Highly Unpredictable Behavior

I am writing this to prove
I once lived in a world which didn’t understand
nor cared enough to find out…

Yes, I saw you at Quik-trip while I was getting a drink. You were one step behind me as I filled my drink and walked to the counter to pay.  I ignored you, but you still followed me. Why? I know you hate me, so why are you fucking with me?  Or is that why you are following me?... Because you hate me. As I sat in my car before leaving, I saw you stop and talk to her. You looked annoyed. That is why I don't talk to you. You seem bothered by little things like that. Still, I stared in your direction. I saw your cuffs and gun. I wondered which you would prefer to use on me. Tears filled the corners of my eyes because I knew which one I wanted you to use.

The Scrambled Mind

They say if you’re crazy, you don’t know you’re crazy. But what if your mind held just enough intelligence that you knew you were crazy? Or maybe it was the fact that you had been told or overheard that you were crazy since the day you were born. Later in life came the therapy, which only proved the point that you were indeed crazy.

I’ve held secrets my entire life. This blog has been the only place I've ever shared many of my secrets. I share them with the hope that it will help reduce the number of my offenses. While others bragged about things they did wrong, I kept it to myself when at 6 years old I started my first fire. I didn’t understand why then, but only that I had to do it. I think even then I did it because I was stressed and it was the only way I could release the demons that held my mind. Maybe that's why I feel the need to now post on this blog again. It's either that, or start a fire.

Sleep eluded me last night. It seems when my disorders reach a peak, I sleep very little. Or maybe it’s the lack of sleep that makes the disorders worse. Whatever it is, I’m not sure how much more I can deal with on my own. I haven’t gone to a psych ward in many years, and really don’t relish the idea of going anytime soon. But this time I have fears the demons are winning.

Since the age of 18, I’ve been locked up more times than I care to count. All of it was linked in some way or the other to my disorders. Either I was self-medicating or I wasn’t being medicated and was allowing my mind to run wild. Being locked up is not that bad, it all depends on where I am in the stage of my disorder.  If I’m fairly stable at the time, jail doesn’t seem to bother me as bad and I can deal with the stress. If I am at the peak of my disorder, I’m reminded too much of the times when I was locked in the chicken pen as punishment by my father. My heart rate increases, I sweat, and every breath I take smells like it did when I was in the chicken pen on a hot summer day. I feel like I can’t breathe, I began holding my breaths, and if it goes on too long, I react in some stupid way. 

I hope I am able to find sleep tonight. 

Write hard and clear about what hurts. Ernest Hemingway

Society still has its taboos, and each of us carries a space within that is too private to disclose or violate.

For the past couple of years I have stopped writing on my computer and returned to writing in my notebooks. Mostly so I don’t become distracted by the TV, the computer, my crafts, my books, or anything else that surrounds me in what once used to be my sanctuary. I also discovered it was easier to write when I didn’t have to worry if law enforcement would be interrupting what I had possibly written during one of my mania stages as something they should be alarmed by. But now, I feel the need to post here because I feel once again, like a psycho.  

Being bi-polar, having major depression, PTSD, and being told I have borderline personality disorder my entire life has caused me to have many encounters with law enforcement, so I am hated by a lot of them. And I can say for some the feeling is mutual from me. I don’t hate all those in law enforcement, because I can honest say I’ve come across some who do care. There are also a lot that could care less, and would prefer that I was either locked away somewhere, or better yet just dead. The main problem is I don’t understand is when they see another officer doing something wrong, why they don’t turn them in, instead of turning their backs. I’ve seen it and had to deal with it a couple of times personally over the years, and maybe that’s why…  Or maybe they are just assholes.

I can’t stand most men anyway. They usually just want something from you or want to cause you some type of harm. Such as my father sexually touching me as early as I can remember; being treated different by boys in school because I was different, being raped when I was 18, being beat up by a police officer, being lied too, being lied about, … Fuck you all. I don’t trust any of you. I never have and never will. And people wonder why I am the way I am. Throw all of this together with my disorders, or maybe all this is what gave me the disorders…Fuck I don’t know any more. My mind is so fucking scrambled right now that it is hard to think straight.

I’ve probably only got a month or two before I go to jail for doing something really stupid. The voices were talking so loud, I had to silence them. I didn’t need to take anything. I had over 400 in my pocket. I don’t do it very often. It is just a part of my disorder that comes out when I get stressed.  Most of the time I can fight y demons, but this time I lost the fight. I know they don’t give a fuck, and the answer is to lock me up. That way they don’t have to deal with me; well at least for a little while, but that still won’t change who I am, and who I’ve been for the past 40 some years. Therapy has worked in the past, but right now my insurance won’t pay for therapy, and they don’t offer free therapy anywhere. That’s probably why so many ‘crazy’ people go on shooting sprees. Government doesn’t believe in giving people free mental health assistance.

Yesterday I sat at the park with a knife in my hand and just as I placed it against my bare skin and blood began to surface, an officer appeared. I hadn’t cut in so long, I freaked out a little, knowing I did not want him to see what I had done. Past experience knows where that will take me. I wasn’t trying to kill myself, I just needed to feel something different. I’m trying not to cut, but earlier I sharpened one of my many knives, and tomorrow I'm going back to sit at the park. 

It’s been a long day. I think I need to rest now.

Burning Off the Crazy

I got problems. I occasionally freak out, go to see a psychiatrist, go through therapy and take the prescribed pill, so I can learn how to deal with life. Sometimes I stop doing all this so I can get all my aggression's out, and to tell the world how I really feel. 

I used a little reverse psychology,  so I don't think 'they' are following my page any more. I hope I'm right because I plan on releasing a few demons and burying a few others. 

Short story. When I was 6 years old, I was taken off my bike by a stranger. He drove me to a secluded area, where he raped me. I cried and screamed as loud as I could, but he continued. Tresa was out walking in the woods and heard my cries. When she saw what was happening, she pulled him off me and began beating him until he no longer moved. She grabbed me and held my bleeding body in her arms as she ran for almost a mile back to her car. She saved my life. After the police were called and return to the area, they found the guy was dead. Tresa had crushed his skull with a stick. In some ways I’m sure that has messed her life up, but in return it gave me my life. 

Some things are harder to forget than other things.