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“WHAT ARE YOU? I must know!” The subject smiled. “Have you forgotten so easily?” The subject asked. “We are you. We are the madness that lurks within you all, begging to be free at every moment in your deepest animal mind.”

I was returning home with my boys after a late night baseball game, when a huge storm quickly formed and thunder and lightning began. The rain was brutal, reducing my visibility even with the wipers on full. I drove at a slower speed than usual to make sure the precious cargo safely tucked away in their car seats would arrive home safe.  The flashes of lightning lit up the sky around me several times, and the sound of thunder keep me wide awake.

I came to the 4 way stop in town by the gas station, thinking how I was almost home and would be glad to get inside. Suddenly, a bloodcurdling, hair-raising lightning stuck, lighting up everything in front of me, turning night into day. To my left, my eyes caught something that shocked and horrified me. Not far from the road was a row of small trees, hanging from one of the trees I saw a man’s body swinging in the air. But worse than anything, I could his eyes were open as if he was staring at me begging for help. His hands were near his neck, and it looked like he was trying to pull at the rope that was slowly cutting off his air supply.

I wanted to make a U-turn right there in the middle of the road but thought better of it, since both of my boys sat in the backseat. My mind went through all the possibilities of it being a dummy that someone had hung there as a practical joke. I wonder how long it had been there, but my minds eyes repeatedly showed me movements he had made as the lightening flashed in the sky around him. Had others saw the same thing, or was I the only one that was in the right place at the right moment when the flash of lighting stuck and lit up his body enough that I and I alone would be only one to see his death that night. Nobody stopped. Nobody paid any attention. Not even a glance up at the curious dark wet bundle loosely hanging from a branch no more than 8 feet off the ground.

I drove as quickly as I could to the house and called the police to report that I had saw a man hanging in the tree. I describe the area the best I could, but the woman on the phone seemed to take it the same way I had I taken it in… was it real? Did that just happen?

Was he a local man? Was he a stranger? Was what I saw even real?

I became nausea the more I thought about the rope tightening around his neck until he couldn’t breathe, his eyes bulging from lack of air, him pulling at the rope at the last minute to say no I changed my mind. Would his mouth be open, tongue turn thick and ugly blue grey color?

Two weeks later, 2 boys in the neighborhood were walking by and found his body lying on the ground. He was a local guy who had been my son’s baseball coach at one time.  His wife was divorcing him, and he couldn’t take life any more.

Now years later, I can’t drive past where it happened without having horrifying thoughts and visions of that night. I don’t know why it suddenly won’t let me go.  

So, here I am once again standing on that fucking bridge ready to jump because ‘they’ decided I needed to be medicated! They believe it is better for me to be medicated with their drugs than for me to medicate myself. For days my mind has been racing towards thoughts of wanting to go on a violent killing spree, or running razor sharp objects across my body. I must do something to correct this shift in my brain chemistry…It’s stupid, but I know what I have to do. It’s either that, or at the end of the day there will be a bunch of bodies going to the morgue.

Tell me to stop

Tell me to stop.
I probably won’t listen, but still tell me anyway.
Slap me. Hit me. Kick me to the ground.
Tell me to stop!
Put the cuffs on. Arrest me. Put me in jail.
I still don’t think that will make me stop.
Even if I hit the ground face first,
I would get back up and run right into the lion’s den.  
Sorry, I’m trying to get this all up out of my head.
But the voices are shouting again,
And we are not getting along.
You think I’m crazy? You really have no idea.
Tell me all the reasons why it’s wrong,
And I’ll tell you this is the only hell I understand.
I don’t think I’ll ever changed my ways.
Tell me to stop.

My emotions are slamming me into the ground tonight.
Homicidal and suicidal thoughts consume my mind.
But acting on those thoughts take more energy than I’m willing to put forth. 
Tell me to stop.

Is it really that wrong?

As I stood on the bridge looking down towards the water far below me, I couldn't help but think the crystal blue green water somehow looked more like air. Maybe it was the reflection of the puffy white clouds that made it look so inviting. It even looked warm enough that I thought when I leaped off the bridge, I would just begin swimming effortlessly. The softness would then surround my body and comfort me in ways that no human could ever comfort me.

In reality it was mid January, with temperatures the day before in the low 30s. But today was nice.  A warm front was pushing through ahead of another cold spell, sending the temperatures up into the 70s. It was just warm enough to give me the energy that I needed to put me where I was standing.

People jump off bridges for various reasons, but maybe it's because it's convenient. Death is right there, and will be over within seconds. But maybe it's the thought that if you do jump, you might live, so instead of you making the decision to whether you will live or die, fate will decide.  Even if I am trying to kill myself, if I jump at the right angle and velocity, I won't explode on impact, instead the cold January water will embrace me.

If I were 100% sure I wanted to die, I'm sure there are better ways to die. Such as a bullet to the head, pills, cutting deeply into my flesh, or even forcing someone else to do what I feel I'm too chicken to do. Even with all the possible methods of taking ones life, there still stands a chance that you survive. There's that tiny chance for a different kind of escape.

So as I stand there holding myself tightly against the railing, and trying not to cry. I stare down at the water, searching for an answer to why I felt like I was given such a raw deal in life, while others were blessed with things I could only dream about. It wasn't fair. Life wasn't fair.

Whenever I feel the blackness take hold, I often don't feel a thing. That is why I often cut myself; so I can feel again. During this time, I also tend to let my obsessions rule my life. I let my impulses take control, and whatever happens, happens. I don't try to stop it any more.

Anxious and angry is a bad combination. For whatever biological, or chemical reason, my brain had been stripped of all its usual defenses against life. I had some bad stuff going on, but none of it was bad enough to tip me over the way it did. Everything was suddenly more extreme than it had ever been—both my perception of the world and my reaction to it. Little things seemed big; big things seemed insurmountable. In my messed-up head, I felt I had been backed into a corner, surrounded by giants monsters that were attacking me from all angles.


To be continued... 

Let me Write

Here I am with only 30 minutes left to fulfill a promise I made right before the new year; to write at least one page every day in January. I love writing and think about it everyday, but I never seem to squeeze in the time or the effort.  For the past 2 years I have struggled with the thoughts that I'm just not good enough, and would people want to read what I chose to write about. But like in my last post, I let doubt creep in, and that doubt stops me dead in my tracks. 

There is this little voice that has recently grown louder and calls to me in my sleep. I know how to silence that voice, but I continually question myself if this is the path I should walk. At my age now, I realize there is only so much time left to my life, so if I'm going to write, I need to do it now. My writing may turn out a little messy, chaotic, but I want/need to feel my body shiver as I think about other people reading my writing. I have to fill the void I feel in my life.
This is the start of day one. See you again tomorrow.

Do you ever wonder if you were truly meant to be a writer?

