#screaming crying throwing up and you can’t smoke weed on a plane. fuck my life bro.

[milo-is-rambling]

Me when I’m not anxious at all about anything especially not traveling or not being home or being around strangers or going to a new airport or not being in control of the schedule or not having immediate access to my safe foods or not seeing funk and I’m definitely not anxious about being in new places and meeting new people and animals and having to be a person while trying to balance my emotions out enough that I don’t bring every conversation down while simultaneously only thinking about saying the wrong thing and bringing the conversation down

[nikkigrand]

There’s no easy way to say this, but I’m abandoning all of my works. Everything.

This post is going to be long, honest, triggering and deeply personal. So for those who don’t want to read through all of my bullshit, the gist is that I’m not emotionally or mentally capable of writing anymore.

TW ARE IN PLACE.

If you’ve followed me for a while, then you know that my boyfriend was killed in Afghanistan last year. Since then, my life has been a breathless decline into self destruction. I didn’t know—I still don’t know—how to recover from happily waiting for his return to painfully knowing he never will. I swear that some days I feel like he’s still out there and some day he’ll come home and this will all be just a bad dream. I want to wake up to a reality where he steps off that plane and into my arms, where I don’t keep a crumpled old t shirt that smells more of me than him under my pillow, where the shock of hearing certain songs doesn’t make me throw up. A reality where I don’t have to sit in front of his ashes every time I visit his mother and look at his singed necklace around her neck.

I wanted nothing more than to wake up. Just wake the fuck up and feel alive again because for so long I had felt this choking pain and grief and misery and then nothing.

Everything became an escape, something to fill that void in me. I tried all the healthy things. I ate, I worked out, I ran. I talked to people about how I felt and reached out, but nothing helped. I volunteered, i planted trees and flowers, I channeled my grief into kindness. I tried to take all this pain and turn it into something beautiful, and still I felt nothing. I was falling falling falling into this black pit and was reaching for anything to keep me from hitting the bottom.

So I started chasing highs. The standard shit at first. I drank so much alcohol that I’d wake up in bushes with my friends, limbs tangled in ways that left me sore and stinging for days because who the hell passes out in a Rose bush?

At first, drinking was fucking hell, because no matter how much I drank I’d always end up with my head cradled in the palms of my hands, fingers digging into my scalp as I screamed and wailed and asked why why why why when he was so close to coming home and why was life so goddamn mean??? I’d be in bar bathrooms, just curled in the corner and sobbing like a dramatic princess until my friends carried me out. This happened about a dozen times before it just stopped, because I figured I wasn’t drinking enough if I could remember everything.

So I drank more and more and more and then I realized that it wasn’t making me feel better, it wasn’t doing anything for me.

So I started smoking. Just weed, you know. Nothing too crazy at the time. But all that did was make me hyper-fixate on all of my failures and short comings. It made me hate myself so viscerally, so deeply that I wondered if this is who I truly am at my core. A mean bitch who drinks, smokes, parties. A maneater who fucks these poor kind hearted men to fill that hole her dead man left inside her and still finds herself cold and numb after because it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

I’m sure you know where this is going. But I hated myself. I’m a beautiful girl, I’m not blind, and yet I found myself to be so fucking ugly. So fucking ugly and grey and all I wanted—all I needed—was something to breathe life into me the way life itself did before.

I just wanted to feel happy and normal. Only for a little while. That need was so encompassing it would grip my insides and I’d cry from how much I wanted it, how much I had convinced myself I needed it. It was all I fucking wanted.

So the bumps came. And then the lines. And then whole baggies to myself. And it felt amazing, it was wonderful. The world was alive, things were different. I had more energy, more life in me than I had in months. Then the other type of lines came and it made me feel like I was floating away. There was no pain, no misery, no death hanging over my shoulder to remind me that the strength of your love can’t make people stay.

But soon, that too wasn’t enough. Like every other thing, I felt there was something better, something that could make me feel more. So here is where I tell you about all the pills I popped, all the different colored presses and how each one pulled me out of that hole I was falling into and deposited me above the ground —much higher than I could have ever dreamed of—and filled my grey world with beautiful gorgeous colors.

Then I can tell you about all the tabs I let dissolve on my tongue, or fully swallowed out of impatience, all of the lines of ketamine I combined with ecstasy and acid in one night. The things I saw, the way I felt—it took me far from this dismal life and was addicting. I was chasing something every weekend until it became every other day, chasing some feeling I still can’t name, and I knew that it was ruining me.

