Merry Christmas

HOPE EVERYONE HAS A GREAT CHRISTMAS
AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!

Having a breakdown…

Here’s a prediction: Today you’re going to get irritated.

That’s a pretty safe prediction. What’s not so predictable is how you’re going to respond to that irritation. Are you going to focus on the problem or the possibilities?

Here’s a story I once read…

A grain of sand finds its way inside the shell of a oyster. The intruder, though microscopic, is a source of irritation and pain to the soft body of the oyster. Unable to rid itself of the unwelcome pebble, the oyster seeks to reduce the irritation by coating it with layers of soft, iridescent mother-of-pearl material from its own shell. Over time, the oyster transforms a painful irritation into a beautiful pearl of great value.

So today are you going to concentrate on the pain or the possibilities? Are you going to focus on the pebble or the pearl? Breakdowns can be transformed into breakthroughs.

Letter From God

God looked at earth and wanted to know what kind of behavior that was going on. He decided to send an angel down to Earth to check it out. So he called one of His angels and sent the angel to Earth for a time.

When he returned, he told God, "Yes, it is bad on Earth; 95% are misbehaving and 5% are not."

God thought for a moment and said, "Maybe I had better send down a second angel to get another opinion." So God called another angel and sent him to Earth for a time too.

When the angel returned he went to God and said, "Yes, it's true-the Earth is in decline; 95% are misbehaving and 5% are being good."

God was not pleased. So He decided to E-mail the 5% that were good, because He wanted to encourage them. Give them a little something to help them keep going. Do you know what that E-mail said?



No?









I didn't get one either.

Depression Pills

I've decided to get rid of all the depression "crazy" pills that I have acquired over the past several years from a variety of doctors. Each believing that they could 'cure' me of the awful demons that lurks in my mind by putting me on some sort of mind altering drug. I would try the Psychiatrist's choice of drug through 2 or 3 refills. By that time I would begin experiencing the side effects that accompany most psychiatric drugs. Sometimes I would feel so depressed, that I thought the world was going to crumble in around me, and the only way to end my misery was to take my life. The other side effects, were at times just as bad. Some made me not able to sleep, or over sleep, most made me gain weight, and made it nearly impossible to achieve an orgasm. So I would quit taking the drugs and feel okay from the side effects for a little while, but soon the depression would again return. I then would find myself looking for another doctor. This time I'm not going to look for another doctor.
I can't believe how many I had…they are like a reminder of who I am, and I don't want to be reminded any more. I want to let go of all the things from my past…I want to move on…without the pills.


List of my pills Lithium Carb 300mg, Carbamazepine 200mg, Zoloft 100mg, Depakote 250mg, Effoxor xr 75mg, Paxil 30mg, Celexa, Wellbutrin

Bush Kills 3000...

Daily U.S. Casualties
As of Sunday, at least 2,766 members of the U.S. military have died since the beginning of the Iraq war in March 2003, according to n Associated Press count. The figure includes seven military civilians. At least 2,198 died as a result of hostile action, according to the military’s numbers.
The British military has reported 119 deaths; Italy, 33; Ukraine, 18; Poland, 17; Bulgaria, 13; Spain, 11; Denmark, 6; El Salvador, 4; Slovakia, three; Estonia, Netherlands, Thailand, 2 each; and Australia, Hungary, Kazakhstan, Latvia, Romania, on death each.
3001 men have died so far because of President George Bush.

Forgive me if my mind wonders

What if early just before dawn, you woke and thought about your past, your life, your accomplishments; would you be anybody? Or would you be a person hiding in the shadows, rarely seen, just living day to day without thought or reason? When death came, would your life make the headlines? Or would you be another soul that just drifted away?

Back in the eighties, Ronald Regan decided people with mental illness no longer needed to locked up in the state mental hospitals, instead they were to be set free. They were giving free or reduced housing, food stamps, free medical, and a check each month that helped to pay their other bills. People like me took advantage of what was giving to us and we tried to make our lives as livable as we could in the outside world. I learned as much as I could about illness, so that I could at least understand why I acted the way I did most of the time. My problem was I couldn’t live with the solution that they offered…pills and more pills. I left the pills alone after trying many different types and combinations; finding no relief I decided to live my life just the way I was; good or bad.

I found it nearly impossible to control my actions long enough to be able to properly interact with strangers who were around me. I couldn‘t control my anger. I would get so mad at a person that all I could think about was wanting to put my hands around their throats and not letting go until they could no longer breathe. It made me feel like a loser if I did the things they ask. As much as I wanted to control my actions, I couldn’t.

In the eyes of law enforcement, we are drains on society, but we are tolerated by most others. Law enforcement sees as lower life forms, they feel far superior to us. Mostly due to the fact that individuals like me with mental illness, at one time or the other has had an encounter with law enforcement, usually due to some type of mental breakdown which can be a very stressful encounter for the officer who does not have experience handling someone with a mental disease.
I think that’s why I post on my blogs, I want the world to one day see how mental illness plays with the mind. I don’t want to forever be remembered as a drain on society, I want to somehow show that I can be productive member that gave something of their life back to others.

It's all a lie...

All of it is a lie
None of it is true.
I'm so sorry about all the things
I put you through.
It was just a way for me to set free
All the crazy thoughts that won't let me be.
I think I'm okay,
At least I feel that way today.
Maybe tomorrow things will be different
And I'll find a better way
To express the things I have to say.
My secret is still deeply concealed,
but hopefully if I continue doing this, I will be healed.
I hope in the end I will be set free.
Free from the hurt and free from the fears
Free from this world of everlasting tears.

Should I do what they say, "Go on with your life."
Why can't I? I know why!
Because, it has made me who I am.
If I went on, I would leave ME behind. So what now?
Sometimes things don't end up the way we thought they would.

Each step along the way
What should be black or white
Suddenly is shades of gray.

Tales from the Hood

Tales from the Hood.

I had been out of rehab for about a year, when I decided to move back to Nowata. Three days after I moved into a small two bedroom house with my best friend at the time, I met back up with an old gang member that I had hung out with in the past. He was into an argument with my next door neighbor, who was 6 months pregnant at the time. Apparently she owed him some money and she didn’t want to pay him back at that time, but he didn’t want to take no for answer. When I stepped outside to see what was going on, he was shouting at her at the top of his lungs saying how much of a bitch she was. He saw me and in a fit of rage told me to not trust the fucking bitch because she was a narc.

I wasn’t using any drugs at the time, so I didn’t really feel that would be a problem for me, but I trusted what he had to say. He didn’t have a car and lived all the way on the other side of town, so he asked me if I could give him a ride home. I didn’t have anything else to do, so I invited him in while I got my jacket and keys. I told him I just moved back in town, and was just starting my second year of college He was still doing pretty much the same thing from when I knew him 2 years earlier; robbing houses and stealing for money, all so he could keep using drugs.
We talked a lot about our past, and told each other our own “War Stories” about how we barely got away from the law. It wasn’t long before I was agreeing to a party that week-end at my house with a few of his gang friends. I don’t know why I agreed, I guess the lure of that kind of lifestyle was just to intriguing to say no too.

It was one wild party that week-end. In all over 15 gang members showed up, along with a few of their friends. I had bought over $70 worth of hard liquor and 6 point beer from Kansas so there was plenty enough for everyone to drink until they puked. Liquor wasn’t the only drug available, in my bathroom there was a group of guys sharing a needle, shooting up crank. In another room there were several people smoking weed, which I joined. Before I realized it I was talked into giving a ride to a few of the guys to a house on the west side of town. I was drunk and high but somehow I managed to make it where we were going without wrecking. I waited in the car as they ran in to pick up ‘something’. The next thing I knew everyone came running out of the house, and the sounds of gunfire rang throughout the air. I put my car in gear and was ready to get the hell out of there when 4 of the gang quickly re-entered my car and began shouting go.
We drove for several miles as I listened to them brag about robbing the house we were just at. I thought I had gotten away from that kind of lifestyle but there I was right in the middle of a robbery, and I didn’t say no. We went back to my house where they divided up the loot, even given me a cut since I was the driver. I was now a part of the gang whether I wanted to be or not. For the next few weeks I became a more active member of the gang, robbing, stealing, doing drugs, and just being a menace. The police looked at me as the leader because I was the oldest one in the group by 7 months, and I had the transportation that allowed for our criminal activities to take place.

I hated the lifestyle at times, but at other times it was the only thing that made me feel alive, and that feeling I wanted to forever feel.

Killer Thoughts: I hate the fucking summer time.

I hate the fucking months of July, August, and September,…July 1977, my older brother Frank was shot by an arrow by my half brother Will... I hated that fucking summer. August 1, 1979 my younger brother Rusty was shot, by Frank with a 22. Another horrible fucking summer.

September 3 is my half brother Will’s birthday (the one that is in prison for murder.) September 11,1985 I was sent to prison. On Sept. 7, 1988 my Uncle Jack died, Sept. 13, 1997 my father died. Sept. 19, 1986, I watched a good friend die after she wrecked and was thrown from her truck while we were speeding away from a house robbery. Sept. 27, 1986...I overdosed. And that's just a few that I can remember.