I found this article while surfing around the web looking for reasons why I don't think my writing is any good. I have so many doubts in my ability to do anything, that I often just give up. The older I get, the more I realize that if I am ever to finish writing my story, I will have to overcome those doubts. I also think I NEED to return to my writing in order to gain control over one of my other addictions that I have let rule me for the past couple of years. Through my writing, I was able to get one of my 'odd' behaviors under control, but when I closed that door, an old one re-opened. I've got to figure out how to close that door, even if it means returning to my old 'odd' behaviors.  

_________________________

Do you ever wonder if you were truly meant to be a writer?

Deep down you sense that it might just be so.

But then doubt creeps in, and you just aren’t sure.

You look at your writing. 

You realize that you aren’t where you want to be.

 Maybe you just aren’t good enough?

A great writer would be further along by now, right?

Wrong.

If you’re reading this, chances are you were meant to be a writer. 

You were meant to help change the world and impact people’s lives through your words.

Here are 8 signs that you were meant to be a word wizard.

1. Secret Dreams

You secretly dream about writing.
And if you already write, you dream about doing something bigger, like writing a novel, or scoring that big freelancing client.
You dream about more, bigger, better.
Deep inside you know you can do it, but that pesky little voice stops you.

2. Doubt

Yes, doubt is a sign that you were meant to be a writer.
If you didn’t have anything to say, you wouldn’t even think about writing, but you do have something to say, and you know it.
But doubt stops you.
However, doubt is just a thought popping up. It doesn’t feel great, but you can say hi, and keep taking tiny steps forward.
Why keep moving forward?
Because you were meant to be a writer.

3. Excuses

Your excuse for not hanging out with your friends is, “I have to write”.
You aren’t interested in what non-writers are interested in. They live a different life. They sometimes seem like a different species.
Embrace this.
Don’t give into peer pressure.
If you’re a new writer, you won’t be sure what to do with yourself, but trust your inner calling. Trust your heart.
It knows what you need.
If you have to write, you have to write.

4. Inspiration

Inspiration only comes to those who can use it.
If you’re a writer, you get inspired, but you also have to take advantage of that inspiration.
If you are inspired to write a novel, then start today. Don’t wait for perfection.
Let it be messy.
Let it be chaotic.
Let your thoughts go crazy and your body shiver with fear.
But start. Right now.

5. Perfectionism

When you truly care about something, you want it to be perfect.
I care about my writing. I want to help people. I want to help you when you read these very words.
And for that reason, I want it to be perfect, because in my head, I believe perfection equals value to you, but that isn’t always true.
Good enough can have a huge impact on someone’s life. Perfection is just an idea in my head. It has nothing to do with reality.
Wanting your writing to be perfect is a sign that you care, and that’s good, because it means you will put out exceptional work, even when you feel like it’s crap.
But you have to get your writing out there.

6. Admiration

You secretly admire great writers.
You want to talk about the elegant ways they craft their prose, but you often don’t have anyone to talk to, because your friends or family may not care about writing as much as you do.
This alone shows you how much attention you pay to words.
It shows you that you were meant to be a writer.
All you have to do is muster the courage to write and step up your game.
You are ready, even if you don’t feel it.
Step up to it and enjoy.

7. Lacking

When you don’t write, you feel like something is missing.
You need to write. You need to express yourself through prose.
You know you can make a difference, but you’re not sure. We all have doubts. They’re normal, but they don’t have to stop you.
Just keep moving forward. Keep putting words out there and let the universe take care of the rest.
The fruits of your labor are none of your business. All you can do is your best, so start putting your stuff out there, even if it freaks you out.

8. Yearning

Deep down, you feel this yearning to write.
It’s like someone is pulling a string that’s attached to your heart.
The string is pulling you toward greatness, but you are resisting. You’re afraid. You’re worried. You’re not sure what people will think.
Let that yearning take you to where you need to go.
Forget about what everyone else is doing and follow your calling. Embrace your uniqueness, your quirkiness and your style.
Results may not come instantly, but all is well when you follow your heart.
Listen to that yearning.
Let the string take you on the adventure of your life.

If You’ve Read This Far …

You were meant to be a writer.
I’ve been writing ever since I can remember.
I’ve scribbled down crazy stories about animals when I was 6. But lately, I’ve found myself writing articles like these.
Somehow this is what comes out of me. I just keep following my excitement. I write about what makes my heart sing.
And you should do the same, because what excites you is your internal GPS telling you that you need to pay attention to that.
I have doubts, fears and worries, like everyone else. But I know I was meant to do this, because doing anything else is torture.
So if you’ve read this far, you were meant to be a writer.
All you have to do is embrace it, because deep down you know you want to.

My Moment

I love that moment when I alone on a long car ride listening to my favorite music, home reading or writing, and I completely zone out. Forgetting all my troubles, and everything that has been causing stress in my life. For that moment, I am focused on that one thing. I am content, and everything in my life seems peaceful. This is my moment.

That I'm Never Going to be Anything More Than I am Now

An artist is a creature driven by demons.

I want to start writing again even if it means gaining back what I've lost, but to do that it means I need to start reading again. Stephen King has always been one of my favorite writers and recently I read a quote by him “The only requirement to be a writer, is the ability to remember every scar.” For me that shouldn't be hard, since I have more scars than I am willing to admit. Now all I have to do, is enter my wounds so I can confront them, and turn them into scars.

There is deep pain in my whole body when it turns this cold, leading me down this road of remembering moments that were dark and being held in spaces that are too small. Starting this weekend, I will attempt once again to tell the story of one of my scars. I need to feel the scars like a dull ache seeping up from my soul.

It's time to exercise some demons through the art of writing.

Ten of the weirdest ways people deal with stress

~I know I've used several of these when trying to deal with my stress~

Stress is a normal human reaction to life's pressures and challenges. We spend most of our lives trying to figure out the best ways to avoid stress and keep it under control with exercise, sleep, a balanced diet and deep breathing exercises. But when those traditional stress relievers no longer work, people will find alternative and often unhealthy methods to cope with their stress. Here are the 10 weirdest ways that people manage stress:

   1. Gambling: Gambling may seem like a weird way to handle stress, but many people find comfort in playing against the odds. Those who have an insatiable urge to gamble, despite potentially negative consequences, are often classified as gambling addicts. Gambling provides an adrenaline rush and sense of euphoria when you win, therefore, someone who is depressed or burdened by a lot of stress might find solace in gambling.

   2. Self-Injury/Cutting: Some people relieve stress by deliberately hurting themselves. This self-induced pain is often done by cutting or burning the skin and engaging in dangerous activities. People who injure themselves aren't trying to commit suicide, but it could be fatal if the injuries are serious enough. Self-injury is often accompanied by several mental illnesses, such as depression, bipolar disorder and eating disorders. No matter the circumstance, deliberately harming oneself is an unhealthy way to cope with stress, emotional pain and anger.

