~I was always stoned. Or drunk. Always. I drifting to and fro from there and Jessica's. Larsony everywhere. Infidility. My mother was still incompasitating herself. No food. No soap. 0 comfortablity. 1 bedroom. 4 people. No possessions, and yet, no room to possess anything. Always angry. Always. Houses lay-out goes as such: Kitchen is 4 steps across, by 1&1/2 steps back. Kitchen + hallways 2 steps across is entire front of house. Kitchen to back door is 11 steps. [After I typed that line, I took 11 steps. That distance just happens to span the length of the (work) counter im sitting behind.] There was a large section of the middle of the room that was occupied by wall. Not only was I confined to such a small space, but there was a big fucking block in the middle of the room. That place markes the worst point in my life.
I recognize now that I missed a place I should've visited. The house that preceded this one. This decline lasted 4 years. It was the place I went at night at very important installments of my life. The house itself, quite inconsequential on its own, but it was still the place I slept. I gained social foothold. Developed an eating disorder. Lost my father. Gained an affinity for metal. Lost Colin. Had Maleah. Met Ashley. So much.
But I did manage to head to the house before that. I was young then. Called it home for 6 years. It was sanctuary. I had no friends besides a few around the neighborhood. Nothing to do.
I really wish I could go on and on and on and on and on and on, but I have to close the store.
the time is 6:42, and I left my fucking cd's at someone's house
Its kind of amusing how I catagorize my life by stages of downfall
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