Dear Doc,

It’s late. I can’t sleep. Something is bothering me and I just can’t ignore it. It’s something that happened in a bar yesterday…

I know, I know…I’m always saying that I can’t go to public places because of panic setting in so quickly. But, yesterday, I took a couple of Xanax along with my regular medicine, which I never do. I was stoned out of my mind, and it was a private bar, so there were only a few people there. I didn’t want to go. I let a friend talk me into it and I agreed to a deal with him: One drink, one game of pool, then we leave.

My friend, L., had his drink and was playing pool by the big window at the front of the bar. I sat on a barstool near the back end of the bar, watching the Nature Channel with the manager. I remember looking to my right…then things just changed. My surroundings changed…like someone had flipped a switch.

Before I knew what was happening, I felt transported. I was ten, and it was a hot summer evening. My friend, R. and I were playing dominoes while the adults drank and carried on in the bar we were in. His parents…mine…everyone was drunk or drinking. We were in the back, R. and I, at a table by the door. Suddenly, there was a lil dust up with this old man who lived on a hilltop just down the road a bit. Voices were raised, and he got up and left. I remember laughing about it with R. Some time after the man left, I remember hearing the front doorbell ring. I looked to see who came in. It was the old man. He had a gun. I remember how silent it was in the bar, then it was loud and R. and I flipped the table over and got behind it. Three shots were fired, then it was quiet again.

It seemed like ages before I got the nerve to peek over the table’s edge and see what had gone on. Everyone was just frozen in their seats. Silent. Then, someone laughed. They fucking laughed and everything went back to the way it was. The barkeep approached the old man, who still stood by the door, and took the gun and put a beer in his hand. He led him to a table and sat him down. Nobody was hurt. That was that. R. and I picked up the dominoes and righted the table and continued to play.

I came back to myself after that. I don’t know if it was a flashback or just a strong memory, but I couldn’t wait to leave the bar after it happened. I was shaking and sick and my ears were ringing so loudly that I couldn’t hear the TV. My heart was pounding, I was sweating. God, it was embarrassing. I asked my friend to leave, as I had kept my part of the deal. We did. But he was extremely upset. That’s another story…

I’m wondering if this type of thing is going to happen very often, Doc. Is this a result of your magic nightmare pills? Abilify? Me? What gives? Why do I feel more crazy now than before I met you? Yes. I actually do. So…????

I will give you credit for something that is rather life changing: I am drawing boundaries and keeping them. I am doing so well that I could show Pres. Trump a thing or two about building a wall! lol! Actually, you’ll have to share credit with my friend, S. Both of you have been very encouraging in that regard and I do feel as though I’m worth a lil bit of something now. After the situation at the bar, a friend I was staying with to help him find a way to detox from alcohol showed me some very frightening aspects of his personality. I was told to leave and I left. I actually left. And it felt good. I was packing before I was told, anyway. Not too long ago, I’d have sat there and tried to figure him out, or understand what was ‘wrong’. I couldn’t have left and stayed gone for anything in the world.

I’ve never left a frightening situation before. I solve frightening situations. That’s who I am; it’s what I do. I don’t feel fear when things get to the point where everyone else is jumping ship. But, guess what? I was fucking scared. Fear. I felt fear of a human being for the first time in ages. Real fear, not ‘we’re having a fight and this will stop soon’ fear. It went from head to toe. And I thought to myself that there must be a serious reason why I was feeling that. So, I left. I left and I felt good and safe and like I’d done something in my own defense for the first time that I can remember. I had no need to ‘see it through’. No looking back, no turning around…I went home.

Even on the way home, as the threatening phone calls started, I felt okay. I still feel okay. And I can’t believe I did that…I left. I left him alone. OMG. And I don’t even want to fix things, or go back. He showed his dark side and I believed him. I’ve never believed anyone before because I have a dark side, too. It’s always been bigger than ‘theirs’. It’s not now, I guess. I don’t know. I don’t feel like a lil bitch, or as though someone one-upped me. This is too weird, Doc. Way too weird…

I thought things were over last night, but, in place of the usual ‘Good Morning’ text my friend sends, this morning’s said ‘Fucking You’. I guess he meant ‘Fuck You’, but was probably already too drunk to text. I’ve never seen anything like that before. He reminds me of the drunk in Leaving Las Vegas, or the guy in Less Than Zero. It’s a heartbreaking thing to watch. He’s been trying so hard to hold back and to find help. I hope he’s gotten help now. He had an appointment this morning. Otherwise, he’ll have to wait till next Monday to get into a rehab facility. I feel so bad for him, but I still have no desire to text back or continue any relationship with him, whatsoever.

