Today was actually quite sad for me. Though the last few months have been sad as well. Sadness follows me like a butterfly with no wings and like a dragon with no fire. I guess the last few months have been hard and ever presenting loss. I try to think of what I love, of what is gain, but I bend and bleed to the determent of loss.

I fell today upon hopelessness as I reached for help. I could feel ghost fingers as nothing was given. For a world that asks everything, nothing is given in kind.  I am truly sad. It is the world and I, nothing upon it other than human waste and politics. I so long to shed that skin. Human waste. Human crap. Human. So long to cut it off, this human.

It is a moment for me to feel me. Not a moment enough. These things pass, thoughts sink within the fatty brain matter and dreams become a fog of longing.

No-thing-ness is upon me and a silent feeling recovers me to sleep. Perhaps no anger tonight, perhaps I lack the fight.

Today was just another day. These moments of my life that pass away. Why wait for death when the bitch has already found me? Maybe not such a bitch is she. Maybe just a bitch she be.

They say be thankful for everyday.

I say stop pissing away my day away.


I see myself outside of myself. I am planet me. I am ashamed that I am so selfish yet I know that I am not. My compassion holds me like razor blades. I cannot move unless I be cut.

I have no friends. I am an outcast that dreams of Gods.

I once was so pretty, now I AM TORTURED.

I hear music in my head. I think of nothing else but pain. The music will not stop. I need a haven. Is there no safe place for one like me? Is there no home for the mad? I see all that can happen, the pain, the dead, the fear, the loss, the reaction, the guilt, the terror. It will never end. No matter how many snow white pills I take, no matter how many sessions with my therapist, no matter anyway.

The people in my life do not see me. There are so few now. The ones that could see killed themselves. Yes, I have to say it out loud. They killed themselves.  I am a child of suicide and a child of such love as to one could ever comprehend.

Maybe I will get better. Maybe I will not. Maybe it will all fall away like the frost that covers our trees.

My Grandfather once smashed the eggs of a Robin. He tried to care for the eggs, we did it together. He built an incubator for them, we nursed them. We were going to save them. But the eggs died. He cried and smashed them. We smashed them among his clocks and we both died of insanity that day.

I wonder if God will ever see me. Will God ever see me? Will He see the moments? My Grandfather. my father, my mother?

This is movement. I do not care for it. This moving through fogs of nothing.

I hear the music in my head. It is a movement. Beethoven, my dark prince. Bach, my devil. Mozart, my love. Vivaldi, my hope.

Hold me now. Just hold me and let me curl up in the demons of my mind.

Let the movement be. Let you sweep me with Summer. Come Vivaldi, come. My hope.

I so long for you. Hope.

Not Sure

I am not sure what to write. This blog was going to be my journal. The journal of my diseased mind.

It is my bad time of year. Panic attacks, cutting and anger all walk in stride. I really doubt that anyone would understand. I know there are some that do understand but how do they know they understand?  Where are these peoples? Is there anyone else?

I feel myself becoming exhausted by the “alone”, why always alone? My mind controls everything. I feel as though I am in love with my captor.  Some demon that lives in me. But that demon is my own. I feel that the more I fight it the more it fights me. I so wanted a romantic dinner and true love. I found a very complicated and desperate mind. I must be in love with myself. I am my own Romeo and Juliet. It is a horror story. Everything ends in death.

I dreamed last night that I looked in a mirror and my own image followed me down the hall trying to choke me. I woke up terrified. Terrified. My own face looking at me, following me, wanting to kill me.

I scream to the world. I scream. I mean nothing.

Where do I go?

Where do I go?

Not sure about anything. I am aware but alone. Too fucking alone.

10 Years.

It is November.

I am lucky, I have a therapist this year.

I am lucky, I have medication this year.

It is November.

10 years. 10 years.

I am lucky.

I am lonely.

It is November.

More tears this year.

More pain this year.

It is November.

Too much change this year.

My thoughts are scared this year.

10 years. 10 years.

It is November.

No gain this year.

You are still gone this year.

10 years of wear and tear.

10 years gone this year.

It is November…

I am still here… still here.

Dad. I am still here…

You hear?

My People.