My grief and my drugs were killing me, and I knew it. With every cotton mouth, every clenched jaw, every pounding headache, I fucking knew and didn’t care. I’d look at my friends faces and I knew, I knew they loved me and would be devastated if they knew what I was doing, and I still didn’t care. What was life if it felt this empty?

My grades dropped, i turned down a contracting job I wanted for years, I spent all my money on psychedelics and stimulants, and it had gotten to a point where I’d pop a pill while sitting at home just because I didn’t want to be sober and didn’t want to think about how fucked up my life was becoming.

Then one day I was at a concert, high in the clouds with a joint settled comfortably between my lips and frizzy hair piled messily atop my head, when I saw a girl get carried out the venue by medics. She was probably a few years younger than I am, and i remember looking at her face impassively as they pushed through the crowd with her body thrown over this bear of a man’s shoulder as if in slow motion. She was pale and foaming at the mouth, with her arms dangling limply down his back, and she looked dead—she was dead. I knew in that same way you know that the sky is blue when the sun is up, I just knew.

And in that moment—those few seconds it took me to acknowledge that she had most likely overdosed and died—this intense yearning shot through me, so strong that I felt it in the crooks of my fucking elbows, like I wanted to embrace whatever the fuck it was that I desired to live inside me, and this voice cried out, “I wish that were me.”

And you know what, I didn’t even know I had spoken until the guy next to me shoved me in the shoulder and said, “no you don’t.”

And that terrified me. I remember dropping the joint, fumbling it in my shaking fingers, burning myself on the lit end, before handing it off to that same random guy and running off to get some air.

I’m not stupid and I’m not blind. I know I’m depressed, I know I’ve got issues, but I had never said something so suicidal out loud up until that point. I’ve never vocally wished for death and even as I sat there, as I looked out at the people outside the venue huddled together doing whip it’s and killing brain cells, I still wanted to be that poor dead girl on that man’s shoulders.

That was it for me. I remember calling an Uber home on the spot and taking everything I had and flushing it. Im not going to sit here and lie to you and tell you that it was easy. I had convinced myself that I needed these things to make me happy, and i don’t know if I can ever see life the same way after them. The feelings you get off these things are otherworldly, it’s so damn good, but they come at a price. You dont feel the same way you did before you took them, and you never will. You’ll never be who you were before that high, but you can almost convince yourself that it’s worth it. So it was pretty damn hard to take my neon presses, my rocks. my capsules, my bud and my tabs, and flush them down the toilet.

Almost immediately after I did it, I cried. Mostly because i had flushed hundreds of dollars down the fucking toilet, but also because I had become that girl in those cheesy college movies. You know the one, the one where the party girl gets addicted to drugs and goes on a bender and her whole life is just one big goddamn tragedy that won’t end. I hate those fucking movies and I, for the life of me, could not believe I was that girl.

I had been military, straight laced with a good head on my shoulders and a hard worker. I was smart, respected, the girl everyone wanted to bring home to mom. And now I was a hot mess crying in my bathroom because I had just flushed my addiction down the shitter.

Now I’m just home, trying to gather the pieces of myself in a way that doesn’t cause long term damage when I’ve yet to hit my 27th birthday.

I still go out with my friends. They know nothing about what I’ve done because I’ve always gone out and done things alone. This is the first time I’ve ever spilled my guts.

So where does FanFiction come into play in all this. Well, it’s simple, really, if you’ve gotten to this point and picked out all the mistakes in grammar. My brain is so fucked up that I can barely write a passable 3 page essay. I can’t remember words, much less how to string them together to form something beautiful in the way I used to. Trust me, it kills me and I’ve agonized over it for hours. I once tried to take this amazing idea I had and put it to paper but it would just not flow. Nothing made sense. Where before writing was effortless and focused, now my brain could barely concentrate on forming a sentence that didn’t sound like gibberish.

My attention span is so short that I literally have to isolate myself with no internet and my textbooks to get work done. It’s so bad that I have anxiety and panic attacks about the fact that I feel like a whole dumbass with one brain cell, where before I was proud of my intelligence and could hold decent conversation.

I’m still pretty, as if that fucking matters, but now I’ve got a stutter and can’t hold eye contact because my paranoia makes me think they’re judging me. And let me tell you, I’m so fucking pissed about that because I know it’s just my fried brain thinking these things, and there’s no one to blame but myself.

