God Ripped an Arm Off My Teddy Bear

After a few drinks and a couple extra pills, I finally slept last night. Fourteen solid, deep, uninterrupted hours of dreaming. I didn’t really want to get up, but my mind finally focused on the fact the I hadn’t gotten up this morning, (the first time in 11 years) to make sure the boys got off to school okay. Other than every light in the house being on, everything was okay...they made it to school on their own without needing me.

Relaxing a little I had a bowl of cereal and then laid back down in bed to watch TV. I couldn’t really focus on what was on because I kept thinking about the dream that I had last night. I was trying to escape from a building that was like a jail, but I guess more of a place to hold someone...still like jail. I was strapped down to a small cot in the middle of a room where the wall, floor, and ceiling were all painted black. Someone or something came into the room and pulled at the straps holding me down, releasing me. I began to quickly run, (faster than I ever could in real life), jumping, dodging, weaving my way down a long hallway, until I was outside.

I’ve had dreams like this many times in the past...each one only slightly different from the other. This time I decided to see what I could found out about my dream. I looked it up in the Encyclopedia of 20,000 Dreams, and found some information that was quite interesting. It says that breaking free from jail, confinement, cages, ropes, or shackles may point to a desire for release from a situation, such as a job that is causing stress. The elation surrounding dreams of leaving jail may suggest feelings about a new opportunity in our life. However, if no joy accompanies the liberation, this could suggest anxiety about the challenges that lie ahead. Breaking out of jail on the other hand testifies to a determination to create your own chances and give free reign to talents that have too long been repressed. Alternatively, if you have been depressed recently, break-out dreams could suggest the need to seek serious help, as the dream may signify a yearning for the ultimate release---death. Interesting.

Time for a break the boys are home...

My son told me when he got home from school at 3:40 that he turned off my alarm because he thought I needed the sleep, and he was big enough to get up on his own.
Maybe they just don’t need me anymore.

I can’t seem to wake up today. Its nothing like the past 3 weeks where I was only getting 3 or 4 hours of sleep. Now all I feel like doing is hiding in a dark room with nothing on but the dull light from the TV to light the room. I don’t feel like cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, taking a shower, or even standing for more than a couple of minutes at a time. Thank goodness in the throws of mania, last week I spent several hours cleaning cabinets, wiping walls down, dusting, vacuuming ceilings, moving furniture around to try and find a new look, so nothing it extremely dirty.

Hopefully I crawl out of this shit hole of depression before everything becomes so nasty that I feel the only way to get rid of the decay is to burn it all. I hate things that are dirty or nasty. That’s one of the reason I can’t stand being locked down...prison wasn’t so bad...but the county jail is nasty. There are two many germs everywhere, and I start freaking out, thinking I’m going to catch something. My OCD becomes so extreme, that it then turns into a panic attack, then it turns into what happened the last time I was in jail...I cut myself. Not to die, but just to escape the feeling as if something is crawling all over my body.

Time for a nap...this computer is boring me.

Being Bi-Polar

Being Bi-Polar is like being two completely different people. The highs and lows can sometimes be quite a rollercoaster ride, so to help myself out I made this list.


Bipolar supplies that we need. You know...the must haves that we keep around ICORMS (in chase of radical mood swings).

I think that we should do a service here and make a list of necessary items and keep them in Two Boxes...one for mania and one for that shithole of depression.

For example...
Supplies to be put in The Manic Box

1. Patent office number....for those really fantastic, foil-proof, “gonna-make-us-rich and the world a better place” inventions and innovations. Don’t you hate it when in a moment of absolute manic genius, you are struck by a brilliant idea for something, only to lose it when you “come down”? Keeping the government patent office’s phone number on speed dial could mean the difference in being the next great Edison or losing the idea when the roller coaster hits stop.

2. Loud music. MP3, CD player, or your own rock goddess voice. This is a definite must have. Buy an extra and store it in The Box.

3. Memo recorder...the most thought provoking, earth shattering ideas come to us while manic. We need to record them.

4. Map...when else do we get the wild hair up our butt to travel to unknown places. And, we surely have to know how to get there. Plus, we may need to find a place to hide from those dreary, boring people who are harping at us to call our psych doc or therapist.

5. Phone numbers of all your friends that you have ever had since grade school. Face it...we like to chat quite a bit when manic and can run through several dozen conversations with various people in a short time. We don’t want to run out of listeners. So, while you are thinking about it, now, get out your phone books, address books , year books, etc. and write those numbers down.

6.Art supplies, camera, cookbooks, etc. NOBODY is more creative than a person in the throws of manic highs. We can paint, write, take photos, cook gourmet’ meals and do EVERYTHING else better than ANYBODY else.

7. Large sunglasses...our eyes tend to turn very red after not sleeping for days on end. Don’t want to get pulled over by a cop only to have him see your very bloodshot eyes. Artificial tear drops would be handy, too.

8. A note telling us not to do stupid things, like fuck with the police, go out drinking alone, trying to drive a 100 miles an hour down the highway, or spending more money than we really should.


That’s a few ideas for The Manic Box. Add some of your own if you like.


Ideas for The Shithole Depression Box

1. Loud music...the blues or any song that makes reference to depression. Sad country songs really do the trick.

2.A television...just to stare blankly at.

3.Blanket….for laying under while staring blankly at the television.

