February, The Worst Month Of The Year…

It’s no surprise to me that I don’t feel well. I have been going down for a few weeks now. I’m at the point where I believe I’m all the bad things my brain calls me. And no one really wants to talk to me about it and I don’t want to hear from other people any way. I don’t trust others, I don’t trust myself. It’s hard to continue with my plan of keeping myself busy so that I can keep my brain working.

I think I come off as needy. Maybe I am needy. I just want to communicate that I’m not doing well. If I can get help, I’d appreciate it but at this moment I just want to bear through this time until I get to a better point in time. No medication. No doctors. No “help” that’s not helpful, just mental forgiveness.

Beyond that I want to write about the past but there’s so much that I regret but also see as things I couldn’t avoid. I’m trying to deal with that now because my brain thinks it’s funny to bring it up and continually ask me why? Why? Why? And then tell me I should have, could have but didn’t do this or that.

So I’m up and down. I was okay with messaging K on fb about meeting the W family in Alaska. No response, which is probably a good thing. Still I would like to just touch base with someone from the family but I don’t feel I have the right to. I could understand why they wouldn’t want to deal with me. I have been avoiding them. At the same time it’s not like they’ve ever come to RI to visit me. N is dead and L won’t talk to me (which is not a problem for me.) I regret not seeing N and I guess I should have taken it as a sign that my connection with the W’s family was cut for good. I wanted C to meet the ones I knew. Maybe meet the ones I didn’t know in a neutral place and way.  I guess it’s too late. And I’m too old to hate anymore.

Screw this, it’s boring.


The Time Between Living Then And Now…

Am I getting on with it or am I wasting time until the next moment that doesn’t suck? For all intents and purposes I am in a “safe” place. Mentally, no. I am screaming inside again, panic attacks ride my mental vision. Let me go get my coffee now. It might help the migraine, okay? No matter that yesterday I got to sleep at 7 am. Or later, I can’t remember.

Why am I really here? I’m driving myself to distraction writing mental letters to a man child I never really had a relationship with.

My sister told me that we are/should plan that trip to Alaska that we were suppose to plan back in 2015. And she’s right. I’ve been holding of on thinking about it because it breaks my #1 rule about the past.

#1 Leave the past alone.

To go to Alaska means I will be confronting a part of my past that was not only years ago and far away but the beginning of my bipolar episodes. Up until I went to Alaska I only had depressions.

I want a cigarette so bad right now. Tyler Durden is smoking and blowing.

Well in preparation of visiting Alaska I decided I’d contact the only person who might not consider me persona nongrata.  K. W., my son’s uncle. My son has never met any of his father’s family before. None of them. Ever. His father was around for about 1 year, less of his life. I sent his father off, told him don’t come back. Told him go to Job Corp where you came from originally, learn a trade, find another woman. Originally he went to the Washington Yakima Job Corp but Maine had one, that was closest. We needed to not be together anymore. I was beginning to hate him. I wanted him dead. It sucks to love someone and want them to change and find out that that will never happened. I could change. I did change. That never changed his desire to fuck any living female that would have him. The thought of him giving me a dirty disease made me disgusted and sick. My jealousy raged. My anger was a driving energy. I figured he could go back to Job Corp and get work, maybe fuck his way through his own libido and forget about me and C. I was sick of working 3 jobs to come home to his inert body, drunk on the mattress amid cockroach shit, balled up sheets too drunk to hear C cry for food or to be changed. I didn’t mind being a “modern woman” (ha, ha,) and bringing in the dough. I did mind finding out about his sexual pursuits, his botched drug buys and his lack of healthy interaction with our son. I didn’t go through 9 months of hormones and weight changes and labor to have a child just so he could leave him in his crib all day as he drank the rest of the time away.

