Torture

Every 15 minutes...

Every 15 minutes…
Someone takes their own life.
Someone feels like they can’t go on.
Someone feels like they can no longer control their actions.
Someone feels like they must gain control over the one thing that they can.

Then Every 15 minutes…
A heart will break.
A friend is gone forever.
A dream will never be realized.
A future will go blank.

Every 15 minutes…
Someone feels ignored.
Someone feels abandoned.
Someone feels completely helpless.
Someone will act on their thoughts.

Then Every 15 minutes…
A dream will die.
A deep void opens.
A mother will never again comfort the child who needed them.
A father will wonder why.

Every 15 minutes…
Someone is not able to seek the proper treatment.
Someone thinks everything seems so pointless.
Someone will break a promise.
Someone will succeed in taking their own life.

Then Every 15 minutes…
Someone will feel the pain of no touch, no voice, no love.
Someone will look across a table to a vacant chair.
Someone will lie awake at night, unable to sleep.
Someone will feel it’s somehow their fault.

Every 15 minutes…
Someone wants to run.
Someone wants to hide.
Someone wants to cry.
Someone wants to die.

Every 15 minutes…
Someone wants to hear your laughter.
Someone wants to wipe away your tears.
Someone wants you to know, you are not alone.
Someone does not want you to die.

The girl with the broken smile.

Life is like a jigsaw puzzle…it’s handed to you at birth, and slowly as you age you put the pieces together. And just like any puzzle sometimes you lose piece and have to take out time to look for it then put it where it belongs.

Sometimes I feel like I’ve lost too many pieces.
I lost my first piece the day my daddy took my innocence’s away.
Being told I was a nobody, scattered pieces everywhere.
Tears washed a piece away the day a good friend died.
I lost several while I was busy using drugs.

Anger scatter even more when I realized how hard it was to try and move on with my life. A bargain with the Devil burnt a few pieces around the edge, and left a piece missing near my heart.

My puzzle is a big mess and I’m running out of time to find all the pieces and put it together. I’m afraid there are some pieces I may never recover no matter how hard I try.

Shocking and alarming Thoughts

Society turned me into a disease.

Sometimes I feel like I want to do the craziest of things.

You know, like killing something or someone just to watch it die.

Spit open its stomach and feel the hand warming sensation of ruby red blood as it slowly drains from your victims body.

Sometimes I hear voices and they tell me to do things.

Where darkness stands defiant to the break of day.

You spend a lifetime of walking...but where did you go?

I relive the past. I feel the past.

I have such vivid, painful memories, flashbacks, if you will.

I can almost feel 'their' hands painfully squeezing me.

I can even sometimes smell the stench around me.

Contemplating suicide.

You wish you were already dead as you hold the gun up to your head.

I want to take him and string him up by the hind

quarters like a deer being hung up and skinned.

I want him to be alive as I run the sharp knife blade down his stomach to his nut sack.

I just like to watch sometimes.

More weird shit…I’m hooked on watching violent pornography.

I’m not gay but I like watching a man get fucked hard in the ass.

I like watching the pain on his face.

Antisocial personality with intermittent psychotic decompensation.

Dark Art

What a dumbass.

Again people have been reading my blog and then telling me how I need to get help…well here’s the thing…I’ve tried so many times and failed that each time I try and fail, it again makes me feel like I am a failure. So fuck 'getting help' ....this is the way I am learning to heal. By finally admitting to things that I am usually too embarrassed to tell to a persons face. This is my therapy. I am slowly beginning to heal.

For the third time I tried to see a therapist and a psychiatrist only to be turned away because of a misunderstanding. I had spoke with a intake counselor from ParkSide in Tulsa and had appointments set up for drug treatment from 9am till noon, 3 days a week, and 2 appointments to see a therapist and then the psychiatrist. I was actually looking forward to finally being able to unload my mind on someone who could help me figure it all out, but again I guess it just wasn’t meant to happen.

I found out I couldn’t attend the morning classes just yet, mainly due to the fact that I didn’t have a way to get there at that time, so I thought I would just postpone it for a few more months and then go. The day of the appointment the therapist called and I explained that I couldn’t attend the morning classes but still felt like I needed to see the therapist to talk about a few things and the psychiatrist to maybe get on some medications. The therapist misunderstood (or so she says) and canceled all the appointments. And she didn’t tell me anything about it until the day of the appointment when I received a letter in the mail saying my appointments were canceled. I called her back and said I had full intentions of coming to the other appointments, but she said it was then to late, so she would have to call me back and make new appointments.
That was 2 weeks ago and I haven’t heard anything back yet!

If someone you knew openly admitted to hearing voices and had recently injured themselves, wouldn’t you as a professional person want to help this person? I guess she really doesn’t give a fuck. So when and if I go on a killing spree will she then say, ‘well I guess I should have tried to help her’? WTF???

And how in the fuck does calling someone a dumbass help in their healing? You’re only making them feel worse about the crazy things they do, you’re not helping any. Here is the mind….they said I’m a dumbass…I guess they are right I am a dumbass and I don’t deserve this life. I’m only going to fuck it up worse. I can’t do anything right. Dumbass!!!!dumbass!!dumbass!!!dumbass!!! You hear the words as you try to sleep…Dumbass!!! And that’s who you will always be. Never able to change. What a dumbass.

Shattered Soul

This world belongs to a child once battered; That led to the adult who's soul has shattered.

What it's like when I cut myself.

When I feel the need to cut, I'm usually very anger about something or in a situation where I can escape from what’s happening around me. It’s an intense feeling that I believe is 10 times stronger than what a ‘normal’ person would feel. It becomes such an overwhelming feeling of doom that you’ll do whatever it takes to take away that feeling. The voices from inside of me, tell me to injury myself, and the feeling will go away. I won’t have to think about why I’m angry, annoyed, or feeling like I want to throw up big chunks of food everywhere.
I run to a place where I think no one will see me, and I take out my secretly hidden sharp object.
Another voice from within shouts out, ‘What are you doing?”
I don’t answer back, because I feel shame.
My heart races, as I think about the blade being drawn across my already scarred wrist. I choose a place higher up, where others can’t see.
Voices….Voices…..Voices…Voices.
“Stop being a chicken about it…Just do it!!”
I think to myself why do I feel this way. And why won’t it stop. I have to make it stop. I can’t take the way I feel. I want to feel something else. Pain; that will take me to a place that is more comfortable.
I’m not sure if I believe in heaven, but I sure can give you a tour of hell.
I look intently at my cutting area, knowing I’m about to feel intense pain. I really don’t like feeling the pain, but it brings me back to reality. My heart races as I hold the blade with intense pressure against my skin.
“Just close your eyes and quickly draw the blade across your skin. Do it now and quit being a fucking chicken.”
I take several deeps breathes…Is this really what I want to do?
“Just make the feeling stop!”
“You don’t have to injury yourself”
“Do it now! You won’t have to feel the pain of feeling like you have no control!”
“You are a worthless piece of shit, and will always be a drain on society.”
Blood is already starting to appear from where you are holding the blade so firmly against your exposed body.
Deep breath.
'Quickly now!!!!!!'
A rush of adrenaline surges throughout your body, making you to take several deep breathes.
Quickly the blade goes across your flesh, and the skin lays open. Blood flows. But more important is the feeling. It’s like experiencing your very first breath. Your heart is racing. You feel alive. You have control. A sigh of relief. Knowing the feeling is going to quickly fade, you close your eyes and enjoy the brief moment of feeling alive.
Your anger disappears, and is replaced with the feeling your are more familiar with, and can understand. This wound you know how to heal. You open your eyes to see how bad the damage is this time.
A far away voices screams, “Shit!!! Look what you have done!!”
“What are you going to tell people?”
You grab the washrag you have sitting on the counter waiting to absorb the blood before it falls to the floor. You hold it there catching the blood, only removing it to see how bad your ‘accident’ looks. That’s what you’re going to tell people if they find out…I accidentally cut myself when…..I’ll think about it later.
That’s why I did it in a secret place, where no one will see but me. It will be another one of my secrets.

Today, I cut myself.

I need to empty my mind again so here goes my ramblings, and we’ll see if it helps me to sleep a little better.

Last week I had appointments set up to once again to see a psychiatrist and a therapist. I went to Parkside (our local nut house) and saw a intake counselor to ‘evaluate’ my needs. I already knew what I needed, it was just the going through the process to get the help that I need that really sucks.

