Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Monday, August 23, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Therapy cost... This is free.
I began writing when I was only 9 years old. It was always a way for me to escape to another place that was more pleasant than the reality around me. But even my writing back then showed the pain I was living through daily. I never wrote about seeing a double rainbow, about walking through a fragrant field of flowers,or any other type of happy thoughts. When happy thoughts occur, I never felt the need to express myself like I do when the 'dark' thoughts surface. So, forgive me if this blog is sometimes quite depressing, but that is partly what this blog is for.
Today I spent a little time reading some of the poems and other writing that I have accumulated over the years. Mostly because recently I've felt like giving up writing, because I have no belief in my writing abilities. I want to recapture that feeling I felt years ago when I truly believed that one day I would be a writer. I feel like I've lost that, and I want it back.
Here's a short poem I wrote when I was 12 years old. I remember being so excited when I had finished writing and re-writing the lines until I felt it was perfect. Of course it was never going to be perfect, but the satisfaction I felt when it was complete is what I want to feel once again.
The Little Doll
She sits alone on the bottom shelf
With rosy pink cheeks and curly blond hair.
Then nasty big hands picked her up
And only violent games did they play.
Twisting and pulling,
Body parts are easy to break.
But it doesn’t hurt,
Because dolls can’t cry.
They only suffer in silence
And die a little inside.
Today I spent a little time reading some of the poems and other writing that I have accumulated over the years. Mostly because recently I've felt like giving up writing, because I have no belief in my writing abilities. I want to recapture that feeling I felt years ago when I truly believed that one day I would be a writer. I feel like I've lost that, and I want it back.
Here's a short poem I wrote when I was 12 years old. I remember being so excited when I had finished writing and re-writing the lines until I felt it was perfect. Of course it was never going to be perfect, but the satisfaction I felt when it was complete is what I want to feel once again.
The Little Doll
She sits alone on the bottom shelf
With rosy pink cheeks and curly blond hair.
Then nasty big hands picked her up
And only violent games did they play.
Twisting and pulling,
Body parts are easy to break.
But it doesn’t hurt,
Because dolls can’t cry.
They only suffer in silence
And die a little inside.
Sunday, February 07, 2010
Pain is Inevitable; Suffering is Optional
There are moments when my mind misses a few beats, and days pass without remembering the events. I find myself in mid-step or mid-breath, feeling as if being delivered abruptly into my body after a long absence. Spent where, I couldn’t really say, it’s sorta like being in a long, dreamless sleep. I had one of those days today. Bad weather or not, I forced myself out into the world for a walk to restore my self and maybe find a little .... something.... I just don’t know what it is yet.
Let’s free the mind with a little nonsense writing, even if it will only make sense to some.
My Crazy Day
This morning when I first stumbled out of bed, I stubbed my big toe on the edge of the bed, which sent waves of unpleasant sensations throughout my already aching body. Blood immediately pooled under the nail, and then oozed out the corners onto the carpet. It was only a small dose of what my day would entail.
I sat in my dark bedroom, drinking my morning obese cup of French vanilla coffee, listening to Headline Morning News as I nursed my aching big toe, when the power suddenly went out. It was another random blackout that had been occurring daily for the past couple weeks. I cursed loudly as I blindly finished wrapping a large Band-Aid over the top of my toe, and then I carefully slip on my shoes. As I stood to feel myself along, the sound of the TV return and I could feel the fan blowing again, but I could see anything. The power was all back on, but I was partly blind, able to only see outlines of harsh images.
I experienced this moment of raw terror, and I felt around for the phone. I was feeling an overwhelming need to call work and let them know I would be late. Only, I couldn't remember the number. And, even if I could, I didn’t think I could remember the layout of the numbers on the keypad.
Fear of losing my job overtook my mind, because we all know what happens to people who lose their jobs, so I didn't hesitate. Fortunately, my purse and keys were near the front door, so I able to easily locate them. I then stumbled out my apartment door. I felt along the railing until I came to the stairwell and eased myself down along each step.
I was down about 8 steps when suddenly this thing slammed me up against the wall and licks me across the face. I open my mouth wide as I let out a loud ear piercing scream, and it jams its tongue right into my mouth. Gagging for air, I bite fiercely down on the tongue and feel metal with my teeth. My thoughts run to whatever this is, it was into body piercing.
I fight hard to free myself from this things painful clutches. The pain was mixing with the throbbing of my big toe, making my head spin. It’s nails penetrated my flesh as it held me firmly in place. It reeked of rotting meat, making me feel ill. Then, abruptly it jammed it’s tongue into my right ear and held me firmly in place. I could hear a weird noise in my right ear as if someone was playing a tiny drum set in a sewer pipe. Next, I heard what sounded like someone shooting a gun nearby, and the thing let me go.
I stood back and shook my head, and that was when my eyesight returned. I looked around and saw no one or anything, and decided to go onto work. I made it in the front door just in time to see the boss standing near the time clock. I casually stroll his direction, and he eyeballs me in a strange way. I freeze, expecting him to say something, but he makes a grunting sound and walks back to his office.
I clock in and then go to my cubicle and sit down in the overly stuffed office chair. It feels foreign, or unreal like. I look around and notice I don’t recognize anything or anybody. I can’t shake the feeling and quickly make a beeline to the bathroom. I see myself in the mirror and I look horrible. The front of my white blouse was spotted with blood as if I had fallen on a bed of needles. A gel like substance oozed from my right ear, dead leaves were stuck to my shirt, and other various small pieces of debris was stuff into my hair.
I cleaned myself the best I could, and then returned to my corner. I couldn’t believe the boss didn’t say anything. I work my way through lunch without a break, and then stayed a little past five until everyone had left for the day. By the time I was ready to go home, my right ear finally stopped hurting, and the gel substance stopped flowing from inside.
So, as you see it’s been a fairly normal day, apart from the vomiting fit which kicked in just after I got home. I spent half an hour vomiting up blood, and once again, there were those little white spiders mixed in that run around in circles shouting the words crazy. The right side of my face is now numb, and I can still feel a couple of the critters crawling around somewhere behind my eyes. I think they are painting something hateful. It's really annoying as hell,and it's driving me crazy.
Except that I won't go crazy. That's one thing that's become plain. Nobody goes crazy. They just are or aren’t. Stone cold sanity. That's what we endure.
Let’s free the mind with a little nonsense writing, even if it will only make sense to some.
My Crazy Day
This morning when I first stumbled out of bed, I stubbed my big toe on the edge of the bed, which sent waves of unpleasant sensations throughout my already aching body. Blood immediately pooled under the nail, and then oozed out the corners onto the carpet. It was only a small dose of what my day would entail.
I sat in my dark bedroom, drinking my morning obese cup of French vanilla coffee, listening to Headline Morning News as I nursed my aching big toe, when the power suddenly went out. It was another random blackout that had been occurring daily for the past couple weeks. I cursed loudly as I blindly finished wrapping a large Band-Aid over the top of my toe, and then I carefully slip on my shoes. As I stood to feel myself along, the sound of the TV return and I could feel the fan blowing again, but I could see anything. The power was all back on, but I was partly blind, able to only see outlines of harsh images.
I experienced this moment of raw terror, and I felt around for the phone. I was feeling an overwhelming need to call work and let them know I would be late. Only, I couldn't remember the number. And, even if I could, I didn’t think I could remember the layout of the numbers on the keypad.
Fear of losing my job overtook my mind, because we all know what happens to people who lose their jobs, so I didn't hesitate. Fortunately, my purse and keys were near the front door, so I able to easily locate them. I then stumbled out my apartment door. I felt along the railing until I came to the stairwell and eased myself down along each step.
