Black Pools of mud are moving

Click you heels three times, and say I wanna go home.
I wanna go home.
I wanna go home.
I wanna go back to when I was 5 years old and start my life all over again. Except for when I run away this time, I don’t ever come back.

I’m still not able to sleep yet, 37 hours and counting, I laid down for a couple of minutes, but I felt like I had that restless leg syndrome, so I’m back up walking around looking like some sad discarded old dog. I want to go into my garage and smoke until I puke (if that’s possible), but when the nice officers came to arrest me, I got rid of the only 3 joints I had left. I could easily go get more, but I better chill for now, I’m not sure the boys in blue are done with getting their jollies.

Stress is eating me up right now. I had to dig out my last couple of Loritabs that I had from when I first injured my knee, and took one about an hour ago, but it has yet to do anything. I twisted my knee just bad enough yesterday, that it is giving me a lot of pain when I try to walk. So, between the stress and the pain, I thought it wouldn’t hurt to use something. OK, YES I’M A FUCKING ADDICT!!

Shadows are dancing,
but there is no light to make a shadow.
Consumed by dreadful thoughts,
I want to drift away to another place.

I lost my teddy bear

Well, its coming up on around 35 plus hours now without me sleeping. I just can't seem to lay down and drift off into lala land. I tried a couple of times, but my mind is racing so fast I can't seem to make it shut off, so I thought I would sit down and write a little. Maybe this will quiet my mind down some.
I know my stress is what's casuing my insomnia right now, but I know my body will/must eventually begin to shut down and hopefully sleep will then come. As long as I don't reach the point of insomnia where I have begun to hallucinate. It's been a long time since that happened.

Beside a little insomnia is not bad...it makes you do things like this...

Someone suggested I need to end this blog with a happy thought, so I'm going to try and think of one.

Happy thought, I’d like to meet the person responsible for talking trash on my site, take him to a museum, hang him on the wall, criticize him and then leave.

Was that a happy thought? hmmm. Time for a break.

At least let me walk out the door, before you giggle

I’m going to write this with having zero sleep, so if it comes out sounding fucked up, you’ll know why. Yesterday I was arrested for application to revoke a one year suspended sentence on Possession of Marijuana. I’ve had the warrant since August 2005, from where I didn’t/couldn’t complete my community service, due to the fact that I was put in the hospital for a week, and then it was one thing after another and I never got around to completing the hours.

After the jackass yaS reported what I had posted, which I figured he would, a few more of his friends made there way to my site. After finding out who I was, they of course ran a check on me and discovered that lovely warrant that has been hanging over my head for too damn long. When I made the post it was in the back of my mind that I could be arrested, but in a way I was ready to get it over with. I’ve barely left my house in the past two years, so this forced me back out into the real world again.

I was arrested by the Glenpool PD Officer Mobley (hope I spelled that right. Nice guy, smiles a lot.) around 3:45pm and was taken to the local jail. I did okay for a minute, but only a minute. I don’t know if I want to write about this next part or not. I’m thinking about it for a minute or two. I haven’t even told anyone in my family about it yet, and I probably won’t. I’m keeping my sleeves pulled down, just to make sure no one sees. I don’t want them to see, because they will want to know why I did what I did, and sometimes I just don’t have a reason why.

I mostly cut when I get stressed. It’s like I go somewhere else, and when I’m done cutting I return to a more normal state. That’s usually when I say to myself, what the FUCK!

I’m a cutter...shhhh...don’t tell.
Its socially unacceptable that I express pain.
I bleed just so I’ll know I’m alive.
Pain doesn’t hurt when it’s all you’ve ever felt.

I don’t know what the young man’s name was, but I guess I should thank him now that I feel a little more normal...well as normal as I’ll be. Part of it, I think I have already blanked out, like the first initial cut, but I do remember asking for some toilet paper, because I didn’t want to make a mess on the floor or on me. I guess that’s the OCD. The young man handed me the toilet paper and I thought he had walked away, but I guess for whatever reason he looked back, and that’s when he saw what I had done. I don’t know how far I would have went had he not looked back. Probably further than the seven stitches.