Part of getting my license back is going to intensive outpatient treatment, so I want to do that but also I know inside I need some sort of ‘intervention’ again.
After 2 hours of being asked ever question about my state of mind, the counselor set me up into the outpatient drug treatment class, which wasn’t going to cost me a dime, that’s why I decided to go there. He also set me up with a psychiatrist and therapist, one appointment after the other. The only catch was the appointments weren’t for a couple of weeks. I thought okay great, I can wait that long, because I know when I finally tell more of my secrets I’m going to feel some relief….Right?
Things never work out right for me.
The counselor told me the out-patient drug treatment could start the next week, but the problem was the only time the they held the class was from 9:00am to 12noon, and I couldn’t find a way to get there. The more I thought about it, the more I decided to just wait until the kids go back to school then I try again. The next day the therapist I was going to see calls me, and I tell her I have to wait because I don’t have transportation during the morning hours. Somehow she took that as I wasn’t going to come to any of the appointments, and she cancels both of my other appointments without telling me.
As the day nears to my appointment I’m actually feeling some sort of relief knowing that I’m soon going to be emptying my mind. The morning of my appointment I’m up early and go out to get the mail from the previous day that I forgot to get, and there’s this letter from Parkside. I’m thinking they are just confirming my appointments, but I open it and it states that my case has been closed.

WTF? So I call Parkside and ask what’s going on. The therapist that I’m supposed to see isn’t in her office, she’s gone for the day. I then ask about the appointment for the Psychiatrist and of course he is already gone for the day. I’m thinking, okay this must be fate. Or something. Every time I try to see someone it never works out. Why?
I was glad the boys were gone to the pool, but then again if they would have been there I probably wouldn’t have cut myself. I never do things like that when they are around. It was nothing serious, just enough to bring a little blood, and give me a feeling that helped to temporarily wake me up. I had to do something or I might have done something that I would have really regretted.
I need to collect my thoughts.

Kelly Clarkson...Because of You.

I will not make the same mistakes that you did
I will not let myself cause my heart so much misery
I will not break the way you did
You fell so hard I've learned the hard way, to never let it get that far
Because of you I never stray too far from the sidewalk
Because of you I learned to play on the safe side
So I don't get hurt
Because of you I find it hard to trust
Not only me, but also everyone around me
Because of you I am afraid
I lose my way
And it's not too long before you point it out I cannot cry
Because I know that's weakness in your eyes
I'm forced to fake, a smile, and a laugh
Every day of my life
My heart can't possibly break
When it wasn't even whole to start with
Because of you I never stray too far from the sidewalk
Because of you I learned to play on the safe side
So I don't get hurt
Because of you I find it hard to trust
Not only me, but also everyone around me
Because of you I am afraid
I watched you die
I heard you cry
Every night in your sleep I was so young
You should have known better than to lean on me
You never thought of anyone else
You just saw your pain
And now I cry In the middle of the night
For the same damn thing
Because of you I never stray too far from the sidewalk
Because of you I learned to play on the safe side
So I don't get hurt
Because of you I tried my hardest just to forget everything
Because of you I don't know how to let anyone else in
Because of you I'm ashamed of my life because it's empty
Because of you I am afraid
Because of you
Because of you.

Would you like another slap to the face?

As I’m sitting here typing this I think to myself I should be writing my brother a letter. I remember how it was when I was in prison…you really looked forward to getting a letter from someone on the outside. It’s just that every time I sit down to write him, I go blank, and all I can think about is how we were treated when growing up. TEARS. From the very beginning when we were first born, we never had a chance from day one. Breathe.
I somehow thought in the back of my mind that writing about my life story and finally getting it all out of my system that I would finally magically be healed. So for the past two years that’s what I’ve done, I put it on paper…I should say all on the computer. I hand wrote most of it, but there was a lot that I did on the computer that I don’t have wrote down anywhere. And now….I’ve fucking lost it all!!! I believe AOL caused my computer to crash, and now it won’t load. I'm using my a older comupter that is slow as hell, but at least it works for now.

Would you like another slap to the face?
I feel that’s what God is saying to me. My hope was to find someone who could help me edit my story, and then to publish it for the world to see. Then maybe they would understand why I feel like a psycho every day, every moment of my life. Once everyone knew, then somehow that was to make me feel better. But now I’ll never know. I can’t start from the beginning and write about things so horrible it makes the mind shake. I feel I gave it my one shot, and it didn’t happen so I guess it just wasn’t meant to be. I’m not a writer and I never will be. I just don't know what I'm going to do now to get the money that I need. Money is the key, without it you become lost.

Waxing Joke

All hair removal methods have tricked women with their promises of easy, painless removal - The Epilady, scissors, razors, Nair and now...the wax.

My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner, play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours: "Maybe I should pull the waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet."So I headed to the site of my demise: the bathroom. It was one of those "cold wax" kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you pull the hair right off. No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean, I'm not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out.(YA THINK!!)So I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each other stuck together. Instead of rubbing them t together, my genius kicks in so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees.("Cold wax," yeah...right)! I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around it tight and pull. It works! OK, so it wasn't the best feeling, but it wasn't too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin extraordinaire.With my next wax strip I move north. After checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I apply the was strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my vagina and stretching down to the inside of my butt cheek (Yes, it was a long strip) I inhale deeply and brace myself....RRRRIIIPPP!!!! I'm blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!....OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!! Vision returning , I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the strip. CRAP!!! Another deep breath and RRIIPP!!
Everything is swirly and spotted. I think I may pass out...must stay conscious...Do I hear crashing drums??? Breathe, breathe...OK, back to normal. I want to see my trophy -- a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip! There's no hair on it. Where is the hair??? WHERE IS THE WAX???Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the hair. The hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I am touching wax. CRAP! I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is now covered in cold wax and matted hair. Then I make the next BIG mistake...remember my foot is still propped up on the toilet? I know I need to do some thing. So I put my foot down.
DAMN!!!!! I hear the slamming of a cell door. Vagina? Sealed shut!.... Butt?? ...Sealed shut!I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and think to myself "Please don't let me get the urge to poop. My head may pop off!" What can I do to melt the wax? Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!! I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off, right??? *WRONG!!!!!!!*I get in the tub -- the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment - I sit. Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued together, is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub...in scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax. So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cement-epoxied myself to the porcelain!! God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom!!!!!I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone. It's a very good conversation starter - - - - "So, my butt and who-ha are glued together to the bottom of the tub!"There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is located, "Are we talking cheeks or hole or who-ha?" She's laughing out loud by now...I can hear her. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box.YEAH!!!!! Right!! I should be the joke of someone else's night. While we go through various solutions. I resort to scraping the wax off with a razor. Nothing feels better then to have your girlie goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off!! By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I'm pretty sure I'm going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for this event.My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace....the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax. What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on and OH MY GOD!!!!!!! The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend. It's sooo painful, but I really don't care. "IT WORKS!! It works!!" I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up. I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief and despair.... THE HAIR IS STILL THERE.......ALL OF IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!.So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I'm numb by now. Nothing hurts. I could have amputated my own leg at this point.Next week I'm going to try hair color......

May 22, 2006

Later today I go to see yet another Psychiatrist and a therapist. I haven’t been to sleep yet, because I’m thinking about suicide again. I’m so sick of going to see doctors, and other people just to try and get my life straight. It sometimes becomes more than what I want to deal with, and I think suicide will take me away from it all. But I’m still a fucking chicken, so until I get up enough nerve to confront an officer into pulling the trigger, I’m stuck living this miserable life.
I’m still trying to visit as many different sites that I can so it will keep me distracted long enough for the really bad days to pass. Yesterday and today were miserable. All day long I was angry, and it really was for no reason at all. I have days like that. I become so angry at everything and everybody that I feel like I want to just choke the fuck out of everybody I see. It’s like this rage that I have deep inside of me and I don’t know what to do with it all. Some days I feel like I can’t take it anymore and I’m going to explode in a violent frenzy and go on a killing spree. Taking as many victims as I can with me.

I just want my chest to stop hurting, my hands to stop sweating, to stop feeling like I want to throw up........I want to feel real.

Arrest record and police encounters.

(All names have been changed for privacy reasons. On some I just put my age, others I put the date of the encounter or the approximate date. This is a list from all the paperwork that I still have. There are a few arrest and encounters that I do not have the paperwork on, or I’ve just forgotten about. I’m not posting this because I’m bragging, I’m just trying to find a pattern to my madness, and hopefully by posting it all, I can get it all out of my system.)


Age 10 Questioned by the police about what happened when my older brother Richard was shot by an arrow in his right lung by my half brother Wally who is now in prison for murder.

Age 11 Questioned by the police about what happened when Richard shot my younger brother Dustin, in the chest with a 22 rifle.

Age 13 Questioned by the police about a purse being stolen. No proof. Secret Smile.

Age 18
November 1984 dated Robbie, LEO
December 1984…Dated and then raped by Highway patrolman Mike.
January 1985 suicide attempt, cut wrist
January 1985 Police came to my house and arrested Tammy for public intoxication. Two days later my half-brother Wally was arrested for public intoxication.
January 1985 Stopped after letting a boyfriend drive my car without license.
January 1985 stopped by officer. All beer confiscated. Let go.

