All Photographs + Text © 2005 Christopher Keeley
Mary's first story
Mary's second story
+ Part One +
How are you? Well I hope. My name is Mary and I would like to mention to you again that your website really grabbed my attention in ways that I think were meant for a reason. I am live journal user xxxx (please all I ask is that you keep that confidential for now). Since your writings have inspired me to write and my brain seems to be feeling more on the clear creative side tonight, I'll get right down to writing and call this Chapter 1, the Intro into the life of me.
You see, I'm 22 years of age and I have been abusing drugs since I was 14. Before I start on my few adventures, I'll share a bit of info on my background. I grew up with 4 siblings,-two of them being brothers and the other two being sisters. I have a twin brother and out of the five of us kids I fall in the middle (him being the few minutes older, so therefore being the second oldest). My parents were married 18 years before my father passed away in 1996 (I'll get into that shortly) and my father came here from Greece, specifically the island Crete when he was 7 years old making him as far as to my knowledge 100% Cretan. My mother on the other hand was born here, and came from a (I'd like to say once again to my knowledge) 100% Polish background. So that makes me 50% Greek 50% Polish. Interesting mix! I know, I get that response every time I tell people what my nationalities are made up of.
For the most part growing up as a child, we usually had just enough to get by. Thankfully there was always food and clean clothes on our backs. We definently were not rich. There were occasional rough times when we'd have to live with a leaky roof for months in a winter, live a day or two with out being able to afford the electricity/heat bill and having the power shut off, phone shut off, things like that. But that did not interfere with the closeness and love we had together as a family. Even though I never got what most kids got for their birthday and christmas, it was okay. I was just happy to be with my family. Materialistic things did not matter because I knew my parents could not afford them. Instead they showed us what is far more important. LOVE. That is something that will never ever be denied or forgotten for as long as I live.
Tragedy striked when I was 13 years of age. I remember coming home from school and me and my oldest sister (who was 16 at the time) got a call from a hospital in the Metro Detroit area saying we needed to get down there as soon as possible, "Ted (my father) is here". Suddenly, there was a beep on the other line meaning there was another call coming in and my sister asked the person at the hospital to stay on the line and she clicked over and it was my mother wondering where my dad was, because he was suppose to pick her up at the car collision shop so she could get her car fixed, which was going to take a few hours. Instead she had been waiting over 40 minutes wondering why he was taking so long. Panicked, my sister mentioned immediatly to my mother that we were just informed dad was in the hospital and that she was on the other line with the hospital;- my mother quickly made it aware to the collision shop to fix her car asap for reason of family emergency and while we waited for her to get back home my sister clicked over to the other line and demanded more information on the condition of my father. All I remember is I felt this sudden panic inside me listening to her and I started to cry uncontrolably while shouting in the back ground "Is DAD OKAY??? PLEASE!!! TELL ME!!!" It did not help to hear my sister start to cry on the phone saying "IS HE OKAY???" While later on she told me on what seemed to be the longest ride ever to the hospital that the person on the other line mentioned they could not reveal that information- yet sounded so speechless, and saddened.
So we get there. The hospital. We don't know what to expect. There were numerous times when my dad was admitted into emergency due to complications of his breathing troubles (which I now think to believe was emphysema but that was never what I was told, perhaps for fear of us kids worrying). This lady or nurse or somebody took us into this little room. We get there, and the only other person in there is my dad's buddy Tyrone. Tyrone worked with my dad. Tyrone sat there with his head bowed and hands covering the sorrow that lurked on his face,- elbows resting on his legs. Immediately my mom, sister and me begged Tyrone to tell us what was going on. All I remember Tyrone saying silently is "I tried....I tried" ; nodding his head. I got down on my knees and begged Tyrone to please tell me that my dad was going to be okay, tears streaming from my eyes as if I was asking for my own life to be spared. He finally seemed to have had a slight moment to gather his thoughts and mentioned almost silently that my dad and him were driving together, meaning my dad was picking him up and dropping him off for work every day (since for what ever reason he had no driver's liscense) and my dad suddenly had a serious asthma attack where he could not catch his breath. Tyrone forced him to put his truck in park on the side of the road while he ran to the nearest party store to call 911. From then on Tyrone had driven my dad's truck to the hospital while my dad was taken away in the ambulance. To wait. In the waiting room. I realised later on he was waiting in there 2 hours prior to our arrivement. I was in class 2 hours ago. Science class with Mr. Parmentier. Passing notes to one of my best friends about the boy I had a crush on that sat across from me. Thinking about how excited I was that my dad was suppose to take me to get these brown Converse shoes I wanted. Totally oblivious to the bad news that was going to await me when I got home. News that would change my life forever.
Time again feels like agony waiting in that little square room with dim lamps and chairs. Then there was a soft knock at the door. A preist comes in. Presents us with the news. My father had passed away. All I remember is suddenly seeing white flashes and almost fainting. Then I started to cry out NO NO NO THIS IS NOT HAPPENING , screamed and ran out to the nearest exit doors down the hall passing people waiting in what appeared to be the waiting room. They must have thought I was a mental patient but that did not matter to me because in my mind I was dreaming, I was having a bad dream, the white flashes kept coming back.