Well, that was after Alaska anyway. Before I “dated” R, his brother, K his other brother then L within a year and a half (I think, my memory is fuzzy.) I met R at the cinema I worked at. I worked with his sister who became my best friend. R was a homeless junky. I loved him. It was that hero type of love that morphed out of a “you paid attention to me I will always be loyal to you” type of neediness that comes from a childhood past raised by neglectful parents. I loved to f^ck. He was more chaste than me but I’d pretend I wasn’t into sex. More likely he was seriously into drugs and that hampered his desire for flesh. First time I had hash was in the basement apartment I had lying on my mattress on the floor with R. The ball of muck pricked to the top of a pin. It hit me hard. I’d had pot before but it was just skank weed. I wasn’t innocent of soft drugs but I wasn’t serious about taking them or the hard stuff. R. did everything, anything had different stuff each time I saw him. I took christmas trees and caffeine pills but that’s about as serious as it ever got. I never got into the speed even though I liked the affect. The acne I wound up with when I came off it was painful and nasty. My first experience with staying away from a drug because the side effects were worse than the “help”.
In between I would run with N their sister who was about my age. She was the youngest of 11 surviving children. That’s how I met K. At some point R stopped coming around. He was doing rehab or some such, he was in Anchorage. Wrote me a letter that I should stop seeing him, he was no good for me, I guess a Dear Jane letter. I was heart broken and I was pissed. I got involved with K as much as I could. He was rarely around so I worked and I roved when I didn’t see him. I had to keep busy, my mind was running.
N, seeing what was going on after a particularly bad encounter between K and I told me that I had to drop K and leave him alone. I should never go out with him, he didn’t respect women, I’d get hurt. I respected N and stopped dealing, seeking K out. L had come into town. N recommended I go out with him. At the time it was a good idea. L had returned from Job Corp and looked like he was taking life seriously compared to some of N’s other brothers.

Now think about this. 3 brothers, within 2 years. I was on a quest. I can see that. What was it? Who really knows. Love? Family? Sex? Multiculturalism? Independence? Making my parents angry? I think a lot of it was pushing it until I could reach a start.

At this point in time L is not talking to me anymore. I broke contact with him when he started his religion chant about 10-15 years ago after another of his rehab gigs. Which is fine with me. As far as I know he’s on his second marriage and still has no children other than C. I’ve been able to come to the point where I can admit that I loved him. I am glad for C. And I don’t want to ever be involved with L again. He’s a junky, a thief and his idea of life is very far from mine. Logic doesn’t seem to obey any of his rules of reality. Hey, whatever floats your boat. I don’t want to deal with it. Plus he has denied C any rights as a Native because he’s legally denied him paternity. So f^ck him.

K isn’t responding to my initial contact with him on fb. My mind is running on about why, why, why. Really though it doesn’t matter. Obviously he has issues with it, me, C or the family. I just don’t want to care. I haven’t seen him in more than 30 years so there’s really nothing there. Truly, I have rules about men I will get involved with. No current relationships, no kids, no drugs, no religion that’s close to cultism and no turning back. When men are involved with something they can’t be involved with you.

I’m left here wondering if I should just leave this as it is. C doesn’t have any interest in seeing them. I have to admit that I care about the family even now. At the same time I’m ambivalent about whether or not I should care. It’s not like they’ve shown much interest in me or C. I’ve sent pictures to them of C as a child. They’ve contacted him on line. Not me. Not that I’m bitter. I’m not really anything.

I guess it just spells itself out.

Alaska 1. W family 0.

There are other things to do.

It will just take some mind adjustments. Here comes the pain. Here comes the change.

ponderous mirth burden or no one believes me when I cough……


I wanted to add a video that was either relevant or one I liked. I got nothing people.

I was having one of those conversations inside my head talking to my Mother’s friends. I was trying to explain to them why I haven’t gotten back in touch with them even though I look like I’m doing nothing. I can’t explain to normal human beings why I act the way I do. It’s not acceptable to bring out uncomfortable issues in public. I don’t like being by myself all the time the way I usually am. I just know it’s safer. I hate seeing confusion and disappointment on other people’s faces especially people I like. I am an exposed nerve walking around without flesh to protect myself from speaking the truth.