At the hospital, I had a real nice baby sitter, Corporal T. I liked him, mostly because of his remark that he didn’t need no stinking taser. I like that in an officer...lol.

Officer M returned to the hospital to take me on to the county, and as we drove the short distance, we talked a little about my past. Telling him just a small part of my life, almost brought me to tears right there. I still can’t face my past, and I damn straight can’t talk about it to someone’s face. Maybe someday I can let it all go.

I finally got to the jail around 7pm, and surprisingly I wasn’t treated like a drain on society, I actually felt ok...Or maybe it was the xanax that I had taken before the cops picked me up. It could also have been that the Sheriffs department is running the jail again. Or it could have been that a camera crew from American Jail was there. (God, I hope they don’t put my ugly ass on TV.) Whatever it was, expect for the ridiculous amount of time I had to just sit around and wait, it wasn’t the bad experience that I figured would take place. I know it is my own actions that lead to some of the bad experiences I have had, but not all of them.

I finally made it out of jail around 4am, $600 dollars poorer, but at least now I don’t have a warrant hanging over my head. (Watch out, I’m now able to freely roam the streets again. That’s not a threat...just a little bit of my sick twisted humor.) I laid down in bed around 5am, but was never able to drift asleep, finally I got up and took a long hot shower before being at court by 9am.

Last thought, then I have to get some sleep...I want to know from the Sand Springs police department...if it wasn’t one of the officers from around there who has been harassing me, then who was the person that contacted you about the post “Late Night”?

And everyone, if you don’t want to read about fucked up, weird, off the wall, crazy ass, stupid, sad, painful, nasty shit that I write, don’t come to my site. It will still be here, and anytime I feel the need to post some insane thoughts from my head, I will post them. It is better to post them, than to keep them locked in my head.

April Fool's

Hope everyone has a safe day!!

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.

The little Secrets that no one knows.

Giggling little rats running
Around inside my walls.

Penguin’s slap each other
Then dance a little dance.

Knock, Knock open up
The squirrels are coming in looking for a big nut.

Alive, growing, staring, listening,
Damn those plants hanging near the window.

Good cop, bad cop
I can’t tell a difference anymore.

Vigilant ducks embroiled in a revolution
Eyes, voices everywhere.

Peel the skin from my face
Because store bought cookies are cooked with coach roaches inside.

Going to sleep with a heart full of fear.

Wiping away the last little tear.

Cannot simply be willed or wished away.
My OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) is in full gear. Maybe it’s the bi-polar part of me that is on a high right now; making me feel like everything around me is so unsanitary, nasty, gross, to the point that I don’t want to touch anything unless it’s with gloved hands. Life-long disorder. That’s one of the reason I don’t want to be arrested, but I fear it will happen soon, and I just don’t think I can handle that right now. Constant thoughts about death. It will be just like the last time I went to jail...I have a panic attack, freak out, and the next thing I know I’m either getting the shit beat out of me by some officer or if I’m alone (even in jail) I will cut myself.

Antisocial behavior.

Honestly I don’t want to do that because I already have enough scars on my arms that its even gross for me to look at them. Jail brings on so much stress, anxiety, and panic feelings that I decided I just can’t deal with going back to jail.

Loss of contact with reality.
So all alone with my thoughts they drifted towards odd thinking and I begin to wonder, “If I hire a killer to kill myself, will I still be arrested for attempt murder if I’m caught by law enforcement?”

Inability to enjoy life.
I’m not really sure, but I know I’m not about to ask that question online. I think I’m just going to check around with a few people that I know and see if they know someone who would be willing to kill me.

Disorganized thinking.

Hallucinations.

I’m just too much of a fucking chicken shit to do it myself, and suicide by cop might not work either (they would probably just fucking miss), so maybe a professional might be able to get the job done.

Hearing Voices.

You’re so fucking stupid!! Nothing but a drain on society.

Not worth the two bullets I would have to use.

I’m a failure...
Failure to learn by experience
Failure to follow any life plan
Failure to conform to social norms.

