Wednesday, October 14, 2015

Write hard and clear about what hurts. Ernest Hemingway

Society still has its taboos, and each of us carries a space within that is too private to disclose or violate.

For the past couple of years I have stopped writing on my computer and returned to writing in my notebooks. Mostly so I don’t become distracted by the TV, the computer, my crafts, my books, or anything else that surrounds me in what once used to be my sanctuary. I also discovered it was easier to write when I didn’t have to worry if law enforcement would be interrupting what I had possibly written during one of my mania stages as something they should be alarmed by. But now, I feel the need to post here because I feel once again, like a psycho.  

Being bi-polar, having major depression, PTSD, and being told I have borderline personality disorder my entire life has caused me to have many encounters with law enforcement, so I am hated by a lot of them. And I can say for some the feeling is mutual from me. I don’t hate all those in law enforcement, because I can honest say I’ve come across some who do care. There are also a lot that could care less, and would prefer that I was either locked away somewhere, or better yet just dead. The main problem is I don’t understand is when they see another officer doing something wrong, why they don’t turn them in, instead of turning their backs. I’ve seen it and had to deal with it a couple of times personally over the years, and maybe that’s why…  Or maybe they are just assholes.

I can’t stand most men anyway. They usually just want something from you or want to cause you some type of harm. Such as my father sexually touching me as early as I can remember; being treated different by boys in school because I was different, being raped when I was 18, being beat up by a police officer, being lied too, being lied about, … Fuck you all. I don’t trust any of you. I never have and never will. And people wonder why I am the way I am. Throw all of this together with my disorders, or maybe all this is what gave me the disorders…Fuck I don’t know any more. My mind is so fucking scrambled right now that it is hard to think straight.

I’ve probably only got a month or two before I go to jail for doing something really stupid. The voices were talking so loud, I had to silence them. I didn’t need to take anything. I had over 400 in my pocket. I don’t do it very often. It is just a part of my disorder that comes out when I get stressed.  Most of the time I can fight y demons, but this time I lost the fight. I know they don’t give a fuck, and the answer is to lock me up. That way they don’t have to deal with me; well at least for a little while, but that still won’t change who I am, and who I’ve been for the past 40 some years. Therapy has worked in the past, but right now my insurance won’t pay for therapy, and they don’t offer free therapy anywhere. That’s probably why so many ‘crazy’ people go on shooting sprees. Government doesn’t believe in giving people free mental health assistance.

Yesterday I sat at the park with a knife in my hand and just as I placed it against my bare skin and blood began to surface, an officer appeared. I hadn’t cut in so long, I freaked out a little, knowing I did not want him to see what I had done. Past experience knows where that will take me. I wasn’t trying to kill myself, I just needed to feel something different. I’m trying not to cut, but earlier I sharpened one of my many knives, and tomorrow I'm going back to sit at the park. 

It’s been a long day. I think I need to rest now.

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