Late Night

Tomorrow night I’m going over to Sand Springs and see what kind of shit I can get started. I’ve got a big roll of yellow police tape and some other supplies, and I’m going to go around town and mark a few places just for fun. I think I might even start a couple of fires, just to see what will happened. Nothing serious, just a little fun...hehe.

There is this bar that ‘thief’ stopped at a few years ago, that is not far from the police department, so I’m going to stop in and drink a few tomorrow night between causing problems all over town. But, I’m only going to drink a few though, because I found out I’m pregnant again. I don’t want another piece of shit child, so I’m probably going to get rid of this one anyway. I might bring a bottle with me. I want to be drunk at least one last time.

Afterwards I’m going to go around town shooting off a gun in different directions, then leave the scene before the police get there. But you know me, I’ll have to drive back around later and look at all the confusion...ha! If I get bored I might pull a couple of robberies just for fun. Then when I’m done for the day, I’m going to call the police department and tell them that thief is in town, so they better have their guns ready. Late at night, if I haven’t been caught yet, I’m going to find a lone officer on a back road and make him shoot me.

Look’s like I’m going to have a lot of fun. See you around yaS.
Have a great life. Thanks for playing the game.

Black, Thick Smoke in the Distance

I can feel it creeping in on me once again. It starts in my head and hands, then my jaw begins to tighten, and I bite back all the harsh words that want to come flowing freely from my lips. Tears try to form and I fight back, clenching my fist so hard that my fingernails leave marks in my soft skin.

The rage starts at one end of my body and eventually consumes my entire being with an unnatural but all too familiar stabbing thrust. Exhaustion then starts in my gut and slowly spreads throughout my body, taking over the anger. It leaves me begging for the moment that I can fall into bed for hours of nothingness, and sleep it all away.

Thursday was the first day I noticed the shift. I thought it was just because it was about to be another long boring weekend, but the feeling continues. I figured it was just my hormones when I slept for 10 uninterrupted, dreamless hours. I just started crying as I was beginning to fall asleep. Maybe I am a bad mother and don’t deserve to have my freedom, were the words that repeatedly danced through my head.

There will be only a few more days left before the darkness replaces the anger. The anger is not a bad place to be, because it at least means that I still feel something. I would like to know what others do when the darkness sets in? For me it can be weeks, months before I feel the blood pumping through my body again. Until then, it’s nothing but cold breathing.

I can feel it coming, and it scares me out of my fucking mind.


This disease is sneaky.
Frozen in misery and anger.
Crawling through dark caverns on my knees
Stagnant film covers my mind.

The sirens are singing
and I find myself drifting toward the song.
It’s too late to turn and run back.
Their song soothes me.

I’m at the crossroads
And I don’t know which way to turn.
It’s hard to see where the path
Leads through the damp, dense blanket-like darkness.

I’ll keep looking,
Right after I take a short nap.
I wish I had brought a blanket
It’s cold in here.

History is not destiny,
You just have to change the way the game is played.
It sounds so simple,
But all you have to do is survive.

Risky Behavior

Currently I’m engaged in what is considered ‘risky or reckless behavior’. You know what I’m talking about, doing things like driving to fast, doing to many drugs, having unprotected sex with a stranger, spending too much, etc. You get the idea. When I’m in this kind of mood I like to ‘push the edge of defiance.’ I don’t know why, it just feels right taking risk.

Like now, since it’s starting to get warm out, and I’m smoking weed again, I’ve been going in my garage around midnight to smoke and relax. The boys are sound asleep at that time, so they can’t walk in on me. Plus I leave the garage open so the smell doesn’t get throughout the house. But this is consider risky behavior by some, and I know this, still it feels right.

At least now that I’m smoking again, I don’t have as much intense anger as I was. I’m just kinda relaxed and laid back. Except for the paranoia that comes from smoking...but then a part of that is also enjoyable. Like the other night, I was almost caught by local law enforcement smoking outside. It gave me one hell of a rush. Why cut myself when I can get that feeling?