   3. Hoarding: Hoarding is a symptom of obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), in which individuals collect an excessive amount of items that are generally useless or of little value. Hoarding can also involve collecting animals. For many individuals, hoarding things is a way to relieve stress and overcome other issues. Hoarders feel safe and secure when they have their belongings nearby, yet it becomes an additional source of stress when it starts to interfere with their safety, health and social life.

   4. Hair Pulling: Hair pulling, also known as trichotillomania, is a disorder that causes people to excessively pull out their hair. This irresistible urge to pluck out hair from the scalp, eyebrows, eyelashes and other parts of the body can be a form of stress relief for certain individuals. Although the cause of trichotillomania is not clear, it's often associated with genetic and environmental factors or chemical imbalances. This disorder is not a normal way of managing stress and should not be taken lightly.

   5. Vomiting: Some people feel a sense of relief to vomit when they're stressed. Whether the stress has been brought on by nerves, an eating disorder or another form of pressure, forcing yourself to vomit is not a healthy way of coping with stress. Those who engage in self-induced vomiting may feel temporary relief, but this disordered behavior may lead to more sever eating disorders, malnutrition, extreme weight loss and other serious health problems.

   6. Tattoos: Getting tattoos is another odd way that people manage stress. Whether it's the touch of the needle, immense pain or increase of endorphins to the brain, the experience of getting tattoos can be very soothing to stressed individuals. Tattooing may also be a less obvious form of self-mutilation, which can be a cause for concern.

   7. Overworking: It's not uncommon for stressed individuals to try to manage their stress by increasing their workload and working overtime. Many people think they can manage their stress and that things will get easier if they just work longer and harder than normal. However, overworked people may end up making more mistakes and increasing their stress levels because they haven't allowed themselves to relax and get an adequate amount of rest needed to be efficient throughout the day.

   8. Not Dealing With It at All: Many people manage their stress by not dealing with it at all. These people turn a blind eye when they are faced with something stressful and put their problems on the back burner, hoping their issues will disappear or resolve themselves. Others may shut down completely and go into a catatonic state. Ignoring stress will only make it worse, and could lead to further problems.

   9. Spending: Compulsive shopping and spending is another weird way people manage their stress. Treating yourself to a nice bracelet or new pair of shoes may seem innocent enough, but this compulsive desire to regularly spend money that you probably don't have can become a very serious problem. Compulsive shoppers face several negative consequences, such as extreme debt, strained relationships, ruined credit history, anxiety and additional stress.

  10. Physically Fighting: Today, more and more people cope with their stress by physically fighting. Exercising is simply not enough for these adrenaline junkies, who need to let out their aggression on someone else or feel the pain of being hit. These people may be hotheads who are always picking fights, or an unsuspecting coworker who's a member of an underground fight club. No matter their preference, fighting is not a normal or healthy way of managing your stress. Not only are you inflicting injury on someone else, but you too could get severely hurt.

Memories

It crawls around on your skin, looking for a way to get inside you so it can eat you alive...Memories.

 

The older I get, the more things I begin to recall, from growing up in a place that I wish would vanish from my mind.

I recall being around the age of 10 the first time I thought seriously about sex, life and death. I’m sure I thought about it even before this age, but not as seriously as I did that summer that I began letting older boys have sex with me, and I began experimenting with life and death.

I hadn’t started my menstrual cycle yet, and I thought I knew enough about it, that I would not get pregnant. I was curious. I wanted to know what it was like. So, I did it, not once, not twice, but more times than can recall. Death was the same. I wanted to know. I shot animals with my Dad’s 22 rifle, and then I would stare at them until they no longer moved. Curiosity overtook my thoughts one day, and after shooting a wild cat, I split open its chest so I could watch its heart beat for the last time.

There was only a few weeks left until school started back for the year, when I was caught by my father having sex with one of his friends at their house. I was sitting on top of him, when my father grab the back of my ponytail and pulled him out of me. I quickly put my pants back on as my father began beating him repeatedly with his fist. Blood covered his face and my fathers fist. My father continued to hit him, even after he laid there motionless. I ran to the car and hid under an old dirty blanket that was laying in the backseat. I closed my eyes trying to make the images go away, but it was as if someone had branded the images across an invisible glass directly in front of my eyes. 

I awoke as the car turned up the driveway to the front gate. I laid there quietly as I listened to my father get out the car and open the gate. He then got back in the car, drove through, and got out again to close the gate. I waited for the sound of him opening the car door to get in, but instead he opened the door where I was laying.

My heart began to pound wildly in my chest, as fear of what he was going to do, took over all other thoughts. As I laid there pretending to be asleep, I felt him uncover my body, and then his hands began feeling around between my legs. When I made a low moaning sound, he told me to be quiet so he could just check me to make sure I wasn’t hurt.

He spread my legs, and pointed a flashlight directly at me as he pulled down my pants and underwear. I closed my eyes as tight as I could, and pulled the blanket back up over my head. I could feel the warmth of the flashlight shinning on my body, as his hands began spreading me open. He then put his fingers inside and began feeling around.  After a few minutes he said, “I don’t think he came inside of you and you’re not bleeding, so you should be okay.” He then raised his voice and said, “I don’t want you telling anyone about this. I already took care of him, so it won’t ever happen again.”

The truth was I liked what the guy was doing to me, but I didn’t dare tell my father. Instead, I began crying, so he hugged me, and whispered to me that everything was going to be okay. In my mind, all I could think about was wanting to kill him. The visions of everything I had seen that night, slammed into my brain with such pressure that it was hard trying to force myself to continue crying. I wanted to take the 22 rifle and shoot him in the head, and as he laid there bleeding, I would cut him open, just to see what was inside of him. I thought about doing something horrible to him everyday for the rest of that summer.

Thoughts flood my mind even more today.

Impulsive Acts

I sometimes act impulsively because it gives me immediate relief from my emotional pain.

I want to write about what happened to me on Wednesday the 7th, and say that was what caused me to dip into this out of control spiral, that I feel I have fallen into. But I’m not sure that would be the truth. I think it began several days before, but this time I just didn’t recognize the signs.   

Most of the time I come off as seemly ‘normal’. But then there are the times, especially when I’m under stress, that I can no longer hide behind my mask of sanity. I will completely lose all contact with reality, and during this time, I am unable to predict even my own behavior. I will feel rage instead of annoyance, and at other times I will turn that rage on myself.

After days of swinging back and forth on a giant swing, that holds mania at the peak and major depression going backwards, I’ve started thinking of unusually ways to regulate how I’m feeling. If I can’t regulate how I feel, I will shut down completely. At this moment, that is where I am at.

