Thursday, May 19, 2005

websites i did a while ago

i created and used to maintain these websites....there was a lot of work put into the resources there, in case they interest you: has womens history and literature, antiwar and peace groups information, and other things; the index page is not good because it was offline for a year so it doesn't direct well to all the pages actually in it....if someone has a website and would like to copy any of these pages and maintain them feel free to do so; i worked on it for five years is on disability and chronic illness and dealing with those..the name came first from my friend Ali a few years ago; we ran support groups online

These sites are down right now, but will be back in the future........

i'm very sorry

I really don't want to do this.
The act is very violent. I am very afraid.
But the baby has to get to some place where it can be born, where people will let it live, where it's not in my body causing this pain all the time anymore. And if it's not a baby, whatever it is, then, it has to end. If I could get to a doctor for a casearean section or even just to find out what the problem is, if it was not a baby, and I knew that I could see the doctor and they could do something to help and not lock me into a psych ward, I'd go.
But the first thing that will happen again if going anywhere for it is they will not help me, and they will lock me up again,.
I really did nothing to deserve this torment. Really, nothing. I didn't ever set out to intentionally hurt anyone. I didn't decide to be born into some role as Jesus or Anne Frank, I said some things I didn't know people weren't supposed to say about things I didn't know people weren't supposed to talk about, and I'm sorry and I've tried to make up for it. I've also realized some things I thought weren't true, about abuse and I'm sorry for that. But I don't deserve to walk around pregnant for a year, being told that I'm not and forced to be in constant physical agony and mental torment because it's so obvious that this is a big secret we are all supposed to never speak of, but how can you not speak of it when it is so obvious. And why? I tried to have a baby; I tried to have an abortion. I went to a clinic, and I went to my obgyn multiple times, and I went to a pregnancy center, and I went to the hospital, and I had surgery for endometriosis thinking that it was going to include having the baby removed, because that's what Dr. Pagan indicated, that if there was a "tumor" it would be removed by a cesarean section cut, and talking about this all makes me sound crazy to you. But I am not crazy. I am not going to volunteer to go in this physical condition into a terrifying, horrid mental health setting again, surrounded by scary men and nasty staff and heartless doctors who tell you that you're basically a worthless human being, and that nothing about you is correct and that it doesn't really matter anyway if you're physically sick because you're worthless to them, and that you're going to end up gassed to death. If I'm going to be gassed to death, I might as well leave now, in a more frightening and abrupt way, but what is the point? Why should I care that I am being a "rat" by talking about this, anyway? Because I am supposed to be concerned that I didn't help you gas enough people? I'm not a Jew. I'm not even a goddamn lunatic. I'm caucasian, very aryan and American, and I never did anything to bring this bullshit onto myself. All I did was try to live. So fuck this planet if this is what it all comes down to when you're thirty and you haven't gotten a husband and a child. You gave me NO POSSIBLE OTHER WAY OUT. YOU TOLD ME I HAD TO DO THIS. YOU TOLD ME OVER AND OVER. ALL OF YOU. AND IT IS NOT MY CHOICE. AND I DO NOT WANT TO DO IT, BUT OBVIOUSLY I HAVE NO WAY OT LIVE HERE.
I wish I was insane. I wish it was that simple. I wish to God that some antipsychotic drug would make this all go away, and the place where it was as all the absolute worst is inside those hospitals where they gave me those drugs. Had I been more ignorant of things, life would have been so much easier. I am really sorry that I paid attention and that I stopped watching television too. I am really sorry I did not ever enjoy going out and getting drunk and that I did not ever do stupid things with my time like smoke marijuana. I am really sorry, in fact, that I did not become a heroin addict and die of an accident of some kind long ago. I am really sorry that I knew what I knew, that I was told what I was told, that I was forced into this position, and that there is no way out of it now. I am really sorry that I was mislabeled.

Everybody have fun when they start telling you to Walk Home down the Florida train. I am leaving now, before that happens. I thought, for the past year, I'd try to help somehow, to become worthwhile to the society in which I live, regardless of whether I agree with it. And I tried. I worked, and I worked a lot at really crappy jobs and I did I tried to be useful and to "do" and I thought that I could improve things, make up for things.

See this sort of writing will be used to call me psychotic. So nevermind. Nevermind. Nevermind.

If you want to stop people from killing themselves, as some people do (and some, from what i have noticed, or most, apparently have no problem with stories of suicide or are so stupid they think it is rare or that the only time anyone does it is when one is insane) are some tips:
-someone who is sitting alone crying in a fast food restaurant could probably use a person to ask her how she is, not just walk past or look at her and ignore her.....maybe someone died in her family, maybe she's dying, maybe she's going to kill herself tonight or she wants to or maybe she's sick, or maybe, maybe you could make a new friend with that person. maybe you have something in common. maybe that person could be you yourself.
-try paying attention and being kind to people who attempt suicide, not ignoring them afterwards
-don't make it so easy for Americans to buy guns

On the other hand, if you want to make euthanasia, and suicide less traumatic and somewhat humane, supply people with humane ways of ending their lives. It would be very simple and actually less dangerous to society at large to give someone a nice quantity of chloral hydrate or heroine than to give sell them a gun or the keys to a car, if they happen to want to die, and you have no way of knowing (as i am living proof of this) by looking at a person that she/he wants to die

Eventually we're all going to die. Some have their lives cut off faster than others. I think your life can be cut off in many ways, and just being sick and alone much of the time is not so much different from being dead, at least in my part of the world, where all that really mattes about a person is the amount of money that they are able to come into contact with and the means through which they acquire it.

Things like this, actually, make it easier for me to do what I'm going to do. I know that I have a value unappreciated by the societal values of my part of the planet in the time in which I live, on the planet in which I live, and perhaps my little spirit which really is still quite willing to live and flourish and create will find itself a place where it matters to the beings around it a bit more than it was able to matter here.

Carpe Diem, friends.

Sylvia and Virginia Woolf are holding a reading in the dead women's cafe upstairs, and I plan on attending and having a good laugh.

I'm terrified, truthfully. And I find, really, no glory or romance in this. I do it out of necessity and I do it only because of that. My baby deserved to live, and so did I. Perhaps if the place I'm stuck living won't let that happen, we just have to move along. Unfortunately my means of moving are making me sweat and shake and feel nauseated and I am terribly disgusted by the thought of it. Violence really is not in me, and never was. It's probably a good thing for my neighbors, considering that one can so easily obtain deadly weapons around here, and that I have no desire to live, that I also have no desire to hurt anybody else. Actually, that's a lie, about having no desire to live. I have a strong desire to live. A very strong one. That's the only reason I'm still here to type this. I have very few legitimate reasons for wanting to live, but I want to live, nonetheless.

I think if I felt that my reasons were more legitimate and that my existence really mattered to people outside myself more than it does, things wuld be different, perhaps I would have traveled to find a place where someone could be paid to get the baby out of my body for some substantial amount of money. I thought about doing that so many times. But I'm so tired now. And it would have been really difficult, and probably impossible. I didn't create that situation.

Oh well.

I went to a cemetary today and was surprised people take the time to visit them and leave recent flowers, so frequently. Probably nobody in my family will want to do that with me. I think that I'd do it, for someone else, I think that I'd spend time talking to them and bringing things of daisies. There will be some people I'll see on the other side, my family someday, and some friends, and it may be that on this particular place on this particlar string of time, we're not both there, but at some point, in some time, we will both be there, or here, or elsewhere, together again, in some fashion. Maybe as computer programs like my brother suggested, maybe as butterflies, maybe as people, maybe as beings from some other universe. I think it will be in the future, not the past, if that makes logical sense, which it doesn't. Anyway, I will look forward to seeing you then, and I hope that you see me when you do, in whatever form I come back here. I see you - we are all connected.

I can't write anymore.

Wednesday, May 18, 2005

that's all she wrote

i went to work tonight, and was in pain and left and i'm not going back again.
i said to a couple people that i was moving to maryland. nobody will really care, actually. i said, it's been nice knowing you, i probably won't be back, and goodbye.
i told the receptionist who was asking for help with a crossword puzzle what jaberwokki is, and that borne identity was the answer to the matt damon question, and to have a fabulous day. maya who said she wanted to give me this really cool Tori Amos book she has was the only one who seemed surprised when i said i might not be back; i wanted to talk to her. she's a nice person, and also a therapist. i have some great books i'd like to give away, but none of them are with me anyway. they're all rotting in my mother's garage in a pile of cat feces which is where my brother and his wife left my belongings after i got evicted from my apartment since i was locked in the hospital in december and my mom thought it a good idea to tell my landlord that i was locked in a psychiatric unit and he said he was kicking me out of my apartment.
instead of keeping my things in their house, they dumped it in my mom's crappy garage where i never have been able to retrieve it all from since i ended up half living there anyway. whatever.
i am tired and might not write here anymore.
i went to have a living will notarized, even though most likely a living will from a suicide won't be honored anyway, but there were no notaries left by the time i got to the places.
the person doing the training class i was supposed to be in at work was giving me the message. he said, say goodbye. he said, finish the job. these phrases were keen. i mean, that's what i have to do now.