Well hopefully next month gets better and I can move on with some of my more crazier thoughts that I tend to have during these months. I also found this interesting article online that I think describes why I have some of the crazy thoughts that I do. Hell who knows…add another disorder to all the other ones that I have.

http://westsuffolkpsych.homestead.com/Violent_Obsessions.html

Here’s what it says…sorry it’s a little long, but I thought it was a really interesting post.
How I Treat OCD

Killer Thoughts: Treating Violent Obsessions
By Fred Penzel, Ph.D.
There are dozens of categories of different obsessions and compulsions that make up the disorder known as OCD, and while these cover a wide range of differing themes, they all share many characteristics in common. These would include intrusive, unpleasant thoughts, unceasing doubt, guilt, fears of being insane, and crushing anxiety. While all forms of OCD can be painful, paralyzing, repulsive, and debilitating, one of the nastier and more startling is the type known as morbid obsessions. This is particularly true of those obsessions in this category that are violent in nature, and include thoughts of killing or injuring others or oneself, or of acting sexually in ways that are against society's norms. I include thoughts of acting out sexually in this category, as they really represent a form of violence, and have little to do with sex.

Violent thoughts may involve both mental images and impulses to act. These can include those in which people see themselves hitting, stabbing, strangling, mutilating or otherwise injuring their children, family members, strangers, pets, or even themselves. They may envision themselves using sharp or pointed objects, such as knives, forks, scissors, pencils, pens, broken bottles, letter openers, ice picks, power tools, poison, their bare hands, or even their cars. The urges they experience may involve pushing or throwing themselves or others into the paths of trains or cars, out of windows, or off balconies, buildings, or other high places. Some report thoughts of hitting pedestrians, ramming their cars into bridge abutments on the highway, or steering into the path of oncoming traffic. Others fear snapping or going berserk in public and harming people. One patient of mine would have thoughts of opening one of the exit doors aboard an airliner. In reaction, sufferers tend to fear being alone with anyone smaller and weaker they feel they could easily overpower, such as children and elderly people. They often avoid going to such places as train platforms, pedestrian-filled street corners, or being in crowded public places. Mothers may experience repeated thoughts of acting violently towards their infants or small children. Sexual thoughts in this category usually involve raping or sexually abusing children or other adults. Fears of acting out other sexually inappropriate behaviors may also occur.

Although the number of people who suffer from this type of OCD is still not exactly clear, it is probably more common than most people think. I would estimate that about a third of my patients suffer from some form of them. When most of my patients begin treatment, they believe that they may be insane, and that no one else could think as crazily as they do. I am usually able to convince them that neither of these things is true, and this is further confirmed for them when they attend a support group and hear others report the same types of thoughts. Another problem these sufferers seem to be burdened with is a nagging doubt that causes them to ask themselves," What kind of person am I that could think such thoughts? Why would I think these things if I didn't really want to do them. I must be a psychopath or a pervert." Not being able to resolve this doubt obviously results in a lot of anxiety. In years past, OCD sufferers who went for treatment via psychoanalysis were mistakenly informed that their thoughts actually represented repressed anger and that they unconsciously wished to do the things they were obsessing about. This only worsened the symptoms for these unfortunate people. Sad to say, treatment of this type still continues in many places. In one case I know of, a woman confessed her obsessive thoughts of hurting her child to a psychiatrist. She was rewarded by this professional reporting her to state protective services, who then promptly investigated her with an eye to removing her child from her home.

It is important for sufferers to understand that the thoughts are just thoughts, and do not cause anxiety, but rather the anxiety is caused by the views sufferers take of the thoughts. They need to overcome the idea that, "If I think it, it must be real." It should be noted that people who suffer from these thoughts have no history of violence, nor do they ever act out on their ideas or urges. Although OCD can project extreme and bizarre thoughts into people's minds, it is not the thoughts or the anxiety, as much as people's solutions to having the thoughts that represents the real heart of the problem. It is the compulsive acts that people perform to relieve their anxiety that cause the paralysis that they experience. Compulsions are seductive, in that they offer the illusion of immediate relief from anxiety, even if it only lasts a brief time. Compulsions paradoxically, start out as solutions, but eventually become the problem itself. They may grow from taking only a few minutes per day, to taking up hours at a time. Instinct tells people with OCD to avoid or run away from the things they fear, and they erroneously believe that this is possible. Unfortunately, the opposite proves to be true, and the avoidance only worsens the problem and increases the fear. A person's whole life may become oriented around never coming into contact with the things that make them anxious. In actuality, you cannot run from what you fear. It must be faced. People with OCD do not remain in the presence of what they fear long enough to learn the truth of things, which is that nothing would happen even if they did no compulsions. Regardless of the type of obsessions, treatment for OCD is all about getting sufferers to accept that their solutions do not work, and will never work, and that they have to finally face their obsessive thoughts while resisting their urges to do compulsions. Anything short of this will not be powerful enough to get the job done.

These principles are put into action in a treatment known as Exposure and Response Prevention (E&RP). This is a systematic way of confronting the violent (or any other) thoughts in a step-by-step manner. The actual exposure itself is very straightforward. Sufferers can be exposed to violent thoughts in a number of ways. These may involve assignments carried out under a therapist's direction in an office, or on one's own, at home. What all these methods have in common is that they don't reassure. Instead they are designed to provoke anxiety by essentially saying that the thoughts are true, that the feared consequences will really happen, and that nothing can be done to prevent them. Ideally, exposure should be done whenever and wherever the thoughts occur. Those who suffer from violent obsessions have various types of scripts they write for themselves, and it is important to understand these scripts in order to be able to use them in designing homework assignments. A typical script for violent thinkers runs something like, " I must be having these thoughts because I'm really psycho and want to do these things. Maybe I'll lose control and really do them. If I do act on my thoughts, they'll lock me up forever. That will be horrible for my family and me; they will suffer because of what I did, and I will suffer knowing what I did to them and to my victim. I won't be able to live with the guilt. I'll either die in prison, or kill myself." Scripts such as these are worked into a series of graduated assignments.

I usually prescribe assignments based on a hierarchy we create, which rates all of the person's feared thoughts and situations in terms of the strength of the anxiety they cause. We begin with only those items lowest on the fear scale, and gradually work our way up, going at the patient's own pace. No one is forced to do anything they are not ready to tackle. If a particular assignment cannot be done in a whole step, it may be broken down into smaller steps. Each hierarchy and group of assignments is tailored to each person's symptoms. Treatment is home-based (also known as self-directed treatment) and outpatient. Homework is given weekly in written form, and done outside the office, with instructions to call if necessary. Most people have between 4 and 12 different assignments per week. In the majority of cases, treatment is on a once per week basis, requiring one 45-minute session to debrief the past week's homework, to give the next series of assignments, and discuss other ongoing issues in the person's life that may need attention.

The assignments usually begin with things that are more general, and only provoke a moderate amount of anxiety. Over time, they gradually become more specific, and get people to expose themselves to more and more challenging things. It is here that therapists are called upon to show their flexibility and creativity. We go wherever we have to go, and do whatever it takes to create therapeutic situations that will help the person to confront their thoughts. Behavioral therapy cannot be done in cookbook fashion. It is usually suggested to the patient at first, that there are people out there who are capable of violent acts, and who may lose control and act without warning. The exposure then moves on to suggest that the patient, themselves, just might be capable of the sorts of things they may be thinking about. From there, we move on to confronting the idea that there is a real possibility that they will snap, and commit a violent act. Following this, the next step has the patient expose themselves to the thought that they will definitely do whatever it is they are obsessing about, and that it may happen at any time without warning. At this stage, if the patient is particularly doubtful, it may also be appropriate to suggest that they have even done the feared thing recently, or in the past. Moving through these various stages can span a period of months, and the whole process can take approximately 6 to 9 months overall. Those with the more serious and debilitating problems may need to come more than once a week or for a longer period. A few of the most serious cases may even need to work within a hospital setting, if they are unable to follow treatment on their own, although this is much less common and rarely necessary.

One good exposure technique is via audio taped presentations of these feared ideas that run several minutes in length, and are used several times a day. Other methods could include reading books or news articles that provoke the violent thoughts, writing brief essays on why the thoughts represent true desires, visiting websites related to violent or sexual offenders, hanging up signs with phrases that evoke anxiety, writing feared words or phrases repeatedly, or voluntarily seeking out real-life situations likely to bring the thoughts on. With regard to this last technique, it can be quite helpful to set up little plays to help the person confront a feared situation in a somewhat realistic way. One example of this would be the case of a young man who had thoughts that he would stab his father. We set up a nightly exercise where he would sit next to his father on a sofa watching TV together, as the patient held a large kitchen knife in his hand. Periodically, his father would turn to him and say seriously, "Please don't kill me, son." An important factor to also build into these techniques is repeatedly exposing the person to the idea that the escape or avoidance maneuvers they typically use, cannot and will not work. Probably the most important assignment I ever give patients is for them to agree with each violent thought as it occurs, rather than trying to argue with or analyze them. They probably get more opportunities to do this assignment than any other.