February 1985 My first arrest…public intoxication, resisting arrest, assault and battery on a police officer.
2/85 Suicide attempt
2/21/85 EDO (emergency detention order) taken to Eastern State Hospital Suicide attempt…overdose
3/6/85 Larceny of merchandise from retailer, Jailed.
3/27/85 Larceny of merchandise from retailer, resisting arrest, assault an battery on a police officer, unlawful possession of a controlled drug (valium). Jailed.
Probation.
4/85 speeding ticket
4/85 speeding ticket
4/1/85 Larceny of merchandise, burglary second degree, jailed.
4/6/85 speeding 55 in 25, defective vehicle, assault and battery on a police officer, resisting arrest. Jailed.
4/8/85 speeding ticket
4/85 passing on right ticket
4/85 obstructing alleyway ticket
4/85 speeding 38 in 25 ticket
4/21/85 speeding 39 in 25, disobeyed traffic sign
4/23/85 Driving while impaired, public intoxication, possession of dangerous and controlled substance, possession of drug paraphernalia, defective vehicle (tires and brakes), possession of 3.2 beer by a minor…jailed.
4/25/85 defective vehicle
5/85 EDO ESH suicide attempt
5/15/85 operating a defective vehicle
5/85 public intoxication, jailed
5/85 public intoxication, jailed
6/17/85 obstructing an officer, burglary of Auto second degree, resisting arrest, assault on a police officer.
6/85 EDO ESH uncontrollable behavior
6/85 arrested…failure to pay
7/85 Worked at the police department to work off fines.
7/85 assault and battery (got into fight with someone)
8/85 failure to pay all cost. Jailed
8/85 public intoxication, resisting arrest, assault and battery on police officer.
9/85 sent to prison.
A few of the reports against me while in prison: Class B institutional misconduct report for disobedience to order on November 6, 10, and 29 of 1985. Class A misconduct report for battery on November 9, 1985. In addition the staff had to use force to restrain her on November 20, 26, and December 10, 1985. Refuses to attend Impulse control class.
8/86 released from prison
Parole and probation.
9/86 Dated several LEO's
10/86 public intoxication, possession of controlled substance
12/86 became a missing person
1/87 SWAT takedown
1/87 EDO overdose
2/87 possession of marijuana, and heroin (charges dropped)
10/88 house searched
4/12/90 No license on person
5/91 speeding ticket
6/91 Larceny of merchandise, Grand Larceny
8/02/96 speeding 84 in 65, reckless driving.
10/06/97 attempting to elude a police officer, driving while suspended.
11/13/97 reckless driving, jailed
97 Grand Larceny
98 probation Officer Nunnelee
12/28/98 failure to obey traffic control device, failure to use seatbelt.
3/15/99 Improper parking.
2000 no inspection sticker
2/18/00 speeding 80 in 55
6/30/00 Bench warrant application to revoke suspension of sentence
11/10/00 failure to maintain compulsory liability insurance, following at unsafe distance
5/01/01 speeding 52 in 40
8/17/01 speeding 57 in 40
9/21/01 no seatbelt
9/26/01 reckless driving
1/12/02 speeding 55 in 35, driving under suspension Jailed
4/04/02 possession of drug paraphernalia, failure to stop at stop sign, possession of marijuana.
2003 possession of marijuana, stopped and searched at the park.
2003 searched…couldn’t find anything.
2003 speeding
2004 speeding
9/24/04 no seatbelt
10/26/04 misdemeanor drug possession, arrested for posting McDeath online,
6/01/05 DWI, marijuana possession

This is not all my encounters or arrest, but it is all I can think of for now. How fucking sad when you look at like this.

I'm trying to do the right thing.

I can’t believe it’s been one whole year since I stole anything. I know that might not mean much to other people but for me it has been one hell of leap forward. I feel if I can beat my first addiction, why not the rest?

I’ve become a member of several different sites, using different names just to see how people react to my different personalities. It’s something that I’ve found that I enjoy, and it keeps my hands and mind busy. Its funny how people react to a name, some never bother to find out about the person, they just see a screen name, decide they don’t like it and ban that person. I’ve gotten my kicks that way a few times. I’ve signed up calling myself a troll, only to be banned the second I printed a word.

I used the name Thief at several police sites, just to see what the reaction of the officers would be. It was funny…some officers just flat out hated me, while others wanted to know all about me and what made me become a thief. Hehe…and some were turned on so much by thief that they wanted to meet her. Maybe they seriously wanted to put the fuzzy cuffs on me that they were always talking about.

I have a couple of serious names that I use, and go to the same sites just to see how people react to that personality. It just amazes me how different people can be fooled into believing things that are not true. Playing the serious role is just not as much fun as playing the bad guy.
I have to say Ms Psycho has turned out to be as much fun as playing thief. Once again I have gone to police sites, just to see how the others will react. So far I’m playing along, and playing nice. One night when I get bored maybe I’ll tell everyone who I really am…hell who knows maybe they’ve already figured it out.

All I’m trying to do is not go through with my plans. The plans hang there over my head, like a bloody corpse that has been laying in the sun for days. I want it all to go away, but it won’t, so I do what I have to do to make it go away.

Seeking help.

So I finally went to see a psychiatrist about getting on some medicine to help with some of the more unusual thoughts that I’ve been having. I lie to the person who brings me, telling them its only a part of my regular yearly check up that people with disabilities have to have done. I don’t want to admit to the person closest to me that on a daily basis I think about suicide or have homicidal thoughts. But when the voices start to become louder than my own voice I know its time to get some help again.

Last time I spoke with a few officers online which helped me from committing suicide. I was close and went as far as going to a town where I knew I could easily provoke an officer into doing what I’m apparently to chicken to do. Just the act of following through with my plan up until the last possible moment was enough to bring me back to reality for a little while. It gave me enough of an adrenaline boost to decide I really didn’t want to die at that moment, it could wait until another time. Now once again I am faced with those feelings, and the only way I feel I can get past this moment, is to do something …. I don’t want to say crazy… but something that will help me stay in reality without using some sort of drug.

I arrive at the office on time, matter of fact I was early, but I wanted to come early just in case I couldn’t find the place, or the weather might slow us down getting there. It was pouring down rain, and I almost wanted to cancel the appointment, but I felt if I didn’t go, one of my many voices would later talk me out of going back. I keep hearing all the voices of the officers I had talked to online saying, “Get some help. Find some support. Get on some medication.” So there I was drenched from head to toe when I walked into the small middle office building, and immediately the first thing I noticed everywhere there were religious posting from the bible. Every inch of the walls, the front part of a desk, book shelves behind the desk, and any where there was an open space hung something to do with religion. My first thought was to get up and run right back to the car through the pouring rain.

Out stepped an elderly lady, who I later found out was the doctor wife, took my information, and told me the doctor went to get some copies and some coffee. Another bad sign that I should have ran. As I sat down in a waiting chair I could see down the hall way into the doctors office, where there were large bibles placed around the room. But the worst of all, the finally factor that made me decide that no matter what I will not return to see him ever again was the cleanliness of the office. Paper, boxing material, old packages, etc., basic garbage, was sitting around everywhere possible.

After waiting 45 minutes for the doctor to return, because he had got caught in traffic during the rain, he finally showed up and led me to his chamber of horror. I could barely sit down in the chair, because it basically grossed me out. It was dirty, and like I said the room was so overly packed with papers and other debris that you could not see his desk, or anywhere on the floor. Yuck!!!! Yes I have OCD….but you might too after seeing his office.

Still I tried and talked about why I was there, and how I hadn’t been sleeping very well. I didn’t get too far into the details, but enough that he wanted to continue talking to me even after his next patient had arrived. Mostly it was about religion, and I told him if there was a God, God forgot about me a long time ago. He said I should go on to become a minister….inside I wanted to laugh my ass off at such a crazy suggestion, but I just left him believing that it sounded like a great idea. Almost 2 hours later I’m finally leaving with a script for insomnia. The doctor wants me to come back in a few days to see about putting me on more medication, but I won’t be going back. Help will have to come from somewhere else.

What the fuck am I doing?

I have moments of clarity in my life and it is then that I have to ask myself, ‘What the fuck am I doing?” I think I know what I want from life, but I feel I have no way to achieve that goal. I can’t do it alone, and I hate asking for help from others, but what other choice do I have? I try to maintain and be as normal as possible; again it’s just not easy. Sometimes I want to listen to the voices in my head, but there are so many that it makes it hard to know which one I should listen too.

The more I think about suicide the more the voices from my past come slamming forth like someone hitting me in the head with a sledge hammer. They remind me of how Tommy couldn’t handle life either and took his own life with a gun to the head. He had been at my house just he day before, telling me how things were just not going good for him, and he felt like giving up. He said he was still going to work everyday, but at every chance he got he smoked weed, and drank until he passed out. And on his days off he would become so intoxicated that he barely remembered the next day what he had done the night before.