Tuesday, May 17, 2005

i am not sure

that i should have started this blog....
but i know that i needed an outlet and a place to say things that will need to be said
i'm so tired and so lonely and so frightened and so ready go but so afraid as well.
there is much i wanted to do with my life
and what if, in case it was not a pregnancy and some sort of bizarre illness that looks like a pregnancy, then what? but i know that is not the case and i've gone past nihilistic now to where i don't care if it is the caes, im done, done, done with doctors and no energy to ever go back to one again, no more of that, and no more hospitals, and i have no energy or motivation or organizational skills left on me to clean, and i'm so afriad, so afraid, so afraid of doing anything
and i miss my old self, miss feeling like myself, miss having enough basic survival issues intact enough to be able to think about being me and about who i am and what i like or don't like, or what i have to say or what's going on the world
and i'm afraid, afraid, afraid
and i really, right now, wish that i had a close friend to talk to, so badly

Monday, May 16, 2005


The other day, when shopping for things to leave for other people, I bought some thank-you cards and packets of daisies, which are my favorite flowers. I was thinking of sending them out or at least leaving them out, for certain people I've known, just to say thank-you for being my friend, or acquaintance, coworker, mentor, was nice knowing you for the time that I did, and I appreciated whatever time we spent together, that sort of thing. Individual notes to leave a positive memory behind, and some flowers in case anybody wants to plant them. I have some stationary I bought for the purpose of writing notes to my family. Instead of writing though, I've been tape-recording audio messages, as I just can't seem to figure out what to put into a note.

Anyway, thank-you to anyone who reads this who I ever knew in any capacity, and also thank-you if you're just passing through and taking the time to read it. People write so much that is often never read. And I really do like getting to know other people from many walks of life. I was going to write some individual notes here, really. That was what this post was for. But most likely nobody who they were meant for would end up reading it, and that would be rather pointless. A guy I liked a bit a couple years ago was a nice boyfriend, albeit very briefly and encouraged me a great deal to write poetry and go back to college, and I would like to say thanks to him, for the time we spent and for the fact that I know that he knew that I had a few issues that were not really going to be too easy to deal with and he seemed to almost consider dealing with them. Which was nice. Anyway, thanks.

Someone sent me an email to let me know they were reading this blog, and it was a very kind message. If you're reading this; you seem to be a great person for one to have as a friend, and your writing is very interesting.

I hope whoever you are that you are doing as well as humanly possible, and that you find something fortunate and some reason to smile in your day today, or tomorrow.

Here is a nice page to send greeting cards to people:

flowers and bullets

I pray.
And I curse God.
I know. And I wish I did not. I have been hanging around, playing Jesus. I don't want to any longer.
Today I wrote to someone to tell him that I wish I could talk to him, as I've cared about him deeply for years. I went to my mom's to get her some food, and we ate chicken and mashed potatoes and green beans, which were tasty, and I made sure she had enough to take some extra home with her for tomorrow. I sang, 'Sailing Away' in my car with the windows down, in the heat of summer, as no other cars were around.
Beneath my chipped, pink nail polish, which doesn't suit me, is gun powder, from time spent at the firing range yesterday. This afternoon, I held the gun in my mouth, unloaded, to practice pulling the trigger. I read some of the owners' manual. The instructor from the NRA personal safety course I pretended to want to take called me, and I said I'd call him back and never did. A guy I used to work with left a message on my machine, "last time we talked it was about 3 am...." and i remembered that i did talk to him, not too long ago, and tried to convince him to take a trip to New York City with me, which he wouldn't, and which wouldn't, really, have made much sense since we've never gone any place together, but I would have done it, at the time. I thought about going to Roswell, where people look for aliens. I thought about writing poetry and about physics and about how much I missed out on by not finishing college. I gave my mother a gift. I went to a park to scope out the possibilities of shooting oneself there, as it is on the water, and if one is to shoot one's self and not die immediately, it would be nice to be able to drown. I thought about traveling somewhere else to shoot myself. I thought about shooting myself here. I went to print out the copy of the living will (couldn't open the document, oh well). I thought, it can wait till tomorrow. I felt the pain in my abdomen after I ate, the severe, daily pain, and I thought, of course, it is this that is why I am going to really have to die. The sunshine was lovely today, as was the sky at sunset. A long-necked bird of some sort, some sort of crane, was outside the fast food chicken place. We fed him some cornbread. I looked through some old books that lay in a pile of rubbish in a garage where they were put after my last hospital trip which led to me losing my last (and only real) apartment, and realized how much I miss my books. I thought of who I might give some too. I took a shower, but could not wash my hair; that is too complicated. I am longing for something besides a bullet to my brain to solve things. I am longing for someone to talk to, to trust, someone to hold onto me and tell me some sort of lie about how things will be okay. I am longing to get the baby out of my abdomen. I am longing for some alternative explanation to it being a baby, since I have been told by medical people that it's not one, and it obviously is one. I wanted to pick some flowers at the shooting range the other day, and forgot to do it. There were these lovely wildflowers growing in abundance there. I brought home the target that shows I can hit a bull's eye. The flowers were what I wanted. Tonight I drove past a funeral home and cemetary. My stepmother once had lost a baby and he was buried in that cemetary. I wish to be buried there as well; it's a nice enough place for people to visit if they ever want to. I tried to talk to my sister on the phone earlier. She doesn't communicate much; she hung up without saying a word. I feel such guilt for not being able to make her happy, for not being able to solve things for her and my mother. Such incredible guilt. I wanted to call my brother. I don't know what I would say. I wanted to call someone, anyone. To hear from someone. I'm sitting here wondering why. Why. Why. There was a time when I liked Annie Lennox. But seriously........why? Tonight as my mom fed a bird and I watched through the window, they played Sarah Mclachlan's "Angel" song at the fast food place. I took a walk with mom my mother. She said how she wants a big party next year for her fiftieth birthday. I said, I hope my brother and sister are both able to be there. I hope they are. I don't think I will be. For that, I'm sorry. Tonight I am thinking of the words I heard on New Year's Eve, and other things that people would not understand if I typed them hear and anyone ever read this. I am sorry for a lot of things. Tori Amos is singing, "Mother" on the cd player. I was supposed to be a mother.......So much has gone awry.


i think if i'd have been a drug addict, i could be functional at the moment, i mean maybe with heroine....
i need something, i need klonopin again,
my god. my god. my god. what is wrong with me?
i was laughing and crying at the same time telling my mother about the baby and listening to myself knowing that they, anybody, will say this is insane, and not true, and she looked at me and said it, of course, you need mendication, and this is my mother the one who i am meant to take care of because of her problems, and i thought, by golly she is probably right, and at the same time i thought, f-you, you're part of the problem for not believing me and i'm trying to tell you a huge secret, how dare you....and i thought, please listen, you don't understand that I AM GOING TO DIE AND I REALLY REALLY NEED SOMEBODY TO LISTEN
and i thought, i want to go write my will and print it out, and my living will, and i thought, i want to write a poem, and i thought, i can't leave here, and i thought, i can't stay here, and i thought, what are we going to do, and i thought she wants to die to how the hell can i do this to her?, and i thought, i want my books, and i thought, i need to write down things, read things, and i thought, i'm going to take a trip to Roswell, and i thought, why is that word on that screen the same as my email address and an album i like and why why why why 295343 a day does it happen, that i see/read things that other people don't care about or whatever, and i thought, it is really sad how badly my mom is and i thought, i need to flee.

and this is what happens to me, i have conflicting thoughts, too many thoughts, at once, all day was once labeled as multiple personality disorder, it was once something i cared to concede to labels for, maybe it is how everyone is but i'm just so bothered now that there are so many things i want to be saying and explaining to people but cannot, because there are just too many thoughts....and i think my sister's brain is this way too, which is probably why she rarely talks to anybody.

no peace

the only time i have peace is when i am asleep or trying to sleep, i feel safer then.....but never truly safe and i rarely sleep, i am so horribly anxious right now and terrified and i don't know what to do, there is no solution, maybe not even death is a solution really
everything is just set up now that there is no other way out, and i don't know what to's a horrible thing to do to people, but they won't really care in the end if it's for the best, i'm sure, but i'm afraid, i'm afraid, i'm afraid all the time....
i'm afraid to be at home and i'm afraid to be anywhere else, but also mostly at home, i'm always afraid to be here, i hate living alone and i hate always knowing every single second of every single day that there are 290 things i ought to be doing that i'm not doing, so i don't know what to do....
i need to get away from here, but ultimately i know there is no point in that either