Well, I’ve rambled on enough. Guess I’ll talk to ya soon, Doc…










































there is more than one way to be lost

For Kevin…I miss you.

is it monday, again?

Dear Doc,

Feeling a lil iffy today, as my brain feels as though it’s drowning and can’t make its way back to the surface. I suppose that IS the nature of drowning, yes?

Doc, sometimes I think my life isn’t worth living. Then, at other times, all I can see is life. I don’t understand how those two mentalities can coexist in my head. It’s like the twin I told you about. She shadows me everywhere I go. If I think something, she checks it…say something, she edits. It really is the strangest feeling, but I’ve had it my whole life. Maybe she’s just some made up play friend from childhood. Except that she knows me better than I know myself. She’s a better version of me. Very kind and considerate. She doesn’t curse or carry on loudly. She’s just a very quiet note that I hear, reminding me that I, too, can be better than I am…that someone is always watching and judging. I wish she was dead.

I spoke with N. today. I’m happy that I called, because my appointment’s tomorrow and I totally forgot. I’m only doing a half session, as I don’t think you had any plans to do any serious therapy, per our agreement. I know you wanted to add another pill, so we’ll see how that goes. Maybe I’ll be ready to talk about some things next month. Or after that. Or never. I don’t know. As I’ve told you, I don’t feel comfortable bringing up certain things, and remembering them out loud is not going to help. Hell, Doc, I can’t even allow myself to think of those things. And, were I to tell you, you’d never understand, or you’d lock me up. I don’t like that. I don’t like that someone could have me put away. I’m not crazy like that. I’m normal. Mostly. You have to know that.

I’m worried about my friend today. He is relapsing and I don’t know how to help him. Alcoholism is a terrible thing. I’ve sat with a man who died from liver and kidney failure. That was when I was a little girl. I was the only one who’d sit with him. And, he never stopped drinking till the moment he passed. I have his jug, to this day. A little brown ceramic jug. His name was Tex. I thought he was the cat’s pants because he was named after Texas. I miss him to this day. I hope his grandchildren, who are my age, have passed on the good things about him. I’d hate for such a character to die off to his family. We are all more than what we imagine, I think. For instance, my nieces and nephews think I was once married to Black Beard. But I ended up stealing his treasure and running away to Galveston with Jean LaFitte. lol! Of course, now that they’re grown, they know those old stories aren’t true, but they still tell em as though they are. I love that. My legend will live on. And, for that, I’m grateful.

I’m going to head out, Doc. I need to run to town in a bit. Lots to do, really. But, we’ll talk manana!

Adios, Doc!

morning rant brought to you by the makers of abilify

Dear Doc,

The brightness of the new day slams into my brain in stark contrast to the shadows and dreams that filled the hours before sunup. The day would like for me to believe that it harbors no ill will, as does the night. I don’t believe it. Not for a second. Those shadows, visible in the darker hours, only become more creative by light of day. How dare the sun stand in judgement of the beauty of night, which shows itself, even when the shadows’ dance torments my tired mind.

Yes, it’s true, I do have a flare for the dramatic. No less true is the fact that I can feel this medicine hitting my brain. It is strange to feel an organ, as most lie within you, quietly, like good boys and girls. You can imagine how strange it is, Doc, when you FEEL a particular organ. Sure, I do pay attention to my liver when it’s had its fill of the garbage I pour into my body. But, to feel one’s brain is another animal, entirely. You feel as though you’re being lifted into the air, somehow. That’s how I feel, at least. It’s like a tiny man is in there, flipping on this switch and that one; turning off others.

I’d give anything for a say in what the tiny man turns off or on. I’d so like to speak with him, if only I could. I’d say, “Tiny Man, it’s nice to make your acquaintance, but please be a dear and leave my sex drive in tact, will you? I thank you ever so much!” However, I doubt that he’d be compliant. Perhaps, should I meet Tiny Man, I’d just squash him with my heel and be done with it. Better yet, I’d eat him, consuming him like a lioness. Either would be too good for him, I’ll tell you that much.

I have quite a bit to accomplish today, and I’m fully committed to the tasks at hand. I’d rather hop in Maxxine and go for a fast drive, but I’ve been running a bit on the slow side, recently. It seems as though these meds make me feel a bit unsure behind the wheel. I haven’t seen 100mph in at least a week, now. I hate that. I’ve no bravado. No…spice. I’m as bland as milk and dry toast. For all intents and purposes, I am dead. Yes. That is correct: Dead. Thank you so much for prescribing me death in a bottle, Doc.

