The Lowlife Chronicles (WARNING: GRAPHIC)

Venom · 10-02-2008, 05:35 AM

Well, might as well start here. My life story. This feels strange, I've never really chronicled this before. Well, here I go.

The Beginning: Chapter 1
I was born in the countryside of a small, drug overrun corrupted town in Mississippi. I had my father, my mother, and the two grandparents on my mothers side as family. My early years were the best I can remember, though I was quite secluded I went on camping trips with my grandfather and grandmother. I loved those times, they were the best. My mother took great time to teach me alot of things before I even went to kindergarten and I praise her for that. I knew how to read before I even got into kindergarten. My dad was an alcoholic, but I can't blame him. He had been through so much, his mother and father died around the same time when he was young and he had to take care of his brothers (my uncles). Sometimes he would come in so drunk, he would fall and pass out, one time he even took a leak in my closet thinking it was the bathroom. My grandmother would take me to church. My first experience with death was when my Aunt Dorris passed away, I didn't really understand at the time, I was so young. When I enrolled in school, I was nervous, but I guess all children are. I made excellent grades and it was my goal to keep those grades up. I passed kindergarten easily. First grade was no problem either, and neither was second, or third. My father quit drinking about like when I was in first or second grade but I knew he was an alcoholic and it hurt him and he missed his alcohol... He did it for me and my mother. He was always a work-a-holic though, even in his alcoholic days, and always made sure to provide for me and my mother. Christmas was always such a good time, I got so many toys and things I wanted, I remember the greatest gift of all was when my father and grandfather set up a trampoline outside on a cold christmas eve and I awoke to "Santa's Present". We would go to my aunt's house to celebrate and ate well, had fun, and exchanged gifts. When I got to the fourth or fifth grade, things changed. School became like a chain around me, and I just wanted to break free and play. My mother pushed me hard to study and make good grades. That's when my mother and I decided to homeschool. It didn't work out for long, I was a little hellraiser and I regret all I put my mother through. We had alot of good times when she homeschooled me, we would collect insects and flowers and she would tell me what they were. I miss those times so much. After about half a year of homeschooling, I went back to school. Sixth or seventh grade was horrible. My grandfather had cancer that was eating away at him and sorosis of the liver, caused by a faulty blood transfusion that gave him some sort of hepatitis. I remember seeing him in the hospital the day before he died, and I wanted to stay so bad, somehow I knew something was going to happen to him, but he said "You need to go to school". The next day, his brother (my great uncle) picked me up from school. I already knew what was going to happen. That day me and my grandfather talked for the last time, even though it was so hard for him because his lungs were filling up with blood. I watched my grandfather drown in his own blood. His brother was trying to rush everyone from the room, especially the women. I stayed and watched. The image is burned into my head like a movie that won't go away. I cried so much. I loved my grandfather. He always loved to fish and take me camping with him, and he made the best catfish I've ever tasted. Prior to his death, my father had begun to turn yellow and we knew something was wrong. He went to the doctor and all they said was he had Addisons Disease, some kind of adrenal gland problem. That wasn't the case at all. He continued to work as hard as he could, until one day he fell out at work and they gave him leave. He was checked into the hospital, and all the dumbass doctors didn't know what was wrong. All it took was one foreign doctor who came and checked his lymph nodes. That's when the bad news came. He had cancer, and it had already spread to his brain, bones, and other parts of his body. It was terminal. I cried so much because I knew the same thing that happened to my grandfather would happen to him. He got out of the hospital and had to be put on oxygen and stayed in the living room. A few days later, I felt something was wrong. I wanted to stay home from school and even told my mother I was going to ask my Jr. High principal if I could homeschool because I knew my father would die soon. My mother made me go to school. Not long into first period, it happened again. My aunt came to pick me up from school. I knew he was going to die, it was just like last time. I came home, talked to my father on his deathbed, and told him I would take good care of my mother. I watched him as he breathed his last breath. I was so distraught that I blocked it from my head, after he died I went to my room to play video games, some friends and family were with me but I really wanted to be by myself. I didn't cry until the day of the funeral, it hit me like a ton of bricks. My father was gone, and I never even really got to bond with him or know him enough. I will always regret that. When I went back to school I broke down crying and they gave me more time off, I couldn't handle it. It hadn't even been a year after my grandfather died that this happened. I changed into a different person, I was now the man of the house.