I want to cut myself deep enough that a part of me can be removed, then I can throw that part of me away, and hope something new will grow in its place. I wish it was that simple. With a effortless twist of shinny blade, all my defaults, errors, mistakes, could then be thrown into the garbage. 

~You should have never rocked the boat~

I’ve been quiet for many months now, dealing with my issues in my own way and for the most part leaving everyone alone. Which is exactly what I wanted everyone else to do in regards to me. Just leave me the fuck alone. But recently I have moved into the scary part of my ‘disorder’ where I have to deal with being in a ‘mixed’ state. It’s where I have depression and mania at the same time. The depression leaves me feeling suicidal/homicidal, and the mania gives me just enough energy to carry out any plans that could form.

In one of my stories I left the ‘others’ locked away in a small building surrounded by colossal size sunflowers, with heads so big that they leaned downwards as if they where bending down to whisper some secret in your ear. The others had to be left behind in order for me to move forward with my life, but for quite some time now, I feel like a part of me was gone. Today, I feel like I need them all here with me now, so I’m going to get them all and bring them out to see the sunflowers again. They are all a part of me, I have to learn how to deal with them, even if it means listening to them talk about ‘hunting this bitch and her children down. Making her watch as we kill her children and then force her to eat them.’ Yes, that is some sick shit, but the thought of revenge somehow makes it all seem okay.

I spent most of my day fantasizing about the various ways that a persons life could be taken in the most extreme fashion. I searched my mind for secret locations that I knew where a body could be placed and no one would ever be able to locate their remains. Even as I followed through with my daily routine of cleaning and gardening, the images repeat over and over in my mind with fleeting swiftness; and I smiled at the thoughts.

My mood has now changed and has become something else unknown to the average person you pass on the street. Paranoia creeps in and all thoughts turn into frightening, alarming thoughts. I want to silence my brain, but first I want to silence those who made my thoughts run so wild.

I can't kill myself tonight, because if I do I'll miss the end of the world

The actual fabric and worth of a story lie in how it's told -- the execution. If not performed correctly, you will not be believed, and the reader will not continue to read. 

Writing is an isolating job by its very nature. I tend to think of it as a long spell in solitary, with no time off for good behavior.  And for me, solitary could lead to a even more serious problem, especially when I go crawling around inside my own brain. But lately, I seem to be the master of excuses. I come up with more reasons why I should be doing something else, instead of writing.  I walk around all day long with these grand words so carefully constructed inside my head, but then I let some diversion take over and writing is pushed to the back of the line.

One of my biggest excuses is I don't think I really have the talent, but I've always wanted to write, and other people have always encouraged me to write.  One of my favorite quotes is, “never give up on anything that you can’t go a day without thinking about.”  But when I write, it tends to stir around something inside of me, that leaves me feeling with the need to escape. And if I can’t escape, the thoughts of killing others or myself consumes my every thought until I am forced to react on those thoughts.

There has always been this fight inside of me trying to decide if I should do what others expect of me, or doing the type of things that take me out at 2 in the morning. I feel like every time I get things under control, the world comes back around and tackles me to the ground.  As much understanding as I have of what to do and what not to do when this feeling occurs, it still feels more natural if I was out trying to rob an armor truck.

I guess I’m just at a point in my life, that it has begun to sink in that there is a last time for everything. So, I’ve been scramble to make sure I get done a few last things before my life is over. It has kept me up many nights, thinking about all the last times that have already passed in my life. There has been so many little moments, barriers crossed, that has passed before my eyes that I didn’t realize, that it was the last time. I don’t want that to happen to my writing. I want to continue to write, even if others tell me my writing serves no purpose, and I’m not really that talented. I just don’t want this to be my last time.

The others are still safely locked away on the other side, but as I stand there alone outside the narrow window, I realize I want them to escape.

Inside

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. I would let you in, but I'm not sure you'd like what you see.

I shall soon return....

The woman who follows the crowd will usually go no further than the crowd. The woman who walks alone is likely to find herself in places no one has ever been before.

And when you fall...

I will be here to pick you up again and again.

15 Minutes to Live

Is it The End of the World?

According to some predictions I now have less than 2 hours to live, and out of all the things I could be doing, I have chosen to write down a few last thoughts.

I woke up around 9am after the pain in my arm began to become so severe, that I was forced out of bed to retrieve some over the counter pain medication. I swallowed the two pills with a sip a water from a bottle that sat on my dresser, then I sat down on the edge of my bed so I could put on my knee brace. I hate wearing the damn thing, but since it's my last day to live, I thought I would do one of the top things I enjoy doing in life, gardening. But, I can’t dig without having my knee supported, so I pulled the thing up over my calf muscle, up to my knee and tightened down the straps. 

I love planting flowers, especially the ones that can be cut and brought inside. But I also like the process of starting the plants from seed and the digging into the dark, rich soil with my bare hands. The aroma of the earth for me is intoxicating and so relaxing that I could almost lay down in it for a short nap. It’s almost better than the bubble bath that I always take after a long day of gardening.

Today felt strange the very second I walked out to my garden. Everybody in my neighborhood was outside doing something or the other, but I guess that is to be expected when the world is about to end. I could hear all of them chatting loudly to each other, but I could not make out what they were saying. I smiled as I briefly looked up at the beautiful sun shinning just above my head, and giggled a little at the idea that my life might be over in just a few short hours.

I pushed the thought away and began digging up the large flower bed that I share with my neighbor. The pills that had taken earlier had finally kicked in, making my arm feel numb to any pain, so I began pushing myself harder and faster as I dug up the earth. After digging up a corner section, I began bending down and breaking up the larger chunks of earth with my hands. The bending up and down quickly made me feel dizzy and I had to stop for a few minutes to recover.

I went inside for a drink of water and grabbed a washrag to wipe the sweat from my face. This Oklahoma heat had sweat pouring from all possible places on my body. I took a couple more sips and then I headed back out the door to do some more digging. The moment I stepped outside, I began hearing sirens blaring from a short distance away. I began digging in another corner of the garden as I continued to listen to the sounds echoing throughout town.  When one would stop, another would begin. I don’t know if there was some emergency nearby, or maybe they too were just preparing for the end of the world. Whatever it was, it was beginning to make me feel nauseous, but I pushed on though the discomfort I was feeling.

I spent a little over 2 hours digging up the soil and removing all the grass roots, before I was able to plant several packages of various sunflowers along the back of the garden. In the front of the sunflowers, I planted purple cone flowers, foxglove, asters, zinnias, dahlias, balsam, a variety of mixed cut flowers, and finally in front I placed several Lily's that I had started indoors a few months ago. If the predictions come true, I’ll never get to see what it will all looks like, but I still smile when I think about the possibilities.

