The Midnight Memoir

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
Hurt in its purest form.

Submitted: January 10, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 10, 2012

A A A

A A A


The Midnight Memoir

By Antonio Suarez, Jr.

Chapter 1


It’s September 15th,  One forty-eight in the A.M.  I’m listening to a mixture of songs collected onto one of the earlier models of the Ipod shuffle.
 
“DAMMIT!I thought I deleted all the Bob Marley!”

The song “One Love” begins playing in my ear, but honestly, I’m not in the mood for love. (or reggae for that matter) So let’s see what is next on the list.
I have to scroll through the songs, and randomize the list before I find something worth dying to.  “California Dreamin’ by the Mamas and the Papas comes on, and the drugs haven’t even begun to effect me. Tonight is a mixture of  pain killers….hydrocodine 500mg and 1000mg, a couple of BudLime twenty-four ouncers. Not to mention I just smoked a semi-fat joint. I’ve not gotten this obliterated in a really long time.

 What? I have the day off tomorrow…

“Dr. Dog, YES!”

The very first song I can remember hearing by this band comes on. “Ain’t it Strange” is the title of this track.  I really love this band. My cousin Hector showed them to me.  I wish we could spend more time together.  He seems to really have his head on straight. Plus, I make him laugh, and that makes me wonder, like he might not feel so worried that everything I do is wrong.

Then, Jimi Hendrix….”The Wind Cries Mary”.  Not to mention, it’s Two O’clock on the dot.  I’m not out of drugs, just out of alcohol.  I just looked at my pillows.  The way they are piled on my bed seems so inviting.  Yet, they’re so threatening, for my dreams I’m sure will be a barrel of fucking monkeys. Not to mention this bad-ass hangover I’m gonna have.

“Well mother fuck.”

 This is some funny shit, now.

After randomizing the list, which I have entitled “Its sorrow….”, Bob Marley’s “One Love” comes on AGAIN!  I quickly try to change the song, but end up exiting out of winamp, which I  am using to play said list of songs.
Now, it’s Linkin Park’s “Shadow of the Day”. This is the kind of mood I’m in. Something mellow.

 It’s 2:07 A.M., and I gotta piss. We’ll see what time it is when I get back.





 It’s 2:16 A.M.



I thought that the group of spaces could help personify the distance in time.  Something from the “Donnie Darko” soundtrack just ended and Pink Floyd’s “Shine On You Crazy Diamond” just came on. Some how, I am feeling the EXTREME effects of the pills I have taken.  I had time to piss, get a glass of tea, and crush and snort half a SOMA.  The rest of the pill is in my glass of tea.  I fear that this may have been a bad idea, especially now, at two-twenty in the morning.

I’m not exactly sure what I want to do with this particular state that I’m in. Sleep would be ideal, but this strange trip into what is known as only “the altered state” is too much epiphany for dreams to handle.
The song has just started going into the “rock” portion where David Gilmour solos, just before the lyrics start. Oh…..it’s sweet.  He has got to be one of my favorite guitar players.  I know my father would agree.  Pink Floyd is probably my dad’s favorite band.  I’m positive that’s why I enjoy them so much, but I refuse to count out the fact that Pink Floyd is one of the quintessential psychedelic bands to listen to in the depths of any state, including the “altered” one.

 Another drink of tea, another hit of SOMA.

I really want to stop.  Yet, I know I’m going to finish that tea.  Not because I want to get fucked up more than I know I should. Its just that I’m really thirsty, and I don’t want to have to go back to the kitchen to get something I already have, no matter how contaminated with non-generic muscle relaxers it may be.

  I just had another drink.
 
It’s actually really good sweet tea.  Grandma made it. I actually mentioned that I didn’t want sugar in my tea anymore, but I think she thought I was a dumb-ass for even hinting that I wanted something tasteless and bitter. 
She has a funny way about herself. All of her senses work fine.  I think she’s just setting up everyone to believe that her eyes and ears don’t work as well as they used to. 

“ANOTHER FUCKING MARLEY SONG?”

This time it’s the song “Natural Mystic”.  This song is a little more mellow, so not bad for the occasion. 

Anyways, back to Grandma.  This woman can COOK!  She has a definite touch in the kitchen.  Of course, she’s Mexican. And as far as I’m concerned, Mexican women can cook it up! So that’s what I mean by having something “tasteless and bitter”.  She always wants me to eat something and sometimes won’t let me leave the house until I eat. 
The problem here (oh bullshit, like there is one) is that I’m trying to lose some weight, and it’s hard with her feeding me all the time. 

 Speaking of bullshit, that’s exactly what that statement was. 