End Of Chapter 1

Venom · 10-06-2008, 08:59 AM

Chapter 1 Edit: My Mother and I collected insects and flowers during my early school days. Homeschooling was really just, homeschooling. She was such a good teacher.

End Edit

Chapter 2: Spiral Into Hell
After my father died, my childhood died along with him. I was the man of the house. Sometimes I went a little bit overboard and was pushy on my easily overrun mother. I hate myself to this day for all the hell I put her through. Soon after my father died stress built up in my body so much that I was diagnosed with gastronitis. I was taken to a hospital in Memphis where they showed me pictures of my internally bleeding stomach. I had to take medicine and not consume certain things to let it heal, but it bothers me to this day. I sought help for my stress and depression and was put on proper meds. I began my journey of drugs with weed soon after my father died, and began skipping school so much as to the point I didn't care about my grades. I became a Vice Lord at a young age, something that I no longer claim. One time I was caught high loitering at the local food mart with a friend by a bastard my mother had married - He was nice at first, but soon showed his true colors and became cruel, hateful, and racist. After catching me, I was sent to a mental institute at the very Northmost part of Mississippi, my mother and her newfound husband thought it would be good for me since I had mental problems as well. It didn't help much, they put me on knockout drugs like risperadol and shit, and I hated being trapped in there - We couldn't even go outside because of prior problems of patients jumping the fence. After getting out I again sought help for my mental problems and was put back on proper medication My racist stepfather tried to change my lifestyle, wanting to trash all my rap and R&B CD's. Me and my grandmother didn't let it happen. I had little girlfriends here and there before this, but soon after I would experience the joy of real love - but at a price. In Mississippi, things were so backwards. Interracial relationships were not accepted. I had long before always had black girlfriends during my puppy love stage, but now I was older and had my first love. We were stared at, mocked, and there were only a few white peers that didn't think of me as "nigger lover". I was outcast by white people but thank God embraced by most black people. I joined the Jr. High Basketball team (as the only white boy, hah) and enjoyed playing, but I wasn't up to full speed because of a fractured ankle I got as a result of showing off. I was still good though, my stats were topped with number of blocks, I played Center. My girlfriend and I were on and off, but eventually came back on and strongly. I began going to her house to chill with her, not getting into any trouble but one day my racist stepfather officially fucked me. He and my mother came to pick me up one night, and the adults were in the kitchen area playing cards. He was rude, and as soon as we got in the car it all began. "Looks like a nigger crackhouse", and blah blah blah. We got into a big arguement that night, his drunk ass wanting to get in my face and make threats. He told me I could not see my girlfriend anymore. I told him I would, and what's he gonna do about it, send me off? He said yea. Soon after, I found he wasn't bluffing. One day I was enjoying a black & mild on my grandmother's porch, I was 15 or 16. Then a man pulled up and said my parents had decided to send me to a place to get me some help. He had twist ties for handcuffs, and he said I can either get in the car or do it the hard way. If I knew what was going to happen I would have booked off and hid-out the rest of my pre-18 life. He said I would only be there a couple of days to two weeks, depending on how I acted. I had been acting out a little bit but not too much, smoking and one night I stayed out way too late, but I don't think I did enough to deserve what I got. We traveled all the way into the deep south of Mississippi, to a place called Bethel's Academy For Boys. It was supposed to be a Christian bootcamp, but the horrors that lied within were anything but that. There was a church, but no cross. The leader was a former skinhead named Herman Fountain. The night I got there, it didn't seem so bad, but the day after I learned that I was not in a Christian Bootcamp; I was in Hell. I was lied to, my time in this hellhole would be a year. I missed my girlfriend, mother, and grandmother so much. We were beatin, electrocuted, deprived of basic needs, waterboarded, drowned and ressucitated, mentally & phsycially abused, brainwashed, and horrifically tortured. My mental problems took a dive for the worst. Death threats, anything you could think of happened in this hell camp. I was made to crawl through jagged rocks and broken glass, burned, and all of the above mentioned tortures, only I was lucky enough not to be drowned and ressucitated. I knew it happened though, and afterwards the drill instructors (many of whom were former marines) said anti-semitic shit, like the verse from the bible where Jesus was ressurected. We were made to fight each other, and so much more horrific things happened here. We were over-exercised, running behind a truck and if we didn't keep up we were beaten to a pulp. Not that being beaten to a pulp was out of the ordinary in this place, it happened to me every day. Grown men beating on children. That really shows how tough you are, huh? I witnessed so many horrific things that it gave me night terrors, to this day I can't get a night's sleep without visioning something horrific, horror