I’m constantly having difficulties with authority figures. What is the point to living? I’m not really living. Everyone will be much better off without me.

Psychosis
Worthlessness, inappropriate quilt, helplessness
No energy.
Headaches, no relief.
Hearing voices.
Bizarre behavior.

I think I’ll spend next weekend drowning kittens.

McDeath

McDEATH
I went to McDonald's today, armed with an assault rifle and intending to kill 30 or 40 people. You didn't see me, because I look just like you.Why didn't I do it? Why didn't I explode through that room in a frenzy of McDeath, pop-pop-popping moms and dads and hot cherry pies?

Not because the man at the gun store sold me a clip that would hold only nine bullets. Reloading after nine people is as easy as after 30. For a person in my state of mind, who's really counting anyhow?And not because I caught a sudden glimpse of humanity, seeing all the mommies having lunch with their little darlings. Huh-uh. Not a chance.

I'll tell you why I turned around and went home, the rifle still wrapped in plastic bags in my trunk. I really will. In just a bit.First, let me take a minute to explain myself.

Let me tell who I am, and what it took to turn from an

Ordinary Person into a monster willing -- wanting even -- to kill other Ordinary Person.

Lots of 'em.

All the berserk killers who went wild one day, the postal workers, the unemployed laborers, the Viet Nam vets, the courtroom murderers, the restaurant homicidal maniacs -- were just Ordinary People one day.

Then they -- like me -- turned into

Something Else.

There was a time, you know, when we really were ordinary.

We picked up the newspaper, saw a horrible story about a mass shooting and shook our heads. But that was before.

Since then, look at all that has happened:

We've been put down, shouted down, jilted, deprived, ratted on, denied and set aside. The money's gone. The dog's gone. There is no happiness left.We just want to do away with ourselves.

So we stare at the bottom of an empty mug, and ponder life, and fate, and our own humanity. And we find that we have achieved nothing of note, no immortality, no deeds worthy even of the granite slab that will cover our last remains.

Whimpering, sniveling, we determine to go out with a bang.

For 15 minutes, we will be

Very Important.

In the time it takes to empty two or three clips, we will have impacted more people than we ever did in our entire miserable lives. Grown men will fear us, women will faint, and neighbors will give interviews to TV cameras.

We are cleansed of our weakness.

And for a little time, police radios and sirens and red lights will look just like on TV.

So I went to McDonald's today, armed with an assault rifle, wanting to kill people. I saw you there. Yes you, who now sit there smugly in front of your computer and don't care about me.

I opened the trunk, pulled back the plastic, and looked at the cold black steel

and hollow-pointed death.

From the pit of my stomach I wanted to kill everyone I could,

all those grandma types with the blue hair and the wretched kids who whined because they didn't get the right toy in their Happy Meal.

I looked around, and no one cared. This had all been so easy.

If they cared, I probably could not have purchased this gun, these bullets.

We had grown accustomed to mass shootings, I saw.

It was accepted, acceptable, a small price to pay for a freedom.

I knew already what would happen if I went through with it.

Somewhere in California a third-page story would cite a statistic, and in

Texas a commentator would be angry,

and in Florida it wouldn't even make the news.

And so even pop-pop-popping at McDonald's didn't matter anymore.

I guess, for the time being, I did something people did care about. I went home.

I cared -- momentarily.

But, even while you read this, sipping your drink and peering casually at this screen, somebody else is out there buying a gun -- and planning on taking you with them when they go.

Disconnected

Disconnected ...

I am looking
But I cannot see.
I am reaching out
But everything is beyond my grasp.
A series of sleepless nights.
Trying to connect myself together.
Made up of different images
Together with some of my ramblings.


Self Harm is something I’ve grown up with, in one form or another. Part of the problem is the shame and guilt that surrounds it. My scars are a permanent reminder. I'm trying to view them more positively - that they show that I’ve survived some very rough times.
I'm not there yet - but I don't want to hide anymore


Deep inside the heart is a place where my child
finds the love she never trusted to be real.
Within my heart my child is loved.
Within my heart my child is healed.
As the child is healed, so, also, is my heart.