I find it interesting that modern society finds it more acceptable for us ‘crazies’ to be medicated into submission than to simply allow us to be the nuts and crackers that we are. Yes, some of us are dangerous, but most of us are not. We live in a society that is accepting of grown men ‘identifying’ as six year old girls, yet we must make the crazy people sit down and shut the Hell up. Is this really happening? Am I required to call a woman Sir because she identifies as a man, yet no one is required to accommodate my idiosyncrasies in any way? Tolerance. This society can shove that word squarely up its collective ass. While the madness of the LGBTQXYZ is cradled in the arms of Americans as though it were a baby in swaddling clothes, I’m expected to slowly poison myself in order to tolerate and be tolerated.

America, enjoy your cup of hypocrisy this morning. Choke on it, if you must. Just be certain you drink it all down.

love removal machine…la la la…

Dear Doc,

I’m useless today. I fell asleep in the chair, again. I don’t feel as bad as I normally do when I sleep without my cpap, though. Unfortunately, I can’t tell if I started out asleep in the chair, or ended up there, as I was sitting up in the chair when I woke up this morning. And, no, I have no recollection of what I did after ten last night, aside from talking to my friend on Messenger. I’m pretty sure it was last night.

The Abilify is giving me these prickly bumps on my arms and inner thighs, and on parts of my lower legs. They aren’t noticeable to the eye, but they are very noticeable to the thtouch. Just what a single woman wants! Go me! I have weird bumps! Silver lining: I’m not on lithium.

Love has been on my mind lately. A lot. I’d assumed that it was a given that I’d never be in love, or be loved, again. I think that was due to the grief I felt where Bennie was/is concerned. The meds seem to have quieted that, to a significant degree. I still miss him and I still love him, but I don’t allow his memory to consume me any longer. I’ve also gotten beyond the euphoric memory stage. When I remember him now, I remember him as he truly was, not in some idealized way. I’m still so angry about the Jenny situation that I cannot see straight. I look at his picture on the wall and I realize that I haven’t known who the Hell he is in years. She’s right; she knew more about him and our marriage than I did. I’d still like to choke her silly ass. What a fucking bitch. How do you tell a grieving wife that you, in the course of fucking her husband behind her back, knew him better than she did? I hate her. I honestly do. However, he was the one who was married. The blame lies with him, no matter how much I despise that trifling cunt.

Wow! See? Another rant, Doc. I just keep on yammering away and I don’t know why. One thing leads into the next and the next. No focus. As far as love goes, I don’t know if I am ever going to be ready to pay the price for it, again. When you’re IN love, its worth to you is incalculable. When it’s over, you know exactly how much it cost you. That’s the part I cannot handle. Death took Bennie. I can accept that. But, were I to find love again, and he stopped loving me…I can’t deal with that. Not ever again. I recall, clearly, when Bennie stopped loving me. I thought I’d die…that my world would implode. I have never known pain like that, before or since. I have no intention of knowing such pain ever again. I suppose I just answered my own question regarding whether, or not, I’ll be in love again…

As an alternative to love, I’ve been considering taking on a slave. There are a couple of candidates who have contacted me and I can’t say that I’m not tempted. It would be nice to have someone to care for…to fuss over. The upside is that I could never love a slave in the way a woman loves her man. Not in a million years. Seriously. The downside is that both candidates are twenty years my junior and I’m very uncomfy with that. I don’t ever want to be the one who caused someone else to miss out on a life they might have had, or who causes them to look back, at my age, thinking they wasted everything on someone like me. I do think that men that age will, ultimately, want a wife and children. I would hate for them to waste time for the sake of a life of chastity and servitude to someone who won’t love them as they should be loved. I’d also planned to leave that all behind me. But, it’s what I know and you know what they say, Doc, ‘The Devil you know is better than the Angel you don’t…’

I was thinking of Mom’s offer to rent an apartment for me, down on the coast. I miss her so much, but I don’t think I could live there again. The noise and the people…it’s too much. After a short time visiting, I have to leave because I can’t take it anymore. I guess I still feel a bit lost here in Mayberry, even though I consider this my home now. It really is lovely, with the trees and such. Nature. The night is intoxicating here, with the sheer opacity of the darkness. Without the moon, you can’t see your hand in front of your face. And, it feels as though something is always watching you, in the nighttime…some little creature, peering through your windows, waiting and wondering just what you are doing here. There are other times when it feels as though something much greater is doing the observation. Those can be frightening times. Were it not for a gun to protect me, I’d lose my mind on nights like that. There is just so much life here that it takes your breath away. While I do miss my pelicans, I think my place is here with the crows and the mysterious things.