movies don't have shit on the things that go on in my mind. We were confined from the outside world, and many of us had staff infections which were removed with knives by the Instructors and stuffed with gauze, those with staff were quaranteened. There were stories of people who ran away and were never found, but I know why: They were murdered by these sick bastards. I would pray so hard for God to remove me from this hell, and, to my luck, after two weeks of living in camp hell, the Department Of Human Services came and rescued some of us. They found out about the horrors that went on there, I told them the only way I would tell them everything is if they took me with them, for I would surely be killed if not. 12 of us were rescued and taken to a juvenile detention center for two weeks to await trial to see what our fates would be. I was so glad when I saw my mom, but my stepfather demanded I be sent somewhere else. He wanted to get rid of me so bad. I cried so much in the courtroom. The judge ordered that I would be in custody of the state under my mom and stepfather's supervision. I was so overjoyed to be out of that hellhole. I stepped carefully when I came back, because I knew the evil my stepfather was capable of. He liked to get drunk and get in my face and want to fight. One day I had had enough of his bullshit, I ran outside, took my shirt off, and told him to come get some. I went into a berserker rage and scared the piss out of him, he came to the door but saw how serious I was and went to my mother's room. He never again fucked with me. My first taste of crack cocaine came at the age of 16, after getting out of the hell camp. My mind was so distraught and my mental state had deteriorated into major depression and anxiety disorders. My folks sent me to a Christian private school, where I didn't fit in at all. Everyone was so high and mighty, rich children. I had money from social security checks coming in from my father's death, it was wasted on me going to the Christian school. I met a few nice people there, but I missed my true friends so much. My girlfriend and I fell out of touch for a while, the relationship was done and it hurt me badly as this was my first love and it was ruined by my stepfather's moving me around constantly. I still had no care for school, and my grades were barely enough to pass. I played for the high school basketball team at the Christian school for a year, everybody but me was warned to keep their grades up or be benched, they knew I had given up hope. After I was old enough to drive and got a truck my mind was set on two things: selling drugs and taking them. I ran with robbers, pushers, and murderers. My main vice was weed, but I mingled with crack until on my 18th birthday party I overdosed and almost made my heart explode. One day when my folks went out of town, my stepfather did something to my vehicle where it shut off while I was driving. I was going to take my grandmother to go eat when suddenly it shut off, thank god I was leaving the driveway and heading up a hill with no oncoming traffic. We could have been killed. Instead, the truck backed into a telephone pole in our yard. Upon their return, I was outraged at him, he could have had me and my grandmother killed, but he wasn't hearing a word I was saying. He said "you could have had us killed!". Drunken nonesense. I could have had him "taken care of" on several different occasions but I chose not to because of my mother. I sometimes wonder if I did the right thing. My mother is so quiet about many things around him and it seemed like mental abuse she was going through. I always kept my eyes peeled for him, he wasn't going to overrun the house my father bought and take us over. I was going to shoot him one time until my mother took the gun from me. He gloated and laughed about it... But I let him know; you're fucking with the wrong person. I think that was the night I went berserker on him and took my dominance back. I can understand people trying to be good role models, but this wasn't one. When I got out of boot camp all the love posters my girlfriend had drawn were ripped from the walls. I had a Destiny's Child and other posters with black people on my wall, they were taken as well. But I wasn't going to let this racist bitch destroy who I am: I am, and forever will be, myself, the person God made me. I made alot of bad decisions I admit, one which I was involved with a married crackhead who I was friend's of her husband. I had to leave them be, everytime they hit the pipe I died a little inside. Crack destroyed them, and I imagine it would have destroyed me if I hadn't given it up after the overdose. I chose to dwell in the slums with my ex-girlfriend, her mom, her aunt, and her aunt's two children which quickly became my goddaughters. I loved them like my own. Speaking of good works, when I was younger, before and after the bootcamp days, I mentored two very special girls on the internet: Today they are grown and successful, one just finished school and is heading for college and one is in college studying to be a lawyer. It makes me feel a little redemption, for all the bad I've done dishing out drugs and corrupting people at least I provided a father figure for two children and a big brother for two others. My mental problems where still there and spiraling downward, at about 18 I cut myself almost to the bone while I was drunk to rid myself of the anxiety. The scars will be with me forever. When I was 18 or 19, I caught my first charge: riding around with weed in the middle of the night. Soon after though, something caught me: A new lease on life.