I wanted to stay outside longer, but the sound of the sirens blaring loudly forced me to retreat inside for that nice relaxing bubble bath. I carefully removed the brace from my leg that was now soaked with sweat and let it drop on the floor with the dirty clothes I had already taken off. A jolt of pain ripped through my body as if I had been shocked. I massaged my knee gently, seeking some sort of relief from the intense pain, but I found no relief until I slipped into the warm relaxing tub of water. Instantly, I was able to block out all the distractions that were going on around me, which helped me to relax enough that the pain I was feeling finally stopped.

I laid in the tub until my body began to feel cold. It was then, that the sound of the sirens returned. From outside I could hear more sirens, sounding even closer than before. Over the sounds I could hear people shouting and screaming. Fears that maybe they were right about the world ending, I quickly got dressed and headed out my front door to find out what was going on.

Near my garden I could see my next door neighbor and other emergency personal standing around. There were two paramedics doing CPR on a woman laying on the ground. I rushed over to see what was going on. My neighbor had tears in her eyes, and several of the emergency people were starting to walk away, shaking their head sadly.

I started asking people what was going on, but no one seemed to know. They just stood there looking down at the woman on the ground. It was then that I looked down and saw the person on the ground. I began shaking my head back and forth. It couldn’t be true. I wasn’t suppose to die until 6pm with the rest of the world. I had a few more hours to live. It wasn’t fair.

The sound of the sirens stopped and the people outside went back to their homes. As a bright light appeared from the sky, I began floating slowly above the ground. I looked down at my garden and saw all the beautiful flowers and smiled.

I still wonder if the world when end  at 6pm... Guess I’ll never know.

Bitch Please! Get Down on Your Mother Fucking Knees!

Bitch please!
Get down on your motherfucking knees!

At any other time those words might mean I'm about to have a little fun...lol.  But not this time.


Waiting. I was never the patience type. Especially when it comes to possible bad news. It stresses me thinking about all the most horrible outcomes.

Might want to duck when I drive through town.
Yeah I’m about to act like a clown.
Doing a drive by
Playing tag with Satan.

Don’t give me no shit.
I’m gonna get’re done and split. 


It’s been a really rough in the past 30 days. I thought about going on that shooting spree only about 10 times or so. I’m tired of feeling like I’m being punched in the gut...just wish I could get it to stop.

It all started with my dryer going out. Okay. No big deal. I’ve got a little extra money saved just in case something goes wrong with ... Life. Three hundred dollars, and same day delivery, I had a good, but used dryer.

The next Friday, I had plans to take my 05 Equinox into the shop for some routine maintenance on the fluids. When I get there I tell the service guy that I’ve also been having problems with my air conditioner not working correctly. Never mention things like that unless you’ve got more money!

The air conditioner has a bad leak and needs to be replace. Good news is the repairs are covered under my extended warranty I purchased. They covered around one thousand dollars, and I was left with around a two hundred and eighty dollar bill, which included a forty dollar oil change. Just breathe, I remind myself.

A week later, I’m driving around town and I notice my car is not acting right. I stop at Wal-Mart and I shut my car off, get out, and I can still hear a fan or something under the hood running. I re-start my car and the noise stops. Okay. No problem, but it sets my mind running a thousand different scenarios on what the problem could possible be. I go inside to do my weekly shopping, come back out and the car starts with no noise, no sensors on, so I drive back home safely.

A couple days later I have to pick up a few forgotten items from the last trip, so off to Wal-Mart I go again. My Suv is fine on the drive there, but on the way back, I can hear that strange sound again coming from under my hood as I head the mile or so back up the highway. As I near the main light in town, I see the turn lane signal turning red and I begin braking more. My car suddenly begins cutting out, so I quickly jump back into the straight lane and keep going straight so I can go the back way to my house without possibly breaking down in the middle of the highway. I make it to the next exit and get off the main highway. As I near the stop my car begins to cut out again, so I pause and after making sure if was clear, I quickly turn towards my place. I round the corner and I see my check engine light come on. FUCK!

As my world spins out of control, I get dizzy.

I quickly pull over and my car dies the second I come to a complete stop. I turn the car off and begin searching for my phone. I can hear the fan running as it tries to cool off the engine. My friend is gone into Tulsa, my son is at work, and the extra car at my house is in need of some serious repairs before it can be driven. I call my son back, who works just up the road at our Wal-Mart, and he finally manages to talk his supervisor into letting him take a early break so he could come help me.

Almost 20 minutes had passed, and the noise that it was making had stopped after about 5 minutes of running, so I decide to try starting my car. It sounded like it was running normally, and since I was less than a mile from my house, I decided to chance driving the short distance. Half way there I come up to one more stop. Just as I’m about to stop, the gauge that shows my car was overheating came on, and so did that noise. I only had 5 blocks to go, so I took the chance and rounded the corner. I was speeding a little as I passed a local officer on patrol, but thankfully he looked the other way and didn’t really feel like fucking with me. (Thank you!) I was already stressed enough. Along with having low blood sugar at the point, it might not have been a good day for either of us.

I get home and call my tow service to tell them about the problem. A few hours later a wrecker shows up and tows my car back to the dealership for repairs. I hoping whatever is wrong, it will again be covered under my extended warranty. Fingers crossed! Late the next day, I hear good news...sorta. My thermostat is out and needs replaced, but it’s covered under warranty. They replace the thermostat and take it for a test drive. A few hours later, I’m expecting the call that my car is ready and I’ll only have to pay the $100 deductible. NO! I also have a plugged radiator. It’s plug supposedly because the fluids needed change.

Remember to breathe, I have to repeatedly remind myself. Repair bill $980 fucking dollars. Breathe! Repairs are done the next day. I drive away with the radio at more than half volume.

It’s about 12 miles going south, straight down highway 75, and then another mile and I’m home. Barely! The car is overheating again and I’m just able to make to my driveway. I call the dealership and they apologize over and over before sending a tow truck back to pick up the vehicle again!

“He fucking hates me!”

(Hold on, let me get my head right. Deep, deep breath.)

Later that afternoon, my 18 year-old son begins telling me he has to have one hundred and thirty dollars for football speed and strength camp. He had the sign-up paper for weeks, but had forgot to let me know so I could plan for the expense. The money had to be turned in the next day or the price would go up another fifty dollars! Okay. It’s going to be a little tight for a while, but I’ll do alright.

To no one in particular... FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, AND FUCK YOU!

At this point, I’m ready to explode. It’s the weekend, so why not do a little drinking to help me unwind!  Late that evening, around 9:30pm, I fix one drink, but I am barely able to finish it because my stomach which was already doing flip flops, now begins to turn sideways. I stop drinking. Around 1am,  I slowly made my way into the comfort of my dark bedroom. My stomach continues to make strange noises as I attempt to sleep. Around 3 am, I finally drift off into a deep sleep, but only 20 minutes into my slumber, my stomach decides it can no longer handle the tossing of fluids around inside my gut.