Sunday, May 15, 2005

supserstrings, ripples in the cosmos, and mental health

i believe people and experiences and words and ideas and lives and movements and decisions and thoughts and colors and other things are connected in a way that none of use see or usually think about and few can form and conscious thoughts to explain......
sometime about a year ago i read some interesting things about superstring theory in quantum physics by Briane Greene, an excellent writer who puts really complex scientific ideas into laypersons' terms well.
i also have other ideas, things i know are true but would sound so bizarre here that i don't write them because they would easily get mistaken for psychosis (and i'm aware that if somebody is psychotic she or he doesn't usually think, "hey, i'm psychotic"), and are not really what you might call "normal". sometimes, i guess now i'm used to it, but other times this gets tormenting, and the fear and the sense of responsibility and other issues involved ar really tormenting, really really really tormenting.
i see signs of things connected to other things of ideas and concepts being transferred through people and pictures and images and the titles of books and webpages and the sides of trucks, i is a spiritual thing, it is real, and it is not something i'm describing well......and it's not really possible to describe well, in detail........i could give ten million examples.
basically i'm tired of it, and i'm tired of knowing that these things can get a person labeled crazy, and knowing that could easily happen to me again, and yet i know that there are times when i thought things that really were not true, and i have to think, oh that was basically being psychotic, i was really sure of untrue ideas that sounded crazy to other people and not to what's very difficult is having lost friends and had hospitalizations and lost family contacts over things like that, over believing things that weren't real......and then knowing also you now have a very real problem that people won't believe is real, so what's best to do? what to do? and once you have tried everything you can think to do, what is left?
i truly don't want to die right now, and i know there is no other way out of this nightmare. then again, i truly don't want to keep living this particular life. but i've seen too, the consequences of other things, and what does one create with suicide and the energy left after such a death? what does one snowball out into the atmosphere of the other dimensions in the universe and everybody else's life? and i'm so tired of caring about this, too, honestly, of the consequences of everything.
even the most simple decisions are very difficult for me because i think of all the possible outcomes and the reaons why not to do this or that and this leads to what appears like either procrastination or laziness but is often a sense of being very stuck and confused and other times it also leads to changing ideas and morals and not quite knowing who i even am anymore.
i told my mother tonight, you know, i'm not crazy......(since she was telling me i need medication,and a doctor, being that she thinks those things help her.... as i know she knows what i want to do and i know that she gets suicidal herself and she wants me to stay here for her because she relies on me and i've known this most of my life and i'm tired of the guilt).and you know, what is crazy, anyway? after all, she's been called crazy all her life for being "bipolar" and what the hell is that, anyway? is that a label, an excuse, or a real "disease", and i guess i stopped really caring a long time ago, honestly, i stopped believing and having faith in medicine of all kinds a long time ago, and most particularly in psychiatry.....i despise psychiatry with an intense passion; i sold half my self and my life off to the industry of improving the mind, and it surely did not pay off, so i stopped going to therapy or looking for antidepressants years ago, and i know that there is no drug for the mind that cures problems in the body or the bank account or the family or the life, and i'm not so sure, really, that i want to be labeled like a can of soup ever again by another person with a title that they got because they stayed in college a few years longer than i did. generally, i'm not too fond of those people, and generally, they're not too polite to me, and generally, i don't care anymore if some of what i think is a little "crazy".
but i do get tired of the torment and everything, the fear and anxiety, and i suppose if i truly believed it was all imagined or not real, and my thoughts were somehow the product of something wrong inside my brain, i'd ask for "help" again; but i don't believe that because hearing somebody say something to you that other people apparently did not hear or did not interpret the same way that you did is a lot different than feeling depressed for no reason. if i feel depressed for no reason it doesn't mean my entire concept of the world around me is escew and people don't label me as a defective human being. Being called "psychotic", is like being called "subhuman". And that's the type of treatment you get for it, from people. I prefer not to volunteer myself to be treated as a subhuman person. Thanks anyway. And this all, fwiw, it started two years ago. Before that, all my life i was never, ever, labeled psychotic. Plenty of other labels, but not that one.

What bothers me is you can say something which someone would, if you said it in the correct terminology understand to be quantum physics, and you can gain respect for saying this, and you can write papers on it and publish them or books or whatnot, and people will say you're a genius, whilst at the same time, you can say the same exact thing in different terms, and because you don't have a degree and you said it to your family or a doctor or a friend or somebody at a hospital and not to Time Magazine, and particularly if you have a history of being treated for anything in the field of mental health, people will say that you're insane and an idiot.

That really bothers me a lot. A whole lot.
Here is a good website on superstring theory. and here is an article in Scientific American. I feel quite sure the people who wrote this information were not prescribed antipsychotic drugs or locked up in hospitals or other institutions for their ideas. Had they, however, described experiences that gave examples of these ideas, and said it in any other forum, they might be taking large doses of Risperdal or Haldol right now staring at a concrete wall.

worried about the method failing....

worried about afterlife..... i know the spiritual realm is real.......i am conflicted about beliefs.......i am afraid

the last song i sang to myself at work

A long, long time ago...I can still rememberHow that music used to make me smile.And I knew if I had my chanceThat I could make those people danceAnd, maybe, they’d be happy for a while.But february made me shiverWith every paper I’d deliver.Bad news on the doorstep;I couldn’t take one more step.I can’t remember if I criedWhen I read about his widowed bride,But something touched me deep insideThe day the music died.So bye-bye, miss american pie.Drove my chevy to the levee,But the levee was dry.And them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and ryeSingin’, "this’ll be the day that I die."this’ll be the day that I die."Did you write the book of love,And do you have faith in God above,If the Bible tells you so? Do you believe in rock ’n roll,Can music save your mortal soul,And can you teach me how to dance real slow? Well, I know that you’re in love with him`cause I saw you dancin’ in the gym.You both kicked off your shoes.Man, I dig those rhythm and blues.I was a lonely teenage broncin’ buckWith a pink carnation and a pickup truck,But I knew I was out of luckThe day the music died.I started singin’,"bye-bye, miss american pie."Drove my chevy to the levee,But the levee was dry.Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and ryeAnd singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die."this’ll be the day that I die."Now for ten years we’ve been on our ownAnd moss grows fat on a rollin’ stone,But that’s not how it used to be.When the jester sang for the king and queen,In a coat he borrowed from james deanAnd a voice that came from you and me,Oh, and while the king was looking down,The jester stole his thorny crown.The courtroom was adjourned;No verdict was returned.And while lennon read a book of marx,The quartet practiced in the park,And we sang dirges in the darkThe day the music died.We were singing,"bye-bye, miss american pie."Drove my chevy to the levee,But the levee was dry.Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and ryeAnd singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die."this’ll be the day that I die."Helter skelter in a summer swelter.The birds flew off with a fallout shelter,Eight miles high and falling fast.It landed foul on the grass.The players tried for a forward pass,With the jester on the sidelines in a cast.Now the half-time air was sweet perfumeWhile the sergeants played a marching tune.We all got up to dance,Oh, but we never got the chance!`cause the players tried to take the field;The marching band refused to yield.Do you recall what was revealedThe day the music died? We started singing,"bye-bye, miss american pie."Drove my chevy to the levee,But the levee was dry.Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and ryeAnd singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die."this’ll be the day that I die."Oh, and there we were all in one place,A generation lost in spaceWith no time left to start again.So come on: jack be nimble, jack be quick!Jack flash sat on a candlestickCause fire is the devil’s only friend.Oh, and as I watched him on the stageMy hands were clenched in fists of rage.No angel born in hellCould break that satan’s spell.And as the flames climbed high into the nightTo light the sacrificial rite,I saw satan laughing with delightThe day the music diedHe was singing,"bye-bye, miss american pie."Drove my chevy to the levee,But the levee was dry.Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and ryeAnd singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die."this’ll be the day that I die."I met a girl who sang the bluesAnd I asked her for some happy news,But she just smiled and turned away.I went down to the sacred storeWhere I’d heard the music years before,But the man there said the music wouldn’t play.And in the streets: the children screamed,The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed.But not a word was spoken;The church bells all were broken.And the three men I admire most:The father, son, and the holy ghost,They caught the last train for the coastThe day the music died.And they were singing,"bye-bye, miss american pie."Drove my chevy to the levee,But the levee was dry.And them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and ryeSingin’, "this’ll be the day that I die."this’ll be the day that I die."They were singing,"bye-bye, miss american pie."Drove my chevy to the levee,But the levee was dry.Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and ryeSingin’, "this’ll be the day that I die." The hottest songs from Don McLean

haunted by anne frank

at an antique shop the other day, in Tarpon Springs, i went in to find the store owner was German, and i was looking through a case of some old jewelry, she had this coin from Nazi Germany, not a coin really, sort of jewelry piece that looks like a large coin, i'm not sure what you call it, and it had a Swastika and the engraving said Hitler: 1945.

and she looked at me and said, "Die, Anne".

"Die, Anne", has actually been said to me by a lot of people, a lot of times, in the past year.

This is one of those things you don't talk about because you get labeled psychotic for it, but it's true, nonetheless, and I am so tired of Anne being inside me, and so tired of her and wishing now myself that SHE WOULD JUST DIE.......

anyway, i'm only typing this because it's a tiny example of a major issue i live with every day, but it doesn't just affect me, and i'm being very vague, very very very vague and i'm terrified to even write this much about it, so nevermind

for my sisters

To my sisters, Jessica and Brittany:

When you look in the mirror, see the person behind the face. See that she has eyes of wonder and curiousity, and behind those are the brainpower that fuel a world of wonder. Smile. Know that you can make someone's day, brighten up a room, leave a permanent imprint on someone's memory, and intice another smile, with that smile. See those blue eyes. We share them. I have mine, right now. When I'm not able to see you anymore in person, you'll see me in your eyes, in your face. I'm smiling at you now. Think of your sister smiling at you when you look in the mirror, saying, hi there, sunshine, I love ya. And I'll be there, wherever you are, whenever it is. And you'll always have an older sister looking over you.

Remember that you are strong, capable, intelligent, funny, creative, kind, and really cool. Remember that you can have friends, that you can have a college degree, that you can have a job that pays well, that you deserve those. Remember that life isn't always fair, and it's okay to get annoyed at life. Don't worry if you're not happy all the time. If you're unhappy all the time, please do something to make things different for yourself, if you can. It's okay to quit jobs, find new friends, move to new places, take up new hobbies.

Jessica, I know just getting by with money and with the epilepsy is difficult enough for you, and it's not easy, and I wish that I could make life better, and I wish that I had a great recommendation on how to do that, but all I can say is you have done a lot already, and I have faith in you, and I hope that you are able to find the willpower and desire to keep living and keep going.