I’ve been reading about one of the first disorders that I was diagnosed with back in 1985.... Borderline Personality Disorder. It’s interesting because for the most part it does describe me pretty good. It said that individuals with Borderline Personality Disorder may have a pattern of undermining themselves at the moment a goal is about to be realized such as dropping out of school just before graduation (I did that when I was attending Vo-Tech in 1987); regressing severely after a discussion of how well therapy is going (a therapist once told me therapy was going well, two hours later I tried to take my life by overdose.)

Stress is my big thing, when I get stressed, all I want to do is cut myself. Not to die, but just to make myself feel something different. So instead of cutting myself when I get stressed, for now I will just engage in risky behavior.

Feeling out of Control

I feel so out of control. Almost homicidal, suicidal, as if the pieces of me that have been a whole suddenly aren't and are off on their own, doing their own things, popping in and out like a radio station almost too far away to pick up clearly and reliably.

I hate this feeling of not being entirely in control of my reactions to things. I could go back to a psychiatrist, but how many can a person see, how many meds can a person try and still be in trouble? if insanity is defined as doing the same thing over and over, but each time expecting different results, then isn't it insane to go to another doctor? Is it irresponsible not to go if it never works? And if it never works, is this what I have to look forward to, this increasingly fragmented blob of reactions I can't predict or control?

For now I have decided to self medicate.

Crash of Chaos

What is Real?

Psychosis, mental illness, psychotic,
Been labeled schizophrenic.
Complete mental confusion.
I don’t know what’s real any more.

They say its just the voice of my conscience,
if this is true
then why does that persons voice
come from the other side of the room?

The trees are crying again.
Suicidal ideation, self destructive behavior.
I feel I have no choice
Sick of being treated as a criminal.

I’m watching myself
from somewhere in another time.
Total confusion
Distorted reality.

Can you hear my voices arguing?
I have to obey the voices,
Just to make them quiet.
I don’t have a choice, they will make me do it.
Deny the voices, push them away.

Let me deny the existence of my own thoughts.

When I was a kid I used to believe that I could alter the outcome of events just by thinking about it. Then one day I told somebody what I could do, and they only laughed at me. I began believing from there on that nothing I would ever do, would change the world. I didn’t matter any more.


Crash of Chaos

I stepped out into the rain
hardly aware of anything around me.
The water poured down my rosy cheeks
Obscuring my privately hidden tears.

Why do I still cry? What do I feel?
I looked up into the clouds in a daze,
flecks of water splashing into my eyes.
Can the weather synchronize with my heart?
Every pounding drop is how far down I’ve fallen.

The rain picks up.
Harder, harder.
I taste salt.
Am I crying?
Are the clouds raining my tears?
Lighting, you’d think I’d be used to it by now,
but always the resulting thunder,
whether sooner or later,
comes crashing down around me.

Surrounding me,
enveloping me in a cocoon of the deepest sorrow.
I can’t even hold myself together anymore.
The winds howl like forlorn ghosts,
harshly whipping rain and hair about my face.

Light, another crashing thunder,
louder and more terrible than the last.
The trees are bent sideways almost.
But this isn’t even the beginning of my storm.
My knees give out beneath me
and my cry is masked by another
crash of chaos.

What does being OK mean?

"So, how are you?"

"I'm ok."

Usually, when people ask me the 'how-are-you' question, they don't care. They don't really want to hear more. I say OK, and everyone accepts that. I say OK, even when I'm not particularly OK. But that's fine, because no one really wants to hear any more than that. Especially when you're not OK.

How AM I feeling?

Sometimes I don't know. Because the truth is, I don't care either. I've treated myself the same way people treat me. Or maybe people treat me the same way I've treated myself. I don't know. I couldn't care less about myself. Sometimes I feel an overwhelming urge to beat myself up with a baseball bat. I want to scream at myself - to SHUT-THE-HELL-UP!

Sometimes, I am demanding and domineering towards myself.
I want HER to cringe and cower.