When first considering E&RP, people tend to ask, "Won't this treatment make me feel worse?" The answer is that it may, at least to start. By staying with what you fear, you may feel more anxious at first, but you will gradually build up a tolerance to the feared thing. I like to tell my patients, "You can't be bored and scared at the same time." The ultimate goal is total immersion, so that exposure takes place in a variety of ways throughout the day. The more total it is, the quicker you will get used to what you have feared, and the sooner the fear will subside. This may not be as easy as it sounds, especially in the face of really repulsive, violent thoughts. Obviously, the real art of doing therapy involves getting people to trust what the therapist is telling them, and that the method will work for them. By the time we get to the end of a person's hierarchy, there is little left in it that can bring on anxiety. They can think the worst of their thoughts, but not feel that they have to react to them.

The following list is included to show what some typical behavioral assignments might look like. No list can be complete for all people, so this is just a sampling. Understand that some of these are advanced assignments presented in no particular order, and you would work up to doing them over time. Note that no one does assignments such as these until they are ready for them.

Thoughts of running into people with your car:

Reading news articles about hit-and-run accidents
Driving down crowded streets or around shopping malls
Driving down dark roads at night
Thoughts of stabbing people:
Gesturing at others with utensils, while eating
Sitting close to others at home holding a large knife
Thoughts of hitting people:
Walking down a crowded street and brushing against people
Patting people firmly on the back
Gesturing toward people while standing close to them
Watching stabbing scenes in movies
Thoughts of molesting children:
Reading about child molesters who got caught
Standing close to children in public
Holding one's own children or cuddling them (young children)
Thoughts of harming your infant:
Looking at articles about child abuse
Holding your infant standing near an open window
Reading about parents who killed or injured their children
Thoughts of stabbing yourself:
Writing a composition on how you will lose control and harm yourself
Sitting with a knife or pointed object in front of you on a table
Holding a knife or sharp object pointed at yourself
Fear of going berserk in public:
Walking around in public with a knife in your pocket
Walking with a knife in your pocket listening to a tape telling you that you will lose control
Standing behind people on a crowded train platform
Reading news articles about people who lost control in public
I like to make patients aware that many people they may encounter will not be particularly sophisticated or familiar with behavioral therapy or the purpose of its homework assignments that don't sound like your typical talk therapy. In discussing it with others, including family members or even physicians, they may get negative reactions. One psychiatrist gravely informed one of my patients that the therapy sounded very extreme and risky to him, and that he had his doubts about it. This obviously did little for my patient's motivation, and it took a bit of doing to get him to get back to work, while accepting that his physician just wasn't well acquainted with E&RP, and was commenting on something he knew little about.

Finally, I would like to share some rules that my patients find helpful in dealing with violent thoughts and other forms of OCD:
1. Expect the unexpected you can have an obsessive thought any time or any place.
2. Never seek reassurance. Instead, tell yourself the worst will happen, or has happened
3. Always agree with all obsessive thoughts never analyze or argue with them.
4. If you slip and do a compulsion, you can always mess it up and cancel it out.
5. Remember that dealing with your symptoms is your responsibility alone.
6. When you have a choice, always go toward the anxiety, never away from it.
There is a common myth that violent obsessions (and even obsessions in general) are harder to treat than other types of symptoms. This is absolutely false. Regardless of your symptoms, you can be successfully treated if the correct techniques are used, if you accept that you cannot go on as you have, and if you are prepared to do whatever it takes to recover and regain control of your life.

You can contact Dr. Penzel at 631-351-1729, or e-mail him at penzel@attglobal.net

Crazy Thoughts

Have you ever had a crazy thought? I do…quite often. The voices, thoughts, are intrusive, unpleasant thoughts, mostly it leaves me feeling as if I’m insane. I have morbid obsessions where I often think about death, injuring myself or others, and I even think about ways to act out sexually that others may not consider normal.
Everyday I play out mental images of whatever horrible thoughts I may be having at that moment. Most of the time it involves law enforcement. I think about how I might like to take some officer hostage, torture him for hours before I finally let him go so he can grab his near by gun and then take my life. Or another time I might see an officer driving down the road and steer into his direction so we will have a head on collusion, sending our bodies flying into each other. Death awaits.
I other think I will just snap one day, and go berserk, harming myself and other people. I worry about the type of person I must be. Am I a psychopath? I feel like one most days. Or are they just thoughts? I just want to run away somewhere. Someday I fear I will lose control and act on my thoughts, and of course they’ll want to lock me up forever. I often see how it will happen in my mind. Crazy thoughts.

Its hard doing the right thing all the time, but I’m getting there, slowly.

Many times in my life I have wanted to end my suffering, but recently instead of doing that I decided to do as others have suggested and try to make a change. To do that I had to find people and places on the internet where I could at least pretend to be normal for a short time during my day. It kept me from thinking about how earlier in the day I had saw a strange man on the street that reminded of my father. A smell, someone else’s words, always seem's to remind me of him. People I met on the internet, I didn’t have to look in the eyes, they didn’t have to know anything about who I really was. And so for that time, I felt normal. I felt like everyone else.

Slowly I began to change even more things about myself. I thought I was becoming a better person when I finally stopped being a thief. I became Perdure. (If you don’t know what perdure means…look it up in the dictionary.) I was following those who are able to resist their urges, and live a stable life. It was all that I really wanted, and for a short time, I had what they had.
Sorry everyone from Coplounge http://www.coplounge.com/board/portal.php

Dealing with what life gives you.

A man had just been laid off from work. He was standing on the railing of a high bridge getting read to jump off, when he happened to look down and see a little man with no arms dancing all around on the river bank below.

He thought to himself, "Life isn't so bad after all," and got off the railing.

He then walked down to the river bank to thank the little man for saving his life.

"Thank you," he said. "I was going to jump off that bridge and kill myself, but when I saw you dancing even though you have no arms, I changed my mind."

"Dancing? I'm not dancing!" the armless man replied bitterly..."My asshole itches, and I can't scratch it!"

It’s going down…anywhere you meet me guaranteed its going down.

WTF?!!!!!!!!!!!! Why won’t my mind shut down? I want it to just shut the fuck up!!! I want to hear nothing. My hope is if I get all the ‘bad’ out of my head, my mind will be quiet enough to sleep. Last night I only got about 3 hours of sleep before I was awake again. It’s almost 1am and I should be really sleepy by now, but instead my mind is running full speed with a thousand memories, thoughts, and ideas. I want with all my mind, body, and soul to be able to stop thinking about all the negative things that have happened to me in my life. But I’m always seeing, smelling, hearing, or feeling something that reminds of the things that were done to me. Then the rage begins, and I want to lash out at somebody, or something just to get rid of the way I feel. If I explode in a violent way, afterwards I will have a ‘crash’ of my system, which will then make me feel ‘normal’.

It’s going down…anywhere you meet me guaranteed its going down.

AssClown

Someone who does something really stupid, and it results in negative consequences.
I can’t get the thought of suicide by cop out of my mind. Everyday, several times a day on the really bad days, I think about it, I dream about it, and how it will happen.

My whole body mind and soul hurts.
My mind is now blank,
But when I try to sleep my mind is filled with noise.
I feel nothing, yet I feel everything.

I’m trying to do all the things that I know that works to help bring me up out of this state of mind. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. I don’t want to injure myself just to make myself feel better. So instead I do really stupid shit, like fuck with law enforcement. Yeah I know that’s crazy as hell, but it works. What would you do if you’ve tried all the ‘normal’ ways to end your ‘crazy thoughts’ or depression, and it didn’t work? Then one day something happened and it woke you up like an electrical shock, and you no longer felt insane. Would you then continue to seek out a way to recreate that same feeling? I sometimes do... if I want to continue to live without injuring myself, and maybe one day succeed in taking my life, even if I didn't really me to.

Sorry to all those that I fucked with, but I have to do what works…Thanks NightOwl, Baker, Lawdog, Hollywood, Armadill, Cane, Mish, RedDragon, LEF, and anyone else who I might have forgotten. I'll try not to be too much of an AssClown.

Locked up in my own prison.

I knew it was coming…you know what I mean…something bad was going to happen. How did I know? Because every time something good happens that makes me smile, there is always something bad waiting to pounce on me like a tiger on it’s prey. It’s always just around the corner. Some people would call it Karma, but for it to be karma, I feel you have to first be doing something bad. How do you explain bad things happening to a person who never did anything wrong? From ages 1 thru 10 I can’t remember doing anything that would justify what was done to me. So now as an adult I’m suppose to believe that if I do something wrong Karma will come after me? Personally if that is the case, then I think karma owes me a few good times.
After several years of paying for a car I thought I had to have, I finally managed to pay it off. Now that it’s all broke down and in need of repair, it’s all mine. So I’m happy thinking about the extra money I will soon have. I decide to use a little money and purchase a few scratch off lottery tickets, and hooray!!! I won a total of 60 dollars. Not much but enough to make me smile. (I really have to search hard to find those moments in my life.) The really nice part came when for whatever reason, I was finally able to get 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep. I was feeling on top of the world. I spent a little time cleaning out my pool, and took a nice swim all alone…uninterrupted!!! It was a glorious day.