In my head I told those people I miss my Mother like I miss clean air. I think my Mother would understand what I mean by that. Maybe, Maybe her friends would too, the ones that went out on the ocean on scientific vessels to do their experiments. People who work in Boston but live on the ocean in Rhode Island would understand. Maybe. They might understand the difference but maybe don’t understand what I mean. If you really want to know what I mean go to Alaska for a year and then come back to where ever you live. You’d really understand.

I was thinking today that I hate that I’m white. I’m lucky and I enjoy the privileges that come so easy to being white. There’s more to it like I think the people that I know who are not white probably think I’m luckier than I really am. They probably imagine my life as a “Leave It To Beaver” episode. What’s worse, my children who’s fathers are of other races see me and know that we are not the same. They feel I can’t relate to them and in a way I can’t. And I thought that their beauty, their lovely skin, their exotic eyes, their full heads of hair were gifts. They meant so much to me. It’s the curse of being a parent. I thought they understood my admiration of their fathers’ differences. To them they don’t lack those gifts that I wish I had.

I am never alone  when I am by myself. All the people I’ve known occupy my head. Even friends from childhood. The problem is that all the good and the bad lives in my head. I argue more than I have peaceful conversations. I sometimes have to defend myself from the ugly humans I’ve met. And then there is the unsavory part of me that angers and seethes.

I have been thinking about the trip to Alaska that I am going to take. All the people I loved there are dead or maybe gone. I don’t know who to contact except K and he won’t speak to me. He’s got his family and i told him not to come to RI. His wife would probably think we were still involved. That’s the way it goes with things in Alaska. It’s small and emotions run red.

My sister wants to come and now my niece does too. I intended on going with my Mother and my sons originally so they could see what was a part of my history. My Mother was with me originally when we lived there. My sister and niece have never been there. I wonder if I will become angry with them. They aren’t bad people but this is a personal issue. I have kept my personal issues separated from my sister, never mind my niece. I think for my niece it will be a sight seeing tourist thing. Ugh. For my sister it may be more personal. Ammunition to degrade me? Maybe. A curious lookie-loo into a part of my life and maybe psyche that she’s never seen before? Maybe. Maybe she just wants a tourist trip, I don’t know There are unresolved issues in Alaska that I want to face and I don’t want my raw @ss hanging out for my family to see. Except the boys. They have seen me under duress.

I am careful with people when it comes to showing my strengths and weaknesses. People judge so easily. And people who know you use information like that to hurt you. Actually I try to be careful, sometimes I’m a braggart, that nasty part of my personality that tries to prove I’m not the imbecile my parents believed me to be my whole childhood. I have a hard time trying to contra; that part of me that makes me look like a know-it-all. I have so many flaws and they are a big reason I hide away from other people.

Lately my sister and I have “grown apart”, meaning that she looks for ways not to come over. I guess we were suppose to bond over my Mother’s death but I don’t bond well with people who have f^cked me over in the past. I don’t forgive easily. Especially if I’ve been taught over and over that I am not important enough to not be screwed over. I’ve come to the conclusion that certain people are blind to how they f^ck other people particularly their family members or the ones they supposedly love. My Mother knew Erika was like this and she accepted it. The animals Erika dumped on her. The tools she permanently borrowed from my father. The items around the house she’d give to her friends. And she’d never ask permission.

I realize that it’s a little late to bring this up. Unfortunately I don’t give a sh!t. I can’t turn a blind eye and make pretend it isn’t happening like my Mother did to keep everything on an even keel in the family. I’ve been stewing in it. And I want a good way to deal with it.

Tarlike Tidbits On The Floor Mat Of Futility…


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BUSH : Machinehead

I am close to shutting down. There’s only so much enlightenment one can take.

So I’m looking for “new” friends, I figure I have to get out of my old head, old life and try to find people who may be healthier for me. I am very annoyed at acting the second child, side kick, what-ever-you-say-George buddy who shoves my anger down when my friend appropriates my ideas. Or treats me like my opinions don’t mean anything. Or acts like I should blindly follow them. Fuck you, I already lived and dealt with an @sshole like that for years. That’s part of why I’m such a mess. And I still have to deal with her. And she’s still as senseless about her annoying demanding attitude and self-righteous power assumptions as she was when she was a kid. I’m not befriending another overbearing turd so I can bounce between them like a shrunken beach ball.