And I still feel empty and numb. How can I write about love and human emotions when I don’t feel anything? How can I write about looking at someone and loving them when the memory of love faded like my lover’s ashes in the wind? I just can’t.

I know love as it whispers against my skin with each interaction between me, friends, even other men, and yet I look at them and feel absolutely nothing.

So Yeah, I can’t write my stories if I can’t get my brain or my heart to work.

I’m really sorry to all my loyal readers. I really am. I wish I had been stronger. Thank you for all of your support throughout the years.

Don’t do drugs.

[blackrosesfanfic]

Chapter 196

Next day

Cammie

I cried in the shower this morning. I cried changing Caden's diaper. I cried after crying because I couldn't believe I was crying. It's crazy even to me. Now I'm thinking about it and feeling like I'm going to cry.

"Jay, did you pack?" Trey asks. I sniff. "Jayla, come on, Love. You said you could do this. Why you making it hard?"

"I sorta think you don't have an attachment to our son."

He rolls his eyes. "We both know why it's easy for me and not easy for you. Has nothing to do with how much we love our son. Jayla it's not even that long. They only have enough breast milk for 48 hours. So it’s impossible for you to stay away for more than a day."

"48 is 2 days."

"They need extra in case of an emergency or theyre wasteful. So really about 30."

I sigh. "I can't be you."

He picks up a bag. "You don't have a dick, you short, and you cry too fucking much. You sure as hell can't be me. Are these your clothes?"

"I figured if it's a day, I won't need clothes."

"Jayla." he says sternly. "We are leaving in 2 hours."

I fall on the bed. "April is not even here."

"Rollie is taking them to April. You know that."

"I think my baby's first plane ride should be done with me."

"Exactly why we are leaving in 2 hours instead of at the end of the day. Cammie, you acting like a brat. We went over all of this. Were you crying too hard?"

I stand up and go get my bag out of the closet. "Maybe. I need some reason to say no."

"Camille! We are going..."

"Tremaine stop yelling." I snap.

He blows. "Im headed to the airport."

I come out the closet. "Already?"

"I can't be here with you going through... Whatever this is. What are you carrying?"

"My clothes." I say dropping the bag then kicking it. "Enough for 2 days."

"You have clothes in VA. 3 days."

I swat him off. "I can wear the same outfit."

He gets really mad. "No, the fuck you can't. What the fuck?"

"I... Whoa now. What is your problem?"

"You not married to no fucking clown. Ain't no way the wife of Trey Songz is going to be seen anywhere with an outfit she fucking wore two days before. What the fuck are you trying to do? Give the fucking blogs some A1 shit to fucking talk about? Fuck no. You put 4 fucking outfits in that bitch after talking like that."

I sit on the bed and cross my arms. "I don't want to go anymore."

"I can't believe that shit. I must be broke as fuck or fucking stingy as a bitch. Hell no."

"I have 3 outfits. Shut up." I say resting my head on the bed.

Trey grabs the bag then checks it. He goes back out of the door. I'm going to just sit here and cry again. I get out of bed to go get Caden so I can snuggle with him. I never usually bother him while he is sleeping.

"Aye, don't even try that nigga. When the last time a song of yours was played twice in the same day? Centuries ago. Back before Benjamin Franklin. He wasn't even a president."

"Why are you running your mouth in here?" I snap standing in front of Trey.

He laughs really hard then grabs my waist. "Not even. No. Aye, what's your name again?"

I push him off of me. He kisses my cheek really quick then he walks away laughing. He so fake. Ain't shit that funny on that phone. Him and his friends annoy me. They will go without talking for months then plan to do something and talk for hours in the days coming up to the event. I bet any amount of money he talking to J. Cole.

"Mommy." Lane cries.

"In there. Don't wake Caden up. Yo? Caden not big enough to talk... What?"

Lane stomps into the room. "Mommy." he says like he angry.

I turn to him. "Lane, how may I help you?"

"Nanma coming?"

"Rollie is taking you to Grandma."

He sticks as much of his head as he could into the rails of the crib. I push his face back. He could really get stuck like that. He falls out on the ground. No crying. No nothing. He just lies there. That fellow is a mess. I look at him until he looks at me. I raise my eyebrows then smile. He jerks his body away to hide his smile.

"You are so cute, Lane. I love you."

"Love you." he says.