Then came the leg sweep, the slap to the face, the kick to my ribs, the check move. I was on my way to pick up dinner for everyone when I passed Mr. Asshole, I own the world, I’m better than you will ever be, perfect life, perfect wife, everything will be done my way, Police Officer R. Rains. I saw him out of the corner of my eye but refused to make eye contact with him. But he sure took a good long hard look at me, and immediately turned around and tried to get in behind me. One truck blocked his path which allowed me a few minutes to get a little distance in-between him and me. Still he knew where I went and continued to follow me to the store. He parked across the street in another parking lot, and watched my every move. Still he did not stop me. I made it on to McDonalds to pick up a few burgers, and then made my way back to the house. As I neared my driveway I spotted him sitting across the highway, and of course as soon as he spotted me heading towards the house he dropped in behind me. I made it up to the house before he hit his lights, but called me back out to his car. He had me sit in the front seat of his car as he called me in. I listen to what came back over the radio, and just waited for him to tell me to step out of the car, so he could put the cuffs on me.

Instead he said he decided to be a nice guy, and wouldn’t take me to jail, but he didn’t want to see me driving around town again.

So now I can’t go anywhere without someone else taking me. I’ve been inside for so many days that I want to throw up. I want out of the house, alone, wind blowing through my hair, feasting my eyes on something other than the white walls that surround me.

I still secretly wish for someone to lean on.

Twenty seven years ago today, I laid in a strange bed near my sister, wondering how my brother was doing, thinking about how things were going to change. I knew they were going to change, I just didn't know how bad it was going to get.

The blood on my swim suit had completely dried and was now a dark rusty brown color. It was past midnight but still could not stop thinking about things. I laid there in the dark with my eyes open just staring at the ceiling, feeling with my fingers the area where the blood had dried to a hard crust. I heard the sound of a floor creaking. Startled I strained my eyes to see if anyone was there in the dark where the noise had come from. Finally my eyes focused enough to see my Uncle peeping through the curtain that separated the bedroom from the living room. I started to speak up, but I didn’t want him to know I was still awake, so I squinted my eyes partly shut and stared in his direction. It wasn’t long before I figured out he was masturbating as he stood there staring at us while we slept.

My little sister had fallen sound asleep after Uncle Jack had giving her a bath, and hadn’t move since. I had taken a bath alone after she finished with water from a water hose that our uncle ran into the bathroom. He didn’t have a hot water tank, so the water was cold but it was just like at home, because we didn’t have a hot water tank either. Still my body didn’t feel clean, because I had to put back on the same blood clothes that I had worn earlier.

After a few minutes I heard my Uncle let a low moan, and then the floor creaked again as I heard him walk away. I tried to close my eyes and sleep, but I kept seeing images of my brothers naked body from when Mom and I had placed him in the front seat of the truck. The image would only leave my mind when I thought I heard the floor creaking again, and when I felt like someone or something was standing next to me, but nothing was ever there. I couldn’t convince my mind that things were going to be okay, and it was okay to sleep, so I just laid there all night staring at the ceiling.

Torture

Every 15 minutes...

Every 15 minutes…
Someone takes their own life.
Someone feels like they can’t go on.
Someone feels like they can no longer control their actions.
Someone feels like they must gain control over the one thing that they can.

Then Every 15 minutes…
A heart will break.
A friend is gone forever.
A dream will never be realized.
A future will go blank.

Every 15 minutes…
Someone feels ignored.
Someone feels abandoned.
Someone feels completely helpless.
Someone will act on their thoughts.

Then Every 15 minutes…
A dream will die.
A deep void opens.
A mother will never again comfort the child who needed them.
A father will wonder why.

Every 15 minutes…
Someone is not able to seek the proper treatment.
Someone thinks everything seems so pointless.
Someone will break a promise.
Someone will succeed in taking their own life.

Then Every 15 minutes…
Someone will feel the pain of no touch, no voice, no love.
Someone will look across a table to a vacant chair.
Someone will lie awake at night, unable to sleep.
Someone will feel it’s somehow their fault.

Every 15 minutes…
Someone wants to run.
Someone wants to hide.
Someone wants to cry.
Someone wants to die.

Every 15 minutes…
Someone wants to hear your laughter.
Someone wants to wipe away your tears.
Someone wants you to know, you are not alone.
Someone does not want you to die.

The girl with the broken smile.

Life is like a jigsaw puzzle…it’s handed to you at birth, and slowly as you age you put the pieces together. And just like any puzzle sometimes you lose piece and have to take out time to look for it then put it where it belongs.

Sometimes I feel like I’ve lost too many pieces.
I lost my first piece the day my daddy took my innocence’s away.
Being told I was a nobody, scattered pieces everywhere.
Tears washed a piece away the day a good friend died.
I lost several while I was busy using drugs.

Anger scatter even more when I realized how hard it was to try and move on with my life. A bargain with the Devil burnt a few pieces around the edge, and left a piece missing near my heart.

My puzzle is a big mess and I’m running out of time to find all the pieces and put it together. I’m afraid there are some pieces I may never recover no matter how hard I try.

Shocking and alarming Thoughts

Society turned me into a disease.

Sometimes I feel like I want to do the craziest of things.

You know, like killing something or someone just to watch it die.

Spit open its stomach and feel the hand warming sensation of ruby red blood as it slowly drains from your victims body.

Sometimes I hear voices and they tell me to do things.

Where darkness stands defiant to the break of day.

You spend a lifetime of walking...but where did you go?

I relive the past. I feel the past.

I have such vivid, painful memories, flashbacks, if you will.

I can almost feel 'their' hands painfully squeezing me.

I can even sometimes smell the stench around me.

Contemplating suicide.

You wish you were already dead as you hold the gun up to your head.

I want to take him and string him up by the hind

quarters like a deer being hung up and skinned.

I want him to be alive as I run the sharp knife blade down his stomach to his nut sack.

I just like to watch sometimes.

More weird shit…I’m hooked on watching violent pornography.

I’m not gay but I like watching a man get fucked hard in the ass.

I like watching the pain on his face.

Antisocial personality with intermittent psychotic decompensation.

Dark Art

What a dumbass.

Again people have been reading my blog and then telling me how I need to get help…well here’s the thing…I’ve tried so many times and failed that each time I try and fail, it again makes me feel like I am a failure. So fuck 'getting help' ....this is the way I am learning to heal. By finally admitting to things that I am usually too embarrassed to tell to a persons face. This is my therapy. I am slowly beginning to heal.

For the third time I tried to see a therapist and a psychiatrist only to be turned away because of a misunderstanding. I had spoke with a intake counselor from ParkSide in Tulsa and had appointments set up for drug treatment from 9am till noon, 3 days a week, and 2 appointments to see a therapist and then the psychiatrist. I was actually looking forward to finally being able to unload my mind on someone who could help me figure it all out, but again I guess it just wasn’t meant to happen.

I found out I couldn’t attend the morning classes just yet, mainly due to the fact that I didn’t have a way to get there at that time, so I thought I would just postpone it for a few more months and then go. The day of the appointment the therapist called and I explained that I couldn’t attend the morning classes but still felt like I needed to see the therapist to talk about a few things and the psychiatrist to maybe get on some medications. The therapist misunderstood (or so she says) and canceled all the appointments. And she didn’t tell me anything about it until the day of the appointment when I received a letter in the mail saying my appointments were canceled. I called her back and said I had full intentions of coming to the other appointments, but she said it was then to late, so she would have to call me back and make new appointments.
That was 2 weeks ago and I haven’t heard anything back yet!

If someone you knew openly admitted to hearing voices and had recently injured themselves, wouldn’t you as a professional person want to help this person? I guess she really doesn’t give a fuck. So when and if I go on a killing spree will she then say, ‘well I guess I should have tried to help her’? WTF???

And how in the fuck does calling someone a dumbass help in their healing? You’re only making them feel worse about the crazy things they do, you’re not helping any. Here is the mind….they said I’m a dumbass…I guess they are right I am a dumbass and I don’t deserve this life. I’m only going to fuck it up worse. I can’t do anything right. Dumbass!!!!dumbass!!dumbass!!!dumbass!!! You hear the words as you try to sleep…Dumbass!!! And that’s who you will always be. Never able to change. What a dumbass.

Shattered Soul

This world belongs to a child once battered; That led to the adult who's soul has shattered.

What it's like when I cut myself.