I told him he couldn’t give up, and some how when he wasn’t looking things would get better. That’s what I should have fucking said, BUT I DIDN’T. Instead, I told him people either get off of drugs or they eventually die from drugs. I wasn’t using at the time and thought I had beat drugs, so I figured I had the right to say what I did. His fear was that he would forever go through life being drunk and high, and inside he didn’t want to live that way. Inside, he just wanted to feel normal.

Is that such a terrible thing for a God is who is all powerful, to be able to do? Just give us strength to feel normal long enough to get our life together. Is that really so much to ask? That’s why I don’t believe God is alive today. If He is up there listening and watching, when I die I want to go up to Him and ask Him what the fuck his problem is. Hope He has enjoyed the show. But alas, I believe we are nothing but worm bait when we die and nothing more.

Is smoking weed worth the price you have to pay?

Post for Price of Weed posted here: http://whathappenedtoprotectandserve.blogspot.com/2008/02/price-of-weed.html

______________________________


I go to court this week for a review on my last charges. I can’t believe it’s been almost a year since I was stopped and charged for the marijuana possession. I found out the other day when I paid some that I still owe close to $1000.00 dollars in fines. ALL FOR A PIECE OF WEED THIS ___ BIG!!!!! I’ve paid as much as I can each month, but I don’t think the Judge is going to like how much I’ve paid. But I had to pay 175.00 for the drug and alcohol assessment, and pay Tulsa County their money each month. And I still have to come up with almost a thousand dollars to get my license back along with taking intensive outpatient treatment and therapy. I don’t know how much that is going to cost. Again… ALL FOR A PIECE OF WEED THIS ___ BIG!!!!!

I know it was more than just the weed he found; he was trying to show me that he’s the one in control, and not me. That he follows the law, no matter what. Or maybe he believes somehow that he is going to save my life by making me get off of drugs. Could be that he’s just an asshole who goes on power trips and likes to fuck up peoples lives that he doesn’t like. ALL FOR A PIECE OF WEED THIS ___ BIG!!!!! It’s no wonder our court systems are so full now days, and prisons are overflowing.

So should I get off completely free? After all I did break a law. I was in possession of a piece of weed, even though there wasn’t enough to even weigh. It wasn’t something that I was selling. He knew it was for personal use only. Still, it was wrong. So give me a 100 dollar fine, not a 1500 dollar fine that only causes future problems with the family because you don’t have the money to get the things you need. Then put me on probation and maybe order me to drug treatment. I damn straight don’t need to lose my license because of this. How do they expect me to take my kids the places they need to go? Their father damn straight won’t. So I feel like my kids are being punished. Again yes it is my fault that I tend to self medicate just to make to the next day. But I’ve never hurt anyone other than myself. You can’t say I shouldn’t be driving, because I’ve never had a wreck in my entire life. Not even a close call when driving while I’m high.

Now I go to court and wonder if I’m going to go to jail or not. Each time I have to show back up I fear this. It causes me to have panic attacks, for which I have to take something to help me relax before going, or I would probably throw up right there on the floor in front of everybody. I've given up smoking weed for now, because I know when I do appear in court the Judge is going to want me to take a UA. Which I know how to pass, even if I wasn’t clean. The places they have you go, don’t watch you well enough.

Another thing I finally did was go see a psychiatrist. What a fucking weirdo!!! I swear to God some of these psyches are worst than me. His office made me want to shower for a week!!! It was so nasty, and things were piled everywhere looking like it had never been cleaned. I couldn’t handle it, so I doubt I will ever go back to him. I’ll post another time what happened. At least I got a few good drugs out of him....damn I’m a junkie. But I'm still trying.


Price of Weed....Post located here...

http://whathappenedtoprotectandserve.blogspot.com/2008/02/price-of-weed.html

I confess...

I keep a weapon hidden on me at all times.
I saw a good friend die.
Some days I can’t stop eating.
I have a few secrets that I will never tell.
I suck at being a writer.
I stole things from a hotel room where I was staying.
I have a plan for my death.
I think about death everyday.
I have been arrested over 30 times.
I have sold drugs.
I witnessed a murder.
The first time I got drunk, it was with a police officer.
Some days I think about killing everyone I meet.
I hate myself.
I have lied to a police officer.
I have warrants for my arrest.
Today the voices in my head are fighting.
When I was younger my father took naked pictures of me.

Why I like talking to the police.

Since I’ve been posting on my blog I’ve received several e-mails, some are of course negative and telling me how crazy I am, while others are very supportive and want to help me in any way they can. In the end though, the message is always the same, I need to get some type of professional help is the main concern from the officers I meet, while others tell me they understand my pain because they too have experienced the same feelings. It amazes me sometimes when I come across those who truly care whether or not I live or die. And sometimes I think the officers are just trying to prevent me from committing more crimes, which I guess is good. (I’m getting there; I’m just not there yet.)

The strange thing I have found about speaking to officers online, is that it gives me enough of an adrenaline boost to make me feel okay for a short period of time. It’s an addiction I can’t stop. Is that so wrong? When I talk to them, they stay in my head, and when I go out their voices are still there and I don’t commit crimes. I know that sounds weird but it works for me. I don’t want to be a law breaker, a criminal, a drug addict, a loser, or a drain on society. Damn it! I just want to feel normal for one fucking day! So I confess some of my darkest secrets online to complete strangers just so I can feel okay and be able to make it to the next day.

Its a cold world when you have to hide all by yourself.

This is my place to cry and to be able to let go of some of the hate that I keep so tightly stored during the day. Right now everything and everybody seem to be driving me nuts. I can go anywhere by myself any more, because HE thinks Ill get in trouble, so he checks the mileage on the car each night now just to make sure I don’t go anywhere. The only time I leave the house now is when he drives me to the store once a week, and then it’s back to the dark cave in the bedroom. Hell even when I was driving I had to hurriedly make it back sometimes or HE would be so pissed off and angry that I was late and then he always demanded to know where I was.
In the beginning he was so nice, and things I thought were going to be wonderful. He moved in with me the night after the first time we had sex. He told me he loved me and wanted to spend the rest of his life with just me. He said I was the perfect woman for him, and it made me feel special. Still, I wasn’t sure I was ready for another relationship, but there he was from the time I woke up until the time I went to bed. After only a few weeks of living together, I realized I just couldn’t be the perfect woman that he thought I should be. He expected me to just automatically know all his needs and wants, and then I was to make sure they were fulfilled.

I tried talking to a few of my friends about how I didn’t know what to do, and they all suggested that I leave him right then and there, but I thought somehow I could change him. One day we got into a really big fight and I screamed at him I should just do as my friends said leave him. It was the worse thing I could have said, and it was also the last time I spoke to any of my friends. We moved to another town where I knew no one, and he liked it that way, and did not want me to make any new friends. So that’s the way it’s been for the past 15 years. He has now convinced me that I was the one who didn’t want anyone around. It’s just that I’ve grown use to the isolation.

After all these years I still expect things to get better, but they never have, they’ve only continued to get worse. Over the years when I threatened to leave he would sometimes hold me down and tell me I wasn’t going anywhere. We were together until we died together. He tells me I’m the reason he becomes so angry, I make him that way, so I try as hard as I can to make things easy on him. Things are okay for a long time sometimes and then suddenly without warning he changes into another person and no matter how hard I try I can not do anything right.

At times I feel like I’m at the end of my rope, I don’t know what to do. Saturday night is our usual night to have sex, no matter what else is going on. I should have known better when I told him I didn’t want to have sex because I just didn’t feel good. It turned him into the other person. He began screaming and cussing at me, then he threw things across the room and kicked the trashcan everywhere. You ain’t any fucking good, bitch. Why didn’t you say something earlier if you didn’t want to have sex? You know we have sex every Saturday night. So what’s your fucking problem? He continued to call me every foul name that he could think of, until I finally gave in. I wanted him to just calm down, so I told him I would take a bath and that would make me feel better and we could have sex. After smoking a very large blunt that he made me roll, he told me to turn over. I still didn’t really want to have sex, so I just laid there barely moving until he was done.

Report child abuse sites

ASACP Association of Sites Advocating Child Protection

If you come across a site that has child porn, pictures, etc.
Report the website.



http://www.asacp.org/report.php

My life growing up helped to form who I am.

During the time when Dustin was in the hospital, Wally had returned from Texas. He wasn't getting along with his real father and decided he wanted to come back. He and I began going with my father as he would rob various places at night. He had told us the most important thing was to never, never brag to anyone. “If you keep it to yourself no one will know but you", was a saying my father would repeat to Wally and me as we went with him to be his lookout. We were to look in opposite directions and watch for anyone coming and honk the horn if we saw any lights. He would steal batteries, tires, car parts, boats, boat motors, 3 wheelers, motorcycles, gas, cattle to butcher and anything else of value that we can across. When the eclectic and telephone companies came to put in new line, we went out several times stealing items they left laying around. He stole truckload after truckload of electric copper tubing. He would cut it up in long pieces and put them in the back of the truck until it was full. He would then take all the copper tubing and stack it in a big pile out behind the garage. Then he would dump gasoline over all of it and set it ablaze, burning off the outer rubber. Everyone would stand around and watch as my father would throw more gas on top, causing it to flame up really high into the air. After it cooled, we would all grab a piece and pull out the copper pieces to sell. We then loaded the copper strips back into the truck along with whatever else we had stolen, to sell at a place that recycled metals in Kansas. Once my father found out the type of things they were willing to buy, he began stealing more and more things. It became a regular week-end 'outing' to run to Kansas and sell the things we had stolen throughout the week.

