Yeah so, I may have gone into panic mode with my last post. I have a habit of doing that, overthinking and making things out to be horrific before they have even happened.

Hunter isn’t going to Pelican Bay. So maybe God heard me that night!!

It’s come to my attention that this blog has gotten off course and isn’t serving the purpose I originally intended. My original intention was to use this as a way to get my story out to hopefully help someone who has been through some of things I have and also to serve as a possible outline for a book.

It’s just turned into more of a whiny diary. So I am going to take a step back and re-evaluate it. Perhaps I’ll be deleted some posts that are irrelevant. However, I have transferred the blog to a Word document just incase I decide to get that book going! A typical book has 20,000-40,000 words and so far this blog is at 10,000. I have some writing to do!!

I’ll be back with quality posts rather than just pushing posts out there that are nonsense. Thanks for sticking around to read, those of you who haven’t left me yet!!


It’s 10:23pm

I picked a horrible time to quit drinking.

After a brutal night of vomiting and wondering if I made an ass of myself last week, I decided that it was time to give it up. Again. For good. It’s been 7 days. But man. Life has a way of throwing a wrench into things.

My aunt who has COPD, has been having issues with her blood gasses. They’re high and she needs to be intubated or have a BPAP machine (basically shoots oxygen into your airways), if she doesn’t have that, then she will most likely slip into a coma. She’s currently refusing any assistance with breathing. It’s her decision but that doesn’t make it easy for my cousin to go through. So I’m sad for her and sad for my family as whole.

I wrote a couple of posts back that my oldest son was supposed to be getting out of prison at Christmas. Obviously that didn’t happen. The counselor had his dates wrong. Since then, Hunter has been placed into Ad Seg, administrative segregation, for fighting. Prison politics. If the “shot caller” tells you to do something, you so it or it happens to you. So Hunter was told to fight someone and he caused serious bodily injury (SBI) , the guy lost consciousness and busted his head open. He was still set to be released in August. But a letter I got from him today told me otherwise.

He will be sent up north to Pelican Bay to be in the SHU (secured housing unit) in a couple of months and he will be there until October. I’m not sure why he’s being sent there or why he can’t stay in the SHU where he is.

Let me tell you about Pelican Bay.

It’s a super max prison. The worst of the worst go there. The SHU is for serious offenders or validated gang members. Maybe Hunter was fighting to get validated, I don’t know. In the SHU, inmates are in solidarity confinement for at least 23 hours a day. They get an hour of yard time. That’s IF the correctional officers decide to let them out. The Pelican Bay SHU program is notorious for its mistreatment of inmates, leaving them in the hole for days. Solitary confinement drives people crazy. It’s not rehabilitation. It torture.

I’m scared for my son. I know that once one domino falls in this direction (inmates getting into the SHU etc) more domino’s fall and they only get worse. On top of this, he currently has one strike. If he gets another strike for the SBI, then guess what? He’s one strike from a life sentence for just being a dumb kid.

I’m scared. I feel helpless. All I can do is provide him with books, paper and money for food .

I need a damn drink. But I chose to have a good cry at my kitchen table in my underwear. If sons knew how much moms cried for them, they wouldn’t do half the crap they do, I swear.

I’m also very aware that now is the time that I need to be a praying mom. People praying for me is what got me out alive. But for some reason all I can muster is asking God to keep him safe and give him back to me.

Hello Neighbor!

Yeah. I’ve been gone a while. Guess I hit a mental block. But also I’m at the point in my story where I have to decide really how much I want to divulge. I mean, there’s a lot. I was a pretty shitty human being for a while. I did things to myself and to others that are pretty fucking disgusting. I also don’t want to vomit my story all over people.

So…. I’ll start where I went wrong…Again.

I had taken classes to become a CNA and was working in the skilled nursing unit at Memorial Hospital, when my friend introduced me to her boyfriend. *I’m going to exclude details about her because I’ve already done enough damage to her.*

He had dark hair, blue eyes and could sing (which twitterpated me). They both needed a place to stay, so I let them move in with Hunter and I. I did this knowing they both were on drugs. And not just pot. But THE METHS (thank you Michelle and Parker). And not just smoking it but slamming it, which was a whole new level for me. I hadn’t starting using at this point and I honestly don’t remember when I did but I remember when I allowed the drugs in, and thinking to myself “Self, you should tell them to get the fuck out of your house!” But I was like “Nah….It’s cool bro.”