When I feel the need to cut, I'm usually very anger about something or in a situation where I can escape from what’s happening around me. It’s an intense feeling that I believe is 10 times stronger than what a ‘normal’ person would feel. It becomes such an overwhelming feeling of doom that you’ll do whatever it takes to take away that feeling. The voices from inside of me, tell me to injury myself, and the feeling will go away. I won’t have to think about why I’m angry, annoyed, or feeling like I want to throw up big chunks of food everywhere.
I run to a place where I think no one will see me, and I take out my secretly hidden sharp object.
Another voice from within shouts out, ‘What are you doing?”
I don’t answer back, because I feel shame.
My heart races, as I think about the blade being drawn across my already scarred wrist. I choose a place higher up, where others can’t see.
Voices….Voices…..Voices…Voices.
“Stop being a chicken about it…Just do it!!”
I think to myself why do I feel this way. And why won’t it stop. I have to make it stop. I can’t take the way I feel. I want to feel something else. Pain; that will take me to a place that is more comfortable.
I’m not sure if I believe in heaven, but I sure can give you a tour of hell.
I look intently at my cutting area, knowing I’m about to feel intense pain. I really don’t like feeling the pain, but it brings me back to reality. My heart races as I hold the blade with intense pressure against my skin.
“Just close your eyes and quickly draw the blade across your skin. Do it now and quit being a fucking chicken.”
I take several deeps breathes…Is this really what I want to do?
“Just make the feeling stop!”
“You don’t have to injury yourself”
“Do it now! You won’t have to feel the pain of feeling like you have no control!”
“You are a worthless piece of shit, and will always be a drain on society.”
Blood is already starting to appear from where you are holding the blade so firmly against your exposed body.
Deep breath.
'Quickly now!!!!!!'
A rush of adrenaline surges throughout your body, making you to take several deep breathes.
Quickly the blade goes across your flesh, and the skin lays open. Blood flows. But more important is the feeling. It’s like experiencing your very first breath. Your heart is racing. You feel alive. You have control. A sigh of relief. Knowing the feeling is going to quickly fade, you close your eyes and enjoy the brief moment of feeling alive.
Your anger disappears, and is replaced with the feeling your are more familiar with, and can understand. This wound you know how to heal. You open your eyes to see how bad the damage is this time.
A far away voices screams, “Shit!!! Look what you have done!!”
“What are you going to tell people?”
You grab the washrag you have sitting on the counter waiting to absorb the blood before it falls to the floor. You hold it there catching the blood, only removing it to see how bad your ‘accident’ looks. That’s what you’re going to tell people if they find out…I accidentally cut myself when…..I’ll think about it later.
That’s why I did it in a secret place, where no one will see but me. It will be another one of my secrets.

Today, I cut myself.

I need to empty my mind again so here goes my ramblings, and we’ll see if it helps me to sleep a little better.

Last week I had appointments set up to once again to see a psychiatrist and a therapist. I went to Parkside (our local nut house) and saw a intake counselor to ‘evaluate’ my needs. I already knew what I needed, it was just the going through the process to get the help that I need that really sucks.

Part of getting my license back is going to intensive outpatient treatment, so I want to do that but also I know inside I need some sort of ‘intervention’ again.
After 2 hours of being asked ever question about my state of mind, the counselor set me up into the outpatient drug treatment class, which wasn’t going to cost me a dime, that’s why I decided to go there. He also set me up with a psychiatrist and therapist, one appointment after the other. The only catch was the appointments weren’t for a couple of weeks. I thought okay great, I can wait that long, because I know when I finally tell more of my secrets I’m going to feel some relief….Right?
Things never work out right for me.
The counselor told me the out-patient drug treatment could start the next week, but the problem was the only time the they held the class was from 9:00am to 12noon, and I couldn’t find a way to get there. The more I thought about it, the more I decided to just wait until the kids go back to school then I try again. The next day the therapist I was going to see calls me, and I tell her I have to wait because I don’t have transportation during the morning hours. Somehow she took that as I wasn’t going to come to any of the appointments, and she cancels both of my other appointments without telling me.
As the day nears to my appointment I’m actually feeling some sort of relief knowing that I’m soon going to be emptying my mind. The morning of my appointment I’m up early and go out to get the mail from the previous day that I forgot to get, and there’s this letter from Parkside. I’m thinking they are just confirming my appointments, but I open it and it states that my case has been closed.

WTF? So I call Parkside and ask what’s going on. The therapist that I’m supposed to see isn’t in her office, she’s gone for the day. I then ask about the appointment for the Psychiatrist and of course he is already gone for the day. I’m thinking, okay this must be fate. Or something. Every time I try to see someone it never works out. Why?
I was glad the boys were gone to the pool, but then again if they would have been there I probably wouldn’t have cut myself. I never do things like that when they are around. It was nothing serious, just enough to bring a little blood, and give me a feeling that helped to temporarily wake me up. I had to do something or I might have done something that I would have really regretted.
I need to collect my thoughts.

Kelly Clarkson...Because of You.

I will not make the same mistakes that you did
I will not let myself cause my heart so much misery
I will not break the way you did
You fell so hard I've learned the hard way, to never let it get that far
Because of you I never stray too far from the sidewalk
Because of you I learned to play on the safe side
So I don't get hurt
Because of you I find it hard to trust
Not only me, but also everyone around me
Because of you I am afraid
I lose my way
And it's not too long before you point it out I cannot cry
Because I know that's weakness in your eyes
I'm forced to fake, a smile, and a laugh
Every day of my life
My heart can't possibly break
When it wasn't even whole to start with
Because of you I never stray too far from the sidewalk
Because of you I learned to play on the safe side
So I don't get hurt
Because of you I find it hard to trust
Not only me, but also everyone around me
Because of you I am afraid
I watched you die
I heard you cry
Every night in your sleep I was so young
You should have known better than to lean on me
You never thought of anyone else
You just saw your pain
And now I cry In the middle of the night
For the same damn thing
Because of you I never stray too far from the sidewalk
Because of you I learned to play on the safe side
So I don't get hurt
Because of you I tried my hardest just to forget everything
Because of you I don't know how to let anyone else in
Because of you I'm ashamed of my life because it's empty
Because of you I am afraid
Because of you
Because of you.

Would you like another slap to the face?

As I’m sitting here typing this I think to myself I should be writing my brother a letter. I remember how it was when I was in prison…you really looked forward to getting a letter from someone on the outside. It’s just that every time I sit down to write him, I go blank, and all I can think about is how we were treated when growing up. TEARS. From the very beginning when we were first born, we never had a chance from day one. Breathe.
I somehow thought in the back of my mind that writing about my life story and finally getting it all out of my system that I would finally magically be healed. So for the past two years that’s what I’ve done, I put it on paper…I should say all on the computer. I hand wrote most of it, but there was a lot that I did on the computer that I don’t have wrote down anywhere. And now….I’ve fucking lost it all!!! I believe AOL caused my computer to crash, and now it won’t load. I'm using my a older comupter that is slow as hell, but at least it works for now.

Would you like another slap to the face?
I feel that’s what God is saying to me. My hope was to find someone who could help me edit my story, and then to publish it for the world to see. Then maybe they would understand why I feel like a psycho every day, every moment of my life. Once everyone knew, then somehow that was to make me feel better. But now I’ll never know. I can’t start from the beginning and write about things so horrible it makes the mind shake. I feel I gave it my one shot, and it didn’t happen so I guess it just wasn’t meant to be. I’m not a writer and I never will be. I just don't know what I'm going to do now to get the money that I need. Money is the key, without it you become lost.

Waxing Joke

All hair removal methods have tricked women with their promises of easy, painless removal - The Epilady, scissors, razors, Nair and now...the wax.

My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner, play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours: "Maybe I should pull the waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet."So I headed to the site of my demise: the bathroom. It was one of those "cold wax" kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you pull the hair right off. No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean, I'm not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out.(YA THINK!!)So I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each other stuck together. Instead of rubbing them t together, my genius kicks in so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees.("Cold wax," yeah...right)! I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around it tight and pull. It works! OK, so it wasn't the best feeling, but it wasn't too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin extraordinaire.With my next wax strip I move north. After checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I apply the was strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my vagina and stretching down to the inside of my butt cheek (Yes, it was a long strip) I inhale deeply and brace myself....RRRRIIIPPP!!!! I'm blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!....OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!! Vision returning , I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the strip. CRAP!!! Another deep breath and RRIIPP!!
Everything is swirly and spotted. I think I may pass out...must stay conscious...Do I hear crashing drums??? Breathe, breathe...OK, back to normal. I want to see my trophy -- a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip! There's no hair on it. Where is the hair??? WHERE IS THE WAX???Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the hair. The hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I am touching wax. CRAP! I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is now covered in cold wax and matted hair. Then I make the next BIG mistake...remember my foot is still propped up on the toilet? I know I need to do some thing. So I put my foot down.
DAMN!!!!! I hear the slamming of a cell door. Vagina? Sealed shut!.... Butt?? ...Sealed shut!I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and think to myself "Please don't let me get the urge to poop. My head may pop off!" What can I do to melt the wax? Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!! I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off, right??? *WRONG!!!!!!!*I get in the tub -- the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment - I sit. Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued together, is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub...in scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax. So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cement-epoxied myself to the porcelain!! God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom!!!!!I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone. It's a very good conversation starter - - - - "So, my butt and who-ha are glued together to the bottom of the tub!"There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is located, "Are we talking cheeks or hole or who-ha?" She's laughing out loud by now...I can hear her. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box.YEAH!!!!! Right!! I should be the joke of someone else's night. While we go through various solutions. I resort to scraping the wax off with a razor. Nothing feels better then to have your girlie goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off!! By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I'm pretty sure I'm going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for this event.My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace....the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax. What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on and OH MY GOD!!!!!!! The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend. It's sooo painful, but I really don't care. "IT WORKS!! It works!!" I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up. I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief and despair.... THE HAIR IS STILL THERE.......ALL OF IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!.So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I'm numb by now. Nothing hurts. I could have amputated my own leg at this point.Next week I'm going to try hair color......