He always forgets whatever is going on when I tell him I love him. He makes sure he tells me back. I pick Caden up out of the crib. Lane's face was right there watching. He was looking like I was doing wrong. He was waiting for Caden to cry. He was sure he would. I kiss Caden then take him to the rocking chair. Lane follows.

"Mommy, Nana coming?"

"Yes, Grandma April coming to the car to pick you and Caden up."

"Caden go to grandma house?" Lane asks worried.

I smile. "Yes."

He puts the blanket over Caden. "Caden. Caden sleep?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

I stare at him. "We not starting this. Since when do you ask Why?"

"Cause." he shrugs.

"Okay, Lane. Want to share my lap?"

He starts climbing. "Yes."

I put Caden on my shoulder and help Lane into my lap. He wanted to lay down as well. He didn't want to simply sit on my lap. I start rocking with both of them. Surprisingly, Lane lies there then he starts talking random ass talk. I don't know what he talking about. He not expecting an answer so I let him talk. Trey looks into the room then he grabs a bag by the door. I'm being a bad mom. I didn't pack nothing for either of the boys. Not one thing. Trey has done everything. I'm sure he had help from April.

"Ma, call her yourself. Why?" Trey sucks his teeth then appear back in front of the door. "Where is Caden's insurance card?"

"Why?" I snap.

He disappears. "Why? Cause what? Fuck if I know, April. Oh."

I chuckle. I know why. Just being a bitch. I don't want Caden or Lane to go. This is why it was a good thing for me to keep my baby to myself. I was worst with Lane. Hell I took my fucking infant to Europe. Who does that?

"Jay, just in case Caden needs to go to the doctor. Do we have one for Caden?"

"Is he on your insurance?"

Trey comes all the way in the room staring at me. "Jayla, stop. What do you use... Don't worry about it. I'll look online."

"It's in the baby bag already."

"I changed baby bags."

I raise my eyebrows. "Do you put the clear bag with fingernail clips and stuff back?"

"Yeah."

"Then it's in there."

"Why the fu... You could have said that." he shakes his head walking out. "I swear. The shit I deal with."

I rock my babies.

  Amber

"I have absolutely nothing to do."

"Why did you come to Chicago then?" Chris snaps scratching his balls in the middle of the floor.

I shake my head. "You are not cute."

He smells his hand then turn up his nose. "I'm not fresh either."

"Shut up."

"Why you came to Chicago? Tell me."

I lay back on the headboard. "I had something to do. I did it duh. Plus I wanted to surprise you, dumbass."

"Your ass lying."

"Christopher."

"Maurice Brown... Anything else your lying ass got to say?"

I laugh. "What are you talking about? I was thinking we smoke a blunt."

"What happened to you cleansing your damn body?"

"You know how hard it is to eat right and not drink or smoke?"

He shrugs then starts walking to the bathroom. "Cammie does it all."

I chuckle and cross my legs in the air. "Cammie is a perfect ass bitchy goody two shoes. I done said fuck her for a while. Anyway."

"But she does it." he snaps.

"Oh, shut up. Bitter." I say reaching to the end table where I had weed for him.

I scream. He had jumped on the bed scaring the shit out of me. I slap his side. He puts his hand over my face. I fight with him. It was hard as fuck to get his hand off of me. I scream thinking that would get him to get off me. He just laughs. I dig my nails into his side. He only moves out of the way. How the hell he can be so far away yet still touch me. I give up. He continues laughing.

"You smell my balls?"

"Awwwh." I scream fighting him again.

He laughs then moves. "You scared of a little dick and booty on your face?"

"You fucking nasty."

"Huh?" he says coming back to the bed.

I look at him then try to hide my face. It looks like this nigga wiped his hand under his stank ass balls again. He grabs my arm. I scream and kick him then jump off of the bed. He laughs really hard. He so dramatic. He holds his stomach and throws his head back. I run and jump on the bed then jump on him.

"Fuck!" he yells as we both hit the floor. "Bitch."

"Motherfucking bad ass bitch."

He tries to put his hand in my face again. I smack it out of the way. He drops it to the ground and take a deep breath. I fucking won. He puts his hand to his face then drop it again. He had put the blunt back in his mouth. I kiss his face as he lies there with the blunt between his lips. He chuckles.

"You still a bitch." he says.

"Yeah yeah."