4. Kleenex...for obvious reasons.

5.Photos...pictures of all the people who have hurt us or done us wrong at some point in our life. Try to get large photos. You might want to sit them in a chair and refresh their memories of what horrible people they are. Also can be used as rage outlet by smashing, spitting on, pissing on, etc. Go ahead!!!!!! Don’t be afraid to show your mean granny your other cheeks and let her kiss them.

6.Ambien, Ativan, Valium or any other med that you will put you into a sleep or immobile stage. Why give a tinker’s damn about what’s going on in the world? It’s gonna explode any day now anyway. I want to be asleep when that happens. Plus, I want to sleep thru all the damn people pestering me to “buck up”, “go to church”, “get out”, “look at the bright side”...exactly the crap that I don’t want to hear.

7. Ear plugs...for the same reasons as #6.

8. Memo recorder...record all the stuff that you want to say to the people who have made your life a living hell. Let it out and use words like “fuck you”, “you’re a bug-fucking asshat, “you make Amy Winehouse look like Kelly Ripka”, etc. RECORD IT ALL! If you don’t feel enough energy now, you can use those phrases when you are manic again.

9. Deodorant...for the days that we can’t get out of bed to bathe.

Our boxes are not complete. I’m sure that there is more to add. Help me!
Hey, just a thought? Is this beginning to sound like a brilliant idea? Where’s that patent number?

The Secret is in the Telling

Put on your seatbelt… I wanna try something.

Why is it when you give a different opinion that a majority of people disagree with, they want to immediately jump down your throat and start calling you names? As if you are completely stupid or something. Why can’t a person have a different view of a situation?

The invention of the wheel was square at first, until another person saw it as needing to be round.

You don’t always have to do a double tap to the center of the chest to bring someone down. (If they are pointing a gun at you, then have at it...toy for toy.) So many officers that I have observed, have the attitude of, ‘He/she done pissed me off, now I have the right to shoot and kill them.”

Tasers may be necessary in some situations...like someone coming at you with a knife. I would rather that person be tased than to have them shot. I have read articles about a 6 year old being tased, or a 70 year old women. Not necessary!!! I’m a big enough of a person that if a 6 year old had a weapon, I could take it away from them without the use of a taser. Police officers should be able to do the same.

Just take a few deep breathes before you decide ‘I’m going to whip Joe blows ass just because he pissed me off’.

Note to self...don't write shit when you've been drinking.

Hide and Seek

Hide and Seek

The boss wondered why one of his most valued employees had not phoned in sick one day. Having an urgent problem with one of the main computers, he dialed the employee's home phone number and was greeted with a child's whisper.

“Hello?"

"Is your daddy home?" he asked.“Yes," whispered the small voice.

“May I talk with him?"The child whispered, " No.”

Surprised and wanting to talk with an adult, the boss asked, "Is your Mom my there?"

“Yes.”

"May I talk with her?"

Again the small voice whispered, " No."

Hoping there was somebody with whom he could leave a message, the boss asked, "Is anybody else there?"

“Yes," whispered the child, "a policeman."

Wondering what a cop would be doing at his employee's home, the boss asked, "May I speak with the policeman?"

"No, he's busy", whispered the child.

"Busy doing what?"

"Talking to Daddy, Mommy and the Fireman," came the whispered answer.

Growing more worried as he heard a loud noise in the background through the earpiece on the phone, the boss asked, "What is that noise?"

"A helicopter" answered the whispering voice."What is going on there?" demanded the boss, now truly apprehensive.

Again, whispering, the child answered, "The search team just landed a helicopter."

Alarmed, concerned and a little frustrated the boss asked, "What are they searching for?"

Still whispering, the young voice replied with a muffled giggle...

"me."

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Figure this one out.

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jIQong vIneH

Urges

I have the urge to jump over the counter at McDonalds and
Make my own Chicken McNuggets.
Because Im tired of telling them that I want them fresh.
I'll wait the five minutes but
They still give me some hot, nasty, microwave, re-cooked ones.
I have the right mind to slap the lady that tells me,
They are fresh. "No they arent!"
I want to shout right back.

Don't you ever have the urge to just punch people?
Too bad, I think sometimes that my body doesn't react to my minds first reactions.
I think my urges are sometimes mean.
They are like my evil twin.
Like I have the urge to grab a cops gun.
Everyone who knows me, knows I would never do that though.
I mean, of course, unless I felt like acting on one of my many urges.

I have the drive to go rob a bank on broke days.
Or go steal some money out of a cash register on some days.
I don't think I would ever really do that.
Yet, am I criminal for thinking criminal thoughts?
A hoe for thinking hoe thoughts?

I have the urge to go stand on the freeway
And hold my hand up, just to see how many cars I can get to stop.
I have the urge to get hit by one of those cars
To see who would come to my funeral.
Just cause I have the desire to find out if anybody really cares.

Am I the only one?
Do other people think about doing things that they would never do?
Am I the only one that says to myself,
What if? What if I did this? What if I did that?
What if I stood in the middle of the street buck ass naked?
Would you laugh at my ugly body?
Okay, maybe you dont think that,
And maybe that was just a little too much information.
But you know what I am saying.

What if we all acted out our urges?
I'd be dead, in jail right now, or in a insane asylum,
Trying to refrain from thinking about why I acted on my urges.
I have the urge to become a cop so that I can arrest bad cops.
Or I might like to lie and say Im only 12
So I can catch the pedophile who is acting on his urges.