I
THE SECRETS GOT TOLD. DID YOU KNOW THAT? BIG PEOPLE KNOW OUTSIDE WHO CAN HELP US NOW. EVERYBODY KNOWS WHY WE GOT SO SAD. IT WAS A SAD THING.


This is how it sometimes feels to be inside my head. There are voices that hate me, voices that think I’m stupid and voices that want me to die. They prey on my insecurities, my fears. It can feel like my head is an open invitation cocktail party - there's so much going on in there. Even my own thoughts seem to run at different speeds, different levels ... so that there's so much inside at the same time. It's hard to describe, to explain what it feels like. I just want the whole world to stop so that I could get off.


So much shame
Feeling insane
Disturbed
Nothing but a life drain
A sad damaged faulty brain.

Angel without wings that never learned to fly.
Is it my destiny to die?
I sit waiting for the air around me to quiet.
Questioning my existence,
My thoughts run in the distance.

They wonder, but never ask.
Don’t look behind my mask.
Defective, worthless.
Most days I wish I wasn’t born.
Feeling alone in a storm.

Intrusive, heinous mind suffer.
Vivid and impure, it can’t get any tougher.
Torture, and denial.
I’m garbage, nothing but a disgrace.
I want to fly away to another place.

Nobody knows what I’m holding back
It will be a surprise, a plan of attack.
No surrender, only resistance.
Even in death I don’t want to feel the sun upon my face,
So bury my body in a shady place.



To cut a long story short I stopped to think and broke down.

Cutting

Detachment of the mind eases the pain

For the past several days I have had a severe headache. I guess you really can’t call it a headache...it’s beyond that...more of a intense migraine. I’ve had migraines off and on since I was a teen....they come without warning, and no matter what I take for it, it only dulls the pain temporarily. I was prescribed Imtrex which worked after taking 4 to 5 over several hours, it would ease the pain enough that I could tolerate leaving the darkness of my room. But I ran out about a year ago and haven’t been to the doctor for more. So, today I’m dealing with very bright lights causing a sharp pain to shoot between my eyes, noises sounding like they are being amplified through a tube directly into my ears, and waves of nausea floating up and down, up and down though my intestinal track.

My only happy thought is that it should go away in another day or two. When I don’t have any (whoa...a shockwave just washed over me, making me dizzy as hell) prescription meds to take, the migraine will usually go away in about a week. Anyway, I hope that it does...okay enough at attempting to write...I need to go lay back down...head is pounding.

Supernatural Superstitions

When two people of the same name live in a house, ghosts stay away.

Ghosts hate new things. If you have a persistent ghost, hang something new over your door.

Say, “What in God’s name do you want?” when you first see a ghost, and you will know no fear.

A baby born near midnight will have the ability to see ghosts.

A ghost will come and knock on your wall when someone in the house is going to die.

Never strike at a ghost; never get mad at it. You will have very bad luck and the ghost will resent you and plague you for it.

Ghosts enjoy people singing and will listen.

Graveyards at night are lucky places if you stay quiet. Talk and you will be haunted for a week.

Christmas Eve is the favored time for ghosts to walk on earth.

When horses and other animals start acting strange, it’s because they see a ghost. Horses that snort at night are seeing a ghost.

Always settle an argument before you sleep, or ghosts will come and bother you.

If someone sees a ghost, look over their left shoulder and you’ll see the ghost. If you snip the hair off someone who is dreaming and put it under your pillow, you will have the same dreams.

Death Superstitions

Never carry an ax into the house; it means death.

Only carry a hoe through the same door of your house that you brought it in, or someone in the house will die.

If you miss a row while planting, or hear a crowing hen or rooster after dark, or see the wind blow out a candle, these things mean death.

Beware the sight of a white horse, a little while dog, or a long white goose.

If an owl comes into your room and sits at the foot of your bed, it’s as if an angel is sitting at your bedside, and it means that whoever lies in that bed shall die.

If three people look into a mirror at the same time, the youngest of the three will die.