I expect HER to be silent, to not be seen.

And if she so much as say a word, a single word,

I will beat her into submission.

Sometimes I wish I would just disappear.

Depression and Dreams

Depression comes, depression goes, and I have no idea why. Sometimes, I suddenly break out of it through mysterious dreams that wake my whole spirit up. Those are the unexpected blessings, no more to be explained than the sudden recurrence of this illness.

There are frightening dreams as well when I may be wandering through dark halls and rooms of enormous houses, mansions or castle-like structures. Usually, I open doors in growing fear, sensing that I am about to come upon someone or something that will kill me. I may follow a stranger from room to room until he turns and stares at me with death in his eyes. I run from that, if I can, but never find a way out of the great buildings and wake in terror at the moment of my inevitable destruction. These are fitting images of being lost in depression, seeing nothing but darkness and always fearing the worst.

But occasionally a powerful dream will help me break out of that pattern and recover, at least for a short time.

In a Manic State of Mine

I've found myself to be quite the insomniac over the past couple of weeks. I can't sleep. Rather, I can't fall asleep. I found out that there are different types of insomnia, primary and secondary, and also that there are degrees and levels of both, like the insomnia you have when you can't fall asleep as opposed to the insomnia you have when you can't stay asleep.

Insomniac's can lose sleep just thinking about the fact that they won't be sleeping. I do this every night. The pressure is on to fall asleep and what's going through your mind is "Am I going to fall asleep? Am I going to lie awake for hours listening to the clock ticking away? Maybe if I roll over, or if I sleep on my side, or if I don't think about sleep..." It could go on all night, and sometimes does. It's excruciating.

I hear my own voice as the voice of another.

Today has been a good day. I don’t know why it has been a good day. Nothing particularly exciting or great has happened but I just feel good. Which is good, if not a little unnerving.

I have a feeling I might be going slightly more hyper then usual, but I don’t care. My work productivity is up, my mood is up and my don’t care attitude is back.

***************

Shades of the Rainbow

Her eyes were glib in all shades of emotion,
laid naked for those who would care.
The dark muses and wisest seers tainted her shadows
illuminated her spirit and touched her with rainbow displays
of laughter and easy tears.

Yet no one came to cry,
remaining instead
smug in their own foolishness,
sensing the enormous truth that lay hidden from their view.
Fearing her countenance.
Rejecting her projections.

They thought that the laughter opening in her eyes
was not emotion, technically,
but an illusion presented unto them.
Although they knew that she wanted to appear vulnerable,
their eyes held different illusions
and they did not want to indulge her.

So they abandoned her,
pitifully, to the lie that lurked
within the holes of her tears,
that became distorted through her blurry eyes
until she was secure in the colors of her rainbow.

Warning Adult Material...


The following story is a purely fictional account. Any relationship to any real person living or dead is absolutely coincidental. The narrative deals with torture and slaughter of innocent human beings. The author in no way condones or promotes such acts. This is the world of fantasy and fiction where the hidden corners of the psyche may be explored. The author believes that exploring such subject matter in this realm keeps it from ever needing to be explored, and much less fulfilled, in real life. There is violence in all of us. Otherwise there would be no crime, no war, no destruction. We must acknowledge the beast inside of us if we are to tame it. To ignore it and repress it is to invoke its appearance in our midst.

************************

The sun beaming through a crack in the foil that covered a window finally woke me from my deep sleep. The smell of old blood and dirt filled the air around me. When I looked down at my body I could see that I was covered with blood and mud.

At first my mind was blank and then I remember a man screaming for his life, as I tortured and played with his body without his permission. Then I began to smile thinking about how I had killed him, then ate a piece of his flesh fried in a cast iron skillet.

Vague dreamlike images came and went. I remember leaning down to drink at a steam filled with clear running water, as a piece of his guts rolled down my chest and splashed in the bubbling stream. I remembered earlier in the evening when I saw the site of a suburban neighborhood on the edge of the forest floating in the dark as I moved in closer to watch my target.