One week-end as we were burning off some copper, someone from the sheriffs department showed up. He said he was just driving by and saw the smoke and just wanted to make sure there wasn't a big fire. My father told him we were just burning some trash out back, and he had it completly under control. The officer looked over at me and smiled. He was the same one who had come to our place after Dustin was shot. My father had talked trash about him after he had tried to talk to Richard about shooting Dustin. My father said the deputy had accused Richard of shooting Dustin on purpose and wanted to take him in for questioning, but my father didn't allow him. Now he wanted to look and see what my father was burning and again my father refused. "You get a warrant and I'll let you look, but until then I'm telling you, you better get your ass off my property". The Deputy looked at me, smiled again and then got back in his truck and left. Afterwards my father began saying how much of an asshole he was. "A man can't even make a living without some fucking pig messing it up. God damn places already have enough money", he shouted angrily then quickly went back to check on the fire. "If anyone ask you kids anything, tell them we were just burning trash. They don't need to be in our business, so keep your damn mouths shut", he said then he pointed at me, "and Tayla don't you ever let me see you looking at a cop, ever again. Keep your eyes to yourself until you can show them no fear. They can see in your eyes if you're doing anything wrong."

My father became paranoid after the deputy had came that he stopped stealing the telephone cable line and began stealing cattle instead. Just a few heads at a time. Most were young unmarked cattle from around in different areas. Some he sold for cash to friends, others he butchered and put in the freezer. We never got caught at robbing anything, so it continued for years, even after Dustin had gotten out of the hospital.

My first Arrest: I am the bad guy.

I worked the next few days and then I got two off. On my last night of work, when I was on my way home from work I met John as he was stopping by Jan's place. She wasn't home, so I invited him over to my place for a beer or two. We talked for awhile, then he pulled out a bag of pills and handed me two.

"What are they?” I asked.
"Something to help you relax, they're Darvacet".
"What do they do?"

"Don't worry. They'll just help you relax. I like you", he said handing them to me. "I don't want to hurt you. Take them both. You can trust me".

I wasn't sure what to do. I had heard words like that before, but I still wanted him to like me, so I took the pills and washed them down with a drink of beer. We sat talking for awhile, but soon the pills made me very sleepy. My voice was slurred and everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.

"I'm going to bed. I can't stay awake any longer", I said with a big yawn and a distance far away look.

"Sounds good, can I join you?” he asked with a big smile.

I couldn't bring myself to say yes, "I'm not feeling too good, maybe another time."
"Well okay then, I'll stop by tomorrow if you're not to busy".
"Sure. I'll be here".

John hung around for the next couple of days. I was beginning to really enjoy his company. On my next day off we bought a case of beer and went driving around. I drove until I had become so drunk, that I had to let John take over. He drove around until 1:00am doing nothing but talking and listening to the radio. By the time we got back to the house I could barely stand, but John helped me into the house and afterwards, I quickly feel asleep. I was awaken around 2:34am by John talking to someone in the living room. I could hear another guy's voice, but I didn't know who it was.

"Man, do you even like her?"

"Not really, but it's a free place to stay for awhile, plus she's paying for all the beer", I heard John saying, and then he laughed.

My heart dropped. I wanted him to like me. I became so angry. I wanted to cry, scream, do something, but I was too hurt and even scared. I laid there quietly until I heard them leave. I got up, got dressed, then I started crying, "That bastard lied; he didn't even like me!" I hit the wall hard in anger and it felt good, so I hit it again and again. My heart welled up in my chest. It hurt and I wanted to die. I grabbed my keys and ran out the door. I got in my car and turned the key. Nothing. It wouldn't start. Angry, I shouted, "Damn it. Damn it!"

I took a deep breath. I thought I didn't need to drive anyway because I was still drunk. I got out, slammed the door, and then walked back in the house. I picked up my jacket and walked into the bathroom. I opened my Uncle's medicine cabinet and took out the bottle of valiums. I opened the bottle and took three then I put the bottle in my bra; in case I wanted one for later I told myself. As I took off walking, tears again rolled down my cheeks. I thought back over the past few months. Things were suppose to be going good after I left home. Nothing ever seems to go right. Nobody cares. Nobody understands. Why do they treat me like I'm a piece of shit? Is because I'm fat? Why? I wiped off my face and walked into all night convenient store. I purchased a can of beer without showing any I.D., so I could take another pill. I walked towards downtown drinking the rest of the beer. Where was I going? I didn't know. I didn't care anymore. I finished the beer and threw it down on the ground. The beer and pills had taken effect and I stumbled, almost falling down.

The next thing I knew, someone was grabbing my arm and talking to me.

"Let me go!” I shouted and pulled away. My mind was so fuzzy that I didn't realize what was going on. I turned and saw two police officers. I panicked and began resisting. Afraid of what they might do, fear over took my mind and I felt the need to run away as quickly as possible. I didn’t want any man especially a cop, touching me. I tried to pull away, but they shoved me up against a rough concrete building and put my hands high up behind my back.

"Let me go!” I shouted at the top of my voice. I wasn't going to take it anymore. I wasn't giving in and doing what they wanted. I wanted to fight back for the first time in my life. Both officers fought with me until they were able to cuff me, all the while I continued screaming at them, telling them they could go to hell. They put me in the back of the squad car and drove me to the jail. They sat me at a desk and remove the cuffs then began asking me all kinds of questions. Name, age, address, etc. "Do you have any unusual scars or bruises?"

"No", was all I could say and then I began crying. I took my glasses off and sat them down on the desk and began wiping my eyes.

The assistant chief sat down across from me, "Look up at me", he asked.

When I finally looked up he asked, "What happened tonight?"

I wanted to blurt it all out; to tell him everything, but I couldn't. All I could see was the fact that he and the others were standing around me in uniforms. I just shook my head and looked back down. Besides I thought what could he do? He's a cop, a man. I just cried more. They took all my jewelry and keys then asked if I had anything on me. There was no female officer to search me, so I was taken straight back to a cell. They through a thin mattress down on a cot then slammed the door cell behind me. The loud clanging of the cell door shutting made me feel forever alone. I felt I was being punished for what "they" did.

"I'm not drunk!” I screamed out, hoping they might let me out.

"You can get out in the morning", a deputy yelled back. "Now, lay down and go to sleep."

"Fuck you assholes", I shouted back.

As I laid down on the hard cot, I thought back to things that had happened in my life. I wanted to crawl in a hole somewhere and pull the dirt in over me. I wanted to understand why I was being punished in life. Why did I have to be the bad guy?

Abuse

Why is that people who were abused as children often grow up to be in abusive relationships? I ask myself this question every time after I’ve been run through a washing machine, and told that I’m nothing but a piece of trash that can’t find a waste basket to be thrown into. I am a ‘nobody’ and I always will be, and God only knows I can’t do anything right, I’m a total fuck up. At least that’s what I’ve been told again and again.
I hear different voices in my head telling me what I should and should not do; it’s just so hard to know which one to listen too.

One voice calmly and sadly states that he’ll change and things will be better. It’ll never happen again. Plus in a few days everything will be forgotten and things will be wonderful……for a little while.

Yet another voice reminds me of the children and how breaking up may effect them. He really loves them and would never hurt them, it’s just when he gets mad he takes it out on me. They need a father figure in their lives to make sure they don’t go down the wrong roads. He’s the one who pays for the things they need. I don’t think I can raise them alone.

Then in the very far reaches of my brain I hear this little voice squeaking out phrases like… He’ll do it again, and next time it’s going to be worse. Get the hell out while you can. Remember when he hit you so hard in the back of your head you couldn’t even think straight for over a week? You were so dizzy after he hit you 7 or 8 times with his fist that you almost blacked out, and you had a severe headache for over a week? And you want to go back to him. Get the hell out now!!!
I sometimes want to leave, especially after he hits me. He knows where to hit so that it doesn’t leave any marks, because if the police come he doesn’t want them see where he could no longer control his aggressions. That happened a few times, and that’s what made him smarter. If the police can’t see any signs of abusive then it’s his word against mine. The police have now come so many times, that I don’t think they take it serious. Why do I say that? Because the other day when he and I got into a really big fight and he threaten once more to take my life I ran to call 911. He jerked the phone out of my hand and slammed it down, as I took off running into another room. I stood with my back into a corner expecting him to break down the door at any second and begin to beat me until the blood flowed. My heart was beating so hard in my chest as I waited for the police to come and stop him from possibly taking my life.

