5 Ways To Improve Your Posture
March 11, 2012
End Game (Post 2)
March 15, 2012

I’m going to be 100 percent brutally honest in these posts. You might think less of me after reading, and less of the people you look up to now that are also involved in this story. But people change, and this is the beginning of my transformation:

I was 15 years old when I met my wife. My cousin told me he picked up a girl, but I thought he was bullshitting. He insisted he was telling the truth, and arranged for all of us to get together at the Fashion Mall in Plantation, Fla.
A few days later I walked to the food court to meet them and there she was. Jamie. She looked a lot like the actress Christina Ricci, especially in her face and forehead. She was dressed very casually in jeans and a tank top; about 5’3’’ and a little chubby with big boobs. I was a little chubby too at the time, and dressed like a thug with short spiky hair with my ass hanging out of my pants. Kind of going with the trend at the time I guess. We clicked almost instantly.
The next day we met at my apartment complex for pool volleyball with a bunch of people. We ended up making out for the first time. It was the first love I had ever had. She was the first girlfriend I had ever had. And I was her much-needed escape.
Jamie had moved down from West Virginia with her mom, whose boyfriend molested her. One night, when she was 14, Jamie passed out after a brief Xanax-induced coma and woke up to her mom’s boyfriend eating her out. Her dad wanted to press charges but her mom refused. She was friends with their neighbors who supplied the drugs and didn’t want to get them in trouble with the law. He and Jamie fought like crazy. Once she even broke phone over his head. They moved to Florida after the police started getting involved. Eventually Jamie was sleeping at my house, living with me and my mom. My dad was living with my uncle. My parents started fighting a lot because of a few failed art galleries they operated and were separted at the time.
Then Jamie and my mom started fighting. It reached a point where my mom told her she wasn’t allowed in the house anymore. And honestly, I didn’t know if I was capable of getting another girlfriend. That’s why I was so afraid of losing her. So we decided to move out.
All I had were $160 and a friend who agreed to let us move into his trailer. This place was a wreck. It was a regular single trailer with a leaky roof, no air conditioning, a hole in the kitchen floor a person could fall through and no hot water. Needless to say, it was a real fucking dump. But something that’s always been ingrained in me is I can’t live in shit. So I took the little money I had, bought white paint and painted over the grooves in the walls in my room so they looked like normal walls. I also installed linoleum slabs in my room. There went all my money. But now at least the room looked like it belonged in a nice house, not a shitty trailer.
And that’s when I entered my drug years.

Stay tuned to find out what drugs and what hell awaited (next post Thursday March 15)