I was down about 8 steps when suddenly this thing slammed me up against the wall and licks me across the face. I open my mouth wide as I let out a loud ear piercing scream, and it jams its tongue right into my mouth. Gagging for air, I bite fiercely down on the tongue and feel metal with my teeth. My thoughts run to whatever this is, it was into body piercing.
I fight hard to free myself from this things painful clutches. The pain was mixing with the throbbing of my big toe, making my head spin. It’s nails penetrated my flesh as it held me firmly in place. It reeked of rotting meat, making me feel ill. Then, abruptly it jammed it’s tongue into my right ear and held me firmly in place. I could hear a weird noise in my right ear as if someone was playing a tiny drum set in a sewer pipe. Next, I heard what sounded like someone shooting a gun nearby, and the thing let me go.
I stood back and shook my head, and that was when my eyesight returned. I looked around and saw no one or anything, and decided to go onto work. I made it in the front door just in time to see the boss standing near the time clock. I casually stroll his direction, and he eyeballs me in a strange way. I freeze, expecting him to say something, but he makes a grunting sound and walks back to his office.
I clock in and then go to my cubicle and sit down in the overly stuffed office chair. It feels foreign, or unreal like. I look around and notice I don’t recognize anything or anybody. I can’t shake the feeling and quickly make a beeline to the bathroom. I see myself in the mirror and I look horrible. The front of my white blouse was spotted with blood as if I had fallen on a bed of needles. A gel like substance oozed from my right ear, dead leaves were stuck to my shirt, and other various small pieces of debris was stuff into my hair.
I cleaned myself the best I could, and then returned to my corner. I couldn’t believe the boss didn’t say anything. I work my way through lunch without a break, and then stayed a little past five until everyone had left for the day. By the time I was ready to go home, my right ear finally stopped hurting, and the gel substance stopped flowing from inside.
So, as you see it’s been a fairly normal day, apart from the vomiting fit which kicked in just after I got home. I spent half an hour vomiting up blood, and once again, there were those little white spiders mixed in that run around in circles shouting the words crazy. The right side of my face is now numb, and I can still feel a couple of the critters crawling around somewhere behind my eyes. I think they are painting something hateful. It's really annoying as hell,and it's driving me crazy.
Except that I won't go crazy. That's one thing that's become plain. Nobody goes crazy. They just are or aren’t. Stone cold sanity. That's what we endure.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
When We Forget the Past, We Are Dommed to Repeat It
Gritting my teeth.... If I didn’t I would probably bite someone’s head off.
I’ve been in this ‘pissed off at the world’ kind of mood for several days now, and I feel an overwhelming need to get away from everybody and everything. Even if it’s just a few yards, I need some sort of distance. I’ve been extremely edgy, yelling about the things that are not in their place, about how unclean everything is around me, just yelling about everyday stressful things that take place.
When I get like this, I have to write. I do most of my writing at home on my computer, or in my bedroom in one of the various notebooks where I keep most of my more serious thoughts. But every now and then, I escape to one of the local parks. Mostly because I enjoy the feeling of being around the trees, smelling the fresh air, and being able to feel alone with my thoughts for a little while.
There is one park that I mostly tend to lurk around, which is fine during the daytime, but at night this causes a problem with local law enforcement. So, again I started studying/stalking them a little recently to discover a pattern in their activities. This then allows me to spend my time relaxing in my own way at the park during the times I feel the need. It has worked several times without a problem, but every now and then I lose myself into some deep thoughts when writing and get caught. Luckily Officer R was in a good mood this time and let me off with a polite warning. Thanks.
Being bi-polar is very rough. It can lead you down roads you normally would be to frightened to travel, and you find yourself doing things that later leave you wondering what the fuck you were thinking. Such as thinking about cutting myself deep enough to need stitches. But I don’t want anyone to find out, so instead I’ve been inflicting small injuries where others can’t see, or won’t really question what happened. It was just something to shock my mind out of feeling unpredictable, and to slow the racing thoughts. Sometimes that is not enough. Here is where the police come into the picture.
Where I sit at the park, I can see where they are in the distance. I‘ve even done this at other parks in different towns. When I get to the level where I want to do extreme cutting, I go park where they are within a short distance. ( Q-Trip is sometimes a good place to park:) ) Then instead of cutting, I write. From past experiences I know if law enforcement were to view my ‘accident’ they might try to lock me up somewhere. Locking me up actually makes things worse, because the moment I’m left alone, I will cut myself deep. It’s like a part of me says it’s okay now to cut, because if you cut too deep someone will be there to help you. Later is when it messes with my mind.
I’m still finishing up the rest of my thoughts that I wrote the other night, so I’ll post it a little later.
I’ve been in this ‘pissed off at the world’ kind of mood for several days now, and I feel an overwhelming need to get away from everybody and everything. Even if it’s just a few yards, I need some sort of distance. I’ve been extremely edgy, yelling about the things that are not in their place, about how unclean everything is around me, just yelling about everyday stressful things that take place.
When I get like this, I have to write. I do most of my writing at home on my computer, or in my bedroom in one of the various notebooks where I keep most of my more serious thoughts. But every now and then, I escape to one of the local parks. Mostly because I enjoy the feeling of being around the trees, smelling the fresh air, and being able to feel alone with my thoughts for a little while.
There is one park that I mostly tend to lurk around, which is fine during the daytime, but at night this causes a problem with local law enforcement. So, again I started studying/stalking them a little recently to discover a pattern in their activities. This then allows me to spend my time relaxing in my own way at the park during the times I feel the need. It has worked several times without a problem, but every now and then I lose myself into some deep thoughts when writing and get caught. Luckily Officer R was in a good mood this time and let me off with a polite warning. Thanks.
Being bi-polar is very rough. It can lead you down roads you normally would be to frightened to travel, and you find yourself doing things that later leave you wondering what the fuck you were thinking. Such as thinking about cutting myself deep enough to need stitches. But I don’t want anyone to find out, so instead I’ve been inflicting small injuries where others can’t see, or won’t really question what happened. It was just something to shock my mind out of feeling unpredictable, and to slow the racing thoughts. Sometimes that is not enough. Here is where the police come into the picture.
Where I sit at the park, I can see where they are in the distance. I‘ve even done this at other parks in different towns. When I get to the level where I want to do extreme cutting, I go park where they are within a short distance. ( Q-Trip is sometimes a good place to park:) ) Then instead of cutting, I write. From past experiences I know if law enforcement were to view my ‘accident’ they might try to lock me up somewhere. Locking me up actually makes things worse, because the moment I’m left alone, I will cut myself deep. It’s like a part of me says it’s okay now to cut, because if you cut too deep someone will be there to help you. Later is when it messes with my mind.
I’m still finishing up the rest of my thoughts that I wrote the other night, so I’ll post it a little later.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Get the Fuck away from here
Tomorrow I'm taking the boys to River City Park again. They had so much fun the other day that I've decided to let them spend another day enjoying the last day of their Spring Break there. It gives me a chance to relax and clear my mind. I've got too many thoughts running around in there.
I'm ashamed to admitt it...and I'll probably regret posting about it...but I've been fighting the urge to cut myself again. Instead, I've been doing other dumb ass shit to wake up my mind. I hate it when I go there. I've got enough fucking scars!! And I damn straight don't want to spend any time in jail.
Don't want to think about crazy shit!!
Let me instead dull my mind,
without the worry of being found out.
Few last thoughts...
I am battered and bruised.
Tore up.
I'm limping along, licking my wounds.
Putting myself back together
And smoothing down the frayed ends.
Taking stock and inventory,
accessing the damage.
Mentally reprimanding myself
for always needing the rush
of going beyond what's expected.