I should go, Doc. I have things to do that I’ve put off all day. It’s my son’s birthday. I’m so happy he’s here with me. I do have much to be thankful for when I think about it. Some days, I feel like the luckiest woman in the world. I think today is one of those days.

do the rambles ever cease? (no. the answer is ‘no’.)

Dear Doc,

I hope your weekend is going well. Mine is typical: Wake up, take meds, pass time, sleep. Wash, rinse, repeat. I’m alone now. The kids went to Jay’s band practice. They have a few gigs lined up in the near future. I’m happy for them. I hope it all works out and they can gig regularly in the area. Who knows? I think they’re talented enough. Next, the right people need to see them. That’s all the music business is; a series of fortunate encounters with the right people. If anyone can swing that one, it’s Jay. He’s the luckiest person I know.

The sun doesn’t want to set this evening. Its light is white, even as night draws near. I don’t particularly care for the sun. It seems quite greedy to me. That’s why the night has to fall in the way that it does…it simply cannot fight the sun when it comes to sharing the stage, as it were. I’m certain that the night has grown, long since, weary of the whole endeavor. I think we’re fortunate to see night come ’round at all these days. We should be more grateful of the night and the refuge it offers. Especially those of us who have so much that needs to remain in shadows, deep, lest we be forced to confront the Uglies and whatsuch.

Pray tell, good Doc, do you see that I’m getting any better? I’m not so sure of that, myself. I feel as though the weight of the world is hanging over me. Yes, I know…poor, poor, me…sigh…Nonetheless, I do imagine that, if things don’t change, I will have to put an end to this mess of a life. It’s terribly drawn out, it seems. Nothing I do is able to change that. No, I am not saying exactly what you might think. I am saying that, when time comes, time comes. I hope you can understand.

I suppose I’ll go work on the house a bit. It’s looking absolutely charming! It reminds me of one of those country cabins you see in magazines. I’m fortunate to have had so much to work with, aside from money, since I’m on a choker of a budget.

When I read back to myself what I’ve written to you, I often feel a sense of shame, Doc. I come off as vain and narcissistic. Nothing could be further from the truth, where I’m concerned. If I’ve ever felt worthy, in the slightest, it was on my daddy’s lap as he let me inspect his beard in my ceaseless effort to understand where it sprang from. Nothing else in life has really matched that bit of egoiste.

I’ll also admit that, when I allude to doing myself in, I am also, then, ashamed, as I find it the highest form of arrogance. I’m aware that I did not give life to myself. Life is God given and should be sacred. Life is to be savored and enjoyed, even when you find life to be a tribulation, because not one second is lived in vain, and gratitude is in good order for that very reason. However, at times, I find that I am in such rebellion to my God and to life, itself, that I cannot imagine living another day. During those times, I feel that my existence is a testament to failure on God’s part, even though I know it is not. God doesn’t make mistakes. That is true as true can be. I suppose that it is mine to discover what manner of strange I am and to set about pursuing my life with a better outlook and with more gusto, in spite of what my mind tells me.

I don’t intend to seem disingenuous, Doc. I’ve known many who have ‘faked it till they made it’, so to speak. Perhaps that would be a wise pursuit for me. After all, I’ve been faking my whole life. Acting, I guess. Flawlessly. Until that thing happened; the thing of which I am loath to speak. It was the culmination of many things, as you know. I erupted, much as a volcano, and with as much force. I think my family was surprised that I had that in me, to be frank. Whatever the case may be, my life did change that very day and has not been the same, for even a moment, since.

Well, dear Doc…I’ve rambled on about myself long enough. Your pills allow me access to something in my head that feels like a ‘higher’ brain. I’m not sure what you’d call it, but I can feel the top of my actual brain after I take my medicine. It feels as though it works its way up, until, later in the day, it reaches the tippy top. Then, I feel magical. I feel beautiful. I feel. Normally, it doesn’t occur until bed. Usually, I’m numbed by the drugs I take. But there are days, Doc…Oh, there are days…

memories in the key of FU

Dear Doc,

I fell asleep in my chair, again. I know sleep is a thing with you, but I just can’t hack it all the time. Sleep is a thing with me, too, you see.

