t do. This made me want to not be at the house and if I was, locked in my room. 

Shortly after this started,  I started hanging out with my now ex. He was/is an alcoholic and was a pretty heavy drinker when we first started hanging out. He was a recovering crack addict as well. I didn’t tell him about my smoking, I actually hid it for a while (though, I’m sure he suspected when he woke up to me scrubbing his kitchen floor at 2am). Due to an incident with my friend (for her privacy I do not want to get into specifics), I moved in with my ex pretty fast, within about a month I was living with him. It got harder to hide my using and I don’t remember how it all came out but I eventually confessed. He was ok with it for the most part (he didn’t like who I had been buying from/through) and we started using it together which led to him drinking less. But our problems started soon after. 

I was paranoid, always suspicious of him cheating. And he got mean. He was no longer the sweet, gentle guy I fell in love with. And he always blamed me. It was my fault he was mean. I drive him to it. He is still incapable of accepting responsibility for his own actions. I caused him to act the way he did. Meth drove me to paranoia, I was hearing voices, and I no longer trusted the man I loved. So when he would tell me that I was hearing things, I didn’t believe him and this angered him. I understand that anger and yes, he did tolerate it longer than most. But it was tolerance. It wasn’t love, it wasn’t understanding or compassion. He eventually became filled with hate and he punished me for it. I don’t think it was always intentional. But sometimes I do think he knew exactly what he was doing and he enjoyed it. Because he was so full of anger and hatred towards me that he enjoyed punishing me for any slight he perceived against him. It got to the point that it didn’t matter what I did, I was met with anger, suspicion, and hostility. Even when I was trying to be my true self: caring, kind, and sweet. He didn’t see it that way. I was always up to something, I was always plotting against him. Only he refused/refuses to see it as a fault on his part, it was all my fault and still is.

So I would lash out at him. I flew into rages, I became abusive. And I am ashamed to admit that. But so did he, at times he was even more vindictive and cruel than I was. It became a vicious cycle between us that continued even into our break up. We didn’t trust each other. We were constantly suspicious of each other and we accused each other of outlandish things. I have come to call him a narcissist, perhaps he is. But I’m more so convinced that that drug destroyed us. The lifestyle that it creates is not normal. I saw the exact same thing happen with my “friend” and her boyfriend. It was like watching my relationship from the outside. And when her suspicions drove her to the point of believing things that weren’t true despite the evidence in front of her, she stabbed me in the back repeatedly by use of my ex. All because she thought her boyfriend and I were hooking up. And somehow that all became all my fault as well, in all of their eyes. And of course, this only fed my suspicions. My ex calls them delusions. Perhaps they were. But what he fails to recognize is his actions, the way he treated me, lied to me, purposely mislead me, that is the reason that my delusions developed into what they became. They started out as mere ideas, suspicions. His actions are what caused the delusions fed by the shit that meth does to your mind.

When I became homeless, he would try to dictate what I did, whom I hung out with. And this angered me. He was not my boyfriend and he took every opportunity to remind me of such. But would then threaten me, basically tell me that we would never get back together if I did this or hung out with this person. He would go days, weeks without speaking to me and then come into my life and try to dictate my life. This angered me and even though I had initially told myself that I would no longer use because that is what he wanted, he wanted me to stop because he blamed the drugs for my delusions, I said fuck it and used more. Why the hell should I stop for him if that is how he was going to treat me? When every time I tried to be kind, and caring, and sweet I was met with indignant hostility and hate. Constantly telling me I would never change. Why the hell should I if THAT was going to be my future? A life of constant broken promises, being controlled, mocked, belittled. I said fuck it and did what I wanted to do. Why the hell should I go out of my way to be nice and kind and sweet when it would constantly be met with arrogance, distrust, mockery, and hate?

But, as I continued to use meth, the hallucinations got worse. I had completely isolated myself for him because he constantly disapproved of whom I kept company with, but he didn’t care. Instead, he threw out his own accusations, tore me down.  So I turned to heroin and I fell into a deep depression. The man that I had fallen in love with had turned into a cold, hateful monster and he constantly blamed me. As the days turned to weeks, my mental state just got worse. I was depressed, suicidal. I tried to commit suicide several times. I was living in my storage unit, in the fucking cold, and no one cared because I was a drug addict. I was hearing voices, constantly on edge, hardly sleeping, and longing for death. One day, I finally had enough. I was sitting in my storage unit one night and I heard the voices of him, my “friend” and her boyfriend. It sounded like they were on a game show and the show was to mock, belittle, and berate me. I had finally had enough and I quit using meth that day. I made the decision that I would no longer sacrifice my sanity for meth. It wasn’t worth it. Look what my life had become! I used to be successful, beautiful, happy. I am now a shell of the person that I once was.