May 22, 2006

Later today I go to see yet another Psychiatrist and a therapist. I haven’t been to sleep yet, because I’m thinking about suicide again. I’m so sick of going to see doctors, and other people just to try and get my life straight. It sometimes becomes more than what I want to deal with, and I think suicide will take me away from it all. But I’m still a fucking chicken, so until I get up enough nerve to confront an officer into pulling the trigger, I’m stuck living this miserable life.
I’m still trying to visit as many different sites that I can so it will keep me distracted long enough for the really bad days to pass. Yesterday and today were miserable. All day long I was angry, and it really was for no reason at all. I have days like that. I become so angry at everything and everybody that I feel like I want to just choke the fuck out of everybody I see. It’s like this rage that I have deep inside of me and I don’t know what to do with it all. Some days I feel like I can’t take it anymore and I’m going to explode in a violent frenzy and go on a killing spree. Taking as many victims as I can with me.

I just want my chest to stop hurting, my hands to stop sweating, to stop feeling like I want to throw up........I want to feel real.

Arrest record and police encounters.

(All names have been changed for privacy reasons. On some I just put my age, others I put the date of the encounter or the approximate date. This is a list from all the paperwork that I still have. There are a few arrest and encounters that I do not have the paperwork on, or I’ve just forgotten about. I’m not posting this because I’m bragging, I’m just trying to find a pattern to my madness, and hopefully by posting it all, I can get it all out of my system.)


Age 10 Questioned by the police about what happened when my older brother Richard was shot by an arrow in his right lung by my half brother Wally who is now in prison for murder.

Age 11 Questioned by the police about what happened when Richard shot my younger brother Dustin, in the chest with a 22 rifle.

Age 13 Questioned by the police about a purse being stolen. No proof. Secret Smile.

Age 18
November 1984 dated Robbie, LEO
December 1984…Dated and then raped by Highway patrolman Mike.
January 1985 suicide attempt, cut wrist
January 1985 Police came to my house and arrested Tammy for public intoxication. Two days later my half-brother Wally was arrested for public intoxication.
January 1985 Stopped after letting a boyfriend drive my car without license.
January 1985 stopped by officer. All beer confiscated. Let go.

February 1985 My first arrest…public intoxication, resisting arrest, assault and battery on a police officer.
2/85 Suicide attempt
2/21/85 EDO (emergency detention order) taken to Eastern State Hospital Suicide attempt…overdose
3/6/85 Larceny of merchandise from retailer, Jailed.
3/27/85 Larceny of merchandise from retailer, resisting arrest, assault an battery on a police officer, unlawful possession of a controlled drug (valium). Jailed.
Probation.
4/85 speeding ticket
4/85 speeding ticket
4/1/85 Larceny of merchandise, burglary second degree, jailed.
4/6/85 speeding 55 in 25, defective vehicle, assault and battery on a police officer, resisting arrest. Jailed.
4/8/85 speeding ticket
4/85 passing on right ticket
4/85 obstructing alleyway ticket
4/85 speeding 38 in 25 ticket
4/21/85 speeding 39 in 25, disobeyed traffic sign
4/23/85 Driving while impaired, public intoxication, possession of dangerous and controlled substance, possession of drug paraphernalia, defective vehicle (tires and brakes), possession of 3.2 beer by a minor…jailed.
4/25/85 defective vehicle
5/85 EDO ESH suicide attempt
5/15/85 operating a defective vehicle
5/85 public intoxication, jailed
5/85 public intoxication, jailed
6/17/85 obstructing an officer, burglary of Auto second degree, resisting arrest, assault on a police officer.
6/85 EDO ESH uncontrollable behavior
6/85 arrested…failure to pay
7/85 Worked at the police department to work off fines.
7/85 assault and battery (got into fight with someone)
8/85 failure to pay all cost. Jailed
8/85 public intoxication, resisting arrest, assault and battery on police officer.
9/85 sent to prison.
A few of the reports against me while in prison: Class B institutional misconduct report for disobedience to order on November 6, 10, and 29 of 1985. Class A misconduct report for battery on November 9, 1985. In addition the staff had to use force to restrain her on November 20, 26, and December 10, 1985. Refuses to attend Impulse control class.
8/86 released from prison
Parole and probation.
9/86 Dated several LEO's
10/86 public intoxication, possession of controlled substance
12/86 became a missing person
1/87 SWAT takedown
1/87 EDO overdose
2/87 possession of marijuana, and heroin (charges dropped)
10/88 house searched
4/12/90 No license on person
5/91 speeding ticket
6/91 Larceny of merchandise, Grand Larceny
8/02/96 speeding 84 in 65, reckless driving.
10/06/97 attempting to elude a police officer, driving while suspended.
11/13/97 reckless driving, jailed
97 Grand Larceny
98 probation Officer Nunnelee
12/28/98 failure to obey traffic control device, failure to use seatbelt.
3/15/99 Improper parking.
2000 no inspection sticker
2/18/00 speeding 80 in 55
6/30/00 Bench warrant application to revoke suspension of sentence
11/10/00 failure to maintain compulsory liability insurance, following at unsafe distance
5/01/01 speeding 52 in 40
8/17/01 speeding 57 in 40
9/21/01 no seatbelt
9/26/01 reckless driving
1/12/02 speeding 55 in 35, driving under suspension Jailed
4/04/02 possession of drug paraphernalia, failure to stop at stop sign, possession of marijuana.
2003 possession of marijuana, stopped and searched at the park.
2003 searched…couldn’t find anything.
2003 speeding
2004 speeding
9/24/04 no seatbelt
10/26/04 misdemeanor drug possession, arrested for posting McDeath online,
6/01/05 DWI, marijuana possession

This is not all my encounters or arrest, but it is all I can think of for now. How fucking sad when you look at like this.

I'm trying to do the right thing.

I can’t believe it’s been one whole year since I stole anything. I know that might not mean much to other people but for me it has been one hell of leap forward. I feel if I can beat my first addiction, why not the rest?

I’ve become a member of several different sites, using different names just to see how people react to my different personalities. It’s something that I’ve found that I enjoy, and it keeps my hands and mind busy. Its funny how people react to a name, some never bother to find out about the person, they just see a screen name, decide they don’t like it and ban that person. I’ve gotten my kicks that way a few times. I’ve signed up calling myself a troll, only to be banned the second I printed a word.

I used the name Thief at several police sites, just to see what the reaction of the officers would be. It was funny…some officers just flat out hated me, while others wanted to know all about me and what made me become a thief. Hehe…and some were turned on so much by thief that they wanted to meet her. Maybe they seriously wanted to put the fuzzy cuffs on me that they were always talking about.

I have a couple of serious names that I use, and go to the same sites just to see how people react to that personality. It just amazes me how different people can be fooled into believing things that are not true. Playing the serious role is just not as much fun as playing the bad guy.
I have to say Ms Psycho has turned out to be as much fun as playing thief. Once again I have gone to police sites, just to see how the others will react. So far I’m playing along, and playing nice. One night when I get bored maybe I’ll tell everyone who I really am…hell who knows maybe they’ve already figured it out.

All I’m trying to do is not go through with my plans. The plans hang there over my head, like a bloody corpse that has been laying in the sun for days. I want it all to go away, but it won’t, so I do what I have to do to make it go away.

Seeking help.

So I finally went to see a psychiatrist about getting on some medicine to help with some of the more unusual thoughts that I’ve been having. I lie to the person who brings me, telling them its only a part of my regular yearly check up that people with disabilities have to have done. I don’t want to admit to the person closest to me that on a daily basis I think about suicide or have homicidal thoughts. But when the voices start to become louder than my own voice I know its time to get some help again.

Last time I spoke with a few officers online which helped me from committing suicide. I was close and went as far as going to a town where I knew I could easily provoke an officer into doing what I’m apparently to chicken to do. Just the act of following through with my plan up until the last possible moment was enough to bring me back to reality for a little while. It gave me enough of an adrenaline boost to decide I really didn’t want to die at that moment, it could wait until another time. Now once again I am faced with those feelings, and the only way I feel I can get past this moment, is to do something …. I don’t want to say crazy… but something that will help me stay in reality without using some sort of drug.

I arrive at the office on time, matter of fact I was early, but I wanted to come early just in case I couldn’t find the place, or the weather might slow us down getting there. It was pouring down rain, and I almost wanted to cancel the appointment, but I felt if I didn’t go, one of my many voices would later talk me out of going back. I keep hearing all the voices of the officers I had talked to online saying, “Get some help. Find some support. Get on some medication.” So there I was drenched from head to toe when I walked into the small middle office building, and immediately the first thing I noticed everywhere there were religious posting from the bible. Every inch of the walls, the front part of a desk, book shelves behind the desk, and any where there was an open space hung something to do with religion. My first thought was to get up and run right back to the car through the pouring rain.