I took your ‘nightmare’ pills night before last, and I’m pretty sure they almost killed me. I’ve never felt like that before. They don’t work, anyway, and I was just giving them a last shot. If they did work, I’d take them, no matter the side effects. I’m tired of living the dead life in my dreams. The more I study certain things, the less certain I become that I’m even dreaming, at all. This is a vast and mysterious world, Doc. You can’t label everything. Sometimes, things you would love to believe are creations of a disturbed mind are not what they seem. Sometimes, those things are real and no pill is going to make them go away. It just won’t. I’d even venture to say that God wants us to see certain things. They remind us of where we came from and what the stakes are. Just a thought…

I’m sounding like my brother, Captain Crazy. He’s really giving Mom Hell lately. He’s still in Austin, though. I’m happy about that, as I am certain that he is a danger to her. But, my brother knows things, Doc. As crazy as he is, he is tuned in to something that is fantastical and hugely present in this world. I’d say he’s given himself over to it; something I’d never do. He is a legacy, though. We all are. The difference between the Captain, me and my other brother, is that my other brother and I won’t give in. It’s a difficult thing to shake. It is the start of all of my misery. Even so, it’s like there is something in my DNA that draws me to it. I don’t have any intention of ending up on the wrong side of Heaven, as it were. I know that, whatever the Big Fantastical may be, Almighty God is stronger.

I’m just talking out of my head right now, I suppose. The hour is late/early, and I feel very…out of sorts. I need a shower, but I swore that, the next shower I took, would be in my newly painted and decorated bathroom. That was two days ago. OMG. Why am I stubborn like this? It’s ridiculous. But, I still want to wait. Good grief, I’m disgusting… Been this exact way as long as I can remember. If it’s not what I want, I don’t want it, no matter the cost to myself. The good news is that the bathroom will be done by early afternoon. lol! Sonofabitch…I hate myself. I also hate the number of times I use the word ‘I’ in these posts. How fucking self centered can you be? Seriously.

My cousin, A, is trying to stir up shit in the family. She’s always trying to. She loves drama. She’s the type of person who can’t let things go. I will say that the Big Fantastical did require much more from she and her sister, when we were kids, than anyone else. Nobody could stop it. Nobody. You think that people are all out for the best interest of children and/or those who are less fortunate. That’s a lie. It always has been. People are out for themselves, Doc. They don’t give a solid fuck about anyone else. Especially if it costs them something. And I’m not talking about money. Most anyone will throw money at a problem, but it’s rare when someone is willing to throw themselves on the grenade.

I wonder, at times, if I’m going to pay for the things I’ve done. It feels like I should be paid up. I don’t think anything I’ve done is even in the same ballpark as those who went before me, Doc. But, I’ve not been the best Christian. I try and try, but I can’t let certain things go. I don’t want to die like my grandmother did. On the night He came to get her, she was seeing things dancing around her that terrified her. She knew it was time and she didn’t want to go with them. She was taken, anyway. I don’t want that to happen to me and I’m scared it will because I just can’t stop these stupid things I do. Shit.

I was thinking of my childhood friend, S. I had a dream that she’d died. It was horrible. I miss her so much, as it is. If S has gone, I don’t know what I’d do. Just knowing she’s in the world means so much, Doc. She’s the only one who knows. I gave her up after Bennie tried to sleep with her. She knocked the living shit out of him, and she told me what happened. I gave her up because the situation was so uncomfortable and I was pregnant with our oldest son then. I gave up everything for Bennie. Every fucking thing that ever meant a thing to me. I still feel him looking over my shoulder, as though he knows any more about life than I do. I am starting to fucking hate him, Doc. Maybe I’m through grieving and I can look at him as he was, again. I don’t know. Fuck him. In the neck in the pouring fucking rain. That’s what. I feel like taking that picture off the wall and using it for target practice. I should’ve used him for target practice when he was alive. So he could understand what he did. Just to show him, plainly, how he made me feel. He’s only the second person I’ve ever really considered killing in my entire life. The first was my grandmother. I wanted to cut her throat and give her a nice Colombian necktie. Yes, Doc. I did. And, had I, I’d have been out of kid prison in plenty of time to have a great life. Only, I’d live knowing I finally stood up to her in a real fucking way.

You know that’s the reason my mother and I are mother and daughter again, right, Doc? My grandmother was so afraid I was going to kill her that she kept calling my mother to tell her to ‘do something with her daughter’. Oh, sure…take me from my mother, but give me back when you think your life’s in danger. Please…give me a break. If I’d ever wanted to kill that bitch, it would’ve been done with a quickness. I hated her then, I hate her now.

My mother. There’s a subject I’m conflicted about. She’s now my best friend and I love her more than anything. But, the other side of that coin is that I’m starting to believe that I wasn’t ‘taken’ as much as I was ‘given’. And I think there was a reason for it. If I explained it all, you’d have me put away, Doc, so I’ll save the dirty parts. Suffice to say that this whole expedition into my psyche has got me seriously shaken, as I told you before. It’s like the web my ceiling spider made. It’s gotten very large, and I do enjoy watching it go about its business of living up there, far away from me. However, there are times when it looks as though the whole thing is about to fall down, taking my spider with it. That’s exactly how I feel inside since I met you. I feel like, one more revalation, and I’m fucked for life. I thouroughly understand why you don’t want to ‘put me through’ an intense recall situation. You think I’ll implode, don’t you? Well, Doc, it’s already happening, but I think I can control it, as it stands. Any more, and I’m honestly not sure. I’m already barely here. I haven’t been fully present in this life since I was a child, whatever the Hell that is.