I haven’t used meth since that night. But I can’t say things have gotten better. He continues to harass, belittle, accuse, mock, and torment me. And he thinks it’s ok, and there was nothing that I could do because I couldn’t get away. Thanksgiving came and I sat, alone in my storage unit. I cried and cried that day. Not one person reacted out to me. Then the week before Christmas, he rudely asked to stop by. I don’t know why I allowed it. I knew what to expect and I was right. It never changes. I felt hopeless and even though he assured me that I would not be alone on Christmas, I knew he was lying. Christmas came, and I was alone. I got angry and lashed out, something I was just not allowed to do. And then I beat myself up because I WAS NOT THIS PERSON! I had allowed myself to become angry and mean and vengeful. I hated myself for what I had become. I can’t even count how many times I tried to kill myself since October. I knew I needed help but I was so depressed, I didn’t do what I needed to do to get that help. 

A couple of days before Christmas, I reached out to a friend that I had not talked to in a while. I really don’t know what made me do it. I saw his name on Facebook messenger and something told me to reach out. He happened to be in town the day that I reached out to him. He came, picked me up, hung out with me for a couple of hours, and we had breakfast. I told him what all had been going on and he told me about the rehab facility he was in (I was aware he was in rehab). It was the first time in a long time that I felt somewhat normal again. It wasn’t because a guy was talking to me, please. I don’t mean to sound conceded because I don’t see what other people see when I look at myself but I get hit on all the fucking time. It can actually be annoying. It was the conversation. It was another person actually LISTENING to what I said and hearing the words for what they were and not searching for a hidden agenda or a game that I might be playing. Another person who CARED without their own hidden agenda or game they were playing. It felt fucking normal. I was still depressed, I was still living in my storage unit. But I finally had a slither of hope that things COULD get better. He wanted to help. We have talked every day since he has helped more than he knows. We were talking the other day about how I don’t trust people now and he was explaining that not all people are like the people that I have been dealing with. He said “The type of drugs and shit that we’ve done… creates a dimension of evil and demons willing to fuck over whoever and whatever. Feelings are out the window. Trust is out the window. When the drugs and all that bullshit are gone.. that portal is closed and you wouldn’t even allow yourself to be around people still in that lifestyle because you will have changed so drastically and you will feel so much safer and value life so much more and love yourself so much more. It’s just a lifestyle of people. Trust me, that shit changes when you get out from around it.” As I read those words over text message, I don’t know, it just really stuck a cord in me. And I knew that he was right and I started looking at it so much more differently. And I vowed that I was going to get out. 


I am currently on a bus ride to Jacksonville, FL. Just a couple of days ago I posted something on Facebook asking for donations so I could get a hotel room and take a shower. It was the first time I had really posted anything about being homeless on Facebook and my friend reach out immediately. When she found out where I was, she didn’t even hesitate. She offered me a place to stay in her home for the winter. She would connect me with resources in FL and would help me get back on my feet and all I have to do is the work to do it and help her around the house. So I am on my way to Florida as I write this post. I don’t know what the future holds. I have an opportunity to go to rehab where my other friend is getting help and he speaks very highly of it. I spoke to a woman at their office yesterday and she was very non-judgmental and more than willing to help. I haven’t decided. But I do know this, I will no longer let hate and anger rule me. I am not the person that I became while I was using and I refuse to let that drug destroy me. I am KIND, CARING, and SWEET! I am TRUSTWORTHY, TRUSTING, DEPENDABLE, and HONEST! I AM A GOOD FUCKING PERSON and I won’t let anything take that from me. As this bus carries me further from Mableton, GA, I feel lighter with every passing mile. It has been a month since I have used and I won’t use again. Because I am better than that. And I don’t need an ex to validate that for me. I AM BETTER THAN THAT! And I DESERVE better! I will be happy again, I will be me again. And the closer I get to Jacksonville, the easier it feels like it will be to do that. I am letting go of my anger and hate because it will only destroy me. I will fucking rise again.

Being homeless, bipolar, Depression, Getting assistance, Hallucinations, Homeslessness, Narcissist, Relationship

These Are the Days of My Life

Life has a really rude way of kicking you when you are down. Many months ago I had made a vow that I was going to put more dedication into my blog than I had been doing and yet, here we are, 7 months later and I am worse at keeping up than I had been before. A part of me is thinking, “It’s only been 7 months, it feels like 7 years.” It doesn’t seem like that long, but I guess it is. So where do I start? I will warn you, if cursing bothers you then I would not continue to read because I do curse a lot when angry. I could go back later and edit but I feel like I would be editing myself (one of my best friends said when she reads my blog it’s like sitting down and having a conversation with me. I really liked that description and I don’t want to edit that out).