End Of Chapter 2

Venom · 10-11-2008, 11:14 AM

Chapter 3: Escape From Mississippi's Hell

While on probation, I met a girl on myspace that wanted me to call her. We talked for a bit and I was shy about calling her until she convinced me to, it was like a something like a dare and I was like aw naw I gotta call her now! So we talked for a while, until, no matter how silly it is, I feel in love with a girl hundreds of miles away from me in Texas. Shortly after getting off probation, I said my goodbyes to everyone and went down there for a two week vacation. It ended up not being a vacation at all, when I saw how different and accepant this place was of people like me ("race mixers or nigger lovers", as they would call me in Mississippi), I loved it, and I ended up staying. Me and my girl have now been together for almost three years. There have been ups & downs, but I'm glad I did what I did. If I would have stayed in Mississippi, I would have ended up dead or in prison like all my other peers I hung with. It hurts to go back and visit and learn another has been shot and another has been sent to the pentitentiary. Before I left, I lost my best friend, my uncle. He got eight years in the pen. After that, Mississippi had died a little for me. I regret leaving behind my godchildren and my nephews and family, but I visit from time to time and try to keep in touch on the phone. That pretty much sums up my life story until now. I've been down here almost three years and I've had hard times here and there, with cocaine & pill abuse, staying up all night with an assault rifle because word on the street was motherfuckers were going to break into our house and kill everybody and take everything, and like in Mississippi I've stayed in neighborhoods where the gunfire doesn't stop until the morning. I got word from Mississippi that my grandmother has caught terminal cancer, which almost killed me until my beloved pitbull that was lost and I really lost my mind, don't think I'll ever get over it, but with life comes pain and hard times I guess. I visited my grandmother and mother in Mississippi, my mother has some kind of early emphazema and I wish she would quit smoking. They say my grandmother is doing better, but I don't really know :( . Next entry will be how I've been doing lately. Thank you to everyone that read my story.

Venom · 10-15-2008, 03:00 PM

Chapter 3-1: The Struggle To Survive

Okay, so I'm in Texas now, I've failed to keep a steady job because my meds make me sleepy, I fell asleep on one job as a telecommunication person during training and lost it even. I'm on probation for a bullshit small amount of weed after somebody called the police and said they saw me with a machette (which I was just bullshitting around with my friend with, he had a pole or somethin in his hand and I popped the trunk and got it out and we was just bullshittin). I've got to go to probation every weekday at 6 AM until I get a job or I get a warrant for my arrest. I've got to apply at at least two or three jobs a day, or else I get a warrant for my arrest. I have to piss clean or, well, you get the point. Today I was almost sure I was going to get a job. Life has been hell running back and forth from probation and back and forth to take my girl to work. I passed a test I failed three previous times, and they were about to interview me. They had a big salt water fish tank in the waiting area, it made me tranquil and happy to look at them. I wanted to stay up close and look at them from as close as I could but I'm sure they would have thought I was crazy. They were so beautiful. The only thing that made me upset was that I knew I wouldn't have the tranquility of the beautiful fish tank to keep me company when I left, it would be back into this shitty ass miserable hell. At one point when I was up close looking, for some reason, I payed attention to the way one was moving his fins (the arm parts that they swim with) and then a brutal image appeared in my head of the fins being torn from the fish. It upset me and made me wonder why a gruesome image like that would appear in my head, now that I think about it though I'm used to having nightmares every night since bootcamp, so I'm not surprised anymore. Anyway the lady called me to the desk, and re-asks me if I have a criminal record because they don't hire misdameanor or felony offenders there. I said no, thinking she would think nothing of it. She said they ran a background check. My hopes of getting a job were killed. Then she asked me why I lied about it. I asked her did it really matter since they don't take anyone with a record? She said now I can't apply again because I lied. I told her it still doesn't matter because I've got a record. She didn't know what to say. I asked her for a little advice, should I lie on applications because if I've got a record they might not hire me or should I be honest. She told me the second option would be best, but I feel like I'm in a "fucked if I do, fucked if I don't" situation. I took my girl home and drained myself of plasma for $25 dollars just to get by on gas until she gets paid, and I got an extra $20 for taking an immunization. Now I'm at home, waiting to take my girl to work and for my job interview at a pizza place afterwards, I hope I do good and I hope they don't have a misdameanor policy. I bought a pack of Newports with my "blood money", it feels good to smoke a name brand cigarette when you're used to the shitty dollar packs of little cigars.