I have the itch to tell the bill collector that keeps calling and sending mail,
That I'm not ever going to pay them the money.
At least not until I get the money.
I have the longing to tell telemarketers to kiss my ass.
I have the urge to splurge, no work, just play all day,
Walk around cussing, telling everyone they can go to hell.
But I can't do that. I won't do that.

That doesn't mean I dont have urges.
That doesn't mean I dont slip and fall sometimes
...okay a lot of times.
I have the urge to slap people that criticize us when we do fall.
When we fall victims to our urges, our desires, our sins.

Not all my urges are bad, cruel and senseless.
I have some nice urges, some sad urges,
Things to do urges, things I want to believe urges.
Like I have the urge to believe that things really happen like they do in the movies.
But as soon as I step out of the movie theater, reality erases that urge.
Sometimes I have the urge to cry in public,
but I'm afraid to let others see me cry.

At times, I have the urge to sing,
even though I can't sing a note.
Urges are a funny thing.
Can you judge a person by their urges?
If so, then I a pretty weird person,
leading a double life.
But I dont think so, urges are what they are.
Quick thoughts thrown at our brain from whichever angle.

When we decide to act on these urges good or bad,
Then we become them.
Most of us rationalize and think.
And most of us don't act on all of our urges.

Adrenaline Rush--Make Me Feel Alive

I’m neither wicked nor cruel, but I hunger for the unexpected. Racing does not interest me, yet I attend it often, hoping to see a huge pile up of cars. Or see one crash, sending flames high into the air. I also go to bullfights to see if perhaps one of the bulls might go wild and mangle or gore those who are trying to kill it. But its calculated bloodshed was mundane, too controlled to really enjoy. Meaningless suffering revolts me; I crave the thrill of a sudden catastrophe.

Ten years after waiting, I finally got to see a huge pile up of cars that caused a huge explosion. Several drivers were injury, but nothing very serious. Soon afterwards, I saw a matador gored repeatedly, and then throw 50 feet through the air. Afterwards I fell in a deep depression and lost interest in watching cars race and matadors killing bulls.

One morning I saw a poster of a cyclist who was planning on riding down a slanted track, and then go through a circular loop that plummeted straight down. The newspapers ran the story explaining that the cyclist intended to ride down the dangerous route in front of a live audience.

“When I reach the loop," he told reporters, “you’ll actually see me round it upside down!” The press was invited to inspect the track and the bicycle.

“I use no mechanical trickery, or wires,” the daredevil bragged, “nothing but precise scientific calculation. That and my ability to keep up my nerve.”

When I read the article, my good spirits returned. I immediately went to buy a ticket. I did not want my attention distracted when the rider looped the loop, so I purchased an entire box of seats opposite the track and sat alone on opening night. After a suspenseful wait, the cyclist appeared high above the audience at the top of the track. A moment of tense anticipation, then down he went. As promised, he circled the loop with head underneath and feet in the air--and then it was all over.

The performance certainly thrilled me, but as I exited with the crowd, I knew I might experience the same intense sensation once or twice more and then, as always the feeling would die. Still...bicycles break, road surfaces wear out...and no man’s nerve hold out forever. Sooner or later, there must be an accident.

The cyclist was scheduled to perform for the next three months and then move onto another town. I decided to go to every single performance, even if I had to follow the show to the next town. I bought the same row of seats for the entire time he was to be in my town, and sat in the same seat night after night.

One evening two months later, the performance had just ended and I was on my way out when I noticed the cyclist in one of the corridors of the auditorium. I walked up to him, but before I could utter a word, the cyclist stuck out his hand to greet me.

“I know you. You come to my show every night.”

“That’s true. Your remarkable feat fascinated me, but who told you I’m always here?”

“No one,” the rider smiled. “I see you myself.”

“But how can you, being up so high? At such a moment, are you actually able to study the audience?”

The cyclist laughed. “No. It would be dangerous for me to look at a crowd shifting and moving around. But there is something I do which the public is unaware of.” The cyclist wink. “This will be our little secret, okay? When I mount my bicycle and grasp the handlebars, I never worry about my own strength and coordination, but the total concentration the ride demands concerns me. It’s almost impossible for me to empty my mind of all but one idea. My greatest danger is that my eyes may stray. So, here’s my trick -- I find one spot in the auditorium and focus all my attention on it. The first time I rode in the hall, I spied you in your box and chose you as my spot. The next evening, there you were again.”

The next night I sat in my customary seat. The usual excitement filled in around my row of seats. A hush fell when the rider made his entrance, a black speck far overhead. Two men held his bicycle. The cyclist gripped the handlebars, stared out over the heads of the crowd and shouted the signal. The men gave the bike a shove.

At that instant, I rose and walked over to a different seat. The audience screamed as the cycle and rider shot off the track and plunged into the middle of the crowd. Smiling, I put on my jacket, and walked away.

Death Waits and Lingers

Truth or Reality

I'm lost somewhere inbetween.

Have you been to the edge? Crossed over, and felt the cold steal metal in your hand as you slide the razors sharp edge across your body? Watched as you skin spreads apart and reveals the blood soaked tender tissue below?

Have you ever held a weapon so tightly in your hands, that not even God himself could pry it away from you? Holding the gun to your head, finger on the trigger…asking out loud …is Today the day? Would anybody notice? Would anybody REALLY care?

Have you ever taken one too many pills, but then discovered even that one more wasn’t enough? Have you ever thought about refusing to sign that speeding ticket, forcing the officer into a confrontation to end your years of torment? Are you willing to admit that you’re that much of a chicken?