Maybe I should lay off the Jack-in-the-Box and McDonald’s at one in the morning.  Maybe half a box of cereal isn’t necessary at midnight.  So if I really want to lose the weight, I’ll pull my head out of my fat ass and get to it.
The weed is a big issue with my weight.  I’m stoned, so I have dick for energy to get up and do shit.  Plus the munchies get me eating everything in sight.  I just need to re-evaluate my priorities and get shit straight.


It’s 2:42 A.M., and the Beatles’ “Something” comes on.

George Harrison was my fave of the “Fab Four”.  When he died, I wrote a song called “This Time Tomorrow” which was supposed to be a “goodbye” as given by Paul and Ringo. 

“Maybe I’ll see you again, this time tomorrow……”

I ended up recording that song years later for my high school graduation.  It became the 2004 Rains ISD class song. It was between my song and Staind’s “So Far Away”.  With that, I think I’ll have another drink of tea.

I can see the powder floating at the bottom of my glass.

Is it sugar, or the drugs?

The tea is sweet…….no….it’s gotta be the drugs.

It’s now 2:48 A.M. and Pink Floyd’s “Great Gig in the Sky” is just about over. Suddenly, it’s 2:49 A.M, and the song is over.

And then “Loro” comes on.

Wow. Of all songs. The nines are with me. Nine is my favorite number.  So every time there is a nine in something, I feel that much luckier.  Like I said, it was 2:49 in the morning, and a song that changed my life and my perspective view on my musical preference comes on.  Thanks again to my cousin Hector.  He blew my mind with this song.

Already it’s 2:52 A.M.  Where does the time go?  Who cares?  I wish that were the case, but all know that when the morning comes, humanity moves. Even if you don’t.  And then the song was over.

It’s been a hard day’s night…
…guess what song just came on?

“I should be sleeping like a log.”  Man, ain’t that the damn truth. 

Now to make matters worse, I just finished the tea.

“Hey Bob.”

“Easy Skanking” by you know who comes on.  I think this is where we end this night and moment of fucking…..weirdness. 

I gotta be truly honest.  I’m so fucked up right now, that I probably won’t remember this shit in the morning.  I don’t even know why I started typing this shit.  I suppose it will be funny to someone else, but it’s not so humorous to  me.  If this was a suicide note, now would be the part where I pulled the trigger.






Chapter 2
 

It’s two twenty-eight in the P.M.  Same fucking day.  Jesus….now I gotta re-live this shit?  Well, my dreams were a total mind boggler to me.  I was with my mom and we where running from a snake that I kept trying to catch. And the snake was speaking to me.  It said shit like….

“Stop. Run. Stopped. Ran. Caught.”

I remember the voice was like a listening to a group of people talking all around me.  Then I tried to catch it by stepping on its head, and that’s when the fucker lunged at me!  

“GOD DAMMIT!”

Mom yells, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?”

“I’m trying to catch the fucker.”I remember how subtle this reply was in my dream.  Like, it was fucking obvious what I was doing.

The snake was like a baby dragon. It had the umbrella neck thing like the dilaposauraus from Jurassic Park.  Its skin seemed rough, almost gator-like, and was a stick colored brown.
I threw this piece of what seemed to be clear plastic of some sort directly onto the snake.

 But there was no snake.  It was a big fucking spider.

It squished in one step.  Green guts smeared on the plastic, and the black body curled into a ball as I released my foot.  Mom was gone, I was alone in this Vietnam P.O.W. camp, facing dragon-snakes and massive tarantulas.  All alone.

Was I trapped? Am I a prisoner?
At this point, worry sets in and the dream becomes even more nightmarish than before.  I’m lost, I can’t move, and even the spider has disappeared. I take one step forward, but I was looking at the ground when I did it.

I look up, and I ‘m in the desert.


BeepBeep…Beep…BeepBeepBeepBeep

And then it was 10:00 A.M.

I tossed and turned  in bed for about an hour, then proceeded to do the daily routine of S’s. You know, the three S’s?  Shit, shower, and shave.  I skipped shaving this morning.  I got a couple of days to let it get wild.  However, I took an excellent shower.  I’ve had this cut on my left ring finger that has kept me from washing my hair right.  It’s healed a bit, so I scrubbed the hell out of my head.  

 Took a pretty good shit before that.

So then off to breakfast. My head was dizzy.  The taste of crushed pills was still in the back of my throat.  I made breakfast burritos.  Just egg and bacon, though.  Nothin’ fancy.  Grandma was up cleaning the living room.  We’ve been doing some mega cleaning around the house, so I helped her a bit.  I pulled out the fridge and swept behind it.  Then re-arranged the entire living room.  So the hangover wasn’t as bad as I anticipated.

It’s 2:51 P.M. and Ozzy’s “Goodbye to Romance” is playing in my head.