I have wanted to write this post for years. However , I have been afraid. I thank a new friend for encouraging me to write though I have not written for so long. How can I speak these words? They have become so dear to me and always held in silence. This tiny truth of mine.

I must admit, I am common Swedish, German, English trash. I must insult my blood by bleeding it into a river that I care not where it flows. I must admit. I denounce my blood. I hate it. I must confess. I am Lakota. I must confess, I choose my spirit, my blood line cannot own me. For my heart belongs to the people.

What are the “people”? They are my Nation. My family. My belief.

These are a people that hate me. Though I do not hate them. I follow them, though they do not know it. As a child in Nevada, as a teenager in Oregon… I have always followed the path. My Shaman could not teach me. She had another student and I had a demon. How can I express this? How can this be known? I follow a people that would slay me for my white flesh. That would cut my scalp from me in victory and never know that I had followed their spirits all the while.

These people have long past, they are dead now. Tis my ancestors that destroyed their Nation. Raped their women. Killed their children. If my spirit was so powerful as to invoke the God’s, I would beg for mercy. I would give my life to give to them what was taken. Stolen. Raped of my people.

Oh, Great Spirit,

whose voice I hear in the winds
and whose breath gives life to all the world, hear me.
I am small and weak.
I need your strength and wisdom.

Let me walk in beauty and make my eyes
ever behold the red and purple sunset.
Make my hands respect the things you have made
and my ears sharp to hear your voice.
Make me wise so that I may understand
the things you have taught my people.
Let me learn the lessons you have hidden
in every leaf and rock.

I seek strength, not to be superior to my brother,
but to fight my greatest enemy – myself.
Make me always ready to come to you
with clean hands and straight eyes,
so when life fades, as the fading sunset,
my spirit will come to you
without shame.

–Chief Yellow Lark, Lakota Tribe

Please forgive me Great Spirit as I wallow in my own resistance. Please breath into me the strength of your being. Please know that I know. The crow watches me. Watch over me my Father. Protect my spirit. Allow for your children to see past my flesh and into my being. So that I may walk with the people. For my Great Father, I so long to walk with the people.



My fish died. No, this is not a crying 4 year old. I am a crying 30 year old and my f**king fish died. I have been crying all day.

Yes, I know. I am 30 years old and my life has been blanketed in death for the last ten years but my fish, really, my fish?!

Maud’Dib was my kitchen fish buddy. He has been there with me through pasta sauce, chopping, jalapeno in the eye, kitchen sink over – flow, cats on the counter and some rather personal moments with my husband. Through the crying fits, tequila, grilled cheeses and ice cubes. He was my special little guy. Always happy to see me and always hoping the husband unit would give him some brine shrimp.

Now his little counter-top fish tank sits quiet with no light. His pretty little blue – black scales now lie underneath our great tree on the side of the house. I miss him. He was given to me by a dear friend that I miss very much. Now I will have to miss him too. My lovely Uncle did the dishes for me today so as I did not have to see his empty, cold tank. Needless to say, I have avoided the kitchen all day.

So now I curl up on the couch with my tequila and watch “chick – flicks” so that I may blubber further. I don’t want to look at his damn tank. I don’t want to know that I loved a stupid fish, whom was never stupid or “just” a fish to me. I miss my little guy.

Lets just hope that Kathy Bates can get me through this… or is it time for Thelma and Louise? I sure as hell hope not.

R.I.P. My dear Maud’Dib. You were feisty and always hungry. I actually loved you very much. No fish can fill your tank. You really were one of a kind. I will miss you. 🙁


I am a parent, most of us are and today I encountered one of the WORST feelings I have had since birthing this child. My five year old son has taken up stealing, as in getting into mommy and daddy’s and uncle Dicks room and taking things and hording them in his room. I will not tolerate stealing, my husband feels the same. Even though he is only five we both feel a strong need to “nip this in the bud” as they say. It is a horrible habit and I feel it needs to be addressed NOW, while he is young.

Those of you out there I am sure are saying “but he is only five”! My son is very above average on the “emotional” scale. He has a good understanding of right and wrong. He also can manipulate like a congressman.

Our punishment was that he was not allowed to attend his BFF’s birthday party and when we pulled up to drop off presents and balloons he had to see the party and the other kids without being able to participate. His tears made me want to put my head under the tire and release the emergency break. It hurt to punish him so severly. I almost thought I would rather spank than this. But it got through to him. I watched the light bulb over his head. Stealing = get caught = very bad bad punishment = no party.