I make it outside. I look both ways and see my dad's truck in the lot from afar. I'm dizzy. I fall to the concrete and look up at the sky and scream NOOOOOOO GOD NOOOOOO. Every bit of feeling is now numb. I start to punch the brick wall thinking WAKE UP MARY THIS IS A BAD DREAM. Once again the white flashes come back. I think it was my sister and a nurse that came out to hold me and say "Everything is going to be alright". I would not let them touch me. I needed to fall on my knees and ask God why. Why must this happen to me? In my mind I was still dreaming....
Some how I ended up in this little room where a nurse tried to calm me down. I couldn't. I remember hearing her or one of the administration say they were thinking about keeping me there over night I was in such bad shape. Then, I finally spoke, while trying to stop shaking and choking back the tears. I had one request and that was to call my best friend and tell her the news. I remember they put one of those bowls in front of me because I guess I kept saying I was going to throw up. I practically shoved it away on the nurse thinking "just get the hell away from me"...all of you. Let me be.
I call Becky. She answers. "Mary what's wrong?" I must have said her name like 10 times before telling her what had happened. I remember her asking "WHAT HAPPEN? WHY ARE YOU AT THE HOSPITAL? I guess I sounded so bad she went as to so far asking me if I got raped before I could even muster a solid word. She could not stop expressing sympathy and saying sorry when she found out the news and to me sorry was not good enough. I just wanted my dad back.
That night was tough. I don't think I could have made it or so I felt if I had not called my other best friend Amy to stay the night with me and hold my hand while spending the night mourning the lost of my father. I was in total denial for a while. Until I went outside and realized my dogs Sunny and Spot had not yet been fed and given water because that was dad's job. There was no wood brought in to load up the wood burning stove. Then it all hit me. It all came together. He was not coming back home. Never Again.
(I am feeling rather very tired since I have just noticed I've spent 3 + hours typing this and my eyes are starting to feel a bit droopy. I look back at what I had just typed and I never thought I could express this in "writing". Next time I continue on with this I will breifly go on about the ending and move on to something else. )
(what are your thoughts so far???)
Thanks for taking the time to read.
Hello. Thanks for taking the time to read my writings so far. When it came to writing, that was always my favorite subject in school. I use to keep journals all the time growing up. I even have notebooks of writings that I have not looked over yet since this day to see what they are were about. All the more reason for it to be more interesting when I will finally take the time to read them sometime the future :)
I fell out of the routine of writing as much as I always enjoyed and said I would do for a couple years now. I think the creativity of it comes natural to me. I was thinking about the advice you mentioned earlier about jotting down thoughts whenever one comes to mind, and I caught myself writing a few! Seriously that is a great idea. And I suffer from A.D.D. so I know what it's like to be forgetful. Like for example, when I was mentioning my dad's friend Tyrone, I forgot to mention the strong smell of marijuana that stuck to his jacket. I can always go back to edit it. It might seem like it was a little thing, no big thing, a detail that could have simply have been left out either way but it was considered an important line to be added to the memory of that day for me. If you know what I mean. Quite honestly I am surprised how well I remember that day. But then again who could forget you know...On the other hand, well, there are going to be stories I'd like to write that might be rather, eh, lack of good memory. I want to write so much! Even if I can't remember clearly events due to my brain being distorted, I can always write a chapter on "Things I sort of Remember" . There I go there's an idea :)
If you want to you can add this and other writings I'll share with you in your personal stories as long as my real name/info remains annonymous! That's all I ask. I'd like to know what others think of it or if by chance moved by it. How do I get a g mail account?
Okay well I am going to see if I can continue on starting a new chapter since I now feel like writing so until next time!
P.S. Keep up with telling me what you think of them okay?
That is a great start
you have wonderful talents a writer
commit yourself to writing one a day, one a week
I write the best when I first wake up.
I have always wanted to write my stories
but was blocked by fear, dyslexia, lack of memory
so recently about a year ago I started writing the stories
now when some memories come I jot them down on scraps of paper
if I have a page worth of a story i write and what ever comes
I jot it down...hnece the paradise life stories
later if you get some courage and give
me permission of course, I can post them at
in my personal stories section
and email them to my freinds! We dont have to use your name
and if you want we can get you a gmail account
and put the email for people to correspond to you if
they are so moved to.
Mary's first story
Mary's second story
- Daily DreamTime
- Art Resume
- Work Resume
- Photographic Memories
- Addict Review
- Sifnos Review
- Samantha's story
junkie java quiz
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Chris keeley's resume
secret surrealist society artwork
newest sss art
Chris keeley's art galleries
rationalize,minimize and denial statements
the Intervention Organization
five and ten press - consulting iconoclast
Chris Keeley's Social Documentary Photography
Blinded by Science
Darkside / Gothic
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Out of the Dark
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