What about a rope? Cutting off your air supply and letting your body freely swing through the air? Do you find peace?

These are just a few of the ways that I have thought about ending my life. Everyday at least once without warning or thought, I think about suicide. Sometimes a place, a smell, a sound, or a person will remind me of something from my past. And for those brief few seconds, sometimes minutes, sometimes hours, even all day sometimes, I think about death.

Chicken Pen

This is fiction...or is it?



Everyone in the house had gotten up early that morning and left for school or work. I had woke up feeling sick, but more than anything I was having severe cramps from just starting my 2nd period ever. At the last minute I convinced Mom to let me stay home from school, by saying I was having bad diarrhea. It worked because she saw me go the bathroom 4 or 5 times, she thought I was using the toilet, but I was adjusting the tampon that seemed to be making me sick to my stomach. My father had already left for work an hour earlier and wasn't to be back home until after 6pm on that day, so I would have the house to myself until at least 4pm when Mom, my brothers and sisters would all get home.


I laid down in bed and covered my head as I listened to sounds of family driving away. Once I was sure they were far enough away, I quickly got up and fixed myself a bowl of cereal and took 2 ibuprofen for the pain in my stomach. It wasn't long before I was feeling well enough to play the music on the stereo loud enough that if someone had lived within a mile of us that could have heard it bumping with a thunderous bass sound. I dance about crazy and wild, doing moves that I would never consider doing in front of someone.


I continued dancing until the water I had placed on the stove to heat up was ready. We didn't have a shower or any hot water, so the best way for me to get cleaned up was by heating a large boiling pot on the stove in the kitchen, then carry it to the bathroom and dump it into a larger container that sat in the bottom of the tub. I would then add cold water from the well that had natural spring water flowing into it at all times, to bring it to a temperature that was comfortable.


I stripped naked, stepped into the tub and began pouring water over my head from yet another pan. I tried to let as much water as possible drain back into the large bucket sitting in the tub, so that I would have enough to wash and rinse my hair and then wash the rest of my body. It usually took all the water and sometimes a little extra cold water from the faucet to feel completely clean.


After I finished cleaning up, I got dressed and then headed outside with my book Little House on the Prairie. I had a favorite spot where I liked to read, where no one knew I was there. It was on top of the chicken pen on the south side of the house. One day I had gotten mad at everyone and decided to 'disappear', and that was the place I had chosen to hide.


On top I could see everyone around me, without them seeing me. I spent time there watching Mom hang clothes on the clothesline, my father feeding the chickens and gathering eggs, I watched my brothers using their knives to cut down small branches to make into swords, I saw my sister playing with her dolls near a small garden. I could watch the world from there, and I loved how that made me feel.


There was a tree behind the chicken pen that made it easy for me to crawl up on top, so I found myself spending a lot of my time there alone reading and watching others. I brought an old blanket and my pillow so I could lay down and get very comfortable for a couple of hours. I only had a few chapters left in the book, so I hoped I could complete it before anyone got back.
It was still before noon when I finished the book, but I decided to stay on top of the chicken house a little long and soak up sun. I had almost falling asleep when I heard someone coming down the driveway. My first thought was that it was some stranger who had lost his way. As I listened to the vehicle coming closer I began to entertain even crazier thoughts of it being a murderer looking for his next target. Whoever it was, I didn't want to take a chance of being found home alone, so I stayed hid on top of the chicken pen and watched until whoever was coming down the road came into view.


My heart raced wildly when I saw it was my father in his truck. Fear over took me, and I began thinking about ways to escape in case he saw me. I didn't want to spend time alone with him. I was frighten to death of him. I never knew what he would try to do to me or what kind of weird off the wall kind of things he would try to make me do when no one was around.


The thoughts made my heart beat so fast from the adrenaline rush, that I thought it was going to explode. I was taking in deep breaths as if someone was choking me. After a couple more deep breathes I got up enough nerve to look over the top of the pen again and see what my father was doing. I watched as he began getting something out of the passengers seat that was wrapped up with a old blanket that had been in the back of his truck for weeks. I kept my eyes peeled on what he was doing, but keeping myself laying down as flat as possible so he couldn't possible spot me.


Fear rushed throughout my body when I saw him carrying what he had towards my direction. I ducked completely down and just listened to sounds of him coming closer. I heard him walk through the door opening into the chicken pen, and then I heard the sound of him opening the door to the inner part of the pen. It was the area just below where I was laying, the area where my father had many times brought deer that he had illegally killed out of season, or just a extra untagged one during the season.


I once had to hold the flashlight for my father as he hoisted a deer by the hide legs up into the air with a rope. He then took out a very sharp, large hunting knife and split the deer open from between its legs. All the while he would direct me where to point the light, and tell me to make sure I kept my mouth shut so that he didn't get into any kind of trouble with the law.


It wasn't deer season, but that was my first thought when I heard the sounds of him hoisting something up into the air using the rope that always hung over a set of steel rods that my father had put up in between two 4X8 beams. It was solid enough that you could swing back and forth on the ropes. But most of the time you couldn't stand being in the room for very long because it was always so hot inside. In the room there was only one very small window that was barely big enough to stick your head out of it. Not even big enough to escape out of if the need ever came.


After several minutes I became curious enough to look through one of the several small nail holes that were all over the top of the pen. I could see my father with his penis out of this pants, stroking it as he stood there staring in one direction. I quietly moved over to another nail hole and look down. My eyes felt like they were going to pop out of my head when I looked down and saw a young girl with brown hair and blood coming out of her mouth, hanging like a deer by her wrist high in the air. She looked like she had been beaten severely, until she became unconscious. I could hear small moans, but no words that I could understand. I watched with my eyes wide, not really believing what I was seeing, but scared to move in fear of getting caught and being the one hanging there.