He sits up making me back up. He falls back like he didn't have no energy. I watch him. He flicks a lighter lighting the blunt. I grind on him. He blows the smoke at me. I mean I have been not drinking and all that but I'm just not feeling it. I feel like your mind has to be fully committed to something for it to benefit you. I'm just stressing myself out trying to live life like someone else. It's just not me. It's not us. We don't do either.

"So you stop smoking and I'll get back on my cleansing."

"What's wrong with weed?"

I snatch it out his mouth. "Tobacco."

He chuckles. "Oh. Well..."

"You are not even supposed to be smoking if you detoxing from liquor anyway. That's why you can't stick to that either."

"I drink less than I used to."

I roll my eyes. "Trey does it."

He laughs. "Bullshit. Shut up. He never smoked cigarettes like I do. Fuck Trey..."

"You want to?"

"Fuck my fucking brother?"

"Technically..."

He gets in my face. "Technically, shit. You know what I was saying any fucking way. Get your stank ass off me."

"That's how you feeling?" I laugh pushing him back.

"You know what I'm feeling?" he blows smoke in my face. I shrug. "You cool as fuck. I almost felt guilty about being selfish and making you mine. Almost. If I had a bit of that stuff that make you not selfish. I think you perfect. For someone else."

I laugh. "That almost sounded sweet."

"Let's go to Dubai. Remember what happened in Du fucking bai?"

"No." I frown snatching the blunt. "What the fuck happened in Dubai? Between us?"

He lies back. "You know."

I look at his face. "No, Chris, I do not."

"What?" he looks at me. "We fucked in Dubai. I thought you was just fucking with me cause we said we would act like it never happened."

"Chris, we did not fuck in Dubai."

He sits up. "We did. I remember."

"No."

"You weren't too drunk to fucking remember. We were on that yacht with the Olympic sized pool. In the towel room after they left us in the sauna."

I cross my arms. "You remember too many details. Were you even fucking drinking?"

He grabs my wrist and shakes my arms apart. "Come on, we barely drunk anything. We got shit faced after though."

"Christopher that was not me."

"Cammie threw up cause it was her first time on a yacht."

I hit him. "Cammie's ass threw up cause she was fucking pregnant with Lane. She been on a damn yacht with Trey's ass."

"Oh."

"I remember her throwing up. We didn't fuck. We were just..."

"We fucked."

I laugh. "That totally slipped my mind. In the towel room. Oh my gosh."

He chuckles laying back. "It was quick no lie."

"It was like 2 seconds of a fuck. Like a damn movie clip. Bam against the wall dramatically..." I throw my hands up. "Towels falling everywhere. One pump, two pump, three pump... Bang on the cart. Towels everywhere! Bam... Bam against the wall. Dramatic fall on top of towels... Screen cut. Sweating, panting, and dazing into the camera. Wow. Okay let's not tell anyone about. Yeah. Okay. Molly washed down with Hennessy?"

He laughs uncontrollably. "It was not a Molly."

"What the case." I throw my hands up.

"You a bitch yo. I remember it being fly."

"Christopher have you been holding on to that memory? What happened to forgetting the shit?"

He wipes his face. "I'm sitting here sweating from the thought. Forget it why?"

"Cause we agreed."

"I just thought we agreed as in don't fucking tell my fucking girlfriend who bout to come around the corner with Cammie. Best 10 minutes..."

"3."

He grabs my face. "You don't have to be so accurate. In my defense I been waiting for that for a while."

"You a bullshitting lie." I say hitting his arm.

"Sevyn... Amber, Honey, shut the fuck up. I try to treat you like an average ass hoe but you just won't let me."

I stand up. "Am I fucking average?"

"You fucking fine. Perfect."

"Perfectly above average, bitch. Still make you cum in 2 minutes."

"Three!" he spats.

I laugh. "Yeah."

He laughs until he starts coughing with his fucking fucked up lungs. He sits up holding his chest and trying not to cough.

"Breathe bitch." I say hitting his back.

That made his mean ass stop coughing but he comes for me. I hop across the bed out of his way. I slap a balloon across the bed into his face. He smacks it then coughs a little fake cough. I chuckle hitting another balloon. He grabs it.

"Can I stick my dick in this?" he says grabbing his dick and putting the balloon lips to it.

"Are we going to Dubai?"

He shrugs. "If you want. Let's go."

"It's whatever. Stop raping that balloon and come in the shower."

"Don't beg." he says busting the balloon with the blunt.

I suck my teeth. "Really, Chris!"

He shrugs. "That bitch was fake."