I must have wandered around in the forest behind his place for most of the night afterwards. I vaguely remember crawling up out of the tall grass towards the shed behind my place. There I fell asleep just like an animal on the floor, reeking of blood and sweat. I was exhausted from my long hours of sexual butchery.

Suddenly I remembered where I had left the remaining part of his body. I knew I would have to go back and dispose of the remaining pieces of his body, along with his badge and uniform. I just hoped no one would spot him and call the police before I could get there. When I’m in that state of mind, I think I’m above the law, but once I return to a more normal state of mind, survival and evasion mode kicks in.

I stood and peeked out through a hole that I had torn in the foil, and saw through a kitchen window across the road, another officer moving around in shorts and a tee-shirt. His body looked fine and chiseled, the perfect specimen to play with. I could see the driveway on the side of his house, and a SUV along with his patrol car was parked there.

The shed I was in was only about 20 yards from the house, and from the window I could hear other voices in the house. A woman moved past the window and then walked outside, got into the SUV and drove away, as the officer stood there waving, watching her leave.

I was already beginning to get worked up as I watched him walk back into the house. He had short cut dark hair, around 6 foot tall, with a well defined body shape. He looked intelligent, yet youthful, though he was probably in his 30’s.

I was about to make a move towards him, when I saw the paperboy coming down the street. He seemed to staring right in my direction, so I backed up into the sheds shadow as my bare feet shuffled against the dirt floor. When I finally managed to look again, he was gone completely out of site. I knew I was going to have to move fast if I was going to get what I wanted and desired.

By the doorway inside the shed, I saw a small junior sized baseball bat. It was old and cracked but when I picked it up I knew it would do. Slowly, cautiously I stepped out of the shed, with my weapon in hand, and moved towards the house. I could feel the damp morning grass under my feet, as I inched my way towards the house. The nearest house was over a block away, and was hidden behind a wall of trees. I realized no one would be able to see me sneak across the yard.

I boldly moved towards the door and put my free hand on the knob and tested it. It was unlocked. Silently grinning, I slid inside and closed the door behind me. The clock in the kitchen showed it was 6:30 am as I walked with the bat across the dark black tiled floor.

He must have heard me make a noise, and returned to the kitchen to see me standing there covered in dried caked on blood, with a old wooden bat in the hand. The officer froze for a brief minute, which was enough time for me to swing the weapon against his head. He went flying sideways into a pantry door, making a choked grunt, spinning down to the floor his body went limp. I then slammed it into him again, and his eyes rolled back in his head.

He laid there on the tiled floor, almost total lifeless, but still able to feel my touch across his body. I ran my hands across his chest, and then down between his thighs, feeling his nice firm cock. He came to enough to hit me in the nose with one hard blow, causing blood to trickled down from my right nostril.

“Shit yeah!” I said aloud. “This is gonna be fuckin’ great!” I then slammed him once more in the head, and then continued my assault against the rest of his body. I then drug, and pulled him down a hallway into a master bedroom and shoved him onto the bed. As he began to resist again I swung the bat at his legs, and then as I dropped the bat I put both my hands around his neck and told him to stop resisting.

“Listen up motherfucker, I’m going to stick this bat up your ass if you don’t lay there and do as you are told. Do you understand me?”

“Yah- yes,” he managed to get out. I enjoyed the hopeless look in his face, as he realized he couldn’t do anything about what was going to happen to him. I got on the bed with him and using his cuffs I cuffed each hand to a bed rail. A wave of dark meanness swept over me.

I leaned down and sunk my teeth into his chest, near his left nipple. He tasted so fresh and clean. I could smell where he had obviously taken a shower before I had arrived. Blood trickled down from the wound to his head, and I reached up to wipe some off his freshly shaven face. This was going to be fucking sweet.

I knew I didn’t have a whole lot of time before someone showed up or one of his buddies on the force would stop by, so my plans had to be quick. I moved quickly before my victim could recover consciousness. I remembered the tools in the shed and went outside to get some of them.