Out stepped an elderly lady, who I later found out was the doctor wife, took my information, and told me the doctor went to get some copies and some coffee. Another bad sign that I should have ran. As I sat down in a waiting chair I could see down the hall way into the doctors office, where there were large bibles placed around the room. But the worst of all, the finally factor that made me decide that no matter what I will not return to see him ever again was the cleanliness of the office. Paper, boxing material, old packages, etc., basic garbage, was sitting around everywhere possible.

After waiting 45 minutes for the doctor to return, because he had got caught in traffic during the rain, he finally showed up and led me to his chamber of horror. I could barely sit down in the chair, because it basically grossed me out. It was dirty, and like I said the room was so overly packed with papers and other debris that you could not see his desk, or anywhere on the floor. Yuck!!!! Yes I have OCD….but you might too after seeing his office.

Still I tried and talked about why I was there, and how I hadn’t been sleeping very well. I didn’t get too far into the details, but enough that he wanted to continue talking to me even after his next patient had arrived. Mostly it was about religion, and I told him if there was a God, God forgot about me a long time ago. He said I should go on to become a minister….inside I wanted to laugh my ass off at such a crazy suggestion, but I just left him believing that it sounded like a great idea. Almost 2 hours later I’m finally leaving with a script for insomnia. The doctor wants me to come back in a few days to see about putting me on more medication, but I won’t be going back. Help will have to come from somewhere else.

What the fuck am I doing?

I have moments of clarity in my life and it is then that I have to ask myself, ‘What the fuck am I doing?” I think I know what I want from life, but I feel I have no way to achieve that goal. I can’t do it alone, and I hate asking for help from others, but what other choice do I have? I try to maintain and be as normal as possible; again it’s just not easy. Sometimes I want to listen to the voices in my head, but there are so many that it makes it hard to know which one I should listen too.

The more I think about suicide the more the voices from my past come slamming forth like someone hitting me in the head with a sledge hammer. They remind me of how Tommy couldn’t handle life either and took his own life with a gun to the head. He had been at my house just he day before, telling me how things were just not going good for him, and he felt like giving up. He said he was still going to work everyday, but at every chance he got he smoked weed, and drank until he passed out. And on his days off he would become so intoxicated that he barely remembered the next day what he had done the night before.

I told him he couldn’t give up, and some how when he wasn’t looking things would get better. That’s what I should have fucking said, BUT I DIDN’T. Instead, I told him people either get off of drugs or they eventually die from drugs. I wasn’t using at the time and thought I had beat drugs, so I figured I had the right to say what I did. His fear was that he would forever go through life being drunk and high, and inside he didn’t want to live that way. Inside, he just wanted to feel normal.

Is that such a terrible thing for a God is who is all powerful, to be able to do? Just give us strength to feel normal long enough to get our life together. Is that really so much to ask? That’s why I don’t believe God is alive today. If He is up there listening and watching, when I die I want to go up to Him and ask Him what the fuck his problem is. Hope He has enjoyed the show. But alas, I believe we are nothing but worm bait when we die and nothing more.

Is smoking weed worth the price you have to pay?

Post for Price of Weed posted here: http://whathappenedtoprotectandserve.blogspot.com/2008/02/price-of-weed.html

______________________________


I go to court this week for a review on my last charges. I can’t believe it’s been almost a year since I was stopped and charged for the marijuana possession. I found out the other day when I paid some that I still owe close to $1000.00 dollars in fines. ALL FOR A PIECE OF WEED THIS ___ BIG!!!!! I’ve paid as much as I can each month, but I don’t think the Judge is going to like how much I’ve paid. But I had to pay 175.00 for the drug and alcohol assessment, and pay Tulsa County their money each month. And I still have to come up with almost a thousand dollars to get my license back along with taking intensive outpatient treatment and therapy. I don’t know how much that is going to cost. Again… ALL FOR A PIECE OF WEED THIS ___ BIG!!!!!

I know it was more than just the weed he found; he was trying to show me that he’s the one in control, and not me. That he follows the law, no matter what. Or maybe he believes somehow that he is going to save my life by making me get off of drugs. Could be that he’s just an asshole who goes on power trips and likes to fuck up peoples lives that he doesn’t like. ALL FOR A PIECE OF WEED THIS ___ BIG!!!!! It’s no wonder our court systems are so full now days, and prisons are overflowing.

So should I get off completely free? After all I did break a law. I was in possession of a piece of weed, even though there wasn’t enough to even weigh. It wasn’t something that I was selling. He knew it was for personal use only. Still, it was wrong. So give me a 100 dollar fine, not a 1500 dollar fine that only causes future problems with the family because you don’t have the money to get the things you need. Then put me on probation and maybe order me to drug treatment. I damn straight don’t need to lose my license because of this. How do they expect me to take my kids the places they need to go? Their father damn straight won’t. So I feel like my kids are being punished. Again yes it is my fault that I tend to self medicate just to make to the next day. But I’ve never hurt anyone other than myself. You can’t say I shouldn’t be driving, because I’ve never had a wreck in my entire life. Not even a close call when driving while I’m high.

Now I go to court and wonder if I’m going to go to jail or not. Each time I have to show back up I fear this. It causes me to have panic attacks, for which I have to take something to help me relax before going, or I would probably throw up right there on the floor in front of everybody. I've given up smoking weed for now, because I know when I do appear in court the Judge is going to want me to take a UA. Which I know how to pass, even if I wasn’t clean. The places they have you go, don’t watch you well enough.

Another thing I finally did was go see a psychiatrist. What a fucking weirdo!!! I swear to God some of these psyches are worst than me. His office made me want to shower for a week!!! It was so nasty, and things were piled everywhere looking like it had never been cleaned. I couldn’t handle it, so I doubt I will ever go back to him. I’ll post another time what happened. At least I got a few good drugs out of him....damn I’m a junkie. But I'm still trying.


Price of Weed....Post located here...

http://whathappenedtoprotectandserve.blogspot.com/2008/02/price-of-weed.html

I confess...

I keep a weapon hidden on me at all times.
I saw a good friend die.
Some days I can’t stop eating.
I have a few secrets that I will never tell.
I suck at being a writer.
I stole things from a hotel room where I was staying.
I have a plan for my death.
I think about death everyday.
I have been arrested over 30 times.
I have sold drugs.
I witnessed a murder.
The first time I got drunk, it was with a police officer.
Some days I think about killing everyone I meet.
I hate myself.
I have lied to a police officer.
I have warrants for my arrest.
Today the voices in my head are fighting.
When I was younger my father took naked pictures of me.

Why I like talking to the police.

Since I’ve been posting on my blog I’ve received several e-mails, some are of course negative and telling me how crazy I am, while others are very supportive and want to help me in any way they can. In the end though, the message is always the same, I need to get some type of professional help is the main concern from the officers I meet, while others tell me they understand my pain because they too have experienced the same feelings. It amazes me sometimes when I come across those who truly care whether or not I live or die. And sometimes I think the officers are just trying to prevent me from committing more crimes, which I guess is good. (I’m getting there; I’m just not there yet.)

The strange thing I have found about speaking to officers online, is that it gives me enough of an adrenaline boost to make me feel okay for a short period of time. It’s an addiction I can’t stop. Is that so wrong? When I talk to them, they stay in my head, and when I go out their voices are still there and I don’t commit crimes. I know that sounds weird but it works for me. I don’t want to be a law breaker, a criminal, a drug addict, a loser, or a drain on society. Damn it! I just want to feel normal for one fucking day! So I confess some of my darkest secrets online to complete strangers just so I can feel okay and be able to make it to the next day.

Its a cold world when you have to hide all by yourself.

This is my place to cry and to be able to let go of some of the hate that I keep so tightly stored during the day. Right now everything and everybody seem to be driving me nuts. I can go anywhere by myself any more, because HE thinks Ill get in trouble, so he checks the mileage on the car each night now just to make sure I don’t go anywhere. The only time I leave the house now is when he drives me to the store once a week, and then it’s back to the dark cave in the bedroom. Hell even when I was driving I had to hurriedly make it back sometimes or HE would be so pissed off and angry that I was late and then he always demanded to know where I was.
In the beginning he was so nice, and things I thought were going to be wonderful. He moved in with me the night after the first time we had sex. He told me he loved me and wanted to spend the rest of his life with just me. He said I was the perfect woman for him, and it made me feel special. Still, I wasn’t sure I was ready for another relationship, but there he was from the time I woke up until the time I went to bed. After only a few weeks of living together, I realized I just couldn’t be the perfect woman that he thought I should be. He expected me to just automatically know all his needs and wants, and then I was to make sure they were fulfilled.

I tried talking to a few of my friends about how I didn’t know what to do, and they all suggested that I leave him right then and there, but I thought somehow I could change him. One day we got into a really big fight and I screamed at him I should just do as my friends said leave him. It was the worse thing I could have said, and it was also the last time I spoke to any of my friends. We moved to another town where I knew no one, and he liked it that way, and did not want me to make any new friends. So that’s the way it’s been for the past 15 years. He has now convinced me that I was the one who didn’t want anyone around. It’s just that I’ve grown use to the isolation.