I know I am no prize as far as personal faults come into play but why make my life misery? Why not change it now that I know some of the awful elements that helped my self esteem shrink?

It has been incredibly difficult getting to this point. Usually when someone treats me the shoddy way I was treated in the past and I realize it my mind blanks out. I black out and the memory of what to look for never gets developed because my mind goes into a closet and entombs itself in fear and pain. When it crawls out I have no memory of what happened. And it’s like I’ve been brainwashed. It took me years to realize what was going on. It hasn’t stopped. I just have gotten better at keeping scraps of the flashbacks in another part of my brain while my present brain goes into shock. After my brain comes out of it’s isolation womb the other part of my brain takes out the slip of memory and whatever else it was able to glean from the current event and put together what happened in the past, who did it to me and how it triggered the current freezeout in my head.

I’ve never told a therapist or psych professional because I know that if the f^cktards from my past could damage my brain like that I should never allow a professional to muck about in my scars. A medical doctor has more chance healing physical damage, you can actually see it and there are machines to help those kinds of professionals do that. Psychiatrists are much less likely to help and are much more likely to continue damaging the patient. They work more on theories than actual observation or somatic effects.

Speaking of professional psychs, I have encountered many peers who are sold heart and soul into the belief that their Psychiatrists can do no wrong and think they shouldn’t question them. These people usually have a sh!tload of medications. Medications on medications: a pill to deal with the voices, a pill to deal with the side affects that come with that pill, a pill that counteracts the affects of the pill that is taken to deal with side affects, and so on and so forth. One friend almost brags that she takes 9 pills in the morning and 20 pills at night. Mentally chemically castrated, they don’t sleep well, they are dopey all day, they barely do anything. In fact the braggart has metal crap in her head, implanted that doesn’t work but because her Psych suggested it she went and had an operation to have it installed. Of course she’s had ECT done in the past. Many many times. It’s horrifying, she’s a medical experiment.

Goodbye Thin White Duke…

David Bowie – TVC 15


When I was a kid I was viciously bullied in a way that a viciously bullied kid could only know who lived in a small town. When I look back I realize that I experienced MI symptoms at an earlier age than I had previously thought. I was very paranoid as I believed that everyone (and I mean EVERYONE,) thought I was trash like my bullies treated me. I wouldn’t venture out of the house without a family member for fear that I would be ganged up on. That’s what happened at school, being ganged up on. The remnants of the mental punishment remain today. I sometimes can’t leave the house for fear that people will look at me. It’s like I live in invisible bars. As an adult I would take walks alone only after Midnight. No one was around and even if there were someone I could duck into the shadows and hide until they passed.

Later when I decided as a tool to help me exorcise the mental demons that tortured me constantly I would talk to my Parents and get a reality check to see if they saw life the same as I did at the times I was being bullied. (Remember that my mind bullies me now. Being bullied is societies way of brain washing you to conform to it’s standards and to become a whipping post for ignorant assholes’ fears and anger. It lasts long after the actual bullying stops.) I scrapped talking to my father. He was a sick m0therf^cker. He took it as an acceptable way to tell me his sex fantasies and sick experiences. He didn’t want to hear me, he wanted me to throw up his mind’s f^cked up fantasies onto and try to titillate. It made me hate him more.

My Mother did try to understand and she talked to me. One of the first things she said independently of me questioning her was that my younger brother had talked to her about the bullying I went through. He told her that he felt guilty for not protecting me from my tormenters. He was also being bullied at the time, this I knew. I told my Mother that I was not angry at him. I didn’t expect him to stand up for me. I also knew he was getting his own brand of torture.

I am tired just writing that down.

Today I heard that David Bowie died Sunday after struggling with cancer. I cried like I didn’t with Mom. I don’t understand that. The more I open myself up to my emotions the less I understand. Bowie’s music helped me through my Alaskan stay. Getting good music up there was a joke. And Bowie’s strange changes were comforting to me. They helped me feel like I was not alone in feeling so weird inside as an adolescent.