I'm ashamed to admitt it...and I'll probably regret posting about it...but I've been fighting the urge to cut myself again. Instead, I've been doing other dumb ass shit to wake up my mind. I hate it when I go there. I've got enough fucking scars!! And I damn straight don't want to spend any time in jail.
Don't want to think about crazy shit!!
Let me instead dull my mind,
without the worry of being found out.
Few last thoughts...
I am battered and bruised.
Tore up.
I'm limping along, licking my wounds.
Putting myself back together
And smoothing down the frayed ends.
Taking stock and inventory,
accessing the damage.
Mentally reprimanding myself
for always needing the rush
of going beyond what's expected.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Why do you make me bleed?
Come here and physically drag me out of this horror and the tragedy to come, if you can. I need to be pushed down on my knees and have the gun held to my head. Otherwise I’ll just stay here - entirely passive, too tired to be aggressive - and continue to just sit, letting my life rot away on my king sized bed, within my comfortable walls shrouded in total darkness. The flickering images of fear, terror, desperation and destruction is beamed onto my face, yet I’ll still feel nothing.
I’m not proud to be crunching absentmindedly on nachos and washing away the feelings by slurping from this sweet and bitter bottle of soco & lime. My stomach feels sickened by drinking so much. Will you kiss it and make things all better? Will you do something to make the pain go away? Maybe warm words will suffice. Will you tell me that you’re sorry for my suffering?
I’m appalled. Disturbed. Shocked. Angered. So don’t expect me to move or be moved. Don’t count on me to do anything beyond letting my jaw drop open slightly and my eyes to widen. Instead, I’ll attempt to absolve myself from my crimes. If we ever meet in some alternative reality where the world has been molded into the long awaited melting pot of peace and love, I’ll ask you whether you’ll be able to forgive me.
Will you pardon me for the fact that I couldn’t even be bothered to walk by or come over and kick you in the stomach? But instead I simply sat, stared, munched, and drank? I nurse a mind that’s entirely blank. As blank as this screen will be, when I press standby and switch myself off.
Is that the time? It’s long past the hour for untroubled sleep.
I’m not proud to be crunching absentmindedly on nachos and washing away the feelings by slurping from this sweet and bitter bottle of soco & lime. My stomach feels sickened by drinking so much. Will you kiss it and make things all better? Will you do something to make the pain go away? Maybe warm words will suffice. Will you tell me that you’re sorry for my suffering?
I’m appalled. Disturbed. Shocked. Angered. So don’t expect me to move or be moved. Don’t count on me to do anything beyond letting my jaw drop open slightly and my eyes to widen. Instead, I’ll attempt to absolve myself from my crimes. If we ever meet in some alternative reality where the world has been molded into the long awaited melting pot of peace and love, I’ll ask you whether you’ll be able to forgive me.
Will you pardon me for the fact that I couldn’t even be bothered to walk by or come over and kick you in the stomach? But instead I simply sat, stared, munched, and drank? I nurse a mind that’s entirely blank. As blank as this screen will be, when I press standby and switch myself off.
Is that the time? It’s long past the hour for untroubled sleep.
Thursday, March 05, 2009
I started out with nothing and still have most of it left
Wow! Its been a long day. I got up at 8:30am because my son calls and says he over slept and needs a ride to school. By the time I get back to my house, it’s past 9am, so I figure I might as well stay up, five hours of sleep is enough for the state I’m in right now. I shower, eat a Egg Mc Muffin, throw back some French vanilla coffee, pop a few pills and I’m out the door for the rest of the day.
I didn’t go to Chandler Park like I planned, instead I ran a few errands, and then went to the library to get a few books to inspire my thinking in a more positive way. Afterwards I spent time walking around at the parks in our small, everybody knows you busy, kind of town. I felt a little uncomfortable knowing Mr. RR was on duty. Asshole!! (Yeah I like you as much as you like me.) Anyway, I felt uncomfortable every time a car came near to where I was parked, so I never really got to relax, like I can when I go out of town. So, I think tomorrow I’ll go to Chandler Park for lunch and walk around for a little while. Maybe I can relax there.
One thing I didn’t do today, was go to court. No, I didn’t fuck off going, I just did some cock sucking and got enough money to pay the damn thing. $230 fucking dollars!!! ...and I’m not sure if has helped any to remind me to s l o w the hell down. When I’m manic I tend to do a lot of reckless things, mostly because I just don’t think. Or maybe my mind is over thinking. I usually have 5 or 6 voices talking in my head, so that makes it a little difficult to concentrate on one specific thing. It’s kinda funny. I’m always by myself, with no traffic around, when I tend to speed. If there are other cars around, I’m a lot more careful, guess that’s why I’ve never had a wreck since I first started driving.
After visiting all three of the bigger parks in town, I headed home, cooked a little dinner, and then headed out for a night at the Casino off of 81st and Riverside in Tulsa. A friend that owed me a little money for a favor or two, split what she had with me, and we spent the next several hours playing different games. I was smart enough this time that I cashed out each time I reached around $20 dollars, so in the end I brought home what she gave me...which was nice.
It’s now past 1am, and I’m still a little hyper, so much so that I feel like doing some touch-up painting on my kitchen cabinets again. I told myself to wait until this week-end, and instead write down my day. Pretty normal this time, at least. I think the key sometimes, is just to stay busy.
What is the meaning of life?
To be happy and useful, knowing that you lived every bit of it the way you wanted.
Here are some pictures that I took at the River Park yesterday...beautiful!!! I plan on going back again soon. Just click on any picture to enlarge it if you want.
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
Can I Swim in the Ocean While I Write Poetry?
It’s past 3am and I still can’t seem to relax, so I’ll turn to the only thing that seems to quiet my mind...writing. My mind has been having so many killer thoughts, that some of the stories running through my mind even frighten me a little. But I can’t slow down...I’m full of endless energy at the moment. It’s way better than that shithole depression cycle that I’ve been in, but that also means my mind has ten thousand things going on at the same time, making it almost impossible to finish one thing before I’m ready to do something else.
I averaged around 6 hours sleep yesterday, and around the same last night, and surprisingly I’m not sleepy at all. Today I got ready and did some spending at the grocery store, and spent more than what I should have, but I just felt the need to get things. It probably didn’t help out with this manic phase I’m going though, by drinking too much coffee this morning around 9am, skipping breakfast and lunch because I took a phentermine, low blood sugar, had an encounter with a highway patrol officer...nice conversation...lol, not much sleep, and then throw in the mania....WOW!!! Talk about high-strung.
I’m also thinking about my court date...it’s this fucking Thursday!!! Good thing I looked today, I thought it wasn’t until later in the month. I’ll probably wait until that day to decide if I’m going to court, or just pay the damn thing. It was my faulty ass brain, not thinking clearly, as the reason why I got the damn ticket.
It’s now way past 3 am and I’m still up flipping through the dictionary and surfing online to find the words that describes EXACTLY how I feel. Can I run away just to see if anyone cares? I just have all this unbridled mania and I don’t know what to do with it. I’ve tried finding things to occupy my mind and take me away from the intrusive thoughts, but nothing seems to be working tonight. It’s just sometimes I’m so afraid of failing that I don’t even want to try.
Enough psycho thoughts for the night, maybe I’ll go lay down and stare at the ceiling for the next few hours.
My mind occasionally drifts away into little fantasies of what life would be like had I pulled the trigger on him that day.
Scars are like tattoos...but with better stories.
It always rains the hardest, on the people who deserve the sun.
The stars will cry the blackest tears tonight.
I’m going to smile like nothings wrong.
Suicide is a cry for help ... a last ditch attempt to communicate from a private hell.