My father moved into the picture and I could see and hear him slapping her hard across various parts of her body. He bit her hard on her nipples until both of them were bleeding. When he began having sex with her I turned away, no longer able to look at her suffering. I felt so sorry for her, but I was so scared and I knew there was nothing except for killing him that I could do to save her.


Since we lived so far out in the country we didn't have a phone. There were no lines that ran out that far, so if we wanted one, the phone company told Mom that they would have to pay to put up the lines, which cost several hundred dollars. Of course we never managed to save up that much money, so calling for someone to come rescue her was out of the question.


When I looked down again he was anal raping her with part of a old shovel handle. I could hear her crying out as he shoved it up her repeatedly. It was then that her eyes opened and we made eye contact. Our eyes wide, staring at each other, she began begging for my father to stop what he was doing. She looked directly at me, and screamed, "please help me, don't let him kill me!"

My father stopped what he was doing and looked up. I rolled over and away from the hole, looking for a possible escape, but making a lot of noise on the tin roof as I did. There was no where for me to go to get away quick enough without him spotting me, still I tried. I made it half way down the side of the tree when I felt him grabbing me by the legs. He pulled me hard and I tumbled down and hit the ground with a hard thump. He held the gun down near my face and asked me what the hell I was doing home. I got to barely explain before he grabbed me by the back of my hair and pulled in towards the door of the chicken pen.


"I promise I won't say anything! Please don't kill me!" I screamed from the bottom of my soul.

"Shut the fuck up and do as I fucking say!" he screamed at me as he jerked my head around.

He pulled me inside to the area where the strange girl hung silently in the air. Blood was draining down her legs from where the shovel handle was still stuck up inside of her.

"So you want to watch? Huh? Well watch this."

He then shoved the handle of the shovel all the way up inside of her, and she let out a loud scream that terrified me so much that I started shaking uncontrollably.

"Please just let her go." I begged. "Don't hurt her anymore. Stop making her suffer."

"Suffer?! Who cares if this whore suffers. She's just a piece of trash. Why don't you just put a end to her suffering? You're a part of this now. You know all about it. End it for her."

My father then grabbed his gun from the corner and put it in my hands.

"Just pull the goddamn trigger! Do you want to be the one laying there?"

I felt cold, distant. I couldn't take my eyes off of her eyes and the tip of the shotgun that was pressed hard between her two amber colored eyes. She looked at me and moaned deeply, begging for life without the use of words. I wanted to look away, walk away, run far to the ends of the earth and just jump off.

My father shouted at me with a voice that was more terrifying than dieing. "You better do it. If not I'm going to do to you, all the things I did to her. Do you fucking understand me? Now pull the goddamn trigger!"

He was holding the gun in my hands so tight that they had become numb, almost frozen in place. For a brief moment my heart stop beating. I didn't breathe. There was no sounds. Then it was all over. Blood poured from the wound, and gagging, bubbling sounds escaped from her mouth. Her eyes stared wide, directly looking into my eyes, looking for some type of hope. Some last chance. She grasp for one last breath of air and then her eyes lowered. I turned and vomited hard, falling down to my knees as I did.

My father untied her hands and let her drop to the floor as I stood there in shock. He wrapped her up in the blanket that he had carried her into the chicken pen with, and then through her over his shoulder. He picked up his 20 gauge and walked back to his truck and through her into the back. I recovered enough that I managed to get to my feet and walk outside. I met him half way between the chicken pen and his truck when he again grabbed me by my hair.

"You better keep this to yourself! If you tell anyone, anyone!! I'll make sure you spend the rest of your life locked up somewhere. I'll let them know you were the one who killed her, and you'll spend the rest of your life in jail getting fucked in the ass by some guards. Do you hear me Tayla? Keep you fucking mouth shut! Now as far as anyone knows I wasn't here today, so you better not tell anyone I was even home. Do you understand me?" He then yanked on my hair hard until I agreed.

Fear of my fathers rage, I did as I was ordered.

Stalking Coplounge

Just as I figured I wouldn’t be getting an apology. My friend told me she talked to, bored out of her mind apparently, Officer D again, because she didn’t believe it was my friend when she sent them a message, again Officer D believes it was me. Okay get over it and move on. I came to Coplounge in the beginning, years ago. You got to meet one of my personalities, that person hasn’t been back in years. Then you met Perdure, who was apparently normal enough that everyone on Coplounge got along with her for a year. Perdure never once caused a ‘problem’ on your board. And don’t you remember it was I who ended that relationship. Since then I have not returned to your board as Mjones or anyone else. Your board is not so interesting that I feel the need to stalk you and see what you are saying at every moment.
But just for fun...here’s a poem about stalking...enjoy!!! Hehe

Satisfy A Need

Stalking, creeping, peeping around in dark corners.
Am I there? Do you see me? I see you.
Watching, waiting, debating.
Just one more cigarette
I have no other place to be.

I’m so quiet you can hear the moonlight sigh.
I see you everyday as you come and go by.
You can not hide.
You’ll never have peace.
Do I make your skin crawl?
Do you feel sick?

I’m patient, silently waiting.
Am I here or there?
Do you see me everywhere?
Outside with the wind blowing through your hair,
Look around, you might see me standing there.