Venom · 10-20-2008, 10:55 AM

Chapter 3-2: The Struggle To Survive

Feeling pretty good right now, on my xanax. Still need to get my Lexapro refilled I'll have it by tomorrow hopefully, still ain't been hit with the withdrawals even though I've been out for a while. Once the xanax wears off, I'll surely feel like dying again. Been downloading me lots of comic books I like, reading them makes me happy. We got our AT&T bill and we're gonna get cut off soon cause we can't pay the bill :( I'll be so sad without the internet and having this forum for support. I won't kill myself, I refuse to give the demons that satisfaction. I'd rather somebody just kill me. Still no luck with jobs, I went to the interveiw at the pizza place and saw I had been lied to, no hiring on the spot, it was the first interveiw. I was feeling so bad from xanax withdrawals that day. No problem though, I could still have done the interveiw. There was one thing that threw a ratchet in my plans though: It was a fun type interveiw! They were looking for people to host parties. I was so dissapointed. When I walked in there were so many people that didn't need the job near enough as bad as I did. Some high schooler punks, one of them didn't even know his address. We played different games so they could see how fun and interactive we were. I was so devastated I felt like crying, I didn't get to participate because I felt so bad, I know if I would have been able to get some xanax I would have dazzled them. I don't expect to hear a call back :( I've been putting in so many applications it's pitiful, there are so many dumbasses that don't deserve their job here. I'm so stuck in myself, I guess I don't deserve a job either, I deserve to rot in jail with the rest of us "offenders". But enough of that, I'm trying to enjoy my tiny ray of sunshine while I can, can't afford to get my xanax fully refilled because I have to go back to the doctor for that and overall it'd end up costing me $80. Ha! So fucked. I'm planning on going to some calling centers, hopefully they'll not ask for criminal background and hire me on the spot, probation is running me down going every morning but I'm getting kinda used to it. I think I experienced hypomania for the first time a couple of days ago, I was all bouncy and swangin my Ford Taurus all over the damn place, it was xanax withdrawal related for sure. Time to end this entry.

Venom · 10-22-2008, 07:39 PM

Chapter 3-3: The Struggle To Survive

At this point it seems hopeless. I've almost given up. Probation is running my anxiety up the wall and at times I just wish someone would kill me. No jobs called back, and it looks like the pizza place isn't gonna hire me. Haven't had the chance to go to any calling centers, but my girl called one for me that looked good and they don't hire on the spot, so it looks like I have no chance there. I need a place that hires on the spot. I don't think they'd ever call me.

Venom · 10-23-2008, 02:01 AM

Interlude: A Letter To My Mother

Dear mom, I love you so much. I want to go back to Mississippi to visit you and be with you so bad. I'm stuck here though, this probation won't let me go. I miss all the fun times we had. I wish that bastard Craig would die already so it could be just you and me. I'm sorry for treating you bad, and even though you tell me you've done things that you shouldn't have done like leaving me at the house for weeks without coming back it wasn't your fault, you were under alot of pressure. You've told me you could never ask for another son, and I truly could never ask for another mom. I wish you would quit smoking it's killing you, you and grandma are all I have left and she doesn't look like she has much time left... I love you mom.