I averaged around 6 hours sleep yesterday, and around the same last night, and surprisingly I’m not sleepy at all. Today I got ready and did some spending at the grocery store, and spent more than what I should have, but I just felt the need to get things. It probably didn’t help out with this manic phase I’m going though, by drinking too much coffee this morning around 9am, skipping breakfast and lunch because I took a phentermine, low blood sugar, had an encounter with a highway patrol officer...nice conversation...lol, not much sleep, and then throw in the mania....WOW!!! Talk about high-strung.
I’m also thinking about my court date...it’s this fucking Thursday!!! Good thing I looked today, I thought it wasn’t until later in the month. I’ll probably wait until that day to decide if I’m going to court, or just pay the damn thing. It was my faulty ass brain, not thinking clearly, as the reason why I got the damn ticket.
It’s now way past 3 am and I’m still up flipping through the dictionary and surfing online to find the words that describes EXACTLY how I feel. Can I run away just to see if anyone cares? I just have all this unbridled mania and I don’t know what to do with it. I’ve tried finding things to occupy my mind and take me away from the intrusive thoughts, but nothing seems to be working tonight. It’s just sometimes I’m so afraid of failing that I don’t even want to try.
Enough psycho thoughts for the night, maybe I’ll go lay down and stare at the ceiling for the next few hours.
My mind occasionally drifts away into little fantasies of what life would be like had I pulled the trigger on him that day.
Scars are like tattoos...but with better stories.
It always rains the hardest, on the people who deserve the sun.
The stars will cry the blackest tears tonight.
I’m going to smile like nothings wrong.
Suicide is a cry for help ... a last ditch attempt to communicate from a private hell.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Trying Not to Hear What is Coming in so Loud
Today my emotions are all over the board. I’m going from being in a state of full blown mania, to a point of crashing down so low in the ground, that the best shovel in the world couldn’t help me dig my way out. The thing is, I knew it was coming, but I still couldn’t stop the wave. Memories from my fucked up past comes sweeping in like a F-5 tornado, swirling around, slamming pieces of debris in every direction. To calm myself, and maybe prevent more cutting, I’ve decided to return to writing again as a way to quiet my mind.
For those who do not wish to read about torture, cruel acts, or any other random acts of violence that my mind may think about in the next couple hours, then I suggest you leave this site.
I want revenge, plain and simple revenge.
My mind was obsessed with the possibilities of revenge.
I sat quietly alone in the car, looking in the direction of the place I knew he would have to appear...his job. It’s the easiest way to track a person. Find out where they work, then just follow them.
I finished smoking and flipped the remains out the window into the heavy breeze, spinning it around outside my car. I took notice of the rustling leaves that spiraled around in a circle near the curb. My eyes followed as a stray leaf broke free and wondered off in the direction of the police department. My eyes followed every twist and curve as it neared my target.
I could feel the blood rushing through my veins as the leaf came to a stop when an officer stepped outside. I smiled lightly, breathing in the essence of life that surrounded him, deep into my lungs.
I had been watching him for a long time, and fantasized many times about what I would do to him if I had the opportunity. I was looking at him like an object, not a life form like me, put a toy to be played with and used completely.
He was perfect with his short cut black hair, brown eyes, dimpled cheeks, and nice muscular built body. I was drawn towards him since the first day I saw him at the park. I felt it was fate that had brought us together and fate alone that would decide the outcome of our next meeting.
I watched him from Second and Broadway as he sat down in the his car and placed a seatbelt across his chest. I started my car as he began backing out, and then I watched him as he turned left at the light and drove right in front of me. I quickly dropped in behind him and began my pursuit, my body tingling with adrenaline.
I relentlessly followed behind him as he turned left on Main St and then right to W 2nd St. At the light he turned left to 97 going under the overpass and pulled into a Quik-Trip located on the corner in front of Wal-Mart. I followed behind him as he made his way inside. I could smell the sweet fragrance of his cologne as his body moved through the air directly in front of me. I inhaled it deeply, programming the smell permanently into my mind. We reached for a small drink cup at the same moment and our hands briefly touched, sending shock waves of adrenaline throughout my body. Was it destiny or fate?
It wasn’t until we were getting into our cars and backing out that he looked directly at me, locking eyes for a longer than usually glance. I could tell that he thought I looked familiar, but he just couldn’t quite figure out who I was at that moment. Fear that I had been caught before I was ready, sent me in the opposite direction.
The next day, I waited until his shift was almost over before I began my pursuit of following him to his home. I drove past as I watched him pull his police cruiser into his driveway. I continued on straight, looking into my rearview mirror as he stepped his huge 6’3” body out of the small confines of the drivers seat. I turned around on the next block and drove back in front of his house looking for one last glance or the opportunity to put my plan in motion.
I knew he was married for the second time, and had a couple kids, but they were nothing but a momentary thought. After all, in the end they would be okay and be able move on with their lives. She knew the risk of being with a police officer when she first began sneaking around with him while he was still married to his first wife.
It was several hours into darkness on late February eve, when I got up enough nerve to park my car just a couple hundred feet from his front door. I stepped outside, feeling the heartbeat of the earth beneath my feet. Power was flowing into me as I was drawn nearer to his essence, his life force. I could smell the coolness of the earth as I stood near a window and peered with contempt of danger. I smiled slowly as I stood near the window and reached out to run my fingertips lightly over the glassy surface. My fingertips tingled with the feeling of life under them, my body reacting to the powerful flow of adrenaline, I reached down the front of my jeans with my left hand and cupped my moist mound.
I could see him standing in the middle of the room, talking on the phone as I silently watched his lips moving to words I could not understand. His graceful movements subdue my own shaky nerves as I watch him remove his shirt. His stomach muscles were not taught but rather pudgy, as if he has enjoyed a few too many beers in his lifetime. I find it sexy for men around 40 to have this kind of look, and it sent shivers down my spine.
My left index finger separated my damp opening and began massaging in clockwise direction. I giggled lightly thinking about how I would look like a fool if someone were to pass by and see me standing there. At the moment I didn’t care, I was more into the fantasy of what I could be doing to his body after I forced him at gunpoint into the back seat of my SVU.
I would handcuff his wrists behind his back, (using his own set of cuffs of course), gag him with a thick washcloth, and then place a black hood over his face. I would then take my helpless, whimpering victim to a cabin deep in the woods, where no sound could be heard for miles.
Inside the cabin I pull off the hood and remove the gag from his mouth. After all, there is no need to fear anyone being able to hear the screams so far out in the country.
He looks around confused and disoriented, but quickly recovers and tries rushing his handcuffed body in my direction. I’m quickly able to knock him off his feet and send him falling to the floor with a loud thump.
I maneuver over his body and sit across his mid-section, “You’re fucked my friend!” I say with a little giggle. Then I slap him viciously across the face, leaving a dark red handprint across his right cheek. With a savage grin on my face, I begin punching him in the face, chest and belly, forcing him the wince in a little pain.
He was big and powerful, but my blows took some of the fight out of him. Keeping him handcuffed I cut free his shirt, pulled down his jeans, and then removed his boxers, leaving him fully exposed to my fists. I worked him over until my knuckles began to bleed and the blood from his face began to mix with mine.
When he beg me to stop, I stepped back and began to admire the nakedness of my victim. He looked luscious, with his limp cock laying to the side of his leg. I couldn’t stop myself from taking him fully into my mouth. Nature took over and after several minutes his cock began to grow. I wanted to jam his big cock deep down my throat, but first I wanted him to feel pain. There would be no more pleasure for him that day.
I walked across the old creaky floor and stood before my victim. I pulled a large hunting knife out and touched the tip to his chest.