Am I creepy, a little touched?
Maybe it’s just all in your head.
Footsteps from behind,
No where to run,
No place to hide.

Who was really on the phone?
Am I out front
Or coming up from behind?
Hard to spot,
You might not get off a shot.

Later today I will email you as somebody you don’t know.
Do you feel fear washing over you?
Goosebumps up and down your spine.
For today the hunt will be done,
But there is always tomorrow.

To Coplounge: Where is my apology?

Those who never retract their opinions love themselves more than they love truth.--Joseph Jouber

My friend told me she sent you proof of who she was, and that she and her husband are the ones who use the name Mjones...not me!

You know you were wrong, now admit it, but it takes a lot of courage and humility to step up and acknowledge when you’re mistaken. Do you have that? You know you were definitely in the wrong, but you’re not taking responsibility for your mistake.

Most people who are addicted to being right never even get to the point where they can admit they were wrong. They never become conscious of the fact that they may just possibly have a flaw. Maybe you’re trying to save face or hold onto your self esteem, but whatever the reason is for you, next time you are addicted to being right, try a new tact. Try seeing it as an opportunity to admit you’re wrong. Admitting you are wrong shows you’re human. Are you human Officer D? Badgebunny?

Law enforcement has a hard time with this concept, they can’t or won’t admit when they are wrong about something. They just let the person go on sitting in that jail cell rotting away, even though they know they are wrong.

Poison in my Veins

Flowing through my bloodstream silently, sweetly.
On this night I will die from the poison in my veins.
Closing my eyes as I'm helpless and left for dead.
Slowly draining my life while nothing else remains.

Flowing through my bloodstream silently, sweetly.
Feelings of despair for living a broken existence.
There's an emptiness in the pieces of my soul,
As darkness overwhelms me without resistance.

Flowing through my bloodstream silently, sweetly.
Numbing the pain as I choke upon my final breath.
There's nothing anyone can do to try and save me.
My eyes close and I drift one step closer to death.

Flowing through my bloodstream silently, sweetly.
Feeling bitterness for past mistakes remembered.
So many regrets and lost chances for salvation,
As my soul flickers with its last burning ember.

Flowing through my bloodstream silently, sweetly.
Saying my last goodbye as tears run down my face.
On this night I will die from the poison in my veins.
Fading away from this life without another trace.

Cry on...No answer yet.

I was through crying.

It was just around the corner to where the search for answers to my past would come to an end, all I had to do was force myself beyond the thoughts and do what needed to be done years ago. It was one step in my journey that was just beyond a barbed wire fence, then down in a ravine.


A fence had been put up a few years after we moved out when the property was divided and sold to different people. I wasn’t sure who had purchased the property, but I had already came this far, and was determined to find out what if anything was still laying in the woods undiscovered.

The fence was new and stung tight enough that I couldn’t spread the wire fence apart in the middle. The only way to get to the other side was to go under the fence. I dropped to my knees then laid flat on the ground and rolled underneath. Once on the other side I stood and shook the grass from my pants and hands, and then looked towards the direction I had remembered. My heart began to race so fast that it hurt. I stood there for several minutes taking in deep breaths over and over again. I was shaking, on the verge of wanting to vomit. I had the feeling.

I knew the answer to one of my own questions was just beyond a few trees and tall brush. Was it real? What really happened? Was she still there? All I had to do was go and look . Just 50 more yards... “Do it now! You are so fucking ignorant! You fat ass bitch! You’ll never be anybody! Keep you fucking mouth shut!” I heard the voices of all the hurtful people who had said things to me throughout my life. The voices screamed loud. “Waste of sperm. She’s disturbed! It’s our secret. Ugly ass. Laughing. She’s not normal and probably never will be. You’ll always need some type of therapy. Keep you mouth shut! A good girl is a quiet girl! Just touch me here. 1234!”


My palms were sweaty, and sweat was dripping down from my forehead, the sounds of birds echoed loudly in my head. I could hear the rustling of my feet in the leaves as if the sound was being amplified a hundred times. I began to feel dizzy, then everything went black.


I awoke some time later, close to dark. I was cold and the grass had become damp. I wasn’t going into those woods after dark, was the excuse I gave myself. It would have to wait until another day. I hurriedly made it back to the car, seeing nothing, feeling nothing. I made it just as the sun went completely down. I quickly back out, locked my car doors and then fired my last joint.

It wasn’t meant to be then.

If you don’t like what I write, why come to my site?

Well, it was like I figured my neighbor is the one who was going to cop lounge, but they still believe it was me. I really don’t care what they think, but Jen said she would try to straighten things out with them. I rather doubt they will believe her, mostly because she knows me...so that is a strike against her. But she knows several officers from around here, so maybe whatever she does will get them away from my site.

Coplounge

If you don’t like what I write, why come to my site?

I'm not that interesting.

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall, Where is God when I fall?

Mirror Mirror on the wall

Where is God when I fall?

The Child Within,

Where has she been?

Living with memories of darkness and sin.

Cannot embrace that child within.

The shame it has no end.

Don’t show your face,

Stay inside and pray.

The corner is yours dark and gray.

Silence your heart

Don’t you cry!

What good would it do?

Don’t even try.

Can’t let her out.

People will see,

The scared little girl inside of me.

She wants to be loved.

She needs to feel safe.

Embrace her today along with her sorrow,

She wants to come out And play tomorrow.