I am sure there’s a reason…a purpose…for everything I’ve lived through, but I just can’t figure out what it is. I am grateful that I made it, because so many others don’t. I worry about them. So many people in this world who truly do have it worse than me, and always have. I wish I could make it better for all of them. I feel so guilty for ending up with a decent life when they are still struggling so. It breaks my heart into a million pieces. But you can’t fix things for everyone. You just can’t, Doc. I’ve tried, during the course of my life, to fix things for a lot of different people. In the end, it was always a waste of time and money. Once the Big Fantastical turns its attention to someone, nobody can help them. Goddamnit. It just make me want to scream! The evil in this world never takes a break. Not even for a second.

I’d better go, Doc. I’m sorry for rambling. I just have so much to say, yet I have nothing of real consequence to discuss. I don’t know how to explain it. I ramble on and on lately, like one of those old ladies who talk to themselves. OMG…I’m the white Miss Mary. That’s about right. I wonder what happened to her…Last I saw her, she was yelling at her invisible invisible and I was afraid to stop and give her a ride. She looked beautiful, as always, though. I love how Miss Mary dressed. You should see her, Doc. Always in her Sunday best. I’m now sure you’d appreciate it. I know you’re a Southern man, but you are polluted by higher education and that often leads to a certain blindness, I’ve found. But, if you could see her, you would see a crazy lady. You’d also see the most beautiful lady you ever saw. You’d see the finest clothes and the most perfect makeup and hair and nails and you’d wonder at this vision. Then, she’d start yelling at you and you’d zero right back in on reality. Miss Mary is a roller coaster, that’s for sure, and she takes you along for a ride, if you stop rushing long enough. She’ll also backhand the shit out of you while you’re driving, but that’s a story for another time…

Happy Saturday, Doc 🙂

…5% tint so you can’t see up in my window…la la la…

Dear Doc,

I don’t feel so good today. Well, this evening…I’ve been crying all day. I just can’t figure out how to forgive Bennie. So much went on and it’s like this landslide just starts pushing me down, sometimes. I know he wasn’t the start of my pain, but he was the end of it. The bitter endless.

I’m getting my environment how I like it. Maybe that’s what all this is about. The house is starting to look like MY house…the way our home looked before Bennie stopped loving me. I’m so pissed at him for talking to that bitch, Jenny, right before he died. I mean RIGHT before! Why did he do that? Telling her he couldn’t leave me because he didn’t want me to have one square inch of this land? OMG! After thirty years, I asked for one acre to put a fucking trailer on. A TRAILER. I’m just starting to get these lil flashbacks that make what Jenny said to me after he died make sense. That bitch. I wish I could talk to her ass now, but she’s got me blocked nine ways to Sunday. Jay cleaned up his dad’s phone before I saw it, so there’s no telling what was on it that I didn’t see. I guess all this fucking nesting is opening old wounds. I don’t know. But I love it. My lil living room is so chill. It’s mismatched, but it matches, you know? Like me. I hope that taking this action will shake something loose.

Listening to Fat Pat. I love the SUC. It’s a shame what happened to most of em. Ok…starting to ramble. Im working on that lately. I just constantly talk, I don’t know why, since I have nothing to say.

Oh, shit…this dude pulled up in our yard a few minutes ago, and I called my son because I thought it might be him, coming or going. Anyway, it wasn’t my son, just a man looking for an adress. He asked if he could use our phone and Jay told him ‘No.’ I feel terrible. This is a very dark and scary place to be lost, but you can’t take chances these days. I’m sure that he wasn’t happy to encounter a big ass redneck. But, he seemed very nice. So did Ted Bundy. My son, unlike me, is not willing to bet on the kindness of strangers. I understand why, though. It just pisses me off that this society has finally made us into the kind of people who won’t lend a stranger a phone to make a call.

I guess I need to meditate. I haven’t even tried the EMDR, or whatever that thing is. I can’t think of any positive affirmations. I thought I’d write a hypno script for myself. I used to write them for men with erectile dysfunction and I was very good at it. Yes, I even got good feedback. I stopped all of that when Memnoch came for me. That crazy bastard. I wish I hadn’t wasted four years on ‘winning’ his stupid game. Whatever. Shit. I’m just discombobulated this evening.