I’m thinking to myself as I’m rushing to the bathroom, holding in my cheeks the disgusting liquid that has filled my throat to it’s maximum, that there is no way I drank enough to make myself sick. Violently the contents of my stomach explode into the toilet until I felt I could no longer breathe. The vile taste in my mouth remained as I slowly made my way back to bed for what I was hoping would be the end of a horrible day.

I took a few sips of water from a bottle that sat on my side table and laid back down to rest. Within 30 seconds after the water hit my stomach, I was rocked with a wave of nausea and knew it was not going to remain in my stomach. I jumped up quickly, afraid that I wasn’t going to make it on time. On my second step, I turned a little hard on my bad left knee. I heard a loud pop and then a crunching sound, followed by extreme pain.(I broke a couple bones in my knee and tore my ACL a little more.)

ReMembEr to breAthe!! Pain is rocking my body, as vile chunks of liquid seek an escape from my body. Death would be a very welcomed visitor at this point. I’m begging for it to end!

The rest of the night I continue to throw-up until I’m only puking that yellow bile, nasty, yuck stuff. I try drinking water because I feel and look dehydrated, but I can‘t hold anything down. I’m just glad I had a large trashcan beside my bed.

The next morning I’m awaken by the dealership calling about my car and they tell me they flushed the lines and refilled the antifreeze. No charge. About time for some good news. But I’m still sick and I can’t seem to wake myself up. I send a friend and my son to go pick the car up. He tells me it drove fine on the way back. Okay. Good! Now I’m going back sleep because my body feels like I’ve been run over and smashed with heavy machinery.

I sleep the entire day on Saturday. I can’t seem to make myself wake up. I can’t eat. I can’t drink anything. So I lay there drifting in and out until around 10 am on Sunday. I’m beginning to feel a little better, so I attempt to drink a small amount of water. By the end of the day, I managed to hold down one bottle of water, but I have no energy. I haven’t ate in two days and I’m scared to eat. 

By Wednesday, I’m feeling well enough to make a trip back out to the store,  even though I can barely walk and I still hadn’t gained all my strength back. I go drive the 2 miles to Wal-Wart and then swing around another mile to my pharmacy to pick up some meds. As I’m waiting for them to run my insurance through on some meds, I hear that sound of the fan running again. Five minutes later I pull away and the sound continues. I quickly return the finally mile back to my house and pull in the driveway just as the check engine light comes on.

Let the bodies hit the floor! Let the bodies hit the floor! Let the bodies hit the floor! The song lyrics repeatedly splashed across my thoughts.

It was too late for them to check the car, so it had to wait until the next day to be looked at. They call me around noon  last  Friday and tell me the head gasket maybe bad and it’s going to cost around $1000 dollars in repairs, but first they have to send the part off to another shop and it will be at least until the following Tuesday before they will know the total cost.

Breathe! Fuck breathing!  I want to choke a motherfucker!

Maybe I shouldn’t let’em know what I think.
But they need to find the bodies before they begin to stink.

Today they finally called me back and gave me the news that the repairs cost around $2000 dollars at this point because the head is warped and the gaskets need to be replaced. The only good news is the repairs MIGHT be covered by my warranty, but they won’t know until tomorrow. 

I need a little more of what’s right and little less of what’s left.

After all these problem, I decided to do a little research online about my 05 Equinox. Apparently a lot of people have had the same problem with their SUV’s, and believe it maybe a defect with the vehicle. Seems like to me GM is aware of these problems with the Equinox but they refuse to do anything about the problem. Hmmm.

I have now forgot how to breathe!
Loose cannon, going bi-polar.

Sometimes I feel like my life is a video game, and some motherfucker is getting his jollies by seeing how far he can push me before I snap. I can fully envision how easy it would be to go on a killing spree, removing from society those who have fucked with me.  


To get rid of some of the stress, earlier I decided to clean out the garage. I'm moving things around, dragging my bad leg with me, sweeping down cobwebs from spiders that probably died years ago, re-stacking my stored Christmas decorations, until I'm starting to get a little warm. I turn on the stero in the garage and start moving some 70 pound steel hand weights up against a wall. I put the larger ones on bottom and then I go to stack a 30 pound weight on top. I'm doing this rather quickly, trying to work up a good sweat, so I'm not really paying attention and I smash the tip my left ring finger in between the 70 and 30 pound weight.


Pain surges through my body. The tip of my finger instantly turns a dark shade and blood pools under my nail. Fuck! is the only word that escapes my mouth. Over and over I repeat the word. Sweat forms on my forehead. I hold my breath.

Breathe... Sometimes I want to forget how to breathe in the air necessary for life.
Slowly let myself fade away until no one knows I ever existed.
Today is one of those days.


Wish I could rewind this month.

I know they think I’m the one.
And I’m sorry, but what I’ve done can’t be undone.

I wish their were no rules
So I would have nothing to lose.

I Surrender

This too, shall pass.

Let’s see if I can remember how to do this....
Deep breath!
Another.... Now breathe normal and relax.

I don’t know how to really start this, except to say I’m not dead, or in jail. Psychically I’m fair. Mentally... Well let’s just say that’s where my problem is staying for a extended vacation.

I’ve started so many different stories and thoughts, but I’ve been unable to finish any of them. I tell myself I can write, if I would only focus. But my words get lost before they find their way onto the pages for others to see. 

When I first started this blog, I would walk around all day thinking about what I should write about. Back then, everything was blog material. I could see stories every where I looked. Now, my mind feels absolute blankness. The images are no longer there. I don’t see the story behind the man or woman as they move along with their daily life. Without meaning. It’s as if we are all nothing more than fake images on a computer screen.

It feels pointless to try and change. Why? For what reason should I continue? I’ve been a nobody all my life and I’m sure that’s who I will continue to be. Then I saw this quote the other day....

Don't let your past dictate your future, but let your past be part of what you become.

Deep breath again!... And again...

I enjoy writing. But to return, I have to take care of a few obsessive compulsive behaviors that I have been letting run my life for about the past year. I have to get it under control now that it has reached a peak. If I don’t control it now, it will forever control me. And that’s not the path I want to walk on.

I will return soon. Thanks everyone for hanging around.

This too, shall pass...

I Want to Write!

I need to write! ....If I can find the time...:(

Looks Like I'm Not Going Anywhere

Well, at least for today... It's snowing outside. Maybe I can find some time to write tonight...

Storm of Emotions

My fuse is short.... If you light it... You better run fast.
Kill them with kindness... Kill them with kindness... Kill them with kind.. Kill them with... Kill them... Kill them!!

SOMEBODY! Grant me the serenity to accept the fact that some people are ignorant, the courage to uphold the law when I’m hostile, and the wisdom to realize that murder is illegal.