“You will call me Tayla,” I whispered softly. “And you will treat people like me with respect from now on. Do you fucking understand?”
He nodded, and said he was sorry.
“You know I could easily kill you,” I said to him. “No one knows where we are.”
“No, please, no,” I have a family he pleaded.
“No - what - you pig? I said pressing the tip of the knife into his firm chest muscle near his heart.
His eyes opened wide at the sensation of the cold blade pressing into his flesh, bringing a small amount of blood oozing to the surface.
“I’m sorry Tayla. Please don’t kill me,” he begged.
“That’s it. Be a nice officer. Not some asshole cunt, that thinks he’s better than the rest of the world.”
“Okay Tayla, just take the knife away from my chest.”
I moved the knife away from his new wound, but held it firmly in my hand. “You don’t remember me, do you asshole?” I asked gripping the knife a little tighter in my hand.
“No Tayla, I don’t...”
“Of course you don’t,” I said placing the knife back against his skin. “Pretty little pigs like you look right past people like me. I’m not pretty enough, smart enough, or thin enough for you. You treat me as if I’m a nobody. A worthless piece of shit that should only be taken out back and shot. You think you’re too good to follow the same rules that I have to follow. I’m nothing to you but dirt under your fingernail that you can’t get rid of.”
I stuck the knife into his chest deep enough to make him let out a loud ear piercing scream. I continued to stare into his eyes at his pain, until his eyes locked with mine, then I had to look away. Even handcuffed, he had power over me, and I wanted to take that power away from him.
“You’re nothing but a fucking piece of shit, you asshole,” I screamed at him and began slamming my fist into his body. While he shrieked in agony, I thought about taking the knife and driving it deep into his belly and splitting him open. “I want you to remember me, and everything that has happened today, so that you will never forget what trauma does to a person. They are never normal again. You can’t just forget and move on. Every time you think you’re okay, someone could be lurking around some corner ready to do you harm. It never fucking goes away!!" I screamed loudly.
I took a deep breathe and looked long into his eyes. I knew I didn't want to kill him, but I did want him to feel pain. I put my hands around his neck and began squeezing him enough that it was uncomfortable. I leaned down and whispered into his ear, "I’m not going to kill you this time, but I’ll be watching you."
My thoughts were running wild as I stood rubbing my wet cunt outside his house, thinking about my fantasy to kidnap the officer. I wanted to watch him struggle to breathe. The thought sent me over the edge and my insides began to erupt. Hot warm juices began to flow. I pulled out my fingers and licked the sweetness from my fingertips. I was out of breath, but returning to sanity when lights from a car turned down the street.
The coolness of the night air felt like ocean waves caressing my body. I felt alive! I quickly retreated to my car, and continue my quest to find another officer to kidnap for my ultimate fantasy.
For those who do not wish to read about torture, cruel acts, or any other random acts of violence that my mind may think about in the next couple hours, then I suggest you leave this site.
I want revenge, plain and simple revenge.
My mind was obsessed with the possibilities of revenge.
I sat quietly alone in the car, looking in the direction of the place I knew he would have to appear...his job. It’s the easiest way to track a person. Find out where they work, then just follow them.
I finished smoking and flipped the remains out the window into the heavy breeze, spinning it around outside my car. I took notice of the rustling leaves that spiraled around in a circle near the curb. My eyes followed as a stray leaf broke free and wondered off in the direction of the police department. My eyes followed every twist and curve as it neared my target.
I could feel the blood rushing through my veins as the leaf came to a stop when an officer stepped outside. I smiled lightly, breathing in the essence of life that surrounded him, deep into my lungs.
I had been watching him for a long time, and fantasized many times about what I would do to him if I had the opportunity. I was looking at him like an object, not a life form like me, put a toy to be played with and used completely.
He was perfect with his short cut black hair, brown eyes, dimpled cheeks, and nice muscular built body. I was drawn towards him since the first day I saw him at the park. I felt it was fate that had brought us together and fate alone that would decide the outcome of our next meeting.
I watched him from Second and Broadway as he sat down in the his car and placed a seatbelt across his chest. I started my car as he began backing out, and then I watched him as he turned left at the light and drove right in front of me. I quickly dropped in behind him and began my pursuit, my body tingling with adrenaline.
I relentlessly followed behind him as he turned left on Main St and then right to W 2nd St. At the light he turned left to 97 going under the overpass and pulled into a Quik-Trip located on the corner in front of Wal-Mart. I followed behind him as he made his way inside. I could smell the sweet fragrance of his cologne as his body moved through the air directly in front of me. I inhaled it deeply, programming the smell permanently into my mind. We reached for a small drink cup at the same moment and our hands briefly touched, sending shock waves of adrenaline throughout my body. Was it destiny or fate?
It wasn’t until we were getting into our cars and backing out that he looked directly at me, locking eyes for a longer than usually glance. I could tell that he thought I looked familiar, but he just couldn’t quite figure out who I was at that moment. Fear that I had been caught before I was ready, sent me in the opposite direction.
The next day, I waited until his shift was almost over before I began my pursuit of following him to his home. I drove past as I watched him pull his police cruiser into his driveway. I continued on straight, looking into my rearview mirror as he stepped his huge 6’3” body out of the small confines of the drivers seat. I turned around on the next block and drove back in front of his house looking for one last glance or the opportunity to put my plan in motion.
I knew he was married for the second time, and had a couple kids, but they were nothing but a momentary thought. After all, in the end they would be okay and be able move on with their lives. She knew the risk of being with a police officer when she first began sneaking around with him while he was still married to his first wife.
It was several hours into darkness on late February eve, when I got up enough nerve to park my car just a couple hundred feet from his front door. I stepped outside, feeling the heartbeat of the earth beneath my feet. Power was flowing into me as I was drawn nearer to his essence, his life force. I could smell the coolness of the earth as I stood near a window and peered with contempt of danger. I smiled slowly as I stood near the window and reached out to run my fingertips lightly over the glassy surface. My fingertips tingled with the feeling of life under them, my body reacting to the powerful flow of adrenaline, I reached down the front of my jeans with my left hand and cupped my moist mound.
I could see him standing in the middle of the room, talking on the phone as I silently watched his lips moving to words I could not understand. His graceful movements subdue my own shaky nerves as I watch him remove his shirt. His stomach muscles were not taught but rather pudgy, as if he has enjoyed a few too many beers in his lifetime. I find it sexy for men around 40 to have this kind of look, and it sent shivers down my spine.
My left index finger separated my damp opening and began massaging in clockwise direction. I giggled lightly thinking about how I would look like a fool if someone were to pass by and see me standing there. At the moment I didn’t care, I was more into the fantasy of what I could be doing to his body after I forced him at gunpoint into the back seat of my SVU.
I would handcuff his wrists behind his back, (using his own set of cuffs of course), gag him with a thick washcloth, and then place a black hood over his face. I would then take my helpless, whimpering victim to a cabin deep in the woods, where no sound could be heard for miles.
Inside the cabin I pull off the hood and remove the gag from his mouth. After all, there is no need to fear anyone being able to hear the screams so far out in the country.
He looks around confused and disoriented, but quickly recovers and tries rushing his handcuffed body in my direction. I’m quickly able to knock him off his feet and send him falling to the floor with a loud thump.
I maneuver over his body and sit across his mid-section, “You’re fucked my friend!” I say with a little giggle. Then I slap him viciously across the face, leaving a dark red handprint across his right cheek. With a savage grin on my face, I begin punching him in the face, chest and belly, forcing him the wince in a little pain.
He was big and powerful, but my blows took some of the fight out of him. Keeping him handcuffed I cut free his shirt, pulled down his jeans, and then removed his boxers, leaving him fully exposed to my fists. I worked him over until my knuckles began to bleed and the blood from his face began to mix with mine.