AND JUST SO HE KNOWS FOR A WHILE I WASN'T ALIVE

I seek release.

Release from this bitter cold
that courses through my body,
and conquers the will of my heart .
Maybe if I take this razor to my wrists

I can cut the pain away.

I can watch the blood drip onto the floor

just so I can see myself slip away.
I can't hold the tears back

but I can cut the pain away.

Nothing is more refreshing

than one's life upon the floor.
Hold me in this bed a little longer

I can feel your fingers dig into me still.
Maybe if I take this razor to my wrists

I can cut myself away.

As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I take a look at my life and realize there's nothing left.
Memory, memory please go away,

The little girl in me wants to play.

From here to there

And there to where?

No one really seems to care.

Circling, whirling up and down

There is the sky
But where's the ground?

Never a child

I was destined to be

only a body filled with fear you see.

Always wondering what would come next

Always watching for him to come and get me.
The gray pavement flies beneath me

I close my eyes for a second and

I see you, your face

Burned into my memory

Like a bad dream

That I can’t wake up from.

I close my mouth but there is still a taste that I can’t stand.

                                       I smile through a thousand tears

so that no one knows my aches and fears.

Consumed by great shyness

that swallows me whole

No one sees the fire burning in my soul.
I always look behind me

for I feel someone is there.

I feel his eyes all over me

but I can’t see him anywhere.

I never speak up.
I say nothing at all.

Afraid someone will notice
if I should happen to fall.

Trying to hide disappear from the crowd

feeling left out like I’m not allowed.

I can smell his anger

locked so deep inside his soul

He had to feel the power

and so, my life, he stole.

I lock everything up

where it never comes out

so no one can feel my worry and doubt.

I’m longing for the day

when I'll finally be free

so that people can see

Normal is all I want to be.

I bleed alone.

Coplounge...Just be yourself and if people don’t like it, well fuck them.

Well, I had another post that I was going to post, but it seems like I need to respond to the fact that some law enforcement officials have found my site. They seem to find it rather disturbing to their souls. Why? It’s just words, thoughts, doesn’t mean that at any moment I going to snap and break you little freakin necks.

Yes, over 2 years ago I was going through a very stressful time...I stopped taking depression pills, which left my mind wondering way out in left field. That was then.

Now for some reason they think I’m stalking them...hell I don’t know what the fuck they are talking about. I haven’t been back to their site since I stopped being Perdure. I was only on their site to let them see the other side of me....the half-way normal part of me. It was obvious that they didn’t want me around after I told them who I really was, so I left and I haven’t been back to Coplounge. A few days later I tried to go back to their site and they had me banned, so now I can’t go back to their site, so I’m not sure why the fuck they are fucking with me now. I think its my neighbor who keeps going to their site, and they think its me...anyway my neighbor told me about a month ago that she was banned from their site after reading some post about me.

This is the link a friend sent to me...but I can’t go there...so you’ll have to read for yourself what they are saying. http://www.coplounge.com/board/viewthread.php?tid=12963
I don’t really know what they are saying about me this time, and I really don’t give a flying fuck, but apparently a few articles that I’ve written have caught their attention. I have a site meter on here, and it tells me who comes to my site, and where they are from, so that’s how I found out last night that they are viewing my pages.

Now one of the from Hyde Park, Massachusetts...I think I know who that is, but I’m not going to name names, thought they were smart posting anonymously so that I wouldn’t know who posted some shit about me saying I was lying. All I have to say about that...contact either one of my sister’s they will tell you it happened, because it happened to them too, and no of us talked because we were afraid to talk. How dare you tell someone something like that!!!...just rape the victim all over again why don’t you! In your profession, how many other women have you told this too...‘ohhhh you are just lying’ ?

Have you ever once stopped and asked yourself what made me this way? Was it just because I supposedly came from some trailer park... As you put it? It wasn’t a trailer park, but we were very poor...sorry I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth. Being just poor wouldn’t have made me the person I now am. Other things that were going on around me, is what brought me to this place here on earth that I call hell.

Don’t worry there’s not much time left and then it will all be over.

Smile, it’s easier than explaining why you’re sad.

I was wandering around today trying to get lost.
It’s easy to do when you don’t know where you’re going.
Still, I found myself on familiar streets and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get lost.

Dying seems less sad than having lived too little.

I sat in the park for hours tying to clear my mind of all thoughts.
I felt like I wanted to cry from the bottom of my soul, but the tears wouldn’t come. Leaving my clothes carefully folded for the benefit of the police investigators,
I swam out to the middle of the lake, but the waves pushed me back to shore before I felt the least bit lost. I failed to get lost despite thinking very long and hard about the whole subject of getting lost.

Rollercoaster Ride...That’s how to explain my life.

I saw some young men with short hair, dead eyes, and angry faces under a bridge, that chased a long-haired man and beat him. When I tried to help him they told me to get lost or else. I thought they looked more lost than most.

It’s not the opportunities given, it’s the chances taken.

I found a police officer and told them about the long-haired man but they just laughed and told me to mind my own business and get lost.
I stood on the edge of a high building but nothing happened for a long time. I looked down at those looking up and eventually I got tired, came down and the crowd got bored then went away.

For all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these...
It might have been.
I meditated cross-legged, stood on my head, tried yoga positions, fell over, fell asleep, but still I could not lose myself no matter what I did. Perhaps the secret was not to try to get lost but rather to let go of my desire to do so.