Never let a swing stop on its own. Stop it yourself or someone close to you will die.

If a bird flies into your house, it’s a omen of death.

After someone dies, their picture will begin to fade.

Beware of the queen of spades, the death card.

If a dog howls while looking at the ground, it’s because he senses that death is very near.

Resistance is Futile

If every scar tells a story, run your fingers over my body and read my novel.

I think one of the hardest things about having depression, is not being able to tell the people that I am the closest to that I’m depressed or having suicidal thoughts. I can tell it to complete strangers online, but I can’t come right out and tell those around me that sometimes I just don’t feel okay.
Most of the time I hide those feelings during the day, it is only at night when I am completely alone that I allow my feelings to surface. Writing down my crazy thoughts is my way of releasing the stress in my life.
For the past almost 3 years, I feel I’ve given up. I injured my knees so bad that I have pain everyday, I don’t sleep very well, I developed diabetes, high blood pressure, and several other medical problems that I take medicine for. I rarely leave my house any more...if I do it is usually just to go to Wal-Mart, then it’s right back inside my house. I just don’t want to be a part of the world anymore.
They don’t want me in it...I don’t want to be a part of it.

Bat Joke

Two bats are going out for their midnight feed.

After an hour or so, one bat gets tired of looking and goes home with no blood.

Soon the other bat comes home with blood dripping from its mouth.

The first bat says enviously, "Where did you get all that blood from?"

The second bat replies, "Follow me. I’ll show you."

After awhile the second bat leads them to a cave. He says, "You see that wall over there?"

The hungry bat excitedly says, "Yes!"

Other bat says, "I didn't."

Suicide by Cop

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

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Suicide by Cop

Be my bottle of sleeping pills,
The carbon monoxide,
Or a gun in my hand.
Be my bridge I jump from.
It is a simple phrase,
All too inclusive.
Provide me one final service.
I leave you no other choice.
Frequently depression and rage as well.
Be my executioner.
The ultimate decision is up to you.
Who better than a police officer.
I am the bad guy. The perpetrator.
Pushed over the edge.
Everyday I feel dead.
It won’t be your fault.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Every person has one secret that will break your heart.

Out of Service

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.

Concrete Angel

It tastes like suicide

I’m trying my best to pull the chair up to the desk and write here just so I don’t lie in bed all day staring at the ceiling.

My brain is becoming incredibly noisy again. I don’t feel I can even properly articulate myself today as I can’t make sense of what is going on.

Recently the noise has been turned up again. It’s almost white noise; a rush of thoughts that flood in and swirl around. I have trouble coping when my mind is like this; I can’t get my thoughts straight and it makes it difficult to sleep or hold a conversation. It’s distracting and depressing. Depressing because the thoughts are almost wholly negative, but so very fast. Distracting because I can’t focus on the same thing for more than a few seconds before my mind takes me elsewhere.

What is also bothering and scaring me are “intrusive thoughts”- not the type you get with OCD. This is something I’ve lived with for years but they still frighten me and make me incredibly anxious and uncomfortable. They come from absolutely nowhere, quite suddenly and I feel like I don’t have control over them. I don’t want them and the things that I think of are things I do not want to do or see. I get images, like flashbacks, that strike out from the mess. Horrible things, like rotting images of my father, of myself, violent thoughts, thoughts of suicide, images of death and dying and decay. There are words and phrases too that stick in my mind and start skipping like a faulty record. I find it so hard to get past it that I either start writing, saying or forcefully thinking of something else. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t and drives me to frustration. It happens when I’m trying to sleep too so I have to talk myself down from complete panic.

When I’m out and about, if someone is near me, I have this thought that they’re going to hurt me, so I get panicked and have to get away, somewhere lonely and safe. I get convinced that they have a knife or gun or are looking at me oddly. I freeze and then begin to get anxious. And run off, or walk quickly away.

These thoughts have been keeping me awake recently and making me burst into tears. Sometimes I wish I had a dial I could use to turn down the volume.


When I die and my life flashes before me, I wonder if it will be worth watching.
Suicide---Don’t do it...Why make all your enemies happy?