After all these years I still expect things to get better, but they never have, they’ve only continued to get worse. Over the years when I threatened to leave he would sometimes hold me down and tell me I wasn’t going anywhere. We were together until we died together. He tells me I’m the reason he becomes so angry, I make him that way, so I try as hard as I can to make things easy on him. Things are okay for a long time sometimes and then suddenly without warning he changes into another person and no matter how hard I try I can not do anything right.

At times I feel like I’m at the end of my rope, I don’t know what to do. Saturday night is our usual night to have sex, no matter what else is going on. I should have known better when I told him I didn’t want to have sex because I just didn’t feel good. It turned him into the other person. He began screaming and cussing at me, then he threw things across the room and kicked the trashcan everywhere. You ain’t any fucking good, bitch. Why didn’t you say something earlier if you didn’t want to have sex? You know we have sex every Saturday night. So what’s your fucking problem? He continued to call me every foul name that he could think of, until I finally gave in. I wanted him to just calm down, so I told him I would take a bath and that would make me feel better and we could have sex. After smoking a very large blunt that he made me roll, he told me to turn over. I still didn’t really want to have sex, so I just laid there barely moving until he was done.

Report child abuse sites

ASACP Association of Sites Advocating Child Protection

If you come across a site that has child porn, pictures, etc.
Report the website.



http://www.asacp.org/report.php

My life growing up helped to form who I am.

During the time when Dustin was in the hospital, Wally had returned from Texas. He wasn't getting along with his real father and decided he wanted to come back. He and I began going with my father as he would rob various places at night. He had told us the most important thing was to never, never brag to anyone. “If you keep it to yourself no one will know but you", was a saying my father would repeat to Wally and me as we went with him to be his lookout. We were to look in opposite directions and watch for anyone coming and honk the horn if we saw any lights. He would steal batteries, tires, car parts, boats, boat motors, 3 wheelers, motorcycles, gas, cattle to butcher and anything else of value that we can across. When the eclectic and telephone companies came to put in new line, we went out several times stealing items they left laying around. He stole truckload after truckload of electric copper tubing. He would cut it up in long pieces and put them in the back of the truck until it was full. He would then take all the copper tubing and stack it in a big pile out behind the garage. Then he would dump gasoline over all of it and set it ablaze, burning off the outer rubber. Everyone would stand around and watch as my father would throw more gas on top, causing it to flame up really high into the air. After it cooled, we would all grab a piece and pull out the copper pieces to sell. We then loaded the copper strips back into the truck along with whatever else we had stolen, to sell at a place that recycled metals in Kansas. Once my father found out the type of things they were willing to buy, he began stealing more and more things. It became a regular week-end 'outing' to run to Kansas and sell the things we had stolen throughout the week.

One week-end as we were burning off some copper, someone from the sheriffs department showed up. He said he was just driving by and saw the smoke and just wanted to make sure there wasn't a big fire. My father told him we were just burning some trash out back, and he had it completly under control. The officer looked over at me and smiled. He was the same one who had come to our place after Dustin was shot. My father had talked trash about him after he had tried to talk to Richard about shooting Dustin. My father said the deputy had accused Richard of shooting Dustin on purpose and wanted to take him in for questioning, but my father didn't allow him. Now he wanted to look and see what my father was burning and again my father refused. "You get a warrant and I'll let you look, but until then I'm telling you, you better get your ass off my property". The Deputy looked at me, smiled again and then got back in his truck and left. Afterwards my father began saying how much of an asshole he was. "A man can't even make a living without some fucking pig messing it up. God damn places already have enough money", he shouted angrily then quickly went back to check on the fire. "If anyone ask you kids anything, tell them we were just burning trash. They don't need to be in our business, so keep your damn mouths shut", he said then he pointed at me, "and Tayla don't you ever let me see you looking at a cop, ever again. Keep your eyes to yourself until you can show them no fear. They can see in your eyes if you're doing anything wrong."

My father became paranoid after the deputy had came that he stopped stealing the telephone cable line and began stealing cattle instead. Just a few heads at a time. Most were young unmarked cattle from around in different areas. Some he sold for cash to friends, others he butchered and put in the freezer. We never got caught at robbing anything, so it continued for years, even after Dustin had gotten out of the hospital.

My first Arrest: I am the bad guy.

I worked the next few days and then I got two off. On my last night of work, when I was on my way home from work I met John as he was stopping by Jan's place. She wasn't home, so I invited him over to my place for a beer or two. We talked for awhile, then he pulled out a bag of pills and handed me two.

"What are they?” I asked.
"Something to help you relax, they're Darvacet".
"What do they do?"

"Don't worry. They'll just help you relax. I like you", he said handing them to me. "I don't want to hurt you. Take them both. You can trust me".

I wasn't sure what to do. I had heard words like that before, but I still wanted him to like me, so I took the pills and washed them down with a drink of beer. We sat talking for awhile, but soon the pills made me very sleepy. My voice was slurred and everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.

"I'm going to bed. I can't stay awake any longer", I said with a big yawn and a distance far away look.

"Sounds good, can I join you?” he asked with a big smile.

I couldn't bring myself to say yes, "I'm not feeling too good, maybe another time."
"Well okay then, I'll stop by tomorrow if you're not to busy".
"Sure. I'll be here".

John hung around for the next couple of days. I was beginning to really enjoy his company. On my next day off we bought a case of beer and went driving around. I drove until I had become so drunk, that I had to let John take over. He drove around until 1:00am doing nothing but talking and listening to the radio. By the time we got back to the house I could barely stand, but John helped me into the house and afterwards, I quickly feel asleep. I was awaken around 2:34am by John talking to someone in the living room. I could hear another guy's voice, but I didn't know who it was.

"Man, do you even like her?"

"Not really, but it's a free place to stay for awhile, plus she's paying for all the beer", I heard John saying, and then he laughed.

My heart dropped. I wanted him to like me. I became so angry. I wanted to cry, scream, do something, but I was too hurt and even scared. I laid there quietly until I heard them leave. I got up, got dressed, then I started crying, "That bastard lied; he didn't even like me!" I hit the wall hard in anger and it felt good, so I hit it again and again. My heart welled up in my chest. It hurt and I wanted to die. I grabbed my keys and ran out the door. I got in my car and turned the key. Nothing. It wouldn't start. Angry, I shouted, "Damn it. Damn it!"

I took a deep breath. I thought I didn't need to drive anyway because I was still drunk. I got out, slammed the door, and then walked back in the house. I picked up my jacket and walked into the bathroom. I opened my Uncle's medicine cabinet and took out the bottle of valiums. I opened the bottle and took three then I put the bottle in my bra; in case I wanted one for later I told myself. As I took off walking, tears again rolled down my cheeks. I thought back over the past few months. Things were suppose to be going good after I left home. Nothing ever seems to go right. Nobody cares. Nobody understands. Why do they treat me like I'm a piece of shit? Is because I'm fat? Why? I wiped off my face and walked into all night convenient store. I purchased a can of beer without showing any I.D., so I could take another pill. I walked towards downtown drinking the rest of the beer. Where was I going? I didn't know. I didn't care anymore. I finished the beer and threw it down on the ground. The beer and pills had taken effect and I stumbled, almost falling down.

The next thing I knew, someone was grabbing my arm and talking to me.

"Let me go!” I shouted and pulled away. My mind was so fuzzy that I didn't realize what was going on. I turned and saw two police officers. I panicked and began resisting. Afraid of what they might do, fear over took my mind and I felt the need to run away as quickly as possible. I didn’t want any man especially a cop, touching me. I tried to pull away, but they shoved me up against a rough concrete building and put my hands high up behind my back.

"Let me go!” I shouted at the top of my voice. I wasn't going to take it anymore. I wasn't giving in and doing what they wanted. I wanted to fight back for the first time in my life. Both officers fought with me until they were able to cuff me, all the while I continued screaming at them, telling them they could go to hell. They put me in the back of the squad car and drove me to the jail. They sat me at a desk and remove the cuffs then began asking me all kinds of questions. Name, age, address, etc. "Do you have any unusual scars or bruises?"

"No", was all I could say and then I began crying. I took my glasses off and sat them down on the desk and began wiping my eyes.

The assistant chief sat down across from me, "Look up at me", he asked.

When I finally looked up he asked, "What happened tonight?"

I wanted to blurt it all out; to tell him everything, but I couldn't. All I could see was the fact that he and the others were standing around me in uniforms. I just shook my head and looked back down. Besides I thought what could he do? He's a cop, a man. I just cried more. They took all my jewelry and keys then asked if I had anything on me. There was no female officer to search me, so I was taken straight back to a cell. They through a thin mattress down on a cot then slammed the door cell behind me. The loud clanging of the cell door shutting made me feel forever alone. I felt I was being punished for what "they" did.

"I'm not drunk!” I screamed out, hoping they might let me out.

"You can get out in the morning", a deputy yelled back. "Now, lay down and go to sleep."

"Fuck you assholes", I shouted back.

As I laid down on the hard cot, I thought back to things that had happened in my life. I wanted to crawl in a hole somewhere and pull the dirt in over me. I wanted to understand why I was being punished in life. Why did I have to be the bad guy?