When he beg me to stop, I stepped back and began to admire the nakedness of my victim. He looked luscious, with his limp cock laying to the side of his leg. I couldn’t stop myself from taking him fully into my mouth. Nature took over and after several minutes his cock began to grow. I wanted to jam his big cock deep down my throat, but first I wanted him to feel pain. There would be no more pleasure for him that day.
I walked across the old creaky floor and stood before my victim. I pulled a large hunting knife out and touched the tip to his chest.
“You will call me Tayla,” I whispered softly. “And you will treat people like me with respect from now on. Do you fucking understand?”
He nodded, and said he was sorry.
“You know I could easily kill you,” I said to him. “No one knows where we are.”
“No, please, no,” I have a family he pleaded.
“No - what - you pig? I said pressing the tip of the knife into his firm chest muscle near his heart.
His eyes opened wide at the sensation of the cold blade pressing into his flesh, bringing a small amount of blood oozing to the surface.
“I’m sorry Tayla. Please don’t kill me,” he begged.
“That’s it. Be a nice officer. Not some asshole cunt, that thinks he’s better than the rest of the world.”
“Okay Tayla, just take the knife away from my chest.”
I moved the knife away from his new wound, but held it firmly in my hand. “You don’t remember me, do you asshole?” I asked gripping the knife a little tighter in my hand.
“No Tayla, I don’t...”
“Of course you don’t,” I said placing the knife back against his skin. “Pretty little pigs like you look right past people like me. I’m not pretty enough, smart enough, or thin enough for you. You treat me as if I’m a nobody. A worthless piece of shit that should only be taken out back and shot. You think you’re too good to follow the same rules that I have to follow. I’m nothing to you but dirt under your fingernail that you can’t get rid of.”
I stuck the knife into his chest deep enough to make him let out a loud ear piercing scream. I continued to stare into his eyes at his pain, until his eyes locked with mine, then I had to look away. Even handcuffed, he had power over me, and I wanted to take that power away from him.
“You’re nothing but a fucking piece of shit, you asshole,” I screamed at him and began slamming my fist into his body. While he shrieked in agony, I thought about taking the knife and driving it deep into his belly and splitting him open. “I want you to remember me, and everything that has happened today, so that you will never forget what trauma does to a person. They are never normal again. You can’t just forget and move on. Every time you think you’re okay, someone could be lurking around some corner ready to do you harm. It never fucking goes away!!" I screamed loudly.
I took a deep breathe and looked long into his eyes. I knew I didn't want to kill him, but I did want him to feel pain. I put my hands around his neck and began squeezing him enough that it was uncomfortable. I leaned down and whispered into his ear, "I’m not going to kill you this time, but I’ll be watching you."
My thoughts were running wild as I stood rubbing my wet cunt outside his house, thinking about my fantasy to kidnap the officer. I wanted to watch him struggle to breathe. The thought sent me over the edge and my insides began to erupt. Hot warm juices began to flow. I pulled out my fingers and licked the sweetness from my fingertips. I was out of breath, but returning to sanity when lights from a car turned down the street.
The coolness of the night air felt like ocean waves caressing my body. I felt alive! I quickly retreated to my car, and continue my quest to find another officer to kidnap for my ultimate fantasy.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Tomorrow A Good Friend Will Die
I’m drowning in my own pool of blood.
I see a razor sitting on the edge of the sink.
My mind goes into a spiral as I begin to think.
Maybe just one cut to ease the pain.
I promise to myself not to hit a vein.
I’m finally alone with my thoughts, and I find they are running around in several directions, but still running back to one thought. Will a friend, of 25 years, get a miracle tomorrow, or will he be taking his last breath? I fear that it will be the later. He has had no movement since he had a brain aneurysm back when we had the ice storm around January 27.
His wife called to let me know that he was suddenly dizzy, had blurred vision, and a intense headache. So they rushed him to the ER in Bartlesville, where they determined he needed to be life-flighted, but because of the severe ice storm in the area, the chopter couldn’t fly. Insted, he was rushed by ambulance to the only hospital that could handle the golf ball size bulging in his brain, which was in Wichita, Kansas. The trip took over an hour, allowing the aneurysm to grow to the size of a baseball. He never had a chance, even after the surgery.
I did a little research online and found out that a unbelievable one in 15 people in the US will develop a brain aneurysm during their lifetime. Many will die on the way to the hospital, and over 50 percent will die within the first thirty days after rupture. Those who do survive, about half suffer some permanent damage. This scares the hell out of me.
I can’t help but think it could possible be my turn, and I don‘t want that outcome for my life. I want to go out on my own terms...not some random hand from God’s sky, reaching down and taking my last breath without warning. I had been at his house just two weeks before, after he had begged me to come by and visit him. I felt obligated to go since I hadn’t been to see him and his family in two years or more. I wonder if he knew somehow? If he felt it coming and wanted to get together one last time?
Whatever led me to finally going, I’m glad I went. I got to see him with his dream. The one that Tony always wanted...to have a family of his own. He has two beautiful daughters, one typical 14-year-old from his wife’s first marriage, and a 9-year-old dark hair, brown eyed little girl, that looks so much like him. He was happy, even though they didn’t have much. I could tell when I visited that they all loved him very much. It was strange seeing them call him Daddy, but that’s what he was to them, no matter what kind of life he had lived in the past, he was their loving Daddy.
He was one of the gang members I hung around with, did drugs with, went to jail with ..more than once. He was two years younger than me!! And his life will probably be over in just a few more hours. He hasn’t woke up or responded at all to those around him. His wife said she was going to let the girls spend the weekend saying goodbye, and Monday morning they were removing his life support.
It’s after 2 am and I should get some sleep before the call comes. I hate those kind of calls. The older I get, the more frequently I receive the late night, or early morning calls. You never get use to them, and sometimes I just don’t know what to say to the person on the other end of the line. I wonder what people will say when my turn comes? ...Surprised that it hadn’t happened before now? I’ve lived a hard life, and like Tony, I feel I’m in the last Chapter of my book...the end is near.
I don't think I want to be here for the call...I may spend the day in Sand Springs driving around in little circles. Anything to ease the pain.
The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.
I see a razor sitting on the edge of the sink.
My mind goes into a spiral as I begin to think.
Maybe just one cut to ease the pain.
I promise to myself not to hit a vein.
I’m finally alone with my thoughts, and I find they are running around in several directions, but still running back to one thought. Will a friend, of 25 years, get a miracle tomorrow, or will he be taking his last breath? I fear that it will be the later. He has had no movement since he had a brain aneurysm back when we had the ice storm around January 27.
His wife called to let me know that he was suddenly dizzy, had blurred vision, and a intense headache. So they rushed him to the ER in Bartlesville, where they determined he needed to be life-flighted, but because of the severe ice storm in the area, the chopter couldn’t fly. Insted, he was rushed by ambulance to the only hospital that could handle the golf ball size bulging in his brain, which was in Wichita, Kansas. The trip took over an hour, allowing the aneurysm to grow to the size of a baseball. He never had a chance, even after the surgery.
I did a little research online and found out that a unbelievable one in 15 people in the US will develop a brain aneurysm during their lifetime. Many will die on the way to the hospital, and over 50 percent will die within the first thirty days after rupture. Those who do survive, about half suffer some permanent damage. This scares the hell out of me.
I can’t help but think it could possible be my turn, and I don‘t want that outcome for my life. I want to go out on my own terms...not some random hand from God’s sky, reaching down and taking my last breath without warning. I had been at his house just two weeks before, after he had begged me to come by and visit him. I felt obligated to go since I hadn’t been to see him and his family in two years or more. I wonder if he knew somehow? If he felt it coming and wanted to get together one last time?