If it moves shoot it.
I envision bones snapping, and I enjoy the sound.

Sometimes I forget this site is my therapy, especially when things are moving along in the ‘normal’ direction. I guess it’s like the people who attend AA or NA, you have to keep going or it stops working.

It’s around 2am, and for the 4th day in a row, I can’t sleep, so I need to return to the one thing that was giving me some sort of peace... My writing.

For the past several days I have experienced extreme anger that boils up from somewhere deep inside my lower stomach and crawls it way into my thoughts. Then comes the slap across my face as homicidal and suicidal thoughts destroy my mind. Everyone that pisses me off in the wrong way, has my mind envisioning the most violent thoughts a person can have.

Only those who deserve it.
Hung with care, will the police soon be there?

6 million ways to die.
Push someone ‘accidentally’ in front of traffic?
Maybe a little rat poison in their food?
Hold their head under water...
Slice their throat?
Baseball bat to the back of their head?
Will it end in suicide?

My brain has locked on and seized this one particular thought so tightly that I can’t seem to be able to let it go without doing something ‘stupid’ to unfreeze my brain. These strange thoughts terrify me, and at times I’m afraid that my forbidden thoughts may become so powerful that they break out and I act on these thoughts. It’s wreaking havoc on my mental health.

I dream horrid dreams, and often mutter unmentionable thoughts... so pay no attention to me as I casual stroll by.

Tomorrow I have to get out of town and go ‘stalk’ someone if that is what is needed to bring me out of this state of mind before Christmas arrives.

Drinking Alone

SoCo & Lime is the stuff to drink
It's for the girl that hurts when she thinks
As she looks at the last remaining shot
She sees the world as the world is not.

Tough Choice

The evening is mine alone... Shall I write a story, or go out on the town for a night of revenge?

Time

I need some alone time....

If I don't get some soon I'm going to ...............................................

W

Sorry I haven't been around much, but I've been playing normal...
I'm not sure if it's working out. 

Secrets...

but I'm afraid of what others might think.

9/11

youtube video ... 9/11 Respect

Memories

Memory is a funny thing.
It holds back information, I guess.
Protecting us from the horror of truth.
Only allowing us edited versions of events.
Yet the mind knows.
It has to, in order to know what to hold back.
And that's what troubles me.

Today I learned...

Not to go digging around in old haunts...

because you might dig up some ghosts from a long ago forgotten past.

Gotta Carve Out SomeTime to Write

Same time, same place everyday...

Today I'm a Different Person?

I started this blog on December 31, 2005 with a plan in mind. Like a lot of other people I thought about the variety of ways that I could improve my life in the coming new year. Making a resolution is easy. The hard part is following through with that promise made from deep conviction.

A part of me was determined to find the peace that legal drugs had failed to help me discover. So, I wrote out a promise to myself to try something different, to walk down a different path than the one I had been on for the past 20 plus years. Since the age of 18, I had been on some sort of legal drugs, off and on every few months for my psychiatric disorders.

Just a few months before I started this blog, I quit taking the lithium that the psychiatrist had  prescribed for my bi-polar disorder. I hated the way it made me feel nothing. No highs, no lows, just blank wondering around most of the time. When the drugs finally left my body, I felt alive...on top of the world! I wanted to keep that feeling alive for as long as possible. I rode that roller-coaster to the highest possible point and tossed my hands up as I rode it down to the bottom. The hard part was crawling my way back up to the top, feeling like I was pulling the roller-coaster carts behind me.

For 20 years when this ride occurred I would seek the help of whatever quack doctor my insurance would pay for, and take whatever type of drug was offered until my mood stabilized. I never learned how to deal with the highs and lows without using medication. I let whatever the latest pill was, take care of my problems. Problem was, it never took care of the problem. The pills only made it all easier to deal with.

With all this in mind, I started blogging with the determination for the first time in 20 years to ride the roller-coaster without any type of psychiatric drugs. I have to say, it has been an incredible fucking ride! Sometimes I take a sharp left, but then things correct themselves and I’m again going the right way. I have days when things are just not clear, but other days I’m so high up, I can see for miles.

At the end of this year I will have been on here, and off of psychiatric drugs for 5 years. I feel like a completely different person than I was 5 years ago. I’ve learned how to deal with some of my ‘strange’ behaviors, and I’m sure I’ve have a lot more to work on. But I’m doing it on my own terms. Some (law enforcement) may think I still need to be on medication, and maybe they are right, but I just don’t see the same picture right now.

I jump right in. Sometimes without looking.

I’ll do what I have to do, even if it means just simply sitting in front of the police department watching them, and knowing that it’s fucking with their head wondering what I’m doing.

I’m just trying to feel some sort of control. Trying to figure out my own way to stabilize my mood, without using psychiatric drugs.

Life is short, forgive sooner and always keep smiling.

Why do I do this?

To feel some sort of control...

My Bad Day

I’ve never been a social person. I guess most of that comes from the fact that when growing up I had very little contact with other people in social settings. Over the years I have learned to adapt to most any situation, but then there are moments when all I want to do is resort back to a more barbaric way of handling things. Maybe I should just let MsPsycho handle all things....?

My 7 year old tv began experiencing difficulties in working correctly, and although I don’t watch much tv, I do have a few select shows that I enjoy watching, so when it failed to come on, I headed out the door in search of another one. Knowing I didn’t have a lot of money, I decided to search at a couple of different pawn shops hoping to find one that wouldn’t cost too much. The first shop I stopped at offered only a couple of small tv’s that harbored pounds of dust. The next pawn shop looked cleaner, but the parking lot was full.

I had a friend drop me off near the door while he and my son looked for a parking spot. The moment I opened the door I should have turned around and walked right back out, but I spotted several nice clean tv’s sitting on a corner shelf, so I stepped on inside. A young, black girl standing near the door, holding merchandise to pawn, stepped towards me just as I enter the door, which caused me to bump into her slightly. I said a low excuse, while she just stared at me.

Ignoring her, I walked on over near the tv’s and found one that had a nice price and looked good. As I’m standing there looking at the others, I can hear this bitch behind me talking about how I had just bumped into her. I tried to ignore her stupidity, but it continued to mount as she continued to throw out insults. I almost snapped!

I took a deep breath.... Bitch do you realize I will go psycho on your ass in about three seconds flat. I will beat you down to the ground and keep stomping your face until the police pull me off your bloody stupid ignorant self. I have been to the Pen and I won’t put up with some low life bitch that needs to grow the fuck up! Deep breath, .... and I put MsPsycho behind the curtains for a moment.

I turn around from the tv’s and walk back near the girl. I look her in the face and again I say excuse me loud enough for everyone to hear. I exit the store and get to the car just as they find a parking spot. I just shake my head and tell them they didn’t have any nice tv’s.