Brittany, I know we haven't always been around each other since we have different moms and I lived out of state and things weren't always good in our family as far as people getting along, but you have been really special and important to me since you were born. When you were little, I spent lots of time with you and now you've grown up into an impressive young woman and I'm glad that I got to see you a couple of times this year.

Make the most of your time on this planet. When you feel like playing a piano, look for one and try playing it (like we did, that time, at your college, Jess). When you're hungry and you want pizza, have some. When you're lonely, try to find somebody to share it with you. Please never spend too much time alone, it might feel safer or easier but in the long run, it's very detrimental.

Drinking beer doesn't make you an alcoholic, no matter what your mom says, just drinking it all the time, uncontrollably does. Going out to clubs or bars where people drink does not make your immoral, and can actually be fun sometimes. It might also not be fun, but it's okay to try.

Girls don't "ask" to be raped. Rapists are horrible people. I hope you never meet one. Many women, though, live through rape and other things, and they go on and they get over it. The fear of bad things happening should not stop you from having some fun, from talking to the opposite sex. A lot of guys are immature or have little respect for women, but there are plenty who don't fit that category. You deserve a smart, kind, respectful one who treats you well, and who cares about you and who makes you laugh and laughs at your jokes.

It's okay to have fun, Jess. It's actually important to. It's also important to respect yourself and feel safe. But don't hide, if you don't have to.

Television is a really poor substitute for life experiences. It's just a good distraction from life. But that's about all it is. And most people don't look like the people on television. You are acceptable, as you. Please remember that and have the courage to hold your head high and speak with confidence. People want to like you, people will like you, but the people have to get to know you to like you, so if you never speak to them, it's hard to make friends. I know, it's hard to talk sometimes.

Remember that you're loved, that you're an endless spirit, that there are things to believe in and that you can choose what you believe in. You can believe in fairies and goddesses and witches or Buddha or Scientology or God and Jesus, or whatever you please. You can believe in butterflies and the tooth fairy and the brilliance of a certain singer you like or you can be a nihilist and believe in nothing. You can believe in yourself. But you always have that choice, and, remember that you can always feel free to change your mind, too.

You don't have to be anything like your parents or your siblings. Just be you, and you are the only person who can be you. And I care a lot about each of you. Jessica, you know how we've always had our goofy nicknames, sunshine and sister've always been so important to me, and if I could I'd stay on the planet for you. If we could, I wish we could be closer and get along well enough to live together like roommates, but I know you prefer your independence, and that's okay. I just wanted to write something, something here for you, because I think sisters have a very special bond and it doesn't end when one person moves to another state, or to another city, or when you don't have a phone that works, or when you don't have the time to write or check email, or when you are no longer alive. That bond doesn't end. We still have it. We'll always have it. And we'll be together in our next life, and you'll make fun of me, and we'll laugh. We'll laugh a lot.

I love you and respect you and you're my sunshine for infinity. Keep feeding those geese. Read poetry. Go swimming. Take time to smell roses and pick daisies, or plant some. I'll leave you some seeds. You'll never be alone. I'm very sorry that I'll have to leave you. I don't want to. But please think of your importance and remember that we all have to take care of ourselves.

Feminism and women's history are great tools for life. I hope you look into them on your own whenever you like. It's important to know where we came from.

I hope both get to see a Broadway show; I know you'd like to go there again, and I would too, I've never seen a show. Maybe someday you can do that together.

Here's a poem, from when Brittany was four and memorized it after I read it to her enough times, that Jess might remember too:

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
-Robert Frost

Overlap.....Ani Difranco, one of my favorite tunes

I search your profile
for a translation
I study the conversation
like a map
'cause I know there is strength
in the differences between us
and I know there is comfort
where we overlap
come here
stand in front of the light
stand still
so I can see your sillouette
I hope
you have got all night
'cause I'm not done looking,
no, I'm not done looking yet
each one of us
wants a piece of the action
you can hear it in what we say
you can see it in what we do
we negotiate with chaos
for some sense of satisfaction
if you won't give it to me
at least give me a better view
come here
stand in front of the light
stand still
so I can see your sillouette
I hope
you have got all night
'cause I'm not done looking
I'm not done looking yet
I build each one of my songs
out of glass
so you can see me inside of them
I suppose
or you could just leave the image of me
in the backround, I guess
and watch your own reflection superimposed
I build each one of my days out of hope
and I give that hope your name
and I don't know you that well
but it don't take much to tell
either you don't have the balls
or you don't feel the same
come here
stand in front of the light
stand still
so I can see your sillouette
I hope
you have got all night
'cause I'm not done looking
no, I'm not done looking yet
I seach your profile for a translation
I study the conversation like a map
'cause I know there is strength
in the differences between us
and I know there is comfort
where we overlap

-Ani Difranco

Saturday, May 14, 2005

me and my gun

You can laugh
Its kind of funny
Things you think
Times like these
-Tori Amos, "Me and a Gun"

I was once a member of the Brady anti-gun organization, or at least, on their mailing list. They would send me info regarding the Brady Bill. Michael Moore is one of my favorite creators of anything and I love "Bowling for Columbine". I do not like guns, generally. Or at least, I never did before.

Today I went to a shooting range. Anybody who knows me would find this odd. Not a lot of people know me though, so that makes fitting into odd places where I don't actually belong pretty easy. I'm also a pretty good actress or chameleon or liar, whatever you want to call it. So I impressed some guys at the gun range who didn't know I was some hippy anti-war protester type in my old life. They just saw me shooting a .357, and said I did great for a first-timer. A couple were surprised by the type of gun I had bought, and the ammo. One said, that's not a ladies' gun, heck that's not even a man's gun! Another guy said, don't listen to him, it's been proven to be most effective in "stopping bad guys" (this i know, this is why i have it, i did my research)...

I didn't expect to like men at a shooting range, but they were nice and a man named Jerry showed me the ropes, how to use my gun and let me use his semi-automatic. I've never played sports except ballet and synchronized swimming as a kid, am generally not coordinated at all, but hit the target pretty well, despite rheumatoid arthritis. It was very loud, all the guns being shot at once, and it would normally have made me a nervous wreck but I got used to it and kind of liked it, in a weird way. Another guy let me use his .22. Another one let me take a shot with his shotgun, which I asked to do, specifically because I know that there is almost no chance of living through as shotgun wound to one's head, but people do live through handgun wounds, and I wanted to see if there was any likeklihood that I could physically use the shotgun on myself (it is very unlikely). This was the only time I voiced any of my true intentions, and just did it in a conversational way, saying, gee, I wonder how people use these things on themselves to commit suicide. My staff friend there said he wouldn't even want to think about that. I find that interesting myself, that people can live their whole lives, particularly people handling guns, and NOT think about that, but this is another issue.

It's funny, all the times as a feminist I've felt that I could do anything a man could do and got annoyed when treated differently, probably the one time when I've gone into an arena that few women enter, carrying something and doing something that few women do, and around men who are generally most likely not politically liberal democrats, and they didn't seem to be condescending. More importantly, they didn't seem to have a clue what I was really doing there. I just used the story that it was for self-defense, and gun afficianados in general seem to have no qualms with that idea.

The only thing that seemed strange to the guys at all was a couple recommending that you practice with a lighter gun first, which, of course, would be pointless, because I don't care about getting experienced at shooting targets, but even that was understood when I explained I had wanted a gun that would definitely stop someone, and everyone agreed, you got one that surely will.... Jerry said I did really well for a first timer, and recommended taking home my target with some bull's eye holes in it. Jerry and the other guys have no idea that I would never have entered there arena at all if I did not have a desire to put a bullet into my head. I even asked him, hey, do you ever have any crazy people come in here? And he said, no, if you're going to go shooting people you probably wouldn't go shooting people with guns. Interesting, people think that you're more likely to use a gun to shoot others, not yourself.

One thing about being at the shooting range, it almost felt empowering, like I was living and like I had something in my hand that would protect me, like I had the power to protect myself, like I could fight for my life - all of this being oppositional to the suicidal urge, of course, and I started to have second thoughts again, because there is so much I want to do.

I really don't want to die, honestly. If I didn't have to look at this pregnant belly and realize there was nowhere to go for help, that any hospital I go to will just do what the others already did and mislabel it as a mental health issue, I would just try to live and have the baby, if there was a way, or get it out of there was a way.......if there was a way I'd love to keep living, I really would.

I went to my mom's and couldn't stay there. I can't be around her right now. I put change into a pay phone to call my brother and the phone didn't work, but it was just as well since I have nothing to say that would make sense to him. I want to talk to Kevin because I love him and miss him and I emailed him and wrote back that he has news and will call me tomorrow. News, after not hearing from him for this long, could only be something major, and I know what it is - he's most likely getting married, or did get married, and I don't want to hear about that from him, I can't deal with hearing that. It has already hurt enough times over the years that we never got what was meant to be from knowing each other, and I don't think that I want to know that what I always knew would happen did happen.

My sister never answers her phone. There are other people, but what would I say to anyone? I am so lonely and yet I don't want to contact anyone I know because I'm afraid I'll give myself away and I'm afraid, also, there's no point, since no one really cares if I'm dead or alive.

The guy with the shotgun said, "Yeah, I don't even know how Kurt Cobain did that. I guess people can do it with their toes or something. I would never even want to think about it." I said, "me neither". He believed me. Kevin would never have believed me, since he knows me. Most people I've been around, they didn't know me all that well. Or at least not all of me.