Death may be the purpose of life. But what is the Meaning of Life? Those three words used in conjunction compose what is quite possibly the most annoying phrase known to man. The meaning of life, is simply, what you make it out to be. What do you want your life to mean when that inevitable day comes, and you die. No one will tell me, "Well, MsPsycho I want my life to mean nothing. I want to die alone as a bum under a bridge, having done nothing with my life." ... okay, someone somewhere may say that, but truthfully, no.

It’s the soul afraid of dieing that never learns to live.

The Purpose of life is to die. But not just to die, to die knowing that something came of the years spent on this world. To die without that... is to have lived without purpose.

Internet acronyms every parent needs to know. What does LMIRL mean?

Have you ever wonder what you kids are talking about while online? Here are a few Acronyms that every parent should know if they are allowing their kids to be online. Keep kids safe...know what they are doing and saying.



POS - Parent Over Shoulder
PIR - Parent In Room
P911 - Parent Alert
PAW - Parents Are Watching
PAL - Parents Are Listening
ASL - Age/Sex/Location
MorF - Male or Female


SorG - Straight or Gay
LMIRL - Let's Meet In Real Life
KPC - Keeping Parents Clueless
TDTM - Talk Dirty To Me
IWSN - I Want Sex Now
NIFOC - Nude In Front Of Computer
GYPO - Get Your Pants Off


ADR - Address
WYCM - Will You Call Me?
KFY - Kiss For You
MOOS - Member(s) Of the Opposite Sex
MOSS or MOTSS - Member(s) Of The Same Sex
NALOPKT - Not A Lot Of People Know That


2NITE - Tonight
AEAP - As Early As Possible
ALAP - As Late As Possible
AWGTHTGTTA - Are We Going To Have To Go Through This Again
B4YKI - Before You Know It
BOHICA - Bend Over Here It Comes Again
BRB - Be Right Back


BRT - Be Right There
CWYL - Chat With You Later
C-P - Sleepy
CYT or SYT - See You Tomorrow
E123 - Easy as 1, 2, 3
EM? - Excuse Me?
EOD - End Of Day
F2F - Face To Face
FOAF - Friend Of A Friend


HAK - Hugs And Kisses
ILU or ILY - I Love You
IMNSHO - In My Not So Humble Opinion
J/C - Just Checking
KOTL - Kiss On The Lips
L8R - Later
LD - Long Distance
LMK - Let Me Know
LOL - Laugh Out Loud


NAZ - Name, Address, Zip
N-A-Y-L - In A While
NM - Never Mind or Nothing Much
OLL - Online Love
OSIF - Oh Sh** I Forgot
OTP - On The Phone
QT - Cutie
RN - Right Now


ROTFL - Rolling on the Floor Laughing
RU - Are You...?
RUMORF - Are You Male Or Female
SITD - Still In The Dark
SMIM - Send Me an Instant Message
SMEM - Send Me an E-Mail
SO - Significant Other
SOHF - Sense of Humor Failure


SWDYT - So What Do You Think?
TOM - Tomorrow
TS - Tough Shit
TTFN - Ta-ta for Now
U-R - You Are..?
WFM - Works For Me
WTH - What the Heck
WUF - Where Are You From?
WYRN - What's Your Real Name?

What if today was to be my last day?

It's always darkest before dawn.....
So if you're going to STEAL the neighbor's newspaper, that's the time to do it...




Have you ever woken up one morning and wondered,
"What if today was to be my last?"
Well...have you?
I find myself thinking along those lines every once in a while.
This morning for example. I mean, what if I died today?
What if this were it? What would be my regrets?
What would I have accomplished, what would I have failed?
Whose lives would I have touched? What would I have changed?

I guess at some stage we are all touched by our mortality, some sooner than others. As a young child I was introduced to the concept of death, and it scared me terribly, I didn't want to die and at that point I remember my biggest wish in life were to live forever.
I was five.

As is the case, life progressed and a little over a year later, I had come to terms with it and no longer feared death... it was about that time that I became a very adventurous kid, and really have been ever since. Of course there was also the curiosity about post-death. I mean...what the hell happens (no pun intended)?

Its actually quite interesting to take a good look throughout history, local folklore and religion. There is always talk of afterlife...of some sort. There was Hades, Elysium, the Great Hunting Grounds. There were Banshees, Vampires, Ghosts. There is Heaven, Hell, Enlightenment, Reincarnation. Nowhere was there talk of...nothing...nothingness...blackness...void...death, and only death, ceasing to exist on this or any other plane of existence. Why is that? is it out of fear? A fear that lingers in any and all people to some extent, the fear that the old credence of "There has to be something better," may not be true.

Many years ago I asked an old friend of mine why he believes in God? What evidence is there, what is the point, why not pray to the Sun while you're at it, at least you can see the Sun. I said more, quite a bit more; he could have gotten angry, he could have told me we were no longer friends, he could have told me to go to Hell... instead he looked at me with this unnerving calm in his eyes said, “Faith, you have to have faith". That has stuck with me ever since. The 18 year old kid who knew the entire world and had conquered her fear of death 12 years ago was both shaken and stirred... and most importantly, I was thinking.

If I died today, I would think that I'd be ready for it. I have done a lot in my life thus far. I hope I have touched a few lives, I have let others cry on my shoulder so that their day was a little easier, I have helped to rebuild people's confidence in themselves and others. I have made people laugh. I have made people think. My only regret? Not going back to finish college. But whether that is in the cards or not? That is out of my hands... I guess I'll just sit back, relax and enjoy the ride.