I heard the phone ringing, and then came his heavy footsteps walking quickly back down the hall towards the phone, cussing loudly as he did. I stepped over towards the bedroom door and I could hear him speaking to someone from the police.

“No there’s no problem here. Everything is fine.” He said in a voice that was calmer than I had ever heard before. “Sorry but 911 was on speed dial and I accidentally hit it. Sorry, it won’t happen again.” He hung up and then I heard him coming down the hallway again.

No Rescue.

“Why in fuck do you always have to call the fucking cops? You know you can’t stand the son-of-bitches and their not going to come to your rescue. You stupid bitch!”
With one big giant push he broke the door jam and stormed into the room and directly at me with such force that when he hit me the first time I passed out.

My Dream

This is a dream that I've had over and over again every since I was around the age of 12. Sometimes I go months, and sometimes years without having this dream, but when I begin to get stressed the dream comes strong, hard and fast.

*********************************************************************************
I close my eyes to sleep and I move into a new world. The shadows of nightfall appear and a different reality begins to surface. I float away into the peace of the night, as imagines manifest into patterns, impossible to conceive in the awake mind.

I stand before a huge mirror with a fanciful swirling patterns and bright red rubies in each corner. I'm looking deep into the eyes of someone I know. It look's like me, but still, it isn't quite me. A hand suddenly appears from beyond and I am pulled forth into thick clinging fog. I'm not sure where I am and I feel confused. The air is thick and the smell burns my nose. As I begin to walk into the unknown, I trip over a trashcan lying on its side. I could see maggots, flies and sickly looking mice, scurrying out of the way, as I tumble and hit the ground with a heavy thud. I stood up, wiping the dirt from my now torn clothing. I could see trashcans scattered all over the abandoned streets. They were all full with rotted trash, most spilling out over the ground; others were lying on their sides, with rodents and cat's together eating everything and anything they touched. I wanted to run, but to where? There was no place to go; my heart sank. I felt a heavy cold gust of air push up around me and I rose into the air, then back down to the ground.

Enjoying the feeling, I lifted my arms high into the air, then took a giant leap and bounced high above the street below. I remained in the air taking more leaps and bounds across the sky. My heart raced, as the feeling of maybe falling and smashing into the earth took over my mind. I took several deep breaths and begin to calm myself as I slowly began to descend. I could see a ruined city below me. I floated at tree level, looking at the mass destruction that stretched out for miles. I looked into the sky and spotted the sun hidden by dark still-less clouds.

I closed my eyes in shame and took a step down onto the ground. I began walking up to my old school. I could tell it hadn't change. The grass was mowed, the yard was clean, and the building was in good shape. The only thing missing was the front door. I walked down the long hallway. As I passed, windows shattered, pieces of the walls crumbled and smashed to the floor. I walked faster becoming frightened. I stopped in front of my 5th grade classroom. I looked inside then walked over and sat down at a desk I sat in when I was in school. The chair was small and made me feel very uncomfortable. I began to shake and felt the need to escape. I tried to get up, but I was hit on the back of my hand. My hand stung even more as a board came smashing down hard on my hand again. I looked up and saw a person that looked like me with a board in their hand, raised high in the air. I stood, knocking over the desk as I confronted the image that looked like me. I looked into the crying eyes, staring deep trying to see something. My eyes broke free from the stare just as the board came down again from behind me. This time I was hit across the back of my head and shoulders. I stumbled and fell to the floor. I could hear the laughter of the 'others' as they appeared to tower over and all around me. I could hear the strange image laughing louder than all the others. I wanted to scream out for everyone to please just leave me alone.

With tears in my eyes, I stood and leaped into the air with one giant leap and landed far away on the ground. I began running over a hill, grabbing at the weeds and grass, pulling myself along faster and faster. I ran to the top of the hill, stopped turned and looked back down to where I had came from. Gunshots rang out from a distance. I could see hundreds of uniformed officers chasing me. They called out for me to stop, but instead I took off running again, across wide-open fields. In one corner of the field, I could see a square shaped castle and quickly made my way to the door. It was old; weeds, grass and brush overtook the entire courtyard. I quickly ran inside and slammed the huge door shut behind me. Inside the ceiling was so low that I could stretch my arms above my head and palm the ceiling. The walls, the ceiling and the floor were all painted a deep solid black. Dolls sat in corners, on black shelves. Unknown forces were manipulating puppets hanging from strings. I walked further into the darkness, beyond the dolls and puppets and saw ferocious looking animals entangled in chains and ropes. Their cries for freedom rang through my ears. I began ripping and pulling at the ropes and chains, freeing the beasts. They ran past me into the darkness from where I had just come from. The more I freed the more animals I saw. I couldn't get to them all and became frantic as their cries rang out louder and louder. Sweat rolled down my face, quickly soaking the front of my shirt, as I continued to work faster and faster. I wanted to quit and give up, so I closed my eyes, looking for some relief. When I reopened my eyes, the animals were gone, but now it was me that was bound with the ropes and chains. I couldn't move, I struggled to be free but couldn't gain my freedom. I felt someone pushing me hard from behind through several opening doors, each one leading into more darkness. The ropes and chains were now handcuffs tightly placed around my wrist. They were getting tighter and tighter as I walked, slowly cutting into my flesh. Dark red blood trickled down my arms. I could take no more and began to fight back against the images that held me. I slung my arms out violently, snapping the cuffs and hitting the others that held me tight. I struggled against them as if I were engaged in a battle for my life. I cried out for someone to please help me. I felt a light from above surrounded me, then I looked down and my body was fully covered in armor. A shield was over my eyes. The armor clacked when I took a step forward. Afraid to look at me, the others became frightened and began to flee.

From the darkness, four huge balloons floated before my face. I grabbed a hold of the string and I am lifted out of the armor, high into the air. I felt a sense of relief and let go of the balloon string. I began to twist and spiral down to the ground. I hit with a hard thump and lay there not moving, barely breathing. My mouth and nose was bleeding and my bones felt broken. I couldn't move and closed my eyes. I 'awoke' in the back of an old bumpy truck, being driven by people that I thought I knew, but still I wasn’t sure. They were taking me to the hospital telling me everything was going to be okay. Inside nurses and doctors rushed hurriedly around me, tending to my every need, but with deep sadness in their eyes, I could see it wasn’t meant to be. A man dressed fully in black, holding an hourglass, stood before me. The sand in the hourglass had stopped falling. I wanted to reach out and turn it back over, but in my heart, I knew my time was at an end. A casket lay in the ground. I looked up to see many officers standing around and people I didn’t know. I felt everyone’s deep sadness, as red dirt was being thrown in on top of a huge black coffin.

Tears welled up and I took off running, and then leaped high into the air. At first I didn't think I would stay afloat, but the more leaps I took, the higher I went into the air. I looked down and I could still see the shadowy figures of the people I knew and many I did not. Tears flowed and I leaped higher and higher into the air as I watched myself getting smaller and smaller. I flew beyond space until I was no longer there, and I felt at peace.

Confessions

Being a psycho I tend to sometimes do some really crazy things, and later I wonder why. I know why I first began stealing, because I was accused by a school principal for stealing candy out of a candy machine, but I honestly didn’t steal anything. Still, I couldn’t prove that I didn’t and received a spanking so severe that the bruises never went away. I was only 10 years old when I began my crime spree of stealing from those of authority. Somehow it gave me satisfaction in knowing that I had taken something from them and made them feel the way I felt when I received an unjust spanking.

After that it was just a chain reaction…I committed crime after crime when I realized how easy it was to get away with doing the things I did. I could easily get all the things my parents didn’t get for me. Simple things such as make-up, new underwear, and my first bra. Which I stole because my Mom said I refused to wear one because I said it hurt when I had it on. What she failed to say is she had bought me one that was 3 sizes to small, so of course I wasn’t going to wear it. After that she never bought me another bra until I stole one from the store and she saw me trying it on. I figured out early on, if there was any that I truly needed I would have to get it myself.

As a teenager my stealing became out of control because of this way of thinking. Eventually I was stealing because I enjoyed the rush I received from strolling out the door without being caught.

This is getting long enough, so I’m going to stop here and post a few confessions, feel free to post your own if you’ve got enough balls. Right now I’m not going to explain what’s behind the post; I’ll try and explain some of that another time. Scream out loud now.

