Thursday, August 8, 2013


When I heard the news that my wonderful, precious. brilliant, and more than capable friend had committed suicide, my heart sank, while memories of the day she ended our friendship flood my mind.

For a microcosm of privacy, let's call her M. She was a funny, sweet, charming and very confused child, stuck in a woman's body, who loathed herself so much, that she did whatever she had to in order to stay fucked up and/or in physical pain as often as she could.

It was heartbreaking to witness her abuse herself.

From the outside, M kept a, mostly, good profile. She was a pretty blonde with big, green-blue eyes that shone a light of hope for something better to all who knew her, including me. She was always smiling, laughing and going out of her way to be supportive to everyone she met. She seemed SO HAPPY.

Except for when she was DRUNK.


Most likely, both.

She was miserable.

With very good reason.

M drank and drugged to a level of excess saved for the likes of INTERVENTION. Rumor on the streets is that she often ended the night, passed out, covered in her own vomit, piss and shit. I never saw her like that, simply because I refuse to participate in slow death.

Nearly three years later, two is still more than plenty for me.

Other people. Well...


M had been in and out of rehab all of her life. In less than forty years, she had lost everything, including her children, to ideas engrained in her by just about every single person in her life, including her wealthy family.

Like what was done to me, her parents dismissed her at an early age to her affinity for drugs and alcohol.

Unlike me, she stapled the opinions, violations and chronic insults to her heart.

In her mind, she was nothing but a waste of oxygen, a loser, unable to get sober long enough to function. She settled for the labels and died believing every minute of her misery was her fault.

She believed she was selfish and self seeking.

She thought she deserved all that she lived through and then some.


The kind of numbing M submit to was brutally physical, either inflicted by herself with the nearest sharp object, bottle, needle or inhalant or by her latest "boyfriend", who I've seen her antagonize to the point of blows before. She was a cutter. She had scars all over her body.

M died in the bathtub, under the influence, cutting herself over immense guilt she felt when she blew seventeen thousand dollars in student loan money plus seven thousand more from her parents on booze and drugs, according to the last person who saw her alive.

She had conned him out of fifty dollars, supposedly for a bus ticket home. She used the money, instead, for drugs that instigated her death.

We met when I was camping out, just after my cyber-stalker had tossed Tolstoy and I into the streets.

She was in A ROOM IN THE INN, which is the choice shelter for women here in Asheville. She partied with some of the campers who shared my site. These Men drank and fought as hard as her against a futile battle with themselves and everyone around them.


They wore their labels with pride, as they swilled straight vodka from filthy, shared bottles. I was always good for one or two shots, then I'd walk my Angel Pug to our little pop-up tent, where we'd inevitably be jarred awake by someone screaming. It was annoying. So. Fucking. ANNOYING.

One particular night, there was a serious fight between two men. Things got violent over M's heart. I woke briefly in the middle of it to the sound of her voice shouting "HIT ME!"

I was too scared to move.

Somehow I went back to sleep.

The next morning I heard that one of the men was beaten nearly dead. M had a black eye. It was ugly. A charge of attempted murder was filed. The other man ran out of state, never to be heard from again (as far as I know or ever want to know).

So much for keeping M's deteriorated heart!

I hated her for the way she took advantage of a program I prayed with all my heart to get into. I tried to talk some sense into her. I certainly did not keep my disgust a secret. What was she an IDIOT?

She was inside. In a program that gave her shelter, love, support and a way out of destitution.

How on earth could BOOZE BE MORE IMPORTANT?

Food. Shelter. Clothing. FIRST.


Unfortunately, the basics are second on the list of any and all cult subscribers.

LABELS, I'm afraid, always prevail.

"SOBRIETY," everyone whines. If only they could just "GET SOBER!"

That's what her mom said to me the day I spoke with her.

Forget about the fact that her wonderful daughter was HOMELESS, abused, in danger of any number of things.

What about the fact that M suffered immense PAIN?

Didn't her mother care that the walls they'd built around her were KILLING HER?

How about the fact that she was a mother, daughter, sister, granddaughter, cousin, pretty, smart, able with so much to offer...?