Venom · 11-02-2008, 01:33 AM

Interlude - "Who Can You Trust?" quote by Tommy Wright III

We start this stroy in Mississippi, back when I was rollin around actin a fool. I met a "friend" named Dane who I started hanging around with. He didn't have any money, but he was a cool muthafucka as far as I could tell. I smoked at least $1000 worth of reefer to smoke with him, I was never greedy, always had him hooked up went over there and smoked a couple of times even when I didn't feel like sharing. Well, Mr. Dane went to the Navy. After that, it changed. He's now Mr. BIG MAN. When he came back on leave, I went back to Mississippi and we were supposed to go down to the beach together. He even told me he'd pay half my way back to Texas. Well, turns out no beach vacation or paying half my way back to Texas. Alright, I forgive him, he blamed it on his mom that we didn't go to the beach and blamed it on his funds that he couldn't pay half my way back. Okay, next thing you know it I'm sitting up here broke as a homeless man with a roof over his head, wiping my ass with newspaper, trying to scrounge up enough change to get some bread and cheap sandwich meat, and with hardly no money in the car to make it back and forth to probation every day. I desperately ask Mr. Big Military shithead if he can send or loan me a little money to help me get back on my feet. He says yea I'll send you some. Never came. Next thing he's promised to go on a road trip down to Texas when he gets off on leave to come visit me. Nah, he makes up bullshit excuses. Not to mention he promised he'd get me to me and his girl's wedding, and I ask him can he at least do that, and he says, well, "if you get down there", knowing god damn well I don't have that kind of money. I'm so disgusted with him I doubt if I would even want to go even if he did get me a plane ticket, which he won't, cause he's full of bullshit. I smoke a ton of reefer with you no matter how broke you are, I'm your friend for years, and now that you're Mr. Big Time I'm not good enough for you. I understand how it is. My advice to anybody reading this is cut your losses. I try my best to be a good person but this world is full of deceitful, garbage ass people. Now you should ask yourself a very important question: Who Can You Trust?

Venom · 11-04-2008, 04:06 AM

Chapter 3-4: The Struggle To Survive

My Xanax abuse has been spiraling out of control lately. My motivation has left. It seems every week is the same cycle, over and over again. We're late on rent so we're gonna have to pay extra for that. Any time the lights or internet could get cut off. I've been sleeping away most of the time, I just don't wanna be awake. The other day I got into a confrontation with a fiend, fuck him, I don't give a shit, I was barred out (he took me to his aunt's house to get some xanax and I took a big hydrocodone with it, or maybe it was an oxycotton, I paid for most of it but she said don't worry bout the rest) and he threw a beer can at my car. I stopped for a second wondering "Oh hell he done did it now I should whoop his ass" but he WAS a friend and drunk too, I'm gonna definetly talk to him about it next time I see him. Fuckin fiends. Can't tell they fiends til you see em at night. That shit ain't gonna get me down though, fuck him. Wrong people to fuck with, I'd rather just stick to what I know. And then his aunt changes the story somehow sayin I do owe her now and the guy told one of my friends I owe him $20. For what? I didn't borrow any money from that muthafucka, I actually gave him a dollar and he got pilled out from the pills at his aunt's house. And then they said "I was supposed to share" bullshit I didn't hear nothin about that. That's some fiendish type shit, fuck em, you just lost a good customer. Heh, he left two beers in the backseat at least. Gonna have fun with them sometime. End entry.

Venom · 11-06-2008, 07:06 AM

Chapter 3-5: The Struggle To Survive: Just Another Day

It's just another day. I hardly slept, I wake up feeling like shit, and now I'm putting on the same clothes I wear every day to go see my probation officer. Sometimes I switch up the shirts, but I've been wearing these pants for weeks. Can't afford to wash clothes. I wanna get high so bad. Thought about cutting. So here I go, off to see my probation officer who doesn't understand my problems, off to the Plasma Donation Center to let them drain my blood for a measly $25 just so we can survive. Just another day. Going job hunting but it's not gonna help. Not the way I am. I need a xanax.