The Ear-Flick Sonata…


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Aimee Mann – Wise Up


It’s 9:21 am December 4th, a Thursday. I woke up at 7 am. Unusual for me because even though I did go to bed around 4 am I usually wake up around 11 am.

I think something’s different today.

I went downstairs and steamed 13 dumplings before feeding the cats at 8:38. I let Titan out, and outside the door was a cold coastal bright pre-winter morning with crispy green grass and no ripples on the water between the beach and the docks. The house is freezing, almost. I wore the new fingerless “gloves” I got on amazon.com but not the extra long legwarmers. I took the tea tree oil upstairs and diluted it with Jojoba Oil preparing it for my finicky skin. It has a medicinal smell that makes me think of my Grandfather and his Preparation-H ritual that used to leave his bathroom eye wateringly toxic.

When I came downstairs I had the narrator reading a story from my life like it sometimes happens. It was telling me about how much of a crappy Mother I was to my sons and in retrospect I defended myself against it’s unfair judgements. Then clickBAMM. I was seeing myself pregnant again with my second son waiting in a waiting room in St. Anne’s Hospital.

I don’t look to remember the bad from the past. In fact my mind does this tricky little thing and takes a really crappy situation and finds little details that distract me from what was actually going on.

What was going on here was that my new husband had burned my young son enough to put him in the hospital. And I didn’t believe it. I needed support but he was the only person I had at the time. And I really didn’t believe that anyone would burn a child enough to put them in the hospital. It had to be an accident. It had to be a burglar. It had to be a mistake because I got what I wanted after putting up with another man who was an addict and acted like a child. I got a husband and a stable family. And he loved me and wanted me. And everything was suppose to be alright.

I had a really good lasagna in the cafeteria while we were waiting for the social worker. I believed the social worker was there for our benefit and would help us figure out what happened. I was naive at this point, I really had never had any governmental involvement in my life. I was young and I was never going to be “one of them welfare bums” that were worthless and shifty. I remember the whole cafeteria was on one of the higher floors and the sun was brilliantly illuminating the whole dining area. I felt strangely elated. Everything was compartemental. My son was in the pediatric area. The nurses told me that he was a sweet sweet child that never cried (until I came into the room and saw him sitting in his diaper playing with some plastic blocks.)

When I saw him my heart broke. A small sliver hardened and cracked and slid out of the lower quadrant, fell to the bottom of the box that held it in place and shattered. It didn’t go away either. When my mind tiptoes around the past, shards will lodge in my achilles heel. I promised he’d never get hurt again. It was my duty as his only parent (Mr. Addict being too occupied with his own fulfillment,) to protect him and make sure he didn’t get hurt unnecessarily. I had screwed up somehow.

It took me a while to figure it out and be sure about it. I don’t just jump into something because it’s probably the most likely explanation. I was taught to question myself over and over again. I was taught that I am stupid, wrong, inconvenient, worthless. Do you hear this? Over and over? Well you haven’t. Nothing like my life’s background soundtrack of failure and helplessness.

And this where I’m left today. Mental bombed by my own mind. The antiseptic smell of a hospital that was left behind more than 20 years ago coating my sinuses. The sense of failure that I’ve carried for years and has shaped my spine so that mentally I’m hunch-backed. I live in a padded room of Hell that doesn’t get any bigger yet won’t crumble under pressure. Prayer just makes it live larger in my mind. And it takes a trigger to open up all my senses to that day or set of days and my personal dead-loss. Playing over whenever. Why? Is my brain trying to exorcise it out of my head? Am I being punished for remaining the only responsible person who gives a sh!t? I don’t know. I’m left with the feeling that all this crap is made up. I mean if you lie to yourself long enough and you come to believe the lie it makes everything okay. Right? Fake it ’til you make it?

Happy f^cking Holidays.