Whatever led me to finally going, I’m glad I went. I got to see him with his dream. The one that Tony always wanted...to have a family of his own. He has two beautiful daughters, one typical 14-year-old from his wife’s first marriage, and a 9-year-old dark hair, brown eyed little girl, that looks so much like him. He was happy, even though they didn’t have much. I could tell when I visited that they all loved him very much. It was strange seeing them call him Daddy, but that’s what he was to them, no matter what kind of life he had lived in the past, he was their loving Daddy.
He was one of the gang members I hung around with, did drugs with, went to jail with ..more than once. He was two years younger than me!! And his life will probably be over in just a few more hours. He hasn’t woke up or responded at all to those around him. His wife said she was going to let the girls spend the weekend saying goodbye, and Monday morning they were removing his life support.
It’s after 2 am and I should get some sleep before the call comes. I hate those kind of calls. The older I get, the more frequently I receive the late night, or early morning calls. You never get use to them, and sometimes I just don’t know what to say to the person on the other end of the line. I wonder what people will say when my turn comes? ...Surprised that it hadn’t happened before now? I’ve lived a hard life, and like Tony, I feel I’m in the last Chapter of my book...the end is near.
I don't think I want to be here for the call...I may spend the day in Sand Springs driving around in little circles. Anything to ease the pain.
The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.
Thursday, November 06, 2008
I stopped fighting my inner demons we’re on the same side now.
I don’t care what they say,
so what if I’m a little bit crazy.
All alone in the rain.
I’m going under.
Sometimes I feel so frozen.
Trying not to hear what they are saying,
But they are talking so loud.
Everyone around me thinks I’m going crazy.
It’s draining all of me.
But I just don’t care what they say.
I can take a lot of pain.
All I have to do is laugh a little too loud.
I never meant to cause any problems.
I only want to be seen laughing in the rain.
I’ve had enough.
I’m letting myself go.
so what if I’m a little bit crazy.
All alone in the rain.
I’m going under.
Sometimes I feel so frozen.
Trying not to hear what they are saying,
But they are talking so loud.
Everyone around me thinks I’m going crazy.
It’s draining all of me.
But I just don’t care what they say.
I can take a lot of pain.
All I have to do is laugh a little too loud.
I never meant to cause any problems.
I only want to be seen laughing in the rain.
I’ve had enough.
I’m letting myself go.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Manic Thoughts
I've been struggling with an illness,
At least that's what I'm told.
It seems that no one can agree,
And I'm just getting old.
It's only supposed to matter
How I really feel, they've said.
But somehow without a label
I'm lost inside my head.
I guess I'll keep on trudging
And dutifully swallowing the pills.
Until somehow they find a "cure"
For whatever are my ills.
Where does one call truce
in the battle with the mind,
forever tweaking medicines
to improve the
quality of life?
When does one settle
for a shell of a former "you,"
and stop striving to improve the
quality of life?
I raise the white flag
of surrender.
I am so tired...
Dark, cold, black, tranquil….
It calls to me like an old friend.
The darkness should frighten me…
Run, flee, far away from the evil one.
My legs are filled with lead.
I remain, knowing what is ahead.
Too weak to fight,
Relinquishment.
Finally, it comes.
Tender arms engulfing me,
Floating, no pain.
No light.
No sound.
Nothingness.
Peace…….at last.
If you're overly excited, You're happy;
If I'm overly excited, I'm manic.
If you imagine the phone is ringing, You're stressed out;
If I'm imaging the phone is ringing, I'm psychotic.
If you're crying and sleeping all day, You're sad and need time out;
If I'm crying and sleeping all day, I'm depressed and need to get up.
If you're afraid to leave your house at night, You're cautious;
If I'm afraid to leave my house at night, I'm paranoid.
If you speak your mind and express any opinions, You're assertive;
If I speak my mind and express my opinions, I'm aggressive.
If you don't like something and mention it, You're being honest;
If I don't like something and mention it, I'm being difficult.
If you get angry, You're considered upset;
If I get angry, I'm considered dangerous.
If you over re-act to something, You're sensitive;
If I over re-act to something, I'm out of control.
If you don't want to be around others,
You're taking care of yourself and relaxing;
If I don't want to be around others,
I'm isolating myself and avoiding.
If you talk to strangers, You're being friendly;
If I talk to strangers, I'm being inappropriate.
For all of the above, you're not told to take a pill or be put in the hospital;
But I am.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Today is a New Day
Today is a New Day
I will start it like it is my very last day.
Days are number
Not many left.
Grab what you can and run.
Just leave a trail
So they will know you were there.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Driven Insane
I can take it no longer
No more can I fight.
I just want to kill you
I want to end it tonight.
Your voice is like nails
On a chalkboard in my brain,
It pushes me to slit your throat,
Finally ending this fucking pain.
You bring memories to mind,
That I’d rather forget,
Hatred; rage; fear,
You aren’t clear of me yet.
Each action; each word.
Simply drove me insane,
I tried to resist,
But my effort was all in vain.
It’s finally over,
My burden is lifted,
But basking in blood,
My mind’s quickly shifted.
Sinking realization,
Undeserved fate for one not all bad,
Now turn the knife to myself,
I’m so fucking sorry and sad.
No more can I fight.
I just want to kill you
I want to end it tonight.
Your voice is like nails
On a chalkboard in my brain,
It pushes me to slit your throat,
Finally ending this fucking pain.
You bring memories to mind,
That I’d rather forget,
Hatred; rage; fear,
You aren’t clear of me yet.
Each action; each word.
Simply drove me insane,
I tried to resist,
But my effort was all in vain.
It’s finally over,
My burden is lifted,
But basking in blood,
My mind’s quickly shifted.
Sinking realization,
Undeserved fate for one not all bad,
Now turn the knife to myself,
I’m so fucking sorry and sad.
Sunday, March 02, 2008
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.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
Living My Life in a Slow Hell
Writing for me has become a lifeline--an escape into an imaginary world where hurts are only fictional and there are happy endings.
When I was a little girl, I would quite often create a make-believe family in a make-believe world. This family and world were perfect, so at 8 years old, I found myself spending hours lost in my own private world. There was no fighting, no brothers in the hospital, no hostile words spoken by others, I had all the things I needed, and even some things that I just wanted.
My imaginary family made me feel like someone cared about me; Mom dressed me beautiful pink laced dresses, and even let me wear some of her make-up. My Dad didn’t touch me in ways that I didn’t want to be touched, and being hugged actually felt good. At school, I wasn’t made fun of, instead people greeted me with a smile every morning.
The weather was always the right temperature and fragrant lilac flowers grew everywhere. I never saw anything that could give me nightmares, and in my dreams I felt blissfully happy and content. My life was filled with laughter , and every story I read had a happy ending.
It was so unlike my real life that I would spend hours alone, sipping ‘tea’ kool-aid with my dolls, and talking to myself about the things that I someday wanted to do....I had dreams then.
In my mind, I would fly away to places that I loved.
Sometimes I want to go back to being that little 8 year old girl, just so I can go back to imaginary land where everything is perfect.
When I was a little girl, I would quite often create a make-believe family in a make-believe world. This family and world were perfect, so at 8 years old, I found myself spending hours lost in my own private world. There was no fighting, no brothers in the hospital, no hostile words spoken by others, I had all the things I needed, and even some things that I just wanted.
My imaginary family made me feel like someone cared about me; Mom dressed me beautiful pink laced dresses, and even let me wear some of her make-up. My Dad didn’t touch me in ways that I didn’t want to be touched, and being hugged actually felt good. At school, I wasn’t made fun of, instead people greeted me with a smile every morning.