It's interesting how complex human beings are. On the one hand, you can be a girl who would like to defend herself against an attacker, or a person with some interest in just trying something new or getting an adrenaline rush, or a perfectionist who wants to do the best and be the best, and so you might have this big old handgun and being a person who never touched guns before, go out and find some kind of pleasure at a shooting range shooting guns, with a bunch of gun-loving guys, outside in a woodsy area right near where you grew up. And you might be planning your own death at the same time. And you might be pregnant or you might be sick, and you might feel very much alive and enjoying being alive. And you might be still planning your death. And you might be talking to someone about how you're coming back for some personal defense class while, simultaneously planning on being dead before you ever come back there.. And you might smile and shake hands with people and thank them for their help and the answers to all your questions and take business cards and tell them it was nice meeting them, and drive away thinking about how now you know how to get a bullet into your head and you're sure of which bullet to use, and wishing that you really were just there for self-defense and that things were a bit more simple and a bit more as they seemed to be on the surface.

You might want to die. You might not want to die. You might know that regardless, you have no way to live, and so you might kill yourself.

One of the guys at the range had a gun from World War II that soldiers supposedly used, officers. I didn't mention, and won't mention here, what significance that has to me. But that's one reason I'm about to die. That it has a significance so great I can't write about it on a stupid blog page nobody will ever even read. I am hoping right now that when we die we are reborn into better lives, future lives, new lives, not old lives, not with the same demons that plagued us before. I am planning on that, on being reborn that way, into a new life. On having some chances I didn't have this time around. On being connected to the spirits of some people who I know I am connected to beyond this lifetime. And maybe then I'll get to have a wedding, and a baby, and someone who says they love me when I come home at the end of the day from the job I'll do because I'll have a healthy body, and I won't need or desire to ever end my life, and there won't always be something to fear. Or even, even just being reborn in some capacity on some galaxy as some being with a purpose and the chance to fulfill her/his purpose uninhibited by external problems. That, simply that, would be something to look forward to.

I'd Like To Teach The World To Sing

some person posted some of these lyrics on the internet newsgroup
i always liked this song

the other day when i was tape recording - yesterday, i guess - something to leave behind when i'm gone, "Imagine" by John Lennon came on the radio......that has always been my favorite song of all time, so i will post it below too.

I'd Like To Teach The World To Sing
I'd like to build the world a home
And furnish it with love
Grow apple trees and honey bees
And snow-white turtle doves
I'd like to teach the world to sing
In perfect harmony
I'd like to hold it in my arms
And keep it company
I'd like to see the world for once
All standing hand in hand
And hear them echo through the hills
Ah, peace throughout the land
(That's the song I hear)
(That the world sings today)
I'd like to teach the world to sing
In perfect harmony.
(That's the song I hear)
(That the world sings today)
(That's the song I hear)
(That the world sings today)
(That's the song I hear)
(That the world sings today)
I'd like to build the world a home
And furnish it with love
Grow apple trees and honey bees
And snow-white turtle doves
I'd like to teach the world to sing
In perfect harmony
I'd like to hold it in my arms
And keep it company

Imagine there's no heaven,
It's easy if you try,
No hell below us,
Above us only sky,
Imagine all the people
living for today...
Imagine there's no countries,
It isnt hard to do,
Nothing to kill or die for,
No religion too,
Imagine all the people
living life in peace...
Imagine no possesions,
I wonder if you can,
No need for greed or hunger,
A brotherhood of man,
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world...
You may say I'm a dreamer,
but I'm not the only one,
I hope some day you'll join us,
And the world will live as one

womyn in music

i've wanted to go to the michigan womyn's festival, a feminist event, for years.......i'll never get there....if you have any interest in women's rights issues, feminism, equal rights in general, women in music, women in art, film, meeting smart and fun people, camping out in michigan, educational workshops, and generally avante garde, hippy activist atmospheres, you might want to get yourself there.... just a recommendation

As for music I personally like, the below are some of interest

: (Ani Difranco) (Dar Williams) (Tori Amos) (Janis Joplin) (Natalie Merchant) (Karen Carpenter)

if i could go somewhere fun and educational this summer, this is where i'd go for a few days in the midwest: (Michigan Women's Music Festival)

"lying is done with words and also with silence" - Adrienne Rich

i've covered up so much for other people, it's very sad, looking at my life being about to end, to realize that there is nobody who really knows me at all anymore.....

at an anti war protest against the war on Iraq, when Mrs. Bush refused to let some poets into the White House and a group called "Poets Against the War" held a rally outside the White House, I held up a poster I made, on pink poster board (since I was part of "Code Pink" then), with a postcard of Adrienne Rich and a quote from one of her poems. I have a picture of that. I had a wheelchair with me since I was doing a lot more physically than I could do without one at the time, so, anyway.....I guess what I mean is, I don't know anybody now who knows me well enough who would understand that picture if I showed it to them. Nobody. Except maybe my brother but I never see him. Anybody else I meet doesn't know that I have ever needed a wheelchair, that I care/cared about politics, that I'm a feminist, anything.....people really don't know the first thing about me.....I have no close can be around people but when you have to hide who you are all the time, you might as well be on a deserted island

Then there are the people in my family who, if they did know things like that, would use it to say, oh she's nuts, or she's a freak, she doesn't want to be normal like us, etc....etc.....etc.......

Anyway, what I mean is, I myself have grown up a lot since then. At this time, I would not, since my own survival is too difficult to maintain without worrying about saving the planet, go to any protest at the White House, nor do I care how egotistical that sounds. However, I sometimes miss being able to feel like my real self, able to do something that felt like "me", like I still had a personality, like my whole life wasn't about running around in terror of a million things all of the time, and moving and having to be in poverty and always always always so afraid........

Back in those days when I could go to protests, I was not terrified all the time. I have been ever since then.
The whole past two years.

live or die.......for those who wonder why

Since you ask, most days I cannot remember.
I walk in my clothing, unmarked by that voyage.
Then the almost unnameable lust returns.
Even then I have nothing against life.
I know well the grass blades you mention,
the furniture you have placed under the sun.
But suicides have a special language.
Like carpenters they want to know which tools.
They never ask why build.
Twice I have so simply declared myself,
have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy,
have taken on his craft, his magic.
In this way, heavy and thoughtful,
warmer than oil or water,
I have rested, drooling at the mouth-hole.
I did not think of my body at needle point.
Even the cornea and the leftover urine were gone.
Suicides have already betrayed the body.
Still-born, they don't always die,
but dazzled, they can't forget a drug so sweet
that even children would look on and smile.
To thrust all that life under your tongue!--
that, all by itself, becomes a passion.
Death's a sad Bone; bruised, you'd say,
and yet she waits for me, year after year,
to so delicately undo an old wound,
to empty my breath from its bad prison.
Balanced there, suicides sometimes meet,
raging at the fruit, a pumped-up moon,
leaving the bread they mistook for a kiss,
leaving the page of the book carelessly open,
something unsaid, the phone off the hook
and the love, whatever it was, an infection.

From The Complete Poems by Anne Sexton

planning your funeral and saying your goodbyes

You can plan your own funeral online, given that there is somebody around who will care to read your plan or follow through with your plan once you are dead. In my case there is probably not going to be any such person, but I'd like to make a plan for a little memorial service, to which I would invite coworkers, old friends, online friends, my landlords, a few old neighbors or people from church, former coworkers and professors, and family.

The music I'd like played and things I'd like read would be the only part that would be something I'd like to pick. As far as what happens with my body, I don't care much about that - whatever is cheapest will be done, I'm sure, and I'll probably be the one paying for it with the money I leave behind for my family. I'd plan it all out that way, but I can't really think straight about that, it seems, it's all too much, all this planning.

I've been agonizing over how to write the notes to people (like this website is one sort of note itself), and have been making tapes, to leave behind. I intend to leave gifts for my family members, even my dad who never calls me at all. I bought notecards to leave for other people, and am not sure I will end up finishing them. Perhaps this website will be enough. I do want people to know, even if we weren't extremely close or anything, anyone who was a friend to me at all, I appreciated. Anyone I knew, mostly, I enjoyed knowing (outside of medical professionals who destroyed my life). There are some friends from work, some old friends I don't hear from anymore, and some family members who I especially would like to say goodbye to. It's hard to figure out how to say goodbye.

If you read this, and you knew me, I'd hope that you have some fond memory that you can keep. I've tried, even now in the end here, to really put up a good front for the benefit of other people. I've tried hard to do that whenever I'm around people. A lot of the time, I'm all alone. But when I've been around people, I've tried.....and I hope people can understand that underneath what they saw, there was a lot of pain, a lot of difficulty, a lot of things they didn't know about and will probably never know or understand, and that there were legitimate reasons for why I had to do what I am going to do.

lament, poem by Rilke


Everything is farand long gone by.

I think that the star

glittering above me

has been dead for a million years.

I think there were tears

in the car I heard pass

and something terrible was said.

A clock has stopped striking in the house

across the road...When did it start?...

I would like to step out of my heart

and go walking beneath the enormous sky.

I would like to pray.

And surely of all the stars that perished

long ago,one still exists.

I think that I know

which one it is--which one,

at the end of its beam in the sky,

stands like a white city...