I guess I’ll go. I have some things I’d like to finish before bed. I’m very happy about my home. I guess they’d call it boho…the style. But, miss matched has always been my style. Things that look too perfect scare the shit outta me.

Peace out, Doc!


Dear Doc,

It’s almost 4pm. I’m just at this weird baseline leveled out place. I’m assuming that this is actually the goal you were talking about. That concerns me because I can’t see myself living with this state of mind for any extended period of time. This is the worst. I feel almost nothing. No up…no down…nothing. Surely, you cannot imagine this to be a better state than I was in. Feeling horrible is more preferable than feeling nothing, Doc.

I’ve given much thought to the subject of normalcy lately. I find it disturbing, to be honest with you. I’ve always considered myself to be fairly normal, but with a lil spice added. I’ve been called ‘eccentric’ and ‘weird’ my entire life. That never bothered me as much as this ‘normal’ thing is bothering me now. Eccentric and weird people have occassional flashes of genius. True, they are often followed by gut wrenching depression or mania, but they at least have amazing moments. If this leveled out situation is all there is, I don’t know what keeps the entire population of normals from offing themselves, en masse.

I don’t know what I expected. I know I did need your help and you’ve given it with grace and kindness. The very last thing that I want is to seem ungrateful. I’m not. However, I don’t think that this is a ‘fix’ that I can live with.


this…that…the other

Dear Doc,

I hired my son to help me improve my surroundings for the next two months. We started inside, moving furniture and unpacking all the things I’ve ordered in the last year for the house. It’s coming along very nicely.

This is the first I’ve cared about my home in a very long time. Until now, the only requirement was that it not be filthy. It was very cluttered, but I did keep the kitchen and bathroom clean. I think that’s because my grandma pounded it into me that you have to always have a clean kitchen and bath. So…that’s that. But, everything else was basically where we left it when we moved in. We lost everything before moving here. They even took my fucking Hummer, and it was almost paid for. I miss P. Diddy. That was his name. He was big and black. But, I digress…

The thing is, losing all of your material possessions and effectively bringing your net worth to $0 really sucks. It just takes something out of you. For me, I grew up at $0, since Dad spent all his money, (and he made plenty), on women, boats and booze. So I just landed right back where I started. Bennie had a much more difficult time with it, as he was raised in an upper middle class environment, and was already way off into his addiction when it happened, and it only compounded his problem. I mean, it revved it the fuck up. I hate that he died on that particular note. He felt like a failure, but it wasn’t his fault the oil industry went to Hell in a handbasket under Obama’s regime. He outdid his father by leaps and bounds during his career and I’ll always respect him, and be proud of him, for that. The man knew his shit.

When we moved here, we went from a large 3 bedroom home with formal living and dining rooms, to 685 square feet of converted garage. One tiny bedroom. It’s like an apartment, and I love this lil house, but even though material things aren’t supposed to be important, losing them is quite sobering. And, this is where the blame started going on. I won’t get into why, or what have you, but living here with Bennie was horrible. We couldn’t get away from one another. And, like I said, as long as the kitchen and bath were clean, I didn’t care about the rest of the house. I tried to keep the dust down to a minimum, and that was it.

Frankly, it was difficult to care if the sofa was in the right spot when you spent your days sitting across from a man with an AK by his side meant to intimidate you. It worked! I’ve never been afraid of guns and such, like I’ve written about before. But, there is something very disturbing about someone who, when they are tired of the sound of your voice, will quietly get up, go to the gun cabinet and get a gun, then sit down with it propped up by their chair. After he’d get the gun, if I talked when he didn’t want to hear me, or said the wrong thing, he’d put his hand on it. I spent days staring at that thing, wondering and waiting. I fully expected that he’d get me. I just didn’t know when. I guess that’s what was so bad about it. I mean, someone puts a gun in your face, you know what cards are on the table. Someone sits quietly with a gun, day after day, it’s like waiting on a Jack In The Box to pop up.

Bennie yelled at me all the time. If I said his name he’d answer ‘WHAT!!!’. He never had anything nice to say and, when he was really pissed, he’d scream in my face till he was spitting. Usually, he’d finish with actually spitting in my face to make his point clear. That was disgusting and it made me feel so fucking mad, but helpless, too. I guess that’s why I hate the whole ‘victim’ label. Because, in truth, I was one. And it’s easier to say I put up with something, as though I had a choice, than to say that my husband victimized me with his abusive ways. I’m thankful that it wasn’t nearly as bad as it could’ve been. So many women and children are beaten within an inch of their lives on a daily basis. All I had to worry about was one bullet. That’s not so bad, if you really think about it.