Confessions


I steal…no big surprise there.
I like cutting on myself. I also hate cutting on myself.
I once broke into a police officers house and stole his guns and badge.
I killed a dog before by poisoning it.
I have books from the library that I’ve never returned.
I’ve grown marijuana plants in my house.
I sometimes think about killing people.
I made an explosive device one day when I was bored.
I’m a drug addict.
While in prison I did heroin with a correctional officer.
I wrote things on a public bathroom wall threatening the police.
I stole something today.
I once saw a UFO.
I had sex with different officers when I was a teenager to get out of being arrested.
I gave people Christmas gifts that were stolen.
I put too much toilet paper in a toilet before just to clog it up.
I have broken into 3 liquor stores with different people.
I have stolen many cars.
I gave counterfeit money to a drug dealer.
Sometimes I take too many pills.
I’ve committed mail fraud.
I have set things on fire.
I got arrested on purpose before.
I sometimes steal for no reason.
I cheated at playing cards.
I ate a whole cake once and then I made myself throw-up.
I’ve stolen several guns and resold them.
I spit in someone’s drink.
Voices sometimes tell me to kidnap people so I can torture them.
I have a notebook where I write down everything I’ve every stolen.
I know someone who works with explosives.
I like to lick just the cheese off of chips.
I have watched some really weird porn.
I set a field on fire.
I huffed gasoline before.
I have had sex with a complete stranger.
I have stalked several police officers just for fun.
I am afraid.

The Escape..Leaving home

I graduated from high school in May of 1984. I was only 17 years old and wouldn’t turn 18 until November, so my father believed he still had control over me until then. That summer everything was okay, until the summer school break was over, and everyone went back to work or school, except me.

Midway through August, Mom, Dustin and Suzy started back to school. Mom had started working at the school as a dishwasher, so she could be at the school to help Dustin whenever he needed her. Richard began working a part-time job that was more like helping a friend do a few things. He got paid very little and was gone most of the time, leaving me at home most days alone with my father. I tried to avoid him as much as possible by getting up early and going swimming at the pond or laying on the big rocks at my secret place.

Early one morning I could hear my father in the kitchen when I got up, so I decided to skip breakfast, headed straight outside, and disappeared into the woods. I walked up the stream that was almost completely dry, then on up to the pond. The weather was very hot and the pond water had become very low. The water was muddy where the cattle had been there earlier and moss was beginning to grow heavily in one corner. I stood on the pond bank looking at the water. As hot as it was, the water just looked too nasty for me to get in, so I decided to head towards the house. I walked in and it was 12:34 pm. I was hungry and headed towards the kitchen. I went past my father's bedroom and saw him laying naked on his bed. I walked straight to the kitchen and got something to eat to take with me. I walked back through the living room to leave and saw him sitting in his recliner, naked, rubbing himself. I quickly went to walk past him and he reached out and grabbed my arm.

"Come here", he said squeezing my arm and pulling me towards him. He grabbed my hand and put it on his penis, but I pulled away. He sat up and looked at me.
"Where you been?"
"Out walking by the creek", was all I managed to say.
"I don't want you down there by yourself".
"Why!" I said rather loudly but still with some caution in my voice.
He stood and slapped me hard across the face, "as long as you live under my roof you'll do as I say".

As I back away, he pushed me down on the couch. He walked over near me and put his penis near my mouth, holding it out in his hand.

I spit on him, rolled off the couch and ran outside. Seconds later, he came running out with a gun in his hands. When I saw it, I turned to walk away, but he quickly grabbed my hair and pulled me down to the ground. He put the gun in my face, "I ought to blow your fucking head off, you ungrateful bitch, but you're not worth the price of the bullet."

I was so scared, thinking he was going to do what he promised to do several years ago. Then suddenly I realized I didn’t care if I lived or died. I became okay with death.

"Just fucking do it you son-of-bitch. I'm so sick of your shit!” I shouted with unbelievable rage.
"You get your things and get out. You come back and I'll kill you and dump your body where no one will ever find it. You understand me!!?” he shouted loudly as he held the gun against my face.

I nodded my head up and down, and then he turned and walked away as I laid there for a moment shaking.

A few minutes later, he got in his truck and left. I had to make a plan right then and there; it was time for me to leave. I didn’t know where I was going or how I was going to get there, but I knew I had to go now or someone was going to die. I quickly went in the house and packed a few of my things. I was afraid I might run into him while walking up the driveway to the highway, so instead I cut across the backfields up to the highway. I still had no idea where I was going, but I knew I wasn't staying there another moment. I wasn’t going to let him take away any more of my breaths. I would just walk so far away, that I would become lost, I told myself.

During the walk, Mom had made it back home and was told that I was leaving home. I had made it a few miles down the highway when she pulled up behind me.

"Get in Tayla. Let's go back to the house", Mom shouted out of the window of the car.
"NO! I'm not going back to that house ever again".
"Where are you going then?"
I quickly thought and said, "To Uncle Jack's house in Nowata".
"Okay. Get in and we'll go back to the house so I can get a spare tire, I don't have one".
"No!” I yelled, "I'm not going back to that house."
"I don't have a spare Tayla Ann!” she shouted back at me.
"Go get it and come back, but I'm not going back."
"Alright. Get in and I'll take you to your Uncle's", she finally agreed.

On the way, we spoke very little. I mainly looked out my window, watching the tree's go by, and thinking. I wanted to tell her why Dad and I argued so much; why I hated him with all my heart, why I wanted to take his life and then my own. But I couldn't tell because I was afraid of what might happen. I knew it would mean he would go to jail, but not for long. My father had told me on different occasions, "If I go to jail, I'll get out and when I do, I'm going to kill you, your mom, brothers and sister". He would then quickly change his tone, "besides we're a family, you don't want to break up our family, do you? You'll never see them ever again. They'll take you and put you with strangers. Is that what you want?" He would then squeeze my arm until I said no. It made me feel like it would be my fault. I couldn't be the one who caused the division of my family. It would be another secret for me alone to keep. I just told her I couldn't take the yelling anymore and left it at that.

Twenty minutes later, we pulled into my Uncle's driveway. Mom stood outside and talked with Uncle Jack while I went inside and put my things in the extra bedroom. It had a full size bed and a dresser, with a small walk in closet in one corner and a door that opened to the bathroom. The house hadn't changed much, except it had gotten older. Inside it smelled strong of cigarette smoke from my Uncles years of smoking without opening the windows and letting the house air out. The kitchen and bathroom were in really bad shape, but nothing I couldn't take care of I told myself. I sat my things down on the bed, and then went to say good-bye to Mom.

"If you need anything just call me at the school."
"I will."
"I love you Tayla. Take care."
I told her goodbye and she walked sadly away.

Uncle Jack and I talked for a little while as we sat down on the sofa in the living room. He said it was fine if I stayed, but I would have to buy all my own food and other things that I needed. He said he would be gone most of the time staying with some friends across the street, so if I needed anything I could find him over there and he walked out the front door. I walked into 'my bedroom’, smiled and took a deep breath. I felt free.

My younger brother is shot by a 22 rifle.

The following summer on August 1, 1979, just two years after my older brother was shot at the pond, my younger brother Dustin's life would also change forever.

Everyone had gotten up early that morning. My father had left for work in the oil fields and Mom was busy cleaning house. Richard who was 14 and Dustin who was nine had decided they wanted to go shooting at turtles and snakes at the pond, then go swimming afterwards. It was my little Suzy's and my turn to do the dishes before we would be allowed to go. We changed into our swimsuits, and then continued doing the dishes. Richard and Dustin headed off to the pond with Richard's 22 that he had gotten for his birthday.

We were finishing the dishes when Richard came running into the house shouting, "Dustin's been shot!"

The same look of horror came across my Mom's face that I had seen before. Tears were streaming down Richard's face. We all looked at each other and knew it was serious. Mom raced outside and jumped into the camper truck we had at the time. She turned over the engine, but it wouldn't start because the battery was dead. Thinking quickly, Richard and Mom raced to find another battery that would start the truck. Using the battery charger, they finally managed to get the truck going 10 minutes later. Richard was drained, physically and mentality, so he stayed behind with Suzy, as Mom and I raced wildly through the pasture towards the pond. We were there within a few minutes. Mom quickly jumped from the truck, leaving it running and ran up over the steep pond bank. I was half-way up when I heard Mom let out a loud ear-piercing, heart-pounding scream. It caused my heart to beat so wildly, it hurt. I couldn't see him yet, so my first vision was of him floating dead in the water. My adrenaline flowed as I forced myself quickly up over the steep pond bank. I topped the bank to see Mom dropping down to her knee's near the water's edge. As I got closer, I was shock to see he was naked, but moving. I had expected him to be dead.

"What happened?” Mom asked him hysterically. I could see the panic in her eyes, as she began checking him over.

"Can you stand?” Mom asked.

He moaned out a low "No".

“How are we going to get him to the truck?” Mom asked as she began looking around at a way to get him to the truck as close as possible.

“You could pull up on the pond bank and drive up here real close to him.” I said pointing to the way I had seen our father do it before.
Mom began shaking her head no, “It just doesn’t look safe.”
“It’s easy, Dad has done it many times before”.
“No! I don’t think it’s safe.”
“Well what do you want to do?”
With a terrified look on Mom’s face, she finally shouted, "Tayla, just grab him under the arm and let's carry him to the truck."