Soon my friend and her boyfriend started fighting, horribly. And I had had enough of her (notice I said her) shit and kicked her out. Her. Not them. Not him. Her. Because I wanted this hot blue eyed guy all to myself. That’s what friends do. They justify their reasoning for wanting a girl’s guy, and takes him.

Did I tell you I was a piece of shit??

And that, my friends, is how I met my future ex-husband and my two youngest kids father.

I used to not give two shits about people’s feelings. I think this is because it was easier to treat people bad before they treated me bad. DEFENSE MECHANISM!!! But this doesn’t excuse my actions. Regardless of how I thought I felt about my friend, she didn’t deserve that.

Some years later, I did find her on Facebook and apologize for my actions. She ripped me a new one and made it clear she didn’t want anything to do with me.

I think that the reason I work so hard now to do good is that I’m making up for my past mistakes. But I’m learning that I don’t have to keep killing myself over my mistakes nor to I have to keep busting my ass to fix it.

That’s some personal growth for y’all!!!

I’ve been busy!!

Hi all!! I will be updating my blog soon!!

Just wanted to invite you to listen to my podcast! Ok, well not JUST mine, but still! Give it a listen. *Parental Advisement for language and topic* We talk about the Turpin family among other abusive and fucked up parents https://thegspotcast.com


IT’S A BOY!!!!!

My first born, Hunter. This picture was taken in 2009, when he was 11 or 12 (I haven’t had enough coffee to do the math right now). I don’t have too many pictures of him. He doesn’t frequent my Facebook posts. Most people don’t know that I have a 20 year old son. Not because I’m hiding him, but because I’m not going to update my Facebook status with “Going to Pleasant Valley State Prison to see the boy today!” “Got a call from prison today!” Don’t get me wrong, those who need to know, know about my son’s story but I share it cautiously. When people ask about my kids- “Oh, what school do they go to? What sports do they play?” My normal response is usually- “Well, Arvy is excelling at football. Nicky hasn’t decided between a doctor or engineer. And Hunter, he’s on his own path right now.” How can I drop the bomb on them with “My son’s in prison.” It’s like “Oh, I have cancer.” Like I’m responsible for how they will take it. Because I don’t want to shock them or make them feel bad about asking. However, lately, I just say it. “My son is in prison.” More times than not, I get to hear about one their kid that has been down the same road, a cousin, a nephew or parent. Amazing what happens when you share  your story. Usually, you’ll find when you do that, the response is “Me Too.”

Hunter has been in prison for just over a year. We were expecting him  to get out either early next year or even in the summer. But it’s official. He’s coming home the day after Christmas. I’m excited and nervous. I miss my kid. I’m eager for him to have a new chance at life. But each time he comes home, it’s like bringing a new-born home. I don’t have clothes for him. Each time he either takes off or gets arrested, he loses everything. So we start from scratch. Will he last longer than a week out of incarceration, like last time? Will my shit get stolen….again? Will I be able to trust him? Will he get a job? Will he stick around and help me? Will this time finally be the time that he’s grown up enough to have gotten past the bullshit? Will the fact that I moved to a nice neighborhood and out of the drug infested area in which we used to live, make a difference? Will my “fancy” neighbors see him walking around the neighborhood and call security (because we live in THAT kind of neighborhood, with security, we’re legit!) saying that some thug is casing their houses? Will the parole agents come to my house and cause the neighbors to talk shit? Will I be able to afford to feed another person? Will my doors actually stay on the hinges? Will that walls stay fist-sized hole free?

So many unknowns. Sadly, my life is relatively calm when he’s jail. I’m not worrying about if he’s strung out somewhere, if he’s going to rob me, again, or if I’m going to get the call that I have to identify a body. Because that shit happens.

So, I start praying. That things will go right. That I will be able to handle this, again. That he will succeed. That we will all get along in the house. That the boys relationship finally be one of love and not hate, because the younger ones have watched Hunter destroy everything in his wake for the last 7+ years.

That I will finally be able to breathe again.

How I met your father.

I have been very fortunate to have people in my life to help me when I needed it the most. Most of them came from my church, not my family. Strange isn’t it? I think mostly it was because my foster mom believes in tough love and letting me figure it out on my own and my bio family was in no position to help me either. So there I was, 18, homeless with no idea where to go, what to do and no life skills to even know where to start.