Eventually, I found a tv, but never again will I search at a pawn shop that is really busy. The anti-social, bi-polar, fucked up person inside of me (MsPsycho) might be hard to contain next time.

Part two of my day....

After several hours of having the most vial thoughts about that woman, I had to head home to my happy place. There is one thing that relaxes my body and mind more than anything else, and it’s not marijuana. (Even though that does help.:) I find my peace in my little 18 foot above ground pool that I got from Wal-Mart. During the summer I will spend at least an hour or more everyday, cleaning out the pool, exercising, swimming, and floating in the water, absorbing the vitamin d from the sun.

Just as I changed into my clothes to head to the backyard, my neighbor/friend calls, panicking about how her husband didn’t want to spend 10 dollars at the PUBIC pool for just an hour of swimming for his 3 kids. Apparently he didn’t get off his lazy ass and get them their on time to swim longer. So, she wants to know if they can all swim in my pool. I finally agree, but tell her she has to watch them. I can tell in her voice that she doesn’t want to watch them either. (They’re not our fucking kids....MsPsycho whispers in my ear.)

I tell her that I’m watching a show on tv, so she says the 12 year old can watch the 7 and 5 year old. I’m thinking not a good idea, but I finally agree. Thirty minutes later they show up, but with a couple other kids from the neighborhood that heard they were going swimming and wanted to come.

Deep breathe.... I don’t have a fucking community pool! This is my private pool for me to enjoy! Not for every dirty little snot nosed kid in the neighborhood! This is MY happy place! Every motherfucker on this block probably makes more money than I do. If you want to let your kids enjoy a pool, then you save money to buy one. That’s what I have to do. I don’t make over 100 thousands dollars a fucking year.... but you do! You put in the time to set up the pool, fill it with water, pay the water bill, buy the chemicals needed to keep the water clear, clean it out everyday. Then when I come asking if I can swim in your little personal sized pool, I wonder what you will have to say. Fuck people! You’re fucking up my space!! Deep breathe! And MsPsycho steps behind the curtain.

You guys have fun, just be careful. I walked off to my room and smoked a joint.
We’re much better now.

Had A Bad Day

Had a Bad Day

More to come...

Am I God's Tragic Mistake?

No Matter how Many "Watch Your Step" Signs There are... I always seem to fall.

Damn it! I went left.

I don’t think my brain needs 'crazy pills' to rescue itself. My mind is just tilted in odd directions, and that can’t be a mistake. It has become a part of who I am. But after time running up and down stairs can wear down even the toughest, leading the person to consider suicide. That’s where I use to go. Now when it becomes too much, I run into the lions den, which might not be a real good idea, but it works. The chemical shift in my brain occurs, and I once again return to ‘normal’. Sometimes I pay a high price for my ‘stupidity’, but if death was the alternative, which would you choose?

Someone once told me that I enjoyed having others think about me, that’s why I repeatedly drive past law enforcement. A part of me does... it’s the tiny, squeaky little voice wondering around that loves to giggle at the thought that she’s manipulating them into wondering what the fuck she’s up too. Then there are other  parts of my brain that shouts at me, asking me what the fuck am I doing?  The OCD part of me tells me if  I don‘t, something seriously bad will happen later.

I’ve tried on many occasions to convince myself that nothing bad would happen if I got near law enforcement. I wasn’t going to stab them, I wasn’t going to attempt to choke, I wasn’t going to pull out a weapon and shoot them, and in return... If I got near them, they wouldn’t  attempt to stab, choke, or shoot me. But I have a hard time trying to convince my mind of this reality when I am near them. Sometimes when I know they are in some store, I will go into the store for the sole purpose of trying to persuade myself that nothing bad is going to happen.

People just don’t realize how hard it really is to be me. It is exhausting trying to following the right voice, and not the wrong one. Sometimes a part of me is willing to do anything to return to some state of normal, even if it means driving around the police department 20 times, or doing some other random stupid act that leads to their intervention. If I didn’t do it, I would have probably already taken someone’s life, or at least my mind has me convinced that is what will happen.

I might have went too far this time, which could lead to serious consequences if everything continues to go left. But it has re-sifted my mind enough that I slept for 9 solid hours of sleep last night. I’m thinking differently now, and things that were previously unclear are now in focus. My brain has temporally corrected itself without the use of medication.

All I have to say right now is ...

FUCK!

I Tried to Write....but this is all I could do.

I let the anger boil until it was overflowing, spilling out in a violent rush as I stood in line, sizing him up. I could take him.


I’ve been trying to do other activities that keep me from thinking as much, like painting. Problem is painting is not a good thing to do when you are angry, and I really tend to think too much, which is not a good thing right now. I’ve got to get away from everybody and everything for a little while. Some type of distraction... Anybody got any good ideas? Any idea has got to better than the ideas that are running around in my head right now.

I want to go right, not left, but I can’t figure out which direction is right.

Blogging

First of all, let me thank everyone who has joined my site recently. Normally I would visit your blog the day you joined mine, but I decided to take a short break from my blogging addiction/therapy. I promise I will soon visit your blogs, and get caught up on many of the other blogs I follow.

Taking a break from blogging has allowed other doors to open, but it has also allowed some of my other addictions to thrive. I want to post about what's going on, but I have fears that law enforcement still occasionally check in on my blog, so I have to be careful what I say anymore. I'm good at keeping secrets. It'll be another thing that I hide behind the black curtain in my mind.

I first started blogging with hope that it would somehow let other people understand why I... do the things I do. Deep down I think everybody has the need to feel understood. To be able to explain why and have others understand. Another reason I started blogging was to halt some of my own actions, and not let all the voices in my head frolic around in their own direction. It's like a circus in my head right now with thoughts jumping through hoops of fire, while others hang tediously by a thin rope high in the air.

I'll never see normal. This is as normal as I'll ever be. Forever dealing with psycho thoughts. But I REFUSE, even under a court order to take medication that only dulls my mind and allows me feel.... nothing.

I go to court Thursday morning for my illegal passing. I've managed to save the $169 and paid the fine earlier today, but I still have to appear before the judge. I've made it through the 3 months probation without getting another ticket, but what the judge doesn't understand is, that's normal for me. I will sometimes go long periods of time without an encounter with law enforcement, but a shift in my brain chemicals will quickly send me right back out at 1am driving around in my circles, or recklessly driving a little too fast in the afternoon. I still don't think the police have figured out why I have to drive past them 4 times if I see them standing outside their cars...lol. Gotta love OCD.

Thanks everyone for visiting my blog. I look forward to reading yours. Have a wonderful day.

Funny thought for the day... If someone threw a rock and knocked me off my donkey... Would I be stoned off my ass? Hhmmm?

Stay Tuned...

Going to find the part of me that hasn’t giving up and try to convince the part of me that has giving up, that it will be alright.

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.

That Other Voice