I’m kinda’ stoned right now.  I took back a movie to the video store and smoked a bowl on the journey.  The movie was “I Love You, Man” with Paul Rudd and Jason Segel.  Pretty funny, but damned if I ain’t gonna’ have some bad ass late charges on that.  Don’t you hate that shit?  Late charges.  Oy! There a pain in the ass. Especially when you live in a small town that has only ONE video store, and all the employees know you very well.  So now, I basically can’t be seen in town, without them seeing me and harassing me about late charges.  It’s bullshit.

2:56 P.M

Well, Ozzy is over, and I think I’m done telling you about my day.  So we’ll see what happens later. I’ll come back tonight after I get all fucked up.  That’s usually fun.


Chapter 3

Well, I made it back.  It’s now 10:58 P.M. on Wednesday, September 16th.  I ended up not getting fucked up.  Instead I went to my dad’s house.  I needed money for my insurance bill, so I went and cleaned his house.  However, when I got there, we ended up playing the PS3 for the entirety of the evening, well into the dawn’s early morning light. 
It’s been some time since I stayed up ALL night.  It’s such a crazy trip to take.  The deprivation of rest and energy causes the mind and body to resort to the “back-up batteries”.  I remember cooking crispitos with Hector earlier that night.  And at six o’clock this morning, I was making them again.  I remember he wondered if our success on the first batch was a fluke.  Well, all I can say is, the breakfast crispitos are great.

“It’s been a hard day’s night…..”

I’m tired.  I got a full day of work tomorrow.  I wanted a peaceful, restful day off today.  Didn’t happen.  I’m gonna be for the shit if I don’t get some rest.  This is why inebriation is more fitting a man of my nature.  I could stay sober. Especially as tired as I am, but the night is still young.  My mind is a revolving door of imagination, and the drugs…oh yes, the drugs…keep the door spinning ‘round and ‘round.The Cult’s “She Sells Sanctuary” comes on, and the bastards seem to be cutting me short.  No “Sanctuary” for me.  No.  Instead I am kept out in the open.  The battlefield is my playground, and the world is my nightmare.  And the drugs…..oh yes…..the drugs.

Sleep.  Sleep….Sleep. Sleep….Sleep. Sleep…and never wake up.

I gotta get some rest, and now is the time for resting.



Chapter 4

Editor‘s Note: “This short section below was left unedited to try and re-embrace the levels of toxicity that was delivered by the author in its rawest and purest form.  Thus, showing how far the author had fallen into the depraved and sickened world of the “junkie“. For lack of better words, he was all fucked up.”`


 

You see old friend, I brought more soldiers than your did.”

A king should only sound this way.  Leonidas is amazing  I’m watching “300”, well, actually, listening to it.I can hear it through only one ear.  My headpgones broke. Sothis is what I gor. I
M having fucke up dreams again.  I  dreamt IO hit a litlt;e npu in my car.,,


Chapter 5


It’s November 24th, 2009.….@ 4:52 P.M.



As you can see I’ve been absent for some time.  No, I’m not ignoring you. I’m just trying to get my shit together.  You actually caught me at a bad time. I’m getting ready to go to work.  When I get back, I’ll let you in on what’s happened in the last two months……it’s wicked.  Later!


It’s 11:26 P.M…….and the day is December 9th

Now, you’re sitting there thinking “What the blue-moon fuck just happened?”……. welcome to my world. I’m kind of stoned. See, I go places, and forget things, and I’m quite……lazy. So this distance is all real time, baby. And I don’t know what the hell I was talking about up there about …”the last two months” or whatever the fuck, but I can’t even remember half the shit that happened this month.
I have no music, this sucks….hang on.

“Ahhh….yes.”

Music….it rings through my ears so beautifully. Carried by the voice of a man, the ideas of a few, and the effort of none to create a beautiful, beautiful song. Beck’s “Nobody’s Fault But My Own”. My friend, Cliff, showed it to me. My parents were in the middle of  a horrible, and verbally violent divorce. I was a weapon and a wound.  A life that no 9 year-old child should ever endure…..but many do everyday. So when I heard this song, for some reason, I found the peace I was looking for. I will love my friend forever for our past, but its true, our future is fading, just like the song just did.
“Lazy Flies” by Beck comes on, and I realize I don’t want to hear this shit right now. So, hold please……

“Far Behind” by Candlebox…..sick.”

I usually just put it on random, but I’m sober tonight and I want to jam. It’s now 11:47 and I realize I’m not talking very much. I’m sorry to say that I’m slipping into a “sobriety coma“. You don’t understand?  I think there are some things you should know first…..

