For Legal and Privacy concerns all names in these blogs have been changed. 



     This place, again. I never wrote about the first time I went to jail . but this is this is not the place for that. I swear to god. That I have not been so miserable in all my life. But you reap what you sew I think that is the terminology. And boy. Did I deserve this.

      The first few days that I was incarcerated in Volusia County Division of Corrections was a blur. I slept the first day, nothing but waking up to eat and then sleeping the rest. I went through two cellmates until I finally started to interact and get out of bed. I would defiantly have to blame the constant drug use over the few days prior. Once again. That was a mistake. I hope that through this post ya’ll figure out that realization that I am finally come to my fucking senses. I am over that period of my life where I want to be high all the time; and no this is not the song Habits ( High All The Time) by Tove Lo.

     The first week I was in Unit 1 of the jail where they keep the people that come in and then go home. That first week I watched so many people come int, spend a few hours or night, then leave. It was hard to handle at first but during that time I had in the back of my mind that I would only be there for that time period.

     I was wrong.

     On Tuesday the 14th I had my court date. I was going before my Judge that has been with my case the entire time. Ironically this was the first time I was going to see this lady, and the rumors of her were not jolly. But when I was sitting before her she was super nice and was very sparing of me; she gave me the third chance that I needed.

     The Judge requested me to go to residential treatment, and in my head, I thought how amazing. I was spared to be honest. I could either stay in jail for six months or I could do rehab. The rehab would be a progressive one and shorter than DMRT. I am thrilled beyond words. Yet here I am typing them up, to be having another chance to get my life together and get off this pathetic drug that consumed my entire life.

     The one good thing that came from all this is that I wrote. I FINALLY WROTE. I have not written anything for myself, beside my blog since June 2022. I am not working on my supernatural story but a story that I wrote back in 2010 and finished. I wrote the first three chapters of the sequel and to be frank, I am pleased about it. Thrilled to be more like it.

     Back to my time in Lala Land. I was transferred to unit 8 during my second week and that was the unit that held the misdemeanor cases. I was annoyed to be moved cause I delt that I was settling in Unit 1, but that sensation was fleeting and passed. 

     The time in unit 8 was different. way different. I had some encounters with things. These new men were very territorial. Some got on my about using the tablet, which I was watching the British version of some show, can't think of the name of it right now. But I don't want to spend much time on that. I loathed the day I was getting out to go to rehab. I was not fond of the roommate I got, who was gay and somehow know Oakley. I was tired of the annoyance of the other cellmates. I did not enjoy riding the little white bus to and from the court house and waiting hours to talk to the judge.

I was given that chance to go back to rehab. I was blessed. I was grateful. I was going to a new rehab, a rehab in a new place, a new opportunity to get this shit right. This would be the last chance I would get to turn my life around, to make it better. To become my old self, mixed with a new me.