In the corner of the shed there were several wooden dowels of varying sizes and thickness, along with some rope and a few other items. Enough things to torture him for a short period of time that I had.

I took the things back inside and tied the still half unconscious officer legs down spread eagle on the bed. I used a sharp knife from the kitchen and cut away what little clothing he had on, and then I placed a large piece of duct tape over his mouth. I was becoming so turned on by the sight of him laying there completely helpless.

By the time I finished securing him down, he was finally coming around, moaning and tugging at the cuffs that held him tight. I could see a large purplish, black bump on the side of his head and another one where I had hit him the second time.

When he opened his eyes I sat on his chest and whispered, “Good morning Officer Smith. Welcome to the last day of your fucking life.”

He moaned and grimaced with pain, shaking his head back and forth. I looked around on the walls and saw him in uniform excepting his diploma from police training, and a picture of him being given an award for outstanding performance in the line of duty. This stuck me as humorous as I didn’t see that side of him, I only saw the monster that once arrested me and then had beaten the hell out of me because I kept cussing at him over a traffic ticket. It was time for a little revenge. A little lesson in how to treat a civilian.

The officer now fully awake, stared at me with a look of terror in his eyes. “Police officer of the year. I’m impressed.”

“Fuck you bitch!” he mumbled through the duct tape.

“Ahhh, now don’t talk you motherfucker. It’s useless and a waste of energy. You’re gagged, and nothing you say is gonna make the least bit of fucking difference to me today. I’m going to torture you and maybe for a little fun I might rape you. When its all over I‘m going to kill you.”

This seemed to piss him off even more and he began trying to struggle free from his confinement.

“Well, maybe one of your buddies will show up on time, or you figure out a way to help me with my ‘problems’. Maybe things will turn out differently. Who knows, maybe you’re the right person to help me figure out why I do these kinds of crazy things.”

He stop struggling long enough to look up at me. His eyes roamed over my body, scanning it, looking for something he could use to his advantage.

I scanned over his naked lightly tanned body. Feeling the warm touch of his skin under the touch of my hands, made my insides tingle, and I felt that I wanted his cock deep inside my cunt. I softly smiled down at him, enjoying the effect that my grinding back and forth across his cock was doing to him.

“If you perform well for me, I might let you live.” I thought to myself if he believed that then he wasn’t as smart as his awards led everyone to believe. “You know I once had a chance to become somebody that was a productive member of society, but then that was taken away by one of your brothers in blue. If only I hadn’t taken a wrong road late one night, none of this would have happened. What a fucking waste.”

I sat heavily on his chest, and twisted his nipples in my hands as hard as I could. I moved in closer and began biting his left nipple until it began to bleed. Sweat began to form on his forehead, almost running down between his eyes, making him blink nervously.

“I’m gonna kill you asshole, and you’re not going to be able to do anything about it. Maybe I‘ll fuck you in the ass, like I was fucked in my virgin ass. Would you like that?!”

I slid off him and moved over to the pile of stuff on the floor that I had brought in from the shed. I picked up a thick wooden dowel rod , and thought of ways that I could torture my officer.

“Have you ever been beaten the way you beat the people you arrest?” I asked standing firmly in front of him holding the tool in my hand.

“Answer me!! Nod you head for yes, shake for no!! Have you ever been beaten?”

He shook his head back from side to side. “Good then. This will be a new experience for you. Get a little back of what you’ve been giving.”

I drew back and swung the dowel across his thick thighs. He grunted and howled as blow after blow landed, leaving dark red bruising welts on his body. Grinning, I repeatedly struck him in different areas, changing the angle of impact with each stroke.

“Nice body, pig,” I shouted. “I’m gonna make you look as rough as the bums on the street that you beat up and bully around.” He closed his eyes each time the wooden dowel slashed loudly against my officer’s body. Waves of pleasure washed over my body. I loved the idea of being able to do to him what he has done to countless others. I fed on the horror and terror in his eyes.