The weather was always the right temperature and fragrant lilac flowers grew everywhere. I never saw anything that could give me nightmares, and in my dreams I felt blissfully happy and content. My life was filled with laughter , and every story I read had a happy ending.
It was so unlike my real life that I would spend hours alone, sipping ‘tea’ kool-aid with my dolls, and talking to myself about the things that I someday wanted to do....I had dreams then.
In my mind, I would fly away to places that I loved.
Sometimes I want to go back to being that little 8 year old girl, just so I can go back to imaginary land where everything is perfect.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
You Are Never Alone
There are times when you are alone,
no matter how crowded the room.
There are times when you are alone,
and not a soul is around.
But you are never alone,
because the ghosts in your heart
will always be with you,
to share the good and the bad.
The long lonely nights,
the short fun filled minutes.
No matter what it is that you are doing
you are never truly alone.
I think sometimes the ghosts are the ones
that we wish the most to spend our time with,
and other times they are the ones
we wish to get away from the most.
Haunted past memories of lovers, friends and family.
Never is a person truly alone.
If we ever did lose those memories,
no matter how anguishing they may seem
while we see them now,
think of how alone we would truly be
if we didn’t have them.
Would it truly be better
to not have those memories at all
and be completely alone,
or is it better on those long cold nights
to have the past to keep us company?
Even if the past isn’t always something that we loved,
or are happy to have happened to us,
the reward of retaining those bad memories
is the gift of having the good memories too.
no matter how crowded the room.
There are times when you are alone,
and not a soul is around.
But you are never alone,
because the ghosts in your heart
will always be with you,
to share the good and the bad.
The long lonely nights,
the short fun filled minutes.
No matter what it is that you are doing
you are never truly alone.
I think sometimes the ghosts are the ones
that we wish the most to spend our time with,
and other times they are the ones
we wish to get away from the most.
Haunted past memories of lovers, friends and family.
Never is a person truly alone.
If we ever did lose those memories,
no matter how anguishing they may seem
while we see them now,
think of how alone we would truly be
if we didn’t have them.
Would it truly be better
to not have those memories at all
and be completely alone,
or is it better on those long cold nights
to have the past to keep us company?
Even if the past isn’t always something that we loved,
or are happy to have happened to us,
the reward of retaining those bad memories
is the gift of having the good memories too.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
It's all a lie...
All of it is a lie
None of it is true.
I'm so sorry about all the things
I put you through.
It was just a way for me to set free
All the crazy thoughts that won't let me be.
I think I'm okay,
At least I feel that way today.
Maybe tomorrow things will be different
And I'll find a better way
To express the things I have to say.
My secret is still deeply concealed,
but hopefully if I continue doing this, I will be healed.
I hope in the end I will be set free.
Free from the hurt and free from the fears
Free from this world of everlasting tears.
Should I do what they say, "Go on with your life."
Why can't I? I know why!
Because, it has made me who I am.
If I went on, I would leave ME behind. So what now?
Sometimes things don't end up the way we thought they would.
Each step along the way
What should be black or white
Suddenly is shades of gray.
None of it is true.
I'm so sorry about all the things
I put you through.
It was just a way for me to set free
All the crazy thoughts that won't let me be.
I think I'm okay,
At least I feel that way today.
Maybe tomorrow things will be different
And I'll find a better way
To express the things I have to say.
My secret is still deeply concealed,
but hopefully if I continue doing this, I will be healed.
I hope in the end I will be set free.
Free from the hurt and free from the fears
Free from this world of everlasting tears.
Should I do what they say, "Go on with your life."
Why can't I? I know why!
Because, it has made me who I am.
If I went on, I would leave ME behind. So what now?
Sometimes things don't end up the way we thought they would.
Each step along the way
What should be black or white
Suddenly is shades of gray.
Friday, July 14, 2006
Every 15 minutes...
Every 15 minutes…
Someone takes their own life.
Someone feels like they can’t go on.
Someone feels like they can no longer control their actions.
Someone feels like they must gain control over the one thing that they can.
Then Every 15 minutes…
A heart will break.
A friend is gone forever.
A dream will never be realized.
A future will go blank.
Every 15 minutes…
Someone feels ignored.
Someone feels abandoned.
Someone feels completely helpless.
Someone will act on their thoughts.
Then Every 15 minutes…
A dream will die.
A deep void opens.
A mother will never again comfort the child who needed them.
A father will wonder why.
Every 15 minutes…
Someone is not able to seek the proper treatment.
Someone thinks everything seems so pointless.
Someone will break a promise.
Someone will succeed in taking their own life.
Then Every 15 minutes…
Someone will feel the pain of no touch, no voice, no love.
Someone will look across a table to a vacant chair.
Someone will lie awake at night, unable to sleep.
Someone will feel it’s somehow their fault.
Every 15 minutes…
Someone wants to run.
Someone wants to hide.
Someone wants to cry.
Someone wants to die.
Every 15 minutes…
Someone wants to hear your laughter.
Someone wants to wipe away your tears.
Someone wants you to know, you are not alone.
Someone does not want you to die.
Someone takes their own life.
Someone feels like they can’t go on.
Someone feels like they can no longer control their actions.
Someone feels like they must gain control over the one thing that they can.
Then Every 15 minutes…
A heart will break.
A friend is gone forever.
A dream will never be realized.
A future will go blank.
Every 15 minutes…
Someone feels ignored.
Someone feels abandoned.
Someone feels completely helpless.
Someone will act on their thoughts.
Then Every 15 minutes…
A dream will die.
A deep void opens.
A mother will never again comfort the child who needed them.
A father will wonder why.
Every 15 minutes…
Someone is not able to seek the proper treatment.
Someone thinks everything seems so pointless.
Someone will break a promise.
Someone will succeed in taking their own life.
Then Every 15 minutes…
Someone will feel the pain of no touch, no voice, no love.
Someone will look across a table to a vacant chair.
Someone will lie awake at night, unable to sleep.
Someone will feel it’s somehow their fault.
Every 15 minutes…
Someone wants to run.
Someone wants to hide.
Someone wants to cry.
Someone wants to die.
Every 15 minutes…
Someone wants to hear your laughter.
Someone wants to wipe away your tears.
Someone wants you to know, you are not alone.
Someone does not want you to die.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
The girl with the broken smile.
Life is like a jigsaw puzzle…it’s handed to you at birth, and slowly as you age you put the pieces together. And just like any puzzle sometimes you lose piece and have to take out time to look for it then put it where it belongs.
Sometimes I feel like I’ve lost too many pieces.
I lost my first piece the day my daddy took my innocence’s away.
Being told I was a nobody, scattered pieces everywhere.
Tears washed a piece away the day a good friend died.
I lost several while I was busy using drugs.
Anger scatter even more when I realized how hard it was to try and move on with my life. A bargain with the Devil burnt a few pieces around the edge, and left a piece missing near my heart.
My puzzle is a big mess and I’m running out of time to find all the pieces and put it together. I’m afraid there are some pieces I may never recover no matter how hard I try.
Sometimes I feel like I’ve lost too many pieces.
I lost my first piece the day my daddy took my innocence’s away.
Being told I was a nobody, scattered pieces everywhere.
Tears washed a piece away the day a good friend died.
I lost several while I was busy using drugs.
Anger scatter even more when I realized how hard it was to try and move on with my life. A bargain with the Devil burnt a few pieces around the edge, and left a piece missing near my heart.
My puzzle is a big mess and I’m running out of time to find all the pieces and put it together. I’m afraid there are some pieces I may never recover no matter how hard I try.
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