“Okay,” I said then I grabbed him first up under his left arm and pulled him upwards. He let out a loud moan of pain and I started to lay him back down, but Mom had grabbed a hold of him under his right arm and we began dragging him towards the truck. As I drugged him up away from the waters edge and down the other side of the pond bank towards the truck, I could smell the blood and the pond water on him, which made me feel ill to my stomach. Blood drained from his back and chest, as we drug him down the pond bank, which caused me to almost lose my grip on him several times. Mom and I were exhausted by the time we got him to the truck. I was just 2 1/2 years older than he was and I wasn't that much bigger than him, but I managed to pick him up and put him in the truck as Mom went around on the other side and helped pull him in. Mom laid him down in the front seat, as I jumped into the back of the camper truck alone. As I looked down all the blood that had been on him, was now all over my swimming clothes and hands.

When we got back to the house, Mom ran inside and grabbed her purse. She told Richard to wait for our father to get home and tell him what happened. I washed my hands and grabbed a shirt to throw on over my swimsuit. I wanted to change but Mom said no, just get in the back of the truck with Suzy. Mom drove to the hospital in Nowata faster than she had ever driven before. Suzy and I were thrown around in the back of the camper truck as she took corners wildly. When she got there, she raced inside and quickly brought a nurse outside. Dustin was then quickly placed on a stretcher and taken inside.

The bullet had entered through his chest and exited in his back, near his spinal cord. Within minutes, arrangements were made to transport him to a larger hospital in Tulsa. Suzy and I stood in the hallway as they discussed what to do. I heard them talking saying that he was paralyzed from the waist down because he was moved.

"Who moved him?” I heard one of them say. The nurse pointed toward me, as they loaded him into the back of the ambulance, then she shook her head. I wondered if it was my fault. Was it because of me that he would never walk again?

Mom told Suzy and me to walk to our Uncle Jack's house and stay there until she got back. They were going to rush Dustin to trauma in Tulsa because there was no way they could handle it there. They loaded Dustin into the back of an ambulance and quickly took off for the 50 plus mile trip to Tulsa’s nearest trauma center. Normally it would be approximately an hour drive, but they said they could make it in twenty minutes. I watched as the ambulance drove off in the direction of Tulsa, I wondered if I would ever see him alive again.

It was almost a mile to Uncle Jack's house and by the time we got there, the blood on my swimsuit had completely dried. I quickly explained to my Uncle what had happened, then headed straight for the bathroom. The more I tried to wash the blood out, the more smeared it became. It wasn't much, but enough that it made me cringe when I looked at it.

Several hours later, the ambulance drivers stopped by my Uncles place to make sure we had made it safely and to let us know Dustin would be okay. They told us Mom wanted us to stay at our Uncles house for the night and she would come by as soon as she could. We continued staying with my Uncle for a few days, while Mom stayed at the hospital with Dustin. When she returned, she explained that Dustin would be in the hospital for a long time. He couldn't feel anything from the waist down and would probably never walk again. For the remaining days of summer, Richard was allowed to stay home by himself, while Mom was at the hospital and Dad was at work. At times, we would go with Mom to the Children's Medical Center in Tulsa. We weren't allowed in his room, so we spent the time wondering around the halls in the waiting area. Dustin spent the next year in the hospital, only coming home for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Suzy and I began staying with whoever my parents could find to watch us. I hated being moved around from place to place, but I had no choice. On week-ends, holidays, or anytime school wasn't in, I was moved around from house to house; not really knowing the person I was staying with. That was when I first began to believe that Mom knew what was going on, but she didn't say anything. Maybe she just wasn't sure, and maybe she did know and that's why she tired not to leave us alone with dad. That entire year that Dustin was in the hospital my father always took it as a chance to do something private and alone with me. Inside I felt like I was falling apart.

I want to alarm, inform and even outrage the reader.

I received my first response back from a publisher, and I was turned down. For the first few days after I received what I sent them back in the mail, I’ve felt like damn, this is another thing that I’ve failed at. I begin hearing this voice inside telling me I’m not a writer and probably never will be, but then I remember something my English teacher in high school had said to me: ‘If you hear a voice within you saying, "You are not a writer", then by all means write...and that voice will silenced.’ So I guess that’s where I’m at now, I’m not a good writer, but I want that voice inside of me to be silent.

I was told I had a good story; it just wasn’t ready for publication yet. Hell, I don’t know anything about how to edit or put a book together acceptable enough to be published. I’ve thought about going back to school and learn journalism or something equivalent, so at least I could finish my story, but at my age I’m not sure that’s an option. So for now I just put aside what I’ve wrote, and who knows maybe one day I’ll figure out how to put my story together enough for everyone to understand.

When I write I want others to feel my pain, to flinch their eyes and look away in sadness. I want others to understand what pedophiles and child molesters can do to children. It destroys their lives. We no longer feel normal. We go through life feeling as if something is missing or out of place. And no matter how hard we try, we never feel okay. There is one thing I have learned: Everything is always okay in the end, if it's not, then it's not the end.

Help prevent suicide.

http://www.theovernight.org/index.cfm?fuseaction=home.viewpage&page_id=8E82A889-CF1C-2465-1505D701AB1CD112

Out of the darkness 2006 Wristbands, Magnetic Ribbons, Tee-shirts.

Help prevent suicide.

Lost

I began feeling as if something was wrong with me. I would lay awake night after night, wondering if he was watching me. He words echoed through my head over and over again. Not telling anyone. I kept it a secret. Secrets...SEcreTs...seCrEts..."You’re my special big girl and I love you very much." Unsure of what to think."It's our secret...You can't tell anyone...It would mean breaking up our family. We would have no place to live. I could go to jail. Then who would take care of you and your momma. A good girl is a quiet girl. I’ll give you money anytime you need it. It's our secret. No one will believe you." The words rang through my head over and over again as I saw the images from the woods. I felt this was my family. If I tell, it all falls apart. There would no longer be a family to belong too. Everyone would hate me for breaking up the family. As messed up as we were, I still belonged to something. I felt I couldn't tell. For me, the problem would always be denied.

My older brother gets shot by my half-brother.

It was a very humid summer day in July, 1977. Richard and Wally were checking out their new bow and arrows that Dad had recently brought for them. They decided to go to the pond to swim and practice shooting. Richard wasn’t doing very well because 2 days before he had been stung by a bumblebee just above his right eye. It was swollen shut and his left eye was open just enough for him to see where he was going. My sister's and younger brother Dustin stayed home doing chores, playing, and watching TV. . They had been gone for a little over an hour, when suddenly Wally came running into the house, falling down onto the floor he shouted, “Richard’s hurt at the pond".

A look of terror came across Mom's face, "what happened? What's wrong?” she said grabbing him.

"I shot Richard in the side with an arrow".
"Oh God, where is he at?”
"At the pond."
"Okay, show me where," Mom said, and then she quickly ran out the front door.

We had no phone to call for help, because Dad had refused to let Mom get one, so it was up to mom to get him to the hospital in Nowata County. Mom drove madly through the fields until she made it to the pond bank. They managed to get him in the truck and into town within an hour. From there he was taken to a hospital in Bartlesville where he could get better care.

I found out later Richard and Wally had been shooting arrows back and forth across the pond. Wally shot one and Richard looked up, but couldn't see it because of the bee sting and the sun in his eyes. He had lifted his left arm up to block out the sun, and when he did, the arrow that was a straight tip, went deep into his side, puncturing his left lung. He stayed in the hospital for 2 week's. Mom stayed several night's at the hospital, leaving us alone with dad.

It made me feel uneasy, because all that day Dad had been sitting around naked in his recliner. He often did this, even when Mom was around. After getting home from work, he would strip totally naked in the living room, sit back in his recliner and begin rubbing his genitals, not caring if anyone saw him or not. One day 2 women from the church stopped by unexpectedly, instead of making a mad dash to get dressed, he refused to get dressed and answered the door naked. It made them feel as uncomfortable as I was feeling that night. Unsure of what to think.

Exhibitionism
It was late and my sister's were already asleep in their beds. I could hear him in the bathroom and I could tell he was peeking at us through the crack in the door. I was scared thinking he would come and get me, so I hid my head under the cover and laid very still. I could hear the cracking of the floor as he stepped lightly into our bedroom. My heart was racing and I started to sweat. I laid there motionless, afraid to even breathe. When I heard the creaking of the bathroom door shutting, I eased the blanket down from my eyes just enough to take a peek around. I let out a sigh of relief when I didn't see him there. I then looked over at my sister's beds, my little sister Suzy was sound asleep, but my half-sister April was gone. He had taken her into his bedroom. I covered my head and tried to sleep not wanting to think about what might be happening.

Richard got out of hospital and life went on as usual. Nothing was ever brought up about what happened that night. April never said a word. After that, I figured that was just the way it was suppose to be. You could do ‘things’, but you couldn't tell anyone about it. Little did I know, but it would just be another thing that I couldn't tell; it was another bad summer.

Impact of Child Sexual Abuse

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