I wish I could say that things have gotten better, but unfortunately, they merely have gotten worse. I continue to hear voices, but they are slowly going away. It has gotten easier to determine what is real and what is not. A lot of what I am hearing is my thoughts being projected as outside voices and they tend to run a dialog of what I am doing or thinking. It could just be one, most often it is two, rarely is it more than that but it has happened. They could be talking directly to me or amongst themselves. It is annoying as FUCK. On bad days… it is like someone is constantly telling me how horrible I am and they bring up things I have done/said in the past. Or they are attacking my insecurities, doubts, whatever. More often than not, I am fighting a losing battle with my mind while it beats me up all fucking day long. I don’t know of a better way to explain it so I hope that makes sense. 

Despite making the realization about these voices, I still struggle with what to do. My ex has told me that I need to admit myself into a hospital, or in his words: Get help. I would like to go back to the doctor, but I guess fear has me rooted in place. Unable to make a move. That, and I don’t want him to be right. I don’t want to hear someone tell me I am crazy although I know I am not. Though sometimes I wonder. I feel like events are definitely pushing me towards going crazy. I try to hold onto the fact that people say crazy people don’t know there is anything wrong with them. Since I am all too aware of the fact that something is wrong, I can’t be crazy, right? All I know for sure is I am miserable. It takes a huge toll and I don’t have anyone that I can talk to about it. So, as usual, I am suffering in silence, alone. I have found myself alone a lot ever since my divorce. And, just to throw this in, not all of my alone time was forced upon me. Ever since my divorce, I have preferred and chosen to be alone as often as I can. But, I’ll admit, I have been lonely here lately. Other than the people I encountered while out running errands or to appointments, I went a month without talking to or hanging out with anyone. At times, I love it because I don’t have to worry about anyone judging me for every little thing. But it weighs on my depression and feels like a noose around my neck.  

The last time I wrote, I was living in an extended stay. At the end of June, I moved in with a “friend” and her boyfriend. That turned out to be a horrible decision. About 6 weeks after I moved in, August 3rd to be exact, the sheriff’s department was knocking on our door: we were being evicted. Turns out, the eviction was filed in April, but because of the national moratorium it had not been enforced. During the short time that the moratorium lifted, the eviction got pushed through. Fortunately, there was a mistake in the paperwork and we were told we had until the 13th.  None of us were able to get a new place before this date. I bounced around at an AirBNB and a couple of extended stays. I was right back where I started.

Oh, but it’s not over. That “friend” stayed with me the whole time, telling me she was going to pay her half. Dumb ass me footing the bill until then. Came to the day she HAD to pay or my ass was on the street. Did the bitch pay me? Nope. Oh, she paid me half, after she made sure I was on the street. And on the street I am. I got lucky and spent the remainder of the summer with a friend. But at the beginning of October, I had to split. I have stayed at a couple of hotels for a couple of nights when I got paid (Got attacked while staying at one, of course, no one believes me). I can’t say where I am at the moment. I am not supposed to be here and there’s even more trouble for me if I am found (when my situation changes I will  reveal where I have been staying though I recently found out my ex is telling everyone we know). I will say there is no heat, no water, I am lucky that I can use a little bit of electricity so I can run a light (some times) and charge my phone and electronics (Did I mention I lost my phone 2 weeks and had to get a whole new phone and number? Yeah, the big man upstairs sure knows how to keep kicking my ass). I am fortunate and able to run a heating pad, something that has been crucial recently (Has it always gotten into the ’20s in November in GA???). Being homeless sucks. It could be worse, I am fortunate to have some kind of shelter. But that doesn’t make it suck any less. It is wearing on me, emotionally and mentally. Something HAS to give, soon. I really don’t think I can take anymore.