Rainer Maria Rilke

-1902 or sometime around then

Friday, May 13, 2005

What I Want Back (the eyemote)

What I want back is what I was
Before the bed, before the knife,
Before the brooch-pin and the salve
Fixed me in this parenthesis;
Horses fluent in the wind,
A place, a time gone out of mind.
-"The Eyemote", Sylvia Plath

My first email address, when i learned to use email, back in 1996 or 1997, was

I was a huge fan of Plath's work, for many years. I've visited the rare book room at Smith College (when i was accepted into their Ada Comstock Scholars' program), read the original texts, in her handwriting, of the Bell Jar, looked at her own books from her personal possessions that they keep for researchers to see. I've read pretty much everything she's ever written, loved her poetry most, admired her more for her creativity than the fact she killed herself, and felt a kinship with her because she understood so much that other people don't seem to. The lines above still stay in my mind as words that just speak what I feel, very strongly at times.

In the past, in journals, and in writing that's all lost now thanks to having to move so many times with no money, I've written poems for Plath or written about Plath. I've done research papers on her for college English classes years ago, and mostly I've felt that she spoke to me in a way few other writers did. I wrote a poem when I was 22 called "the bell jar" that was mostly about feeling suicidal. I had it on the internet and people responded saying, that is my life, that made me cry, etc.....and thanking me for posting it. (several years ago)

Anyway, here is what i want back:
-A time when i was healthy
-a lack of fear, the ability to feel safe
-a time I never had when i felt truly loved, wanted, and protected, with no fear involved, and without owing the person something in response to their affection
-sunsets and the taste of salt water on islands we visited on my dad's boat that i would drive when i was seven years old
-reading books with my mother when i was three
-watching television and thinking real people really lived like those people on TV, and someday i would too
-feeling intelligent, and hopeful, and confident to some degree
-knowing i had a future
-the honor and pride in getting rewards at school, or the best grades, or comments on papers that professors or teachers wrote that showed appreciation, and gave me a feeling of achievement
-picking buttercups
-chasing fireflies or butterflies
-writing poems on sidewalk benches in Virginia, listening to a cd walkman, and not caring that i didn't have any friends anywhere near where i lived, and that i couldn't work, and that i had almost no money, but i could, at least, create
-thinking i'd finish college, thinking i could, believing i would, going to school
-romantic times with a gun named Devereaux in Washington DC who didn't treat me all that well for very long, but did very briefly
-going to Disneyworld and getting on the rides with other kids and my family and thinking how exciting it was to be in that place with so many different types of people from different parts of the world, and so much to see, and do and read
-the museums in Washington
-swimming and synchronized swimming and putting Knox gelatin in my hair and doing synchro routines when i was 12
-feeling like i had the ability to help my little brother and sister grow up feeling safer and happier and having better lives than they would have without me
-making greeting cards, or gifts for people
-getting mail from my friends Sara and Lauren and Ali and Christa, and sending them mail too
-playing with KC, Tom's dog (my old roommate)
-sleeping with my cat Buttons who would lie on my head and who grew very fat and was very friendly and was later put to sleep by my mother
-making strawberry shortcake
-singing and dancing and acting out the play Annie
-writing poems and sending them to Kevin, thinking we were inevitably going to meet in person and be in love; and talking with him on the phone and thinking we were soulmates
-walking through the museum of art in St. Pete with Brad last year
-creating a feminist website and feeling like it was something meaningful and important
-listening to many people, too many to mention
-going on trips to Baltimore, going to the inner harbor, going to my grandparents' big old house (dad's parents) and playing in the attic and the sun porch with my cousins
-lemonade stands on the sidewalk and making ten cents for selling something
-playing the piano

-talking about activism or feminist poetry with Ali, when we were friends

-protesting in Washington
-playing the clarinet
-believing in the toothfairy
-Laura Ingalls and all of her books and dreaming of being her
-Nancy Drew
-my baby sister Brittany and talking to her about how women got the right to vote while giving her a bogttle, when i was a teenage feminist and she was just born
-emails from old friends
-phone calls or letters or emails from my brother and sister when i lived out of state
-Christmas and birthday gifts, and getting gifts and wrapping them, even if they had to be bough for a dollar
-knowing that there was a bed that was mine in a home that was mine, in a place that would be there the next day and that i wasn't going to lose that
-having enough food and enough clothes and enough stuff
-not being alone all the time
-not knowing too much
-not hating myself
-not feeling hated
-faith in humanity
-being a vegetarian because i still cared enough about my values and morals and wasn't having such a hard time surviving
-the excitement involved in believing that there was still a reason to keep learning and trying new things
-a body that wasn't in pain
-knowing i was pretty, and thin, and that if nothing else (ie, i was not healthy), i still had that much
-reading, going to bookstores, and libraries, and not caring about being a nerd, and not caring that other people were out doing things with their friends, because i was happy doing that, at least some of the time
-feeling like there was still time left to do what i wanted to do
-believing there was still time left to do what i needed to do
-believing that some how things got better in the future
-believing that there was a God

-not needing more than a Huffy to get around, and having that

-climbing trees

-storms, the excitement of lightning and thunder

-planning to run away from home with my friend Lindy while we babysat our little siblings at her house

-visiting Sarge and Bernice who made home decorations out of seashells in their garage and were our neighbors when i was a kid

-thinking my real family was coming back to get me, since i was adopted, and some other mom somewhere, like say, Princess Diana, was out there waiting at some point for a return

-sleeping at night, without pills

-going to Denny's with my brother Danny in the middle of the night when we both had insomnia and i was working the night shift

-letting Jessica drive my car when she learned how to drive, and screaming because she was so reckless

-thinking that one day we would all be older, and really close, and having no reason to believe that would not be the case

-owning a car that ran well, and could get me wherever i needed to go (that was REALLY nice, and did not last very long)

-bubble baths

-lots and lots of other things

dying because of a baby i never asked for

If I wasn't pregant with a baby society won't allow me to have, I'd keep living. I'd go back to the Personal and Political Issues Women's forum where Lily and others have kept my idea of a feminist forum online alive, and I'd help them run it again. I'd call up the guy who I met at the bar in Dunedin a couple nights ago named Devin, and I'd go out with him. I'd have stayed tonight at the cinema cafe with the people from work who went there with me because it was my idea and it could have been fun if I didn't have to leave because the fact that I'm dying soon makes watching stupid movies or having fun very difficult. I'd keep my job and try to get through the background check of other employment to be able to be full time as they hired me for full time. I'd try to survive. I'd try even though there don't seem to be many reasons to try.

But the fact of what is inside my body and the daily, constant physical hunger all day long, every single day of my life, the constant thoughts of food, and the constant abdominal pains from eating and from the baby, and the constant fear of what to do, because obviously if you know you're pregnant and they know you're pregnant and they're telling you you're not, you have a problem on your hands.......I can't live with that.

I've tried not eating, I've tried diet pills, I've tried not buying food. But mostly my life revolves around food for this huge expanded body and working to get the money to get the food. It also involves working to get the money for my mother to get food for her huge body, and it involves not much else. I don't get to ever, for even a second, really forget the problem, because the problem is physically felt, I feel it, all the time, the problem is obvious since my clothing doesn't fit, the problem is obvious since I AM ALWAYS HUNGRY, 24 HOURS A DAY, EVERY DAY OF THE WEEK. THE PROBLEM IS NOT SOMETHING THAT CAN BE IGNORED.

And the only way, as I've been shown now repeatedly, to get rid of this problem, is that I'll have to die.

That pisses me off a bit, to put it mildly.

Thursday, May 12, 2005

for the record, regarding sexual abuse

For a long time i thought that i had been sexually abused by my grandfather and also by my father. I've written this online, and about the grandfather, I did also write that in an article that was subsequently published in a national journal of feminist news.

I don't think any of this happened now. I was influenced by a lot of things I read and heard from other people regarding this subject matter, and particularly by several trips to a trauma treatment program at a psychiatric hospital, and a couple of therapists.

My whole family disowned me for all intents and purposes, except for my mom, my sister, and sometimes my brother, several years ago, but I just wanted to clear this up before I die. I've talked to my dad, and tried to patch things up with him (he doesn't care if I'm dead or alive, and that's not because of this issue, since he doesn't seem to care much if my sister is either and she did nothing to him), and I've told the grandfather that I know he didn't do anything. Suffice it to say they are both alcoholics, but that doesn't mean that those other issues occured, that doesn't mean that I should have believed they did, I'm sorry for the things I said and wrote about it, and I did not make any of it up at all, I actually very much believed that I had real memories, and I only talked about it in the first place because I felt that other children were in danger. I no longer believe any children were in danger, especially not from my dad. My dad was a good father up until I became a teenager and since then he's had very little to do with me. But before that, he was a good father, and I'm sure that he still is a good father to his younger children from his second marriage. He didn't provide any kind of financial support to me when I needed it desperately as an adult, even when I was homeless and very sick, but when I was a child he was around and was a good dad as far as I recall.

And that's all I'm going to say about this.
On the issue of rape, when I have mentioned the issue of rape, it's because I really was raped. As an adult. None of that was imagined, implanted or anything.