Life Quotes

If you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun.

My great concern is not whether you have failed, but whether you are content with your failure.

You're only given a little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it.

Robin Williams

Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much.

Tears are the safety valve of the heart when too much pressure is laid on it.

I feel my whole life is some kind of dream, and I sometimes wonder whose it is and if they are enjoying it...TS

Killing Myself

I think I finally figured it all out...I’m locked up in a prison or mental hospital and the people in charge are punishing me by making me live this life.

Only thought about killing myself a half-dozen times or so today, and never really seriously. Sad, but that constitutes a pretty good, successful day for a lot of people like me. I find myself feeling hopeless, yet feeling strangely content just being alone. Actually I don’t really feel hopeless so much as I have grimly accepted my fate. Whether this is true or merely delusional thinking resulting from depression…time will tell. Sometimes I think it is a little of both.

My moods cycle rapidly, and it never ceases to amaze me how fast, and how completely, my moods can change throughout the day. I can go from being very agitated with suicidal ideation, to having a calm, peaceful time of reflection.

Nature really is a calming force for me. It always has been. Ever since childhood, I would escape to the woods to find some peace of mind. Aside from the prospect of getting bitten by a snake, or becoming forever lost, neither of which has happened to me…yet… the outdoors has always been soothing to my soul. Once again, it is no cure, but it is a tonic, that makes life a lot more tolerable…and sometimes even quite enjoyable.

During periods of agitation today, I experienced a familiar phenomenon…sort of a persistence of negative thought and emotion. Like if I have a negative interaction with someone, no matter how slight… I just can’t let it go…it lingers in my mind and plays itself over and over. I relive it again and again, feeling the same anger, fear, or annoyance that I did in the original experience. This also happens with things that happened years or even decades ago, too. It is like I never forget any negative, painful thing that happens to me. Sometimes, embarrassing, shameful memories come up, and my whole body convulses and tenses for a moment in response…as if I am trying to shake it off. Often I grimace and clench my teeth. I hide it pretty well in public, but sometimes I can’t.

Just some of the really annoying and fucked up shit I go through on a daily basis. Used to it now…but it doesn’t make it any more pleasant.

I have been blogging for a couple of years now, and I see how effective it is for charting ones moods and mood cycles. I have always resisted charting my moods, because I just didn’t really want to know. Somebody said that “an unexamined life isn’t worth living.” But some things are better just left in the dark…at least until we are good and ready to deal with them.

I took a Clonazepam today, which I have not done for a long time. I rarely take any kind of tranquilizer or anti-psychotic, but it probably wouldn’t hurt if I utilized that tool a little more than I do. I have tried Zyprexa which made me feel like a zombie with Ball-bearings for eyes, geodon which made me fall asleep anywhere, anytime, risperadal which worked great but destroyed any and all sexual desire, and seroquel, which was the best med I ever took, at least in small doses, but I had a muscle spasm in my chest so painful that I passed out and ended up in the hospital. And the list goes on and on. I am kind of freaked out about meds in general. I am probably way under-medicated, but I have a tenuous balance, and a tenuous balance is better than things getting worse with the wrong medication(s). I know this may sound irresponsible, and maybe it is, but like I have said in previous posts…I became a human guinea pig for about eight years, and that was enough for me. I have thought about looking into some newer type of pills again, but fear of the side effects...such as gaining more weight, keeps me away from the drug store. I just don’t know if I have the energy, faith, and confidence in meds right now to undergo that whole process of trying a new med.

God Ripped an Arm Off My Teddy Bear

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

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

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

Time for a break the boys are home...

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

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

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

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

Being Bi-Polar

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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


Ideas for The Shithole Depression Box

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

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

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

4. Kleenex...for obvious reasons.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Secret is in the Telling

Put on your seatbelt… I wanna try something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hide and Seek

Hide and Seek

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

“Hello?"

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

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

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

“Yes.”

"May I talk with her?"

Again the small voice whispered, " No."

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

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

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

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

"Busy doing what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"me."

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Figure this one out.

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jIQong vIneH

Urges

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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