However, my friend Kim and her mom, from church, stepped in and let me move in with them. Kim’s mom, Donna ran an in-home daycare, so during the day I helped in the daycare. I love kids so this was no problem for me, except for the bratty ones, but I even loved them too.

Kim and I had been friends for a while, but living together did test our friendship. She was on the straight and narrow and I was the wild one. I’m not sure how either her or her mom put up with me for so long, but they did and I am grateful for that. I finally got a job at Taco Bell and soon found a one bedroom apartment. Neither lasted long. My apartment was the go-to party pad and I barely had the job at Taco Bell before I walked out on my ten minute break. Somehow I managed to keep the apartment for the next month. During that time, it was one big drunken, pot filled party. I can’t even give a clear timeline of all this. I just remember that it was May or June of 1996, because that is when I met my soon-to-be baby daddy.

I met Tim at a “party” at his house or his friends house, I’m not sure on the details. Now, just to be clear, I think you all have gathered that my decision making skills really sucked at this time (sometimes they still do). I never really thought too far ahead about the consequences of my actions, who I might hurt, or how I might even hurt myself. I also never really thought about the consequences of having sex. I had a skewed sense of love for a long time, having no real role models to teach me how to have a proper relationship. I think in my teenage mind, I thought by having sex with someone, I might get them to love me. We all know that is not how it works. Anyhow, so I slept with Tim that night and a couple times after.

I knew before I even took a pregnancy test that I was pregnant. I knew that Tim was the father, though there was a chance he wasn’t (again, I was not the best at making good choices). Let me just stop for a moment to give you girls and boys some words of wisdom that I have acquired over the years of mistakes I have made. Be picky about who you sleep with. Be careful who you make babies with. You have to deal with them forever, and so does your child. I didn’t know Tim at all. We hadn’t even developed a friendship. I know that he had a girlfriend who was on vacation at the time. Other than that, I didn’t know much.

Again, my church family stepped up to help. Not Kim and Donna this time, but Kim’s sister Tara. She moved me in, helped get me set up with insurance and welfare. Her rule was that I had to go to college and pass my classes. So I did. I took a full load of classes and passed them all, all while my baby was getting bigger and bigger inside of me. I had no idea how I was going to raise this kid by myself. I was only 19. I remember crying and crying about it to myself. I had no help from Tim. When his girlfriend came home from her trip, she of course found out what happened and that I was pregnant. She was still in high school. A month after I found out I was pregnant, she found out she was pregnant too. I wasn’t the only one who didn’t make good choices. Never the less, there we were. Somehow, she and I became friends. Though there have been times when our friendship was strained, for obvious reasons.

On February 18, 1997, the first love of my life was born. Hunter was 8 pounds 12 ounces and 21 inches long. He was absolutely perfect. I swore to him that it would be me and him against the world and he didn’t need a dad because I would be enough.  Looking back, I wish I had let Tim be more active in his life. But I think that we do the best we can with what we have at the time.


Sadie’s Folly

On June 3, 1995 a cute little foal was born. It also was my 18th birthday. The owner of the foal named it after me (Sadie) and thought folly would also be appropriate due to the fact that folly basically means fuck up. Sadie’s fuck up.

My whole time in foster care, my mom told me if I screwed up she always had the option to send me back to the Jamison Center. I, of course, never wanted to go back, so I was a fairly well behaved kid. However, on my 18th birthday I had plans to be wild. I had a date and then wanted to go to a party my friend was having for me. My mom told me no, I needed to be home after my date. If I didn’t want to do that, I could give my grandma my house key. So guess what I did? Turned in my key. I can still remember my grandmas face when I handed it over. It was sad.

So I went on the date. I guess. I don’t remember all that, this is what my mom told me a few weeks ago. Looking back, I do remember the guy, I have no idea who he is now, a friend from school. Afterwards we went to Cecily’sbhouse and partied. I never really drank except a sip here  and there. But that night I seem to recall drinking 8 budweisers. And then…there was the goldschalger. To my recollection I drank the whole neck of the bottle. I could be exaggerating. Nevertheless, I ended up with alcohol poisoning. I was sick for a week. Living with my friend. Finishing the last week of school. Doing graduation rehearsals outside, in over 100 degree weather, in black jeans. It was miserable. But not miserable enough for me to go home.

You see. I had it all planned out. I was enlisted in the Air Force. I was due to be shipped to boot camp in August. That was only two months. Two months isn’t enough time to get into trouble and make life changing decisions that would have a lasting impact on my life, right? Ha. Right.