Wednesday, May 11, 2005

rememember this quote......and think about it

and wonder, first, and afterwards, if in the event that you knew when you said something no one would ever believe you, and if they listened to you that you would be labeled insane, you would be persecuted, you would have your reputation and your life damaged or destroyed, lose family, friends, credibility, and all status as an equal person for your words being confused as a sign of mental illness since the truth was too much for them to believe, and so they would go on in their ignorance living their lives as if you had never warned them about anything at all, until the day they got sent to the camps themselves.......
would it then have been worth it to have said anything at all?
if there was nothing they could do to stop what was going to happen, if there was NO PLACE TO RUN TO, if there was NOTHING that could be done, other than for them to commit suicide to get away, would it be worth it to say anything at all?
if you're not really anne frank and your dad is not going to publish the writing where you put the truth down after you're dead, if you're someone else, someone who tells and who is not believed.......
is it worthwhile?
would it be worthwhile?
or would it be better to keep your mouth shut, rather than make things worse for everyone?
or would it, really, even if you did open your mouth and tell.......ever matter at all?
this quote once stood for my core beliefs as a person, i had it on my wall, on a postcard, from the national Holocaust museum.....
and then i began to know things......things too horrible for people to believe, and now i know that telling the truth no one wants to hear, doesn't necessarily have great results, not matter what your motivation is or how much you wish it would......
sometimes it's best to keep your mouth shut
there is much i could say, and won't say here at the moment........but for one example, consider what you think of the sanity of the woman who put up this webpage.....knowing the average reaction to such pages is why i am keeping quiet about certain things....fear is another reason why;
American Holocaust
and consider this site too, American Concentration Camps
Als die Nazis die Kommunisten holten,habe ich geschwiegen; ich war ja kein Kommunist.Als sie die Sozialdemokraten einsperrten,habe ich geschwiegen; ich war ja kein Sozialdemokrat.Als sie die Gewerkschafter holten,habe ich geschwiegen; ich war ja kein Gewerkschafter.Als sie die Juden holten,habe ich geschwiegen; ich war ja kein Jude.Als sie mich holten, gab es keinen mehr,der protestieren konnte.-- Der Weg ins Freie, Martin Niemöller (F.M. Hellbach, Stuttgart, 1946)

When the Nazis arrested the Communists,I said nothing; after all, I was not a Communist.When they locked up the Social Democrats,I said nothing; after all, I was not a Social Democrat.When they arrested the trade unionists,I said nothing; after all, I was not a trade unionist.When they arrested the Jews,I said nothing; after all, I was not a Jew.When they arrested me, there was no longer anyone who could protest.-- translated by Bob Berkovitz

some other things i've written.....

some things i've written online in the past:

Personal and Political Issues is a feminist forum i started a few years ago, which has been kept up by some other great women since then. It's one Delphi and it's open for women and girls to discuss a variety of issues.

The DC Indymedia Center is a place where I used to write some articles on activism. Indymedia is a great resource for alternative, do-it-yourself news, particularly on activist issues, and was started in relation to the antiglobalization movement. There are indymedia centers worldwide.
"You Don't Look Sick" is an article I wrote a couple of years ago that was published in the feminist journal Off Our Backs did an issue on women with disabilities.
Fifty Ways to Prevent Yourself from Being a Rapist is something i'm adding here, not that i've found one of the laces it was reposted after i wrote it.......i got a ton of emails about that post
I've written other such articles, and better versions of this one. But this is the only one I could easily find that is still online. It pertains to life with a chronic, "invisible", physical illness, the limitations therein and the social stigmas related.
Feminist Issues for Women and Girls was a website on a variety of issues cultural, political, artistic, and others...which is no longer online. Sick Chicks and Twisted Sisters is a site I created and maintained with help from old friends Lauren and Sara; it is also no longer online and the associated support group email lists we ran are not either. I have tried to get some of our writing from Homestead, the hosting company which took the site down when the bill was not paid, and I regret deeply that this site is now completely gone, so far as I can tell, thanks to their policies, after years of work (and a lot of work) were put into maintaining a huge collection of resources and links, as well as original writing from a variety of contributors. This is unfortunate, but when you're barely able to keep a roof over your head and you have no computer, it's hard to maintain websites, even if they used to be the biggest thing in your life.
There are a few other places online I've written articles, like women's issues at Suite101, and some other places I don't remember myself, and some sites that have republished things I've written, like, for instance on article on ways to prevent yourself from becoming a rapist was reprinted on a bunch of people's pages, but i don't know where.
I'll put up another post with some favorite sites of mine......this one was just to list some personal things.
Adding this another day, i found some more stuff from my old website ( that was reposted other places:

why pills cannot help, and yes, i've taken them all

i posted this to a newsgroup......
some people said they could relate, and that they liked the i'll post it here:

Problems which psychotropic drugs cannot and do not help with:
Years ago, when i was suicidal and looking for people who understood that, i went online, moreso in a search for "help". I'm way past that now. I have no interest in looking for "help", because i've spent the seven or eight years since that first message board/chat room support group experience getting all the "help" i could find, and, in my case, it has generally done more harm than good, entirely missed the real problems of why i am suicidal in the first place, the reasons that are going to lead me to end my life. And so, this is a bit opinionated, but as someone who used to advocate that others take antidepressants, that they go to therapy and do both that and medication, that they check themselves into hospitals, etc., and now being in the position where i have had so many such experiences i say with certainty it is a large reason why i'm about to 'get on the bus', i'd like to write something to the opposite effect.
I have a mother who is supposedly bipolar and her method of coping with existence on this planet is to turn to psychiatrists and pills. If this works for someone, that's great, and i certainly am not suggesting they should not use such methods. It has never worked for my mother, at all, which is why she barely functions at all, and why she is quite mislead in her constant efforts to force me into institutions where such medications can be shoved down my throat. I love her dearly, but due to her own issues she will not listen to the reality of my existence. No one in my family is much interested in that. So I'll write it here, for some strangers, for whoever might have an interest, primarily because i feel there may be people who have felt the same way, and if you can relate, then, this is for you.
Where Tricyclics, SSRI's, MAOI's, and antipsychotics have failed to help, ie, in the following below symptoms leading to a "patient's" suicide, they were, repeatedly, proven to be ineffective in relieving the below causes of said suicide:
-When you're homeless, generally these drugs never gave me a place to sleep or to live or to take a shower -When you're in severe poverty and can't get to a grocery store, because you're physically disabled and have no one to drive you there, they don't help much -When you're physically disabled by a chronic, serious disease, and you're sick and in bed the majority of the time, for several years, and you have no social life, and you have lost your college education, your ability to work, your money, and your status as an acceptable human being on this planet, they don't help much with that either -When you're raped, generally, they don't help, even, or perhaps, particularly when the rape occurs in conjunction with the above problems -When you're evicted from your apartment because of being "committed" into a psychiatric ward when you went to the hospital for medical care for a physical condition and they looked up your psych records and decided to keep you there to make some money off your insurance, again, the meds don't help much since now you're homeless again and you're in a hospital and can't find a new place to live from there -When your entire family disowns you because 'helpful' therapists and hospital staff convinced you that your family sexually abused you and so you said such to the family and the family then had nothing to do with you for years, no calls, no visits, no cards, no financial help, and no love or interest, from anybody at all in your entire family who you used to be very close to......meds don't help much with that either
-When your unemployable due to illness, whether it be physical, psychiatric, or both, and have had a history of unemployment due to disability, no medication makes someone hire you -When you're pregnant and the pregnancy came from rape and the rape occured in a psychiatric hospital, no medication helps much with that, or with any other unwanted pregnancy, as far as resolving the issue so that it does not lead one to desire death because it is too much for one to handle for various reasons -When your mom is so dysfunctional that she lives in a garbage filled shack of a house and calls you ever day begging you for money, and you have none to give her, and you have done everything in your power already to take care of her, all of your life, and the burden of this makes you want to die, drugs don't help with that -When you've had to resort to sexual work for money because you were unemployable, homeless, poor, or all of the above, or just because you're physically sick too much to work more than a couple of hours a week and there aren't many jobs one can do which provide enough money to survive while working only a couple of hours a week......and you feel a bit degraded and suicidal after doing this type of work, drugs don't help much with that -When you're a writer by nature and have treasured certain belongings and you lose them all due to having to move without the money to hire a mover and that depresses you a bit, since it's happened more than once, drugs don't help with that -When you've attempted suicide, it didn't work, and you want to die more now that you've been kept alive with the reprecussions of a failed attempt which involves in some cases forced hospitalizations in institutions or, in another case, the destruction of a car and the physical ramifications of having smashed a car hard enough to try to die and woken up alive, drugs don't help with that -When you're physically disabled and you don't have a friend or family member who cares or wants to help or even believes in the illness you have because they know nothing about it, so you just live as though you were not sick since you have no choice anymore but to force your body to do as much as you can to survive everyday and this is severely tiring and causes severe physical, widespread pain, every single day of your life to an extent that is agonizing and is not releived by any pain killer whatsoever, no antidepressant, from any doctor, ever helps with that -When you look at the world around you, and you see that you do not fit into it as a socially accepted member of society, and neitehr do a lot of other people who you personally consider to be worthwhile human beings, and you don't like a world that values dollars over braincells and McDonald's over libraries, and you have a big problem with global domination led by certain nations and others being destroyed and television programming people into automatons, and you just don't want to live on a planet that has its values this twisted anymore, drugs don't help with that either -When you have read the self-help books, spent all the money you could spend on therapy and hospitals, prayed and done religion and been an atheist, eaten meat and been a vegetarian, danced and been bedbound, written and read and talked and searched and found hope in the infertile ground where weeds can't grow and clung to it for years, and after everything you've lived through, and much contemplation, and for a variety of very logical, very well-thought-out reasons, you decide that there is absolutely no way you can continue to live, and you already took all the drugs you are willing to take and saw the insides of all the hospitals you are willing to ever visit......there is just no "help" for that -When you've talked about it all, to all the hotlines, to all the therapists, the peers, to yourself, to paper and to keyboards, and to God or Lucifer or L Ron Hubbard or whoever you believe in, and you can't find the motivation to stay on this planet in this body in this life you're living any longer, and you are intelligent enough to know that there is no pill which contains a remedy to that problem......there's no drug worth taking, for that
Just my thoughts......