Well, I guess I should get off here. I’m going to get going on my decorating. I feel so free today. I don’t know why. But, it feels good.


Dear Doc,

Today was a fairly good day. Mood seems stabil. I took one Abilify when I woke up, and one a few hours later. I didn’t feel sick, at all, so I think I’ll continue to take them that way.

I missed Bennie today. I know it makes no sense to you for someone to miss someone that was so cruel, but I do miss him. The brain and the heart are very different things. Whatever my brain may say is always overridden by my heart. That’s how I’m made. Although, I do understand why you say I have issues with boundaries. And, yes, perhaps my affect is off, but that’s because I don’t like to hurt people’s feelings. So, I smile. Or, at least, try to look pleasant. And, it’s also true that I can do that while I’m getting spit on and yelled at. So? I don’t know what to tell ya, Doc. I guess I shouldn’t have smiled while I was crying at your office. But, it is what it is.

I can smile through other things, too, Doc. Things I’d never tell a soul about. I’m smiling now because, if I don’t, I’ll fall apart. So, you think that there’s something wrong with misaligned facial expressions? Well, I don’t. Sometimes, they are the only way one can hide. Isn’t hiding behind a smile better than tears? I think so. I just relax and float away behind that smile, Doc. I’m not even there lol! I am not even close to there. Remember that, the next time I’m smiling while I’m crying over something in your office. You can talk. I can hear. But, really…a million miles are between us. And I like it that way. Why would you put a label on that and try to make me fix it? Dissociative? Yeah. So? It works for me. Why do I have to change?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

I don’t know how I’m ever going to get what you would consider ‘better’. I didn’t even know much, besides panic, was wrong. While I fit certain criteria, that is because those things help me. All I need is something to make the panic stop so I can work and be around people and all those things. I can’t even date. Nothing. Now, since I have all these labels, it feels like I’m at the foot of a giant mountain and, if I don’t climb it, I’m just fucked for life. Goddamn it. You make me so angry. But, I know you’re just doing your job and trying to help. I guess I’m really angry because I need help. Even so, if you hadn’t have told me, I’d have just felt like a weirdo and that’s it. Now, I feel like a fucking head case. It’s humiliating to me. Even when I’m alone, I feel humiliated when I think of the fucking labels assigned to my disposition. Yes, I know….that’s ridiculous. But it’s the truth.

I should go, Doc. I’m going to try to get up early in the morning. I just feel so…even. I don’t know if I’m comfortable with this. I’m just like everyone else today. That creeps me the Hell out.


abilify…it’s what’s for dinner!

Dear Doc,

Thank you for understanding about the lithium. I do think that an increased dose of Abilify might do the trick. Although, I’m still unclear about what ‘the trick’ is. I remember you saying that ‘happy’ is not the goal; mood stability is the goal. So, does that mean that it’s better to be full-time depressed, or full-time manic? What if I do accidentally stumble across ‘happy’? Will it stay? Can I capture it like one of those lil monsters in that weird game? I’m honestly curious.

The new meds are making me feel as though I have the flu. That’s still a huge improvement on the lithium, which made me feel as though I were going to actually die. But, when I first take this, I can feel my brain reacting to it. Literally. I don’t think it likes it. And I don’t like that feeling.

I keep telling myself that this is all for the best. But, is it? Really? Am I so fucked up that totally blacking out my personality is an improvement? Yes, I realize that I came to you. You did not seek me out. Even so, I never dreamed so much would surface about my life. It just shook me up. And, I still feel shaken. You opened a Pandora’s Box and I cannot seem to close it. I don’t want these memories. That’s the main thing. I wish you could erase them without erasing me. I think I’ve pain a high enough price, now I have to give up myself? Shit. That’s so unfair. What about the others? I want to know they’re burning in Hell now. I do. And I know that’s horrible. But they deserve it.

Do you think I’d be like this, anyway, Doc? You said the bipolar stuff is genetic, and the rest is the result of childhood trauma. Sooooo…really? I wonder. I just can’t help but think that maybe this is just me and I’m supposed to be this way. Except for the crying part. That’s just embarrassing. I have to figure this out for myself. I’ve never been so confused in my life. Now, I’m taking this medicine with no real idea of what is going to come of it. If I could just get over the panic, I’d be fine, Doc. I mean…I just need to get over that. I wish you understood that. I’m sure you do, and I know you mean well. You aren’t a stupid man, so I know that you probably know what’s best. But, still…I feel so…I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, anyway. Never has. Why should this be any different?