Memories from a treatment center ii

 I live for my future creative work. Without this dangling carrot, I have nothing. I am nothing. In the meantime, life is cruel. Humiliating. Treatment centers are cruel and demeaning. Humiliating. The counselors are essentially uneducated illiterates who can't spell, but they have the weight of addictive experience. 

The clients are from jail or prison with no high school diplomas. I have no one to talk to on any meaningful level. Again, I am alone. Pavlos, Lore, and Smother's Publications are my dim light at the end of the tunnel, beckoning me to lurch forward, against the odds. I repeat myself. I wish I had a family who cared about me.

On the other hand, these people are all kinds of cute. 


December, 2019

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