Kevin's Story by Kevin S (librera reader txt) 📕

Notes on Michele
I met Michele in 1984. I first noticed her at work. I was a supervisor at a big factory. Michele was working in the department next to mine. The factory made many different types of seasonal products. I was making swimming pools, the ones blue ones with the cartoons inside, and her department made coolers and surfboards out of Styrofoam.
I had been recently been dumped, by another black woman. It seemed as if she was more interested in my money and what I could do for her and her child. When I moved form Wisconsin to Virginia, Child support lost track of me for a few months, so I had some extra income, temporarily. But when they caught up with me, which I knew was going to happen, her interest in me faded away quickly. I found myself very lonely and hurt; I didn’t understand what had happened until later.
Which brings me back to Michele; she worked in plain view of my department. She was a good looking black woman, about 5’ 7” around 135 pounds with coco colored skin, and use to wear these stretch jeans. There seemed to be a lot of bending and stretching involved in the operation of her machine. Before long I had a great deal of interest in just who she might be.
After watching for about three weeks I finally screwed up my courage to talk to her. There was some danger in this because it was the south and I was a supervisor. I at least wasn’t her supervisor. I made some silly comment about the hat she was wearing. I told her I liked it , I didn’t, but it did break the ice .We talked about nothing for about five minutes . I then asked if she would care to have a beer with me after work. So we drank a couple of beers in my car, I worked the evening shift and you couldn’t buy beer after work so I kept some in a cooler in my car. We seemed to hit it off.
I was so lonely that I just sort of dumped everything on her. I didn’t have anyone else to talk to. I found out much later that my becoming interested in her was a well planned out maneuver. She had been trying to attract my attention. My dumping my sad sob story scared her at first. She later said, she thought I might be more than a little crazy. But when I didn’t do anything else crazy, she decided to give me another chance.
I found out about three dates into it that she was living in a battered women’s shelter. I can’t really remember just how it came about. But after about three weeks, I was helping her move into a real dump; it was furnished in early junk. We finished hauling her stuff into her new place, and retired to my place for the night. Some where in that night I said you should just move in here, that I really didn’t like the neighborhood and the condition of her place. Before I really knew what was happening she was all moved in. It seemed awful fast but things were moving fast in her life and she needed to get out of the shelter.
Things were really good for a little while; it was more than a bit like a honeymoon. But about a month later, things started to get strange. She had called into work saying she was sick. She wasn’t sick when I left,. I started work earlier than. she did.. When I got home that night my place was all torn up. Throw rugs pulled up, the cushions on the couch thrown about the room. I had no clue what had happened. She explained that she had called in to go out with some of her friends, and the room was torn up because she had been looking for an ear ring, and didn’t have time to put the place back together. I bought it, but it just didn’t set well. The next Thursday night she didn’t come home from work, she rolled in about 6 am. Saying she got hung up with the girls from work, they had gone to get their checks cashed and just lost track of time. I was mad because she could have called; I had worried most of the night. But she said all the right words and actions to make me believe she was sorry. I was unaware that she had no money the next week, it just didn’t register with me. Nothing else happened for a few weeks and I just forgot about the whole thing. Until she was again a no show at work on a Friday night. When I got home after work the house was tore up again. This time I didn’t see her until noon Sunday. I way beyond mad, She tried to tell me some cock and bull story, about not being able to get home or call. I refused to hear it. After much arguing and crying on her part she told me that she had started to smoke some crack with a woman she had met in the shelter, and got lost for the weekend. I asked her what the hell did she come home for now, she had run out of money. I couldn’t really understand this, I drank some beer and in the past smoked some dope, even did some coke. It was one of the reasons I had moved to Virginia I started to like coke too much. But the idea of keeping going until I was out of money, was new to me. After many promises to never do it again, and to some how make it up to me for all the worry she had put me through. I forgave her. And we made do with my money the next week.
Things went on smoothly for about a month. We came home from work, Michele had been quiet on the ride home, I thought it was just being tired, our jobs were very physical. When I got home the first thing I wanted was a shower. I jumped in the shower; Michele came into the shower to talk for a couple of minutes. When I got out of the shower and had dried off I went out into the living room, She was gone, just gone no note no nothing. I looked out the window and her car was gone. After a while I went to throw my clothes in the hamper, I found my wallet wasn’t in my pants. I found it on the night stand, empty. I was very angry and hurt. That money was for the rent and other bills, not to mention food. And she had promised me. This was before I knew anything about addicts, and the things they will do for their drug.
I didn’t seem her until late Sunday night. By that time I had made up my mind, even though I thought I loved her, I couldn’t have this. I told her she had to leave, to move out. She begged and pleaded, and promised, but my mind was made up. I really hated the idea of being alone again. That somehow it was my fault that this was t I deserved. I was scared that I would be alone forever, that no one would ever love me. But I couldn’t have this lying and stealing, it offended everything I felt two lovers meant. I told her she had until pay day to find somewhere to live. She kept pleading to stay. I softened up enough to tell her if she could stay completely clean for three months I would take her back.
She moved out the next Friday. I really hated to see her go, I felt bad for her, but I really felt bad for myself. I felt like she was my last and best chance for love.
She managed to stay straight for the three months, She made work everyday, and even signed up for some classes at the local tech school. We talked everyday at work. She kept telling me she was doing all of this to get me back, that she loved me more than crack Of course It was just what I wanted and needed to hear. She went to class during the day before work. And a couple times a week would come over to my place after work. We were not intimate and she went home to her own bed. After the three months and some, she moved back in, I was very happy and so was she. It was also the last time crack entered our lives for a long time. She kept up with her classes and became a legal secretary. Things were good for a long time. Kevin had poured out his fractured heart in his proposal. His rough attachment told of a near-death stabbing after half a life of alcohol abuse. But I don’t want to tell his story. I just want to show why I bid $75 for a $2000 editing job on Guru.com.

Hi Letty
Thank you for responding to my posting. If you have been sober for 32 years you may very well have heard my story. It only differs from hundreds of other in degree.
My friends, my shrink, and many of the groups, I have spoken to tell me its worth putting on paper. That maybe my telling it will help the next guy.
I'm not a writer, and really don't know how to go about a project like this. So if we decide to work together you will have a clue as to what you will be dealing with.
I want to do this because, I should not be alive. the ex stabbed me in the chest 13 times. No one gave me a chance of pulling thru. But I'm here, I now consider my life all gravy. My old life ended just over five years ago, and I’m doing my best to make this one worth living.
My recovery program is simple and yet encompassing. "I’m just a guy trying to do the next right thing."
I'm attaching a little bit of my story, I wrote it to try and explain to someone what the stabbing was like. It was also was very diffult to write. I'm hoping you will get a feel for my story.
I hope we can find common ground and produce a readable story.
Looking forward to hearing from you.
Kevin

The Stabbing and its Aftermath

I’ll try to get through the story today. Last night it just wore me out to put it down on paper.
It all started long ago in a country beyond the sea; oh no that’s a different story....
About eight years ago, I was mentally in bad shape. I had lost a job that I had high expectations of. My fault that the job went away. My unemployment was about to run out, I was afraid we were going to lose everything, which we did.
I decided that my life was shit, and there was nothing I could do about it. I went and got sleeping pills and lots of whiskey. Tried to write a note, and couldn’t do even that correctly.
I took the pills and slammed the rest of