I watched as he desperately tried to move out of the way of the tool being swung at his exposed body. There was nowhere for him to go and all he managed to do was make me want to hit him even more.

“You fucking piece of shit!” I shouted between blows. “You’re a worthless piece of trash that needs to be thrown away!”

When I began to grow tried, I paused for a moment and walked over to my beaten prey. He was breathing fast, but his eyes stayed focused on following me as I circled around the bed.

“Do you want some more, motherfucker? What do you think? Do you like being beaten? You can take it, you scumbag, you‘re a big tough man.”

I swung back as far as I could and with all my strength came down across his knees. He yelped out loud as his eyes went wide and looked towards the ceiling. “You stupid fucking bastard!!” I shouted then struck him against the heels of his feet repeatedly, until blood began to drip to the floor. From there I worked my way back up his body taking my time in hitting all exposed areas.

I climbed back on his chest and ripped the tape from his mouth. “Please let me go. I have a wife and family. You don’t want to do this. Do you know they will kill you if you kill me? Please think about what you’re d....”

Before he could say another word, I slapped him harshly across the face twice. “First rule motherfucker,” I said slapping him again. “ I’m the one now in charge, not you. You only speak when you have my permission to speak. Do you fucking understand?” I said slapping him again and twisting one of his nipples in my hand. I leaned down towards his face, “Got it pig?”

“Yes. I understand.”

“Good boy. You’re a fast learner. Now maybe you’ll live a little longer if you do as you are told. I want a taste of that meat you’ve got between your legs, and if you don’t get nice and hard for me... Well...let’s just say you are not going to like what comes next.”

I slowly worked my way down towards his semi-hard cock and slowly took it into my mouth. With one hand I spread his ass cheeks and slid one finger into his tight ass, as he let out a loud moan. Instantly his cock stood tall and firm. I lightly brushed my lips across the head of his cock and licked away a small amount of pre-cum. I was about to violate him in ways that made my own pussy wet. I removed my pants and underwear and climbed back onto the bed.

“You’re gonna eat my pussy before I fuck that cock of yours. And remember if I don’t get off you are going to feel a lot more pain.”

I sat down on his face blocking off his airway, making him work his face from side to side just to get some air. I picked up one of my tools again and began hitting him in the chest until he began sucking on my clit, which temporarily removed the beast from within me.

“That’s it scumbag, piece of shit, lick my cunt good.” I could feel his tongue prying apart my pussy lips and licking at my juices. “Ahhh yes, that’s very nice.” I said as I reached down and began stroking his cock gently in my hands.

I had done some sick shit before, but this was problem on the worst things I could have done. I knew if I were to ever get caught, his buddies were going to beat the hell out of me, still at that moment I was thoroughly enjoying the power I had over him.

He lapped slowly up and down against my labia and teased my cunthole before returning to sucking on my clit. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my cunt as he continued licking and lapping at my hole. Sticking his tongue in and out of my wet hole. I began getting wetter and wetter as he began drinking my juices. Even when he began biting my clit, I didn’t want him to stop. The pain felt good.

I looked down at his thick cock that was fully hard and glistening with cum. “Don’t stop tell I cum all over your face. I’m almost there.” I whispered to him. “I’m almost ready to fuck you.” His face pushed harder up into my cunt as he worked my cunt over, grinding his teeth into my clit. Without warning his teeth clamped down on my clit. I couldn’t believe the feelings that flowed through me, I began cumming like I had never cum before. As I pulled away from him I could see blood on his face from the clit.

“Its fucking time, you piece of trash,” I told him. “That cock better work as good as your tongue.”