And my ex doesn’t make my life any easier. I am going to cut the bullshit. He is an asshole. I have sugar-coated and covered for him enough. I am no prize pig and I have not always behaved appropriately, but he has made himself out to be Jesus fucking Christ (he actually compared himself to Jesus once, I swear on my mother’s grave! I still have the fucking text – gotta love Samsung and their backup options!) and I have not only allowed it, but I fucking helped (that alone just enrages me). I have hidden the truth because I have been going out of my way to kiss his ass and behave how he thinks I should because I actually believed his lies about getting back together. But nothing I do is ever good enough and I have finally realized and accepted that this lie was merely a little carrot he would dangle in front of me, teasing me, only so he could torture me. You see, he is a narcissist. I wish it weren’t true. It is extremely hard to accept that I fell in love with a lie, that the person I have been fighting so hard for doesn’t even exist. He was charming and sweet in the beginning, telling me how much he loved me, he even proposed to me the first night we were together and then every day after that for weeks (this is called “love-bombing”). He constantly needs to be the center of attention and receive praise no matter what because he thinks he is smarter and better than everyone else (trying to have a conversation about anything that doesn’t revolve around him is next to impossible. I can’t even remember the last time he asked me anything about what is going on in my life and that includes before we broke up). He also likes to exaggerate and lie about his accomplishments. While in the beginning he loved everything about me and told me how perfect I was, that quickly changed into nothing I do is good enough and became a constant stream of putting me down, belittling me, and mocking me (quite openly too). Gaslighting was definitely his favorite tool (I have started referring to this as him rewriting history. There was one night I poured beer in his lap when he was sitting on the toilet and he reached up, grabbed a fistful of hair, and threw me to the floor. In doing so he ripped a chunk of my hair out of my head. He told a mutual friend that I did it to myself so I could tell people he did it. When I confronted him about it, he literally tried to convince me that that is what happened. He still swears to this day that I pulled my hair out of my head). He thinks that he is right about everything and don’t hold your breath hoping he’ll admit otherwise or that he’ll apologize (The last time he apologized to me for anything was only after I insisted he accept responsibility for his actions and it was just to get me to shut up, there was absolutely no sincerity at all because remember, he is always right). He was/is controling as fuck (If I don’t behave how he wants me to he will find a way to punish me for it – no joke – and despite the fact that he broke up with me in APRIL, he still tries to tell me who I can hang out with and what I can and cannot do. When I pointed that out to him he said I could do whatever I wanted but I knew the consequences – meaning he would stop speaking to me. But hey, he quit doing that no matter what I did so… ). Stonewalling and the silent treatment were another favorite of his (something he would do to punish me for daring to defy his wishes). His sense of entitlement is appalling (I developed a saying while with him “Whatever he wants, he gets”). He exploits others without guilt or shame (I have watched him do this with everyone he knows and once they are no longer of any use to him, he just tosses that person aside without any care in the world – including me). He lacks the ability to feel empathy (I can’t tell you how many times that asshole made me cry from his treatment and he just acted like it was the most annoying thing in the world. I tried to kill myself a few weeks ago and despite the fact that I texted him to tell him goodbye, not only did he not contact anyone to try and stop me but then ridiculed me and accused me of being manipulative when I failed). Ever since he had me kicked out, he has been doing nothing but trash me to anyone who will listen, hurt me every fucking way he possibly can (all the way down to keeping a cat that he hates all because she is MY cat and he knows how much I want her), and basically ruining my fucking life and then revelling in my misery. He tells everyone I am bat shit crazy, addicted to all kinds of drugs, blames me for everything and REFUSES to even see how his actions are offensive and repulsive. Then turns around and less than a week ago tells me that his offer is still on the table (If I check myself into a mental hospital he’ll wait for me, wtf) but in the same email dogging on me because I can’t “even pick myself up off the ground” and how long is he supposed to wait (nevermind the fact that *I* was supposed to wait around on his ass for at least a fucking year while he treats me like shit, drags me down and dogs me out). I could keep going but I am just getting more and more pissed off because I just keep thinking of more bullshit that he has put me through and gotten away with it. Bottom line, he doesn’t give a fuck about me. When it comes to me, all he wants to do is hurt me as much as fucking possible. It actually brings him joy and yeah sure, he denies that. But I have seen the look on his face enough times to know that he fucking enjoys my misery and he will go out of his way to dish it out as much as he possibly can. All the while making sure he looks like a fucking angel and I look like a crazy psycho. And that whoring bitch who acted like my “friend”, keeps fucking helping him.

I truly hate to be such a harsh bitch. To this day I am still in love with the man I thought he was. Despite all the nasty, hateful shit he has done to me, I’m still in love with him (I know, I am a fucking moron). I have more than owned the fucked up things I have done and continue to pay for them (he makes sure of it). That doesn’t make the shit he has done any less nasty or hateful and I am tired of acting like his behavior is ok or justified. I am tired of feeling like I have to pretend it didn’t/doesn’t happen. I shouldn’t have to and I won’t do it. For every horrible act of mine, he came right back with his own two fold. The last few months, I have gone out of my way to have no contact (I messaged him once about a friend of his that was arrested, it was a handful of exchanges and I gave him no info on my life) yet he still finds ways to pop up and hurt me. He is not this innocent little angel that he is making himself out to be and it pisses me off that he just gets away with it. 

The one good thing in my life right now is that I am still working. It has been very difficult to work anywhere near as much as I want to but at least I have had a little bit of money coming in once a month. I have been in contact with many agencies and ministries in my area to get assistance. Unfortunately, not only can it take up to 90 days to get placement but I have to fall under the definition of being homeless which they said means living in my car or a shelter. I am not living in either. I am working on getting into a shelter. So, despite what my asshole ex is telling everyone, I am doing what I can to get off the streets but it isn’t easy. And really, with each passing day, giving up seems more desirable than anything else.

I hate to end here. There is more I want to say but I’ve been working on this entry for a month now and while I am still unhappy with it, I am anxious to post something. As long as I am able to, I will post again soon and write more about what has been going on and what I am currently up to.