M was a human being in this world.




Hadn't it ever occurred to anyone that the idea that M MIGHT benefit from another rehab, sober house or nuthouse is a practice of INSANITY?


How many times will they send their daughter away?



M is DEAD.

In ignorance, all who knew her feel a sense of relief.

And, they get to take solace in the fact that they were RIGHT.


Wake UP!

M was too worn out to reach by myself.

Believe me, I tried.

When I, finally, was accepted into A ROOM AT THE INN, we became close. I tried to help her.

I did all I could to get her to work on the WHY.

I encouraged her to learn how to love and take care of herself in spite of her natural response to the HUMAN CONDITION and the horrid FAILURE instigated by dismissal.


I begged her to kick all of the naysayers to the curb.

Get her shit together.

Let them come back, while she filled their spots with people who love and support her no matter what.


M needed help identifying her assets.

Support in pursuing her goals.

Love, in spite of her failures.


My ideas were too outside of the box for her. I am devastated to have to admit that I could not reach her.

She couldn't comprehend the fact that it was okay for her to be WHO SHE WAS.

More than just an "addict."

More than a homeless person.

More than a lying, cheating scumbag, as she'd been called over and over by the people closest to her.

I wonder if I am the only one in her life who saw her as something else besides the passed out mess CULT TACTICS left her to die in?


To me, she was stunning, capable, smart and worth so much more than what was said at the memorial held in her honor at the church I used to call home.

The pastor said he spoke with her parents. He asked them to tell him about M's life. He recounted a story they shared about her when she was in grade school - apparently, the last time she mattered to them.

She was a special child who always flocked to the ones who had no friends.

Her smile...

Her winning personality...

Her ability to lift people up...

Was incredible.

I was the only person present, aside from her boyfriend, his mother and a pastor from another church that caters to the homeless community here in Asheville, who did not dismiss her to her substance abuse. It took every ounce of self control in me to remain quiet, while I listened to the vipers spew their LIES.

The unadvertised service happened on the first, when a lot of homeless folks get their social security checks. All of her supposed "friends" where too busy living the LIES, spending every dollar on their pain killers of choice, indulging in the very habits that keep them houseless.


Out of respect for M, I remained silent. Seething under the insidiousness of it all.

I'll never go back to that church.

I cannot.

They aren't able to see what I see.

Like M, it's too much.

Too much responsibility.

Too much work.

Too REAL...

She had stopped talking to me after the day I spoke with her mom. She was mad at me for telling her about my friend Amy Lee Coy's book, Harm Reduction, ASKING WHY?

Like everyone who believes in CULT DECEPTION, M was stuck in the cope-out that TOOK HER LIFE.

According to M's parents, she went where the drugs and alcohol where.

My question to all of you is WHY ON EARTH DO YOU LET THEM?

How is it okay with you that you just let the people you say you love GO?

Go, go away, with their problems and DIE.

That's what they did to M.

They tried to do that to me.

It happened to Adam.

It happens ALL THE TIME!

According to the pastor, M had JUST ONE WISH.

She prayed on it multiple times a day.

She meditated on it.

She did everything she was taught to do to earn it.

The one thing M wanted more than anything in the world was to "GET SOBER."



Could it be that she never had any opportunity or reason to REALLY GET WELL?

No doubt.



Until Next Time,

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DeConstrucor's Comment In Response to LETTER TO MY "FRIENDS" IN AA (page above)

"Brav fucking O.....Standing O fucking Vation. Or perhaps the Charlie Daniels quote from the Geico commercial of "thats how you do it son"

That was incredible.

Reminded me a little of "the letter" at the end of the Breakfast Club (perhaps the greatest movie ever)

Keep it up, dont be afraid to kick them in the teeth once in a while.

Always remember that its the misfits, the rebels, and the troublemakers that are the ones that change the world."

He post the following video at the end of his comment.

Thank you, my friend.
I am both Flattered and HONORED.

*This Video is here to support Decon's Words, not OBAMA (or any politician for that matter, since I've never been allowed to vote) Sincerely, Go-Go Rach.