*************************

If you wish to read part two of this story, please visit my other site...

http://mspsycho.wordpress.com/

Feeling Manic

One hundred things are running through my head...I’m thinking faster than my fingers can type. In the past when I got this way I had to take Adderall to help slow me down, but I threw all my pills away, so this time I’m going to let it do it’s own thing. Fuck all the side effects...that shit made me sleepy all the time anyway. I don’t need no stinking sleep...there’s too much shit I want to get done. But more than anything I want to get out of the hell out of the damn house. Let’s go for a long drive, and find a place where I can see how fast my car will go. If I wasn’t so fucking old and fat I would go sky diving...damn that sounds like a lot of fun. How about a little game of tag with law enforcement...maybe I’ll just fuck with some online...I can’t go to jail when I’m in this state...somebody, probably me, is going to get their ass whipped if I fuck with them right now. Still, it could be a lot of fun.

I shook the worm and their hook. Get butt naked please.

Tonight I’m going to do a little drinking, will maybe a lot...I want to finish a couple of bottles I have had for several weeks now. I haven’t had but a couple of hours of sleep, so maybe that will help me sleep. But if I sleep I won’t be able to enjoy finally fucking feeling good. Sometimes it will only last for a few days before I crash again. I’m going to do all I can before I crash and things get left undone.


Spinning dizzy out of control, bouncing, jumping wanting to let go.

Nothing to gain, nothing to lose.
Only a Trojan horse.
Boom. Boom. Boom. Trunk is rattling.
Take a deep breath and inhale.
Let’s put our ass into it.

Guess who's Back?

Here comes the Manic side of me...damn I hope I don't get into trouble this time. I'm slowly digging my way out of this hell hole that I've been in for too damn long. It's time to take a shower and wash all that mud off...it's about fucking time...I'm waking up!!!


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s1if9kLJpWw

Finding Happiness

Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window. The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back. The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service where they had been on vacation.

Every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit up he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.

The man in the other bed began to live for those one hour periods where his life would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside.

The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color of the rainbow. Grand old trees graced the landscape, and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance. As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the scene.

One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man couldn't hear the band he could see it in his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words.

Days and weeks passed. One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away.

As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone. Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the world outside. Finally, he would have the joy of seeing it for himself. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed.

It faced a blank wall. The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window. The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall. She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you."

Epilogue...There is tremendous happiness in making others happy, despite our own situations. Shared grief is half the sorrow, but happiness when shared, is doubled. If you want to feel rich, just count all of the things you have that money can't buy.

"SOMETIMES TO FACE YOUR FUTURE YOU HAVE TO LET GO OF YOUR PAST."

Depression is a Killer

There are many ways to insult someone with depression, without even trying very hard. The best way is to give them some unsolicited advice. Something that you think is simple, yet profound, and potentially life changing. But said in ignorance. Nothing cuts deeper to someone with depression, than when their illness, which is serious, is trivialized by another who doesn’t understand it.

Here are the some of the terrible things that people say:
“This is what life is like. Get used to it.”
“Life isn’t meant to be easy.”
“Pull yourself together.”
“You just have to get on with things.”
“At least it’s not that bad.”
“You just need to cheer up.”
“Quit trying to be a martyr.”
“I know how you feel. I’ve been depressed for whole days at a time.”
“You don’t like feeling that way? So change it!”

These are my favorites:
“What you need is a good kick up the backside.”
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”
“Get a job!”
“Who said that life is fair?”
“Just snap out of it!”
“If you’re really that miserable, just off yourself”.


And the all time best:
“Why don’t you try not being depressed.”

I know Depression very well. Recently someone said to me, “You know there comes a time in your life, when you just have to sit down and decide what is important to you.” That was supposed to be helpful?

I can’t just wake up some morning and decide I’m not going to be depressed today, it just doesn’t work that way. People can’t see a wheelchair or me holding a cane so they don’t see anything wrong with me. Its not like the depression people get when a loved one dies, you lose a job, or a family pet dies, it is way more serious, and doesn’t just go away with time.

I have major depression which means I get depressed for absolutely no reason at all. Nothing is wrong, no one has run over my dog, or altered my perception of myself. My brain simply does not receive enough chemicals that it need to maintain a healthy state of mind. This is were the ‘just snap out of it’ falls flat on its face and becomes hurtful.