1: My Imagination

When I take a shower, I can’t keep my eyes closed for more than 20 seconds while shampooing my hair, or something will kill me? When I shut the water off, I have to step out of the shower before all the water drains out, or everything around me will turn to ocean, and a great-white shark will be aiming…..for…..me…..
If I step on the drain then a creature, whom I’ve been fighting this way for years, will drag me through the drains. If I piss into the drain, I blast him down 1,000 years, but if I stand on the drain, he/she is given time to crawl up through the years….mind you by way of shower drain.

This is merely the process, on a daily basis, for me to take a shower. I’ve been this way since I was nine. My imagination thinks before I can speak. It moves so fast, a revolving door of insanity. All at the world’s disposal.

“I just died in your arms tonight…..”

Man, I’m trippin’ now. So anyways, back to what I was saying:


2. My Past

I loved being a kid, so growing up over night was a bitch. My parents divorce fucked me like a bull queer. I’ll never be right for that. I can’t explain them, but how could someone be so ignorant to be this way in front of a child? I mean FUCK!!!

I hate “Angels in the Outfield”. When I was a kid, I was staying with my dad, and we were watching this movie. Father and son. I fell asleep on the couch.  

I woke up….or was I dreaming?

I heard this voice, screaming from the garage.

“Dad”?

It sounded like crying…..yeah, it was crying.

My father had found a pregnancy test that read positive. It was in the bathroom trash can….my mom left it hidden just enough for him to find it. She had been having an affair with an older man, so this was the kryptonite that I watched make my superman cry. He was crawling on his knees. I remember he could barely breathe. Knowing her, she probably didn’t care.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my mom….great mother, but I honestly think that all women can truly be psychotic when in regards to a man. She left, moved in with this guy, ended being married to him for five years. She gave birth to my little brother, a spitting image of me. I can’t wait for him to grow away from her world.

Dad re-married, and produced my little sister. She is truly an angel, a beautiful little girl. The cancer has him now, and he is just waiting his days. I wish he would fight a little more, and everyone else does to, but he’s been fighting his hole life. Something’s got to give.

Looking back, I wonder if I would trade the past 15 years and everything that came with it so that I could have MY family back.  It’s a sick feeling thinking about life without my siblings, and the future we will have. But I do have my imagination.


3. My Future, and the answer to “What the Hell is he Talking about?”

I’ve read what I’ve written over the past few months, and have decided to start at the source.

When the divorce happened, I tried to die…..first time was at nine years old.

The song playing, “Creep” by STP.

It played then as it does now. I was a boy. My family was over…..I was torn….torn in half. So I took my belt….and I wrapped it around the clothes bar in my closet, and then wrapped it around my neck. I sat down, as far as I could, and I started to lose oxygen.  I remember fading into the darkest darkness. The Blackest Black.

And then I woke up……or was I dreaming?


I looked around, and the only sound was my stereo, still playing “Creep”, which had been on repeat all night. I was still in my room, the belt still around my neck, but my closet was everywhere. It had fallen in while I was blacked out. I was truly half the man I used to be after that. I only remained a boy in body, but my soul had been given a shove into maturity.

The second time, I was thirteen. And like the angst of any teen that has issues, I found that cutting was a release, I never intended on ever going too far with the blade…..but one day I snapped. With my parents constantly taking shots at each other after all these years, I’d had enough. I went to my room with a kitchen knife.  Sat down on my bed, and proceeded to end my life. I started near the side of my wrist, to make sure it was big enough. I started cutting. The blade was serrated, so it was a sawing motion. I remember how it didn’t bleed so much, then it just gushed. I got right to the veins and…..

KNOCK….KNOCK…..KNOCK

My dad walks in, and I quickly hide my arms behind me.

“Dinner’s ready….”

“Okay, dad.”

Step Mom was baking muffins. Muffins bake at 420 degrees (what a coincidence), and I had a gaping wound.  I ran and opened the oven, and threw my wrist on to the hot element. It shut the cut instantly, but left a horrific burn….this was the only way I was going to be able to explain the cut.




Tonight will be my last attempt….

It’s over…the divorce is long since gone, everybody is happy. Everyone except me. The smile is to remain the mask I wear everyday.  I’m reminded of the story of Pagliacci the Clown.

Man walks into doctors office. Depressed, Tired of living, ready to die. Doctor says treatment is simple.

“Go see Pagliacci the Clown, he’s sure to brighten you up.”

Man bursts into tears….

“But doc, I AM Pagliacci the Clown.”

I am Pagliacci the Clown.

There is nothing more I wish to see, I wish to be, or anyone I care to miss anymore. I remember saying once that if this were a suicide note, this is where I pulled the tri….



Prologue

Antonio Suarez, Jr. was later found dead in his home by family in the latter weeks. He is survived merely by the notes recovered from his journal, which has been given the moniker "The Midnight Memoir". His writing will be missed by none, for they never truly existed, but some say.....neither did Antonio.

Antonio Suarez, Jr.
1985-2009

 


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