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

how i tried to avoid suicide

This is for anyone who cares to read this and feel some sort of judgmental attitude towards me for my intent to end my life.
I was a huge supporter of antidepressants and therapy and psychiatry and hospitals, for a long time, even support groups, self-help groups, self-help books; I've tried it all, and tried it all repeatedly, and tried it all way too much. I spent more time with that kind of garbage than ever actually living like a human being when I was "growing up", from early teen years to young adulthood.
Things I tried:
-therapists, both expensive, cheap, and free, some of which required medicaid, taxi rides, getting rides from other people, months of waiting periods.
-hospitals, which i can say with certainty are the main reason why i have no desire to live now, since my life has been destroyed largely due to time spent in psychiatric hospitals (no, it didn't "help"; i became convinced through hospital experiences that i had a long history of sexual abuse; this convincing led to my family disowning me, and that generally has not been a helpful thing)
-tons and tons of journals, which i know longer have since they have been lost through moves where i could not afford to move my belongings
-online writing
-email pals
-talking with people in support group settings for depression, for chronic physical illnesses and disabilities, for alcoholism in the family
-self help books
-religions (Christianity, Scientology, a couple of things in between)
-screaming and crying in pillows and cars
-distractions, lots of them
-medications; antidepressants, mood stabilizers, anti-anxiety (benzodiazapines), sleeping pills, pills for physical health, and the most worthless of all being antipsychotics
-music and medication and candles and things like that
-keeping websites, educating other people about problems
-activism and volunteer work
-reading (poetry, books)
-more distractions
-eating disorder, in younger years (this is a twisted way of avoiding suicide in some people including myself)
-self-mutilation (cutting), same as above
-psychiatric clinics where they have low cost doctors
-medication from regular doctors
-time without medication
-trying to resolve the problems which have made me suicidal in the first place Please note: I do not want to die. Repeat: I do not want to die. Also, I am going to kill myself. The reason for that is that life has been made impossible to live otherwise.
-Moving to other states, multiple times
-Cutting off contact with family members who caused stress or just didn't care if I was dead or alive which can be depressing
-recontacting family members to regain family ties
-taking care of other people, to feel useful, such as my mother
-spending a lot of time avoiding the things that make me nervous, which can be, at times, just about anything
-trying to be "normal", date, form relationships, never worked......
-trying to make friends
-doing anything possible to survive while in severe poverty and homelessness
-attempting to abort baby that i obviously cannot carry
-attempting to give birth to baby that i have no way of taking care of
-in above two cases, please understand, this is the actual reason i'm about to die soon, because i have been told i'm "not pregnant", when i am, and am OBVIOUSLY, AS IN IT IS VERY PHYSICALLY NOTICEABLE
-functioning by staying lying down the majority of the time, every day
-living without a car for years, spending the majority of my time in a rented room with very little food
-spending years getting medical treatment when possible and barely functioning beyond that
-spending years surviving even though nobody in my family really cares much if i'm dead or alive
-spending years alone, most of the time, with not much of a life, surviving
-spending years in abject poverty, surviving
-spending years primarily on the verge of homelessness, or actually homeless, and physically sick, and alone, and surviving
-doing degrading sexual work for money, to survive
-putting up with heinous verbal, emotional, and sometimes physical abuse from the one family member who does want me around (so she can kick me around, basically, for the rest of my life), and still clinging to her because i have nobody else and neither does she
-pretending like i'm completely find and dandy during all of the above
-keeping my mouth shut when i have a million reasons why i really know that i have to kill myself and i have no one to turn to and there is no answer and there is no help, but all the while i choose not to 'bother' other people if i can avoid it
-calling hotlines for someone to talk to, repeatedly, for years, when there was nobody else to talk to
-taking money earned from working for an escort service (that is several thousand dollars), directly paying it to a psychiatric hospital, in order to be admitted, in order to avoid suicide, when i had no real reason to want to live in the firstr place and nobody much cared if i was dead or a alive
-working and trying to retain some semblance of normalcy, trying to have some socializing, trying to function, even when i have absolutely no desire to keep going, and nobody who really cares if i am dead or alive.
-been hospitalized and labeled with so much garbage diagnoses and drugged so much int he past few years, i cannot even tell you how many times it has happened, and still, i have gone on
-read everything from the Bible, L.Ron Hubbard, Dr,. Seuss, Gloria Steinem, all of the depression books ever written and blah blah blah
-begged and pleaded for help from "professionals", from God, from the universe, from psychic powers, from a hope dug up from infertile dirt...........from other people, and primarily from my self, in whom i never found enough of it
this is boring to even write, it's just to make a point
anybody who ever says that i gave up or that this was some sort of cop out can go straight to the inferno themselves retrospect, i believe that my tendency to buy into the idea of 'self help' (and the encompassing self-pity required), ruined my life more than anthing else, and is the primary reason why i never really have functioned like other people......when your mom takes you to "alateen" meetings and therapists when you're 12, it doesn't help much to prepare you for the day when you're an adult, you didn't finish college because you got physically sick, nobody at all financially supports you except yourself, and you can't work.......not much does prepare one for that but least of all helpful things is probably a tendency to overexamine the innerworkings of one's mind, wander over to the self-help section of the bookstore and spend a few years morning over sexual abuse and mental abuse and depression and other problems while simultaneously battling the very REAL LIFE problems of not being able afford food, a vehicle, or a roof over one's head, and having no social life, no job, and not much going on that makes life worth living.......
in retrospect, i believe that i wasted countless, countless, countless time and money looking for a "help" that NEVER EVER EVER EVER EXISTED or ever would have been possible to find, and that this help i was looking for, really, was a help for the problems that are not the real problems in my life, some of the time, other times it was for the real problems, and primarily what this search for "help" (something i learned how to do from my mom who still does it all the time), accomplised was to have me labeled as a socially unacceptable human being, something worthless to mankind, something better off dead, something not socially acceptable, not acceptable to family, so unacceptable in fact that this thing can be locked into buildings against her will and have her rights to LIVE taken away from her, have her belongings trashed, have her homes lost, have her jobs lost, have her schooling lost, have everything lost, to be left with NOTHING BUT A PLASTIC BAG THAT HAS SOME GENERIC DEODORANT IN IT, AND A SCRAP OF PAPER WITH A PRESCRIPTION WRITTEN ON IT FOR A PSYCHOTROPIC DRUG AND SOME SO-CALLED SOCIAL WORKER'S REQUIRED RECOMMENDATION THAT ONE GO AND LOOK FOR SOME SUPPORT GROUP........
THAT is what has happened to me in hospitals, and has happened now so many times that it has come to define the past few years of my life
and the funny thing is, there are a few things pills don't fix.
i'm just going to do a separate post on that, on what pills don't fix, and that will just speak for itself......

music and intoxication

i'm a bit intoxicated
i went to a bar and a nightclub
understand, i've had a very repressed life as far as partying and drinking go - i never did either, really at the few times i have, then perhaps, particularly now that i'm quite suicidal, i might go overboard
so, yes, i'm drunk
and i quite liked getting drunk
i liked singing and dancing in public, and dancing with people
i liked hearing old 80's punk rock music i loved long ago and seeing people dressed up in tattoos and gothic garb and punk rock hair cuts that reminded me of a person i loved, who really i still love but will never see.....and i loved feeling this freedom to have fun and just not care and i suppose, in some immature way, i kind of liked people i work with saying, "that's enough, you've had too much" and taking my drink away because it covered for someone actually caring about me, since, honestly no one really does care what happens to me, but when you go out with people as friends they kind of act like they do, at least to some extent, and these people were very nice that way, and i kind of liked that, but i wanted to keep having fun, to keep drinking, to meet someone who i could just go home with and forget myself and my life for a while and not end up back in this crappy apartment where i breathe all alone and hope to die......
it was a beautifully decorated nightclub, and the music was great, and i understand now why people enjoy alcohol and why i have so many "alcoholic" family members, of course, if you can get over how much you hate yourself for a little bit enough to go out and dance and laugh and make other people laugh and enjoy some time, then alcohol can feel like quite a beneficial thing......i always knew i would like it a lot if i ever drank, which is why i never drank......
anyway, it's late and i guess i don't care to bother trying to write anything better than this, but what i also wanted to say was how this all made me think so much of Kevin, who i loved dearly for so many years, because it was the type of music he once loved too, and the whole atmosphere reminded me of places he went before i knew him, though we never went together and i never was there, our conversations and the things i know of him are very real, always were very real and important to me, because he was very important to me, and i probably shared more of myself with him than with any other human being i have ever known as long as i've been alive, and in the end what it led to was basically nothing.....we never got together, we never got to be "real" friends, we never even met, we just talked online and on the phone for 8 fucking pathetic is that? and sometimes i still miss him, and everything that we missed, and sometimes i still wish i could kiss someone and dance with someone and be in love with someone, even if just for a little while, before my life is over....... a few weeks ago, i did that, drank and kissed and went home with someone, someone who later did not treat me well (which i probably should have expected), and that was a mistake, but the reason i did that was, when you know your life is over and there's no way out other than death, it gets really hard to care anymore about being mature and logical and careful, at all......
sometimes i wish i had just let myself live with abandon, and gone out and been wild and crazy for a few years and perhaps, perhaps, perhaps everything would have gone differently and i wouldn't be where i am now at all......perhaps i wouldn't be alone, perhaps i wouldn't have to die......
honestly, i don't want to die at all