Reservations In A Land Where The Ruling Knock You Down…


Dave Edmunds – I hear you knocking 


Today while perusing fb I came upon a post in a group I follow. It was about one of those self help things you see on fb daily if you tap in to MI groups like I do.

For When You’re Actually NOT Okay: A Self-Care Printable

The group member posted:

“I really hate shit like this. Have I eaten today? No. Go eat something, you say? Oh! Wow! That hadn’t occurred to me! You’re a genius! If I’m not dressed or still in PJs I should put on clean clothes? Wow! Mind-blowing! How does shit like this get published and popular? Do people really misunderstand us this much?

“Oh, you’re telling me you have trouble doing all these things for yourself? Well, have you tried just doing them?”

It made me think of the years I’ve gotten angry about paternalistic and dumbed down “help” and “advice” I’ve gotten that was thoughtless and useless. The years that people would treat me (and still do,) like I’m retarded or being bullheaded. It still happens often. Oh and yes I mean retarded.

I saw a Nutritionist this past Monday. I cut my responses down to few. I’ve noticed when I go to professionals that if I try to convey what I know the professional becomes irritated. Instead of correcting me if I’m wrong or pointing out when I’m right they tend to snap at me and treat me as if I’m willfully stupid or trying to insult them. I don’t know if it’s the tone of my voice or if it’s the way I phrase things that make them tend to get snotty with me but it happens all to often. I really have to condition myself before I go into an ER or a doctor’s appointment to say as little as possible. On Thursday I saw my GP and even though I told her my chest hurts like an iron maiden is gripping it when I cough she repeated “I heard nothing when I listened to you breathing.” It makes me wonder: is the fact that my body is morbidly obese masking my lungs’ operations? And has she taken this into consideration? The Nutritionist commented on my sleeping habits (I go to bed mostly around 5 am and sleep until 9 to noon in the morning,) “Oh well you’ll just have to change them.”

I replied, “I told you I’m bipolar right?” No reply from her. I guess I should get out my magic wand from my @ss and wave it. That seems to be the general attitude from others when it comes to my symptoms. Change them. Are people really that stupid? Yes.

And it’s ironic because it’s a general idea that people with mental illnesses are mentally handicapped. It’s something I spoke to school aged kids back when I worked with NAMI. I think “normal” people are just lazy. They don’t want to try to understand something that is feared, misunderstood and stigmatized. It’s easier to treat people like me with dismissiveness and denial. Lay blame on me, that way they don’t have to do anything and I’m left looking like I’m being uncooperative. Psychiatrists, therapists and social workers love that game too. It’s not a big mystery why I’m stressed out and don’t trust the people who are professionals in this section of health. I’ll readily lie to any of the people who are charged with my care. For them it’s a paycheck; for me it’s my life.

Here’s an interesting site for people experiencing symptoms so bad they need guided questions to help them get through taking care of themselves:

you feel like shit. An Interactive Self Care Guide 

This is meant to be an interactive flow chart for people who struggle with self care, executive dysfunction, and/or who have trouble reading internal signals. It’s designed to take as much of the weight off of you as possible, so each decision is very easy and doesn’t require much judgment.

Set aside some time–maybe an hour total- to allow yourself to work through each step. Don’t rush or skip ahead–just follow the directions. Self care is important, and you deserve to devote some time to it.

You may want to go through this routine as soon as you wake up, as a preventative measure.

By the way I posted the video above only because I am amazed at the changes from 1970 to now. Look at the “kids” then and compare them to the ones you see on television now.



Don’t Call It A Comeback…


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LL Cool J – Mama Said Knock You Out

Do you ever feel like all this cr@p whirling around you is just chuff drifting around  from other people’s drama? I’m getting sick of dealing with people whining about not being able to do anything then going home and burying their heads in their @ssholes. There is so much information now. I think it’s me. I can’t bear listening to ignorance and sloth.

I know I’m ugly. I know the truth is painful and nasty especially to hear when someone doesn’t want to do anything about it.

Am I that person when I’m not angry? See how much the storm blinds me and confuses me? I’m chasing my tail and going nowhere.