In my mind its like have a radio station in my head playing nothing but songs like ‘You‘re A Loser!, Concrete Angel, Because of You, Tears in Heaven, Nobody Knows, Broken, Never had a Dream Come True’ and so on. I guess I’ve got to learn how to fire that DJ sitting up there playing all those records, and instead but on some positive music.

Most of the time when I am in deep depression, I want to totally left alone to rot in my own deeply dug hole. Still if said repeatedly and with absolute sincerity then it is helpful to say “If you ever need a friend, I am here.”

I can feel the storm coming

I’ve been trying to focus my mind enough to write, but I can’t, because if I do, I’m going to cry, and I don’t want anyone to see me breaking down. That’s the reason I usually only write at night, I can’t handle the thought of having one of my boys seeing me cry. They never have and as far as I am concerned they never will, no one every will...I refuse to let others see that side of me. But recently I find myself in the type of mood of wanting to cry without letting up. I don’t even have to put on sad music or watch a sad story to get there, my eyes just stay filled with the watery substance called tears that I can’t wipe away. When my 14 year old asked me why my eyes were puffy and red, I lied and told him it was just my allergies; I think he believed me.

I’ve been like this for several weeks, it won’t just go away this time, like it usually has in the past. I even went back to another police site that I had signed up at years ago, just to rile some feathers. I thought the distraction of their site was going to keep my mind occupied, but I have already grown disinterested in playing mind games with the officers there.

Today I finally managed to get my fat ass up out of bed long enough to walk around outside and play with my dogs, but even that didn’t help my mood. I knew the only thing I could do to at least empty my head was to write, even if it is the middle of day, I’ll just have to keep a full box of tissues handy.

When I feel like this I often drift to past conversations that I’ve had with other people while online, and since I have kept all the conversations I have had since my first computer experience, there was more there than I remembered. I signed into yahoo using my first yahoo screen name that I signed up with years ago, and began reading some of the mail that I sent and received from others. Yeah ‘Baker’ I still have yours, along with all the other law enforcement officers that I talked to when I used that screen name. But the ones that touched my heart the most were the ones from complete strangers who had read a part of my life story that I posted on anther site and sent me a e-mail response.

Here is one that caused a few tears to fall while the boys played basketball in the backyard.

Please tell me your name, so I can complete our 'connection' that has to have been 'meant'...
I started out to just scan your work, as I do, usually not wanting to go farther than the first paragraph or two, due to silliness of subject and/or poor quality of the writing... and I was sucked into your world, your life, your memories and your oh, so vividly-shared experiences, whether I wanted to be there or not!
You have a natural 'voice'... yes, the ms needs work, but only in editing and bits of adding/explaining here and there... the voice is authentic and I would not change it for the world, even if it's a bit simplistic or even ungrammatical at times... it's you, whoever you are!...
Yes, this is 'speechless'... for me... I can't say more now... I’m too overcome with images of all the awfulness you've managed to survive... and I realize this isn't even much of a 'taste'... that there must be much more even worse, to come... I’d deem it an honor to be able to help you tell your story of triumphing over kinds of adversity most can't even imagine... given your honest, simple but dramatic delivery of your journey out of darkness, I’m even betting we'd be able to get an agent and/or a publisher interested in taking it on.
More later, after I hear back from you... just wanted you to know what my first impression was... I’ve never been so deeply affected by anything sent to me as I am with this... you may not be technically perfect, but you are a 'writer'!... and better than most.

Now if only I could fucking believe this, I would now have several books published. In the end I have come to the conclusion that maybe I can write, maybe someone wants to read what I have to write about, maybe its okay to cry when you read what others write. Tomorrow I’m going to buy a couple more boxes of tissue, a case of water to keep me hydrated from all the tears I’m going to cry, and I’m going to write what I know about. Things from my past, things I want so much to forget, things that I hope other people will never have to experience.

Well, I’ve got to wrap this up so I can send the person who sent me that message a few years ago a response. I never did get back with her, or give her my name because I didn’t believe in me. Still, not sure if I do or not, but all I know is I can't stand being this way for another moment.