Love, Justine

Potter County Women’s Center

Day 53

August 26, 2017

Saturday

I don’t have any winter clothes. Hm. I’ll have to go to the Community Closet (and put in a request for that). Now we need request slips to take a shit, it seems. We’re off to Wellsboro for that crappy meeting. Only two or three people besides us ever show up, so it’s ridiculously boring. There’s always supposed to be a speaker, but they never show up. 

I’m sitting in the front, so I’m in charge of the radio. Mr. Big has been having fun making all kinds of new rules lately, which makes me like him even less. It also makes it harder not to get written up, which sucks. I can’t get in trouble here because I still have the threat of state prison hanging over my head. 

I sent an application and resume to the closest vet clinic, which is 20 minutes away. That’s probably a bit much to hope for, so I’m applying for jobs in Coudersport too. Stupid jobs like “Sandwich Artist” at Subway. I’d like to waitress or bartend so I can make tips. This morning our bathroom wasn’t working, so I took a shower in the staff bathroom (with permission), shut the door and everything, and got walked in on my staff anyway while I was half-naked!

Hope she enjoyed the show.

At least it wasn’t Mr. Big. That would’ve been horrifying.

I don’t really know how I feel about eight more months here. Of course I don’t want to, but I’m trying to be grateful that I’m not in state prison. That sounds awful. Mr. Big seems to like me, he had me run a group yesterday. I decided to make it about God/Higher Power(s)–it went well and even lasted a whole hour, which I was surprised about. It was hard for me to change my address to here, but I did it.

Everybody is singing, “Hold on, hold on to me, cuz I’m a little unsteady…a little unsteady…” I miss singing. Just blasting music (especially in a car) and singing at the top of my lungs. It’s therapeutic. Always makes me feel better anyway. None of the music on the radio seems good to me anymore. 

Does that mean I’m old?

1:25pm
The meeting was good. There was a baby there that I got to hold. Reminds me of my sons when they were little. When Tiger was little like that, everything was a blur. I was drinking then. A lot.

My Superman said to me once, “Mommy, I know who my Daddy is.” I, terrified that somehow Prynot had weasled his way into their lives, alarmingly replied, “Who?!” Superman calmly replied, “You are.” That made my heart just melt. I love those kids so much it hurts. Taylor Swift is singing, “Shake it Off.” I feel like I have a million things I can’t shake off. My health problems right now, my extended stay here, the constant ache in my heart for my kids, and so many other things. 

I really, REALLY hope this publisher wants to publish my book Kidowed. Right now it’s only available through Smashwords.com as a free download. Maybe I’ll put it back on Amazon for free too. Chantilly and I have been walking more, which is good for me. I can’t get under 150lbs though. My doctor told me I should be happy with that after five children, but the BMI chart on the wall taunts me, saying I’m 15lbs overweight. I feel like it’s more like 25lbs. I weighed 117lbs after the twins, but when they (my parents and Dubya) teamed up and took all three of my kids away from me, all I could do was eat. And I started drinking again. Couldn’t find a reason not to. Then later I started doing drugs too. I just let the overwhelming depression consume me. I’m still having a lot of trouble with anger, acceptance, and gratitude. 

And oh, the Pain.

The oppressive, enveloping pain.

On the board at the meeting, it said, “What is Happiness?” I don’t know anymore. I’m really unhappy that I’m not in remission from lupus anymore. That explains the constant pain lately. My hips and knees have been screaming at me despite the daily Meloxicam. It’s been humid and raining a lot. Fourteen miles till Westfield–where I used to get my Vicodin. My friend John Wayne (deceased) used to ride along with me, then he would take me out to eat. He loved the store Ackley’s , and he would lovingly stare at all of the guns, even though he wasn’t allowed to buy one because he shot and killed a man in a bar fight once. He was quite a character. I miss him. I wonder if I hadn’t met him during my using years if I would have cared more about his health (he was 350lbs), gotten him out more, and maybe he would have lived longer. Of course he drank a 30-pack per day. 

I have a lot of guilt about our relationship. I used to manipulate him out of his pain meds all of the time (he didn’t take them), using them as payment for cleaning his house or taking him somewhere. Of course he manipulated me too, knowing I would do almost anything to get them. He used to know a couple women who would give him blow jobs for Tylenol 3’s. I never went that far, but he sure tried. 

What a relationship.

Two addicts in the grips of a downhill spiral. I was still with Dubya at the time. What a mother I was to Lilly. 

Enough of that. 

Guilt city. In Westfield now. The song, “Slow Hands” is on, which reminds me of how much I miss sex. It’s not as bad as it was last time I was in here. Of course that time I was sort of withdrawing from Luke. He was like an addiction in himself. I was addicted to everything about him–he oozed sex appeal, thought I was sexy as Hell, and what a freakin’ body! Sexy, sexy. I wonder if I’ll ever have sex like that again. We literally couldn’t get enough of each other–we would have sex for hours, and it always just worked–it never felt forced or uncomfortable. 

Amazing.

And I lost 20 freakin’ pounds over that winter with him. Even more amazing. But the fact remains that I was just a fling and his heart belongs to another woman. 

Ah, well.

Of course I keep having sex dreams about Mr. Big, but that’s just because he’s he only man I see all day. It’s weird, waking up all turned on, and then having to look him in the face all day.