I guess my point is for all other parents out there who are trying to do their best and have encountered this. My heart is with you.

Still who was more punished? My son or I?


What is wanting? I want all of the time. Today I felt the hunger of want.

Hunger burned my lips and scared my words.

All of my life, all that I possess, all that I claim. I still hunger.

I hunger for him.

My father.

Tonight I missed him in ways I thought not possible. Tonight everyone was my enemy but him. I have failed everything. I have failed my life. People look at me and I hate it, they judge me, they demand of me and they deny me. But him. He was the only honest relationship I have ever had. My father carried no false pretenses and he made known his intentions.

Dear Robert.

Today in all means was not the best of days. But I miss you. I shouldn’t have picked up the camera. Do you think I should have the Minolta fixed even though I have the Nikon? The guy at the shop told me to screw the Minolta because it would cost to much to fix but I think I should do it anyway. What do you think? Our friends were going to come over an hour ago, are they still coming? Sometimes I really believe that no one will know us, you me, mom and Brandon. Sometimes I feel so alone. I like Bobby, actually quite love him. I think that you and Bobby would have gotten along, straight on. Bobby is the only father I will ever know, other than you. You would love him.  The moss on mom’s roof is still there, should we scrap it off? Where are you? Brandon still wants to meet you. I miss you. Like I said, today, not a great day. But a day none the less. I had a nasty dream about Steve last night. What’s he up to anyway? I still cannot forgive him. Anyways, my room mate is pissing me off so I am going to go and retreat to the garage. Love you.


Who knew how long I would want? I want, want and want. I want him. Hell, I want it all.

In Love

I just came out of the shower with a rather interesting feeling. I know what you are thinking, no, not that.

I was feeling the hot water (it is very cold here in Oregon) and the relaxation it brings. I had this moment of feeling the hot water, being embraced by the steam and seeing the water drip and fall from various objects. Believe it or not I felt as though I sensed the presence of God. Not the God most of you know but the God I believe in which is very different from the Christian God. I have felt this feeling before, not too often these days but all the same, I know this feeling.

I am a very depressed person as you know and I have chosen not to accept “treatment” as you know. So this feeling was very welcome and beautiful for me. It made me feel as though I was in love. That some how underneath all the crap that I am, all the fat, all the scars, the bulimia and the alcoholism that inside there is still that spark. The eternal spark of the universe and of love and acceptance. Everything I believe God is.

This beautiful and somewhat creepy emotion made me think of everything that I am and my refusal to change myself with medication. I ponder my death everyday, to very obsessive degrees. I came to the understanding that even if I never change my ways, feel happiness or win the lottery so I can save wolves with cold, hard, politically accepted cash; at least I will die in love.

I am not speaking of the “in love” that just any relationship can bring (though I do not doubt their powers in their own rights), I am speaking of the love that you feel so deeply that is has NO relation to sex or anything natural, it is purely unseen and belongs only to the core of the mind, if you will, the soul. I believe this love is the most profound and most evasive love of all. Many a philosophers have studied it, many poets have written it, many people have known its presence.

I do not think this love belongs only to a married man and woman. I think this love can belong to anybody at anytime. I feel this love for the Great Mystery (God) and I share this love with my husband. I have also seen this love before, written on the very face of my grandfather.

When I was a young , insolent teenager, my mother and I went to see her father, my grandfather who was very ill at the time and beginning his journey into death. He lived a ways from my mother so the trip was special. As my mother and I sat in the car, preparing to depart, my grandfather came to the screen door to see us off. Even in all of my hormonal bad attitude I was shocked to see his face as he looked at his daughter behind the wheel. How fragile he looked, so tired from life and now illness. I could see the history and the emotions of that history pass between them. I had never seen that look before. I have only seen it twice since. The look of utter, complete, undying, true love. In the moment I remember the feeling of having my feet kicked out from below me and emotions of wonder and silence cover me. It was then I first saw true love. How he loved his daughter, my mother, his most precious child. I want to explain it more but I cannot, it was between them, him and her.

I still stand in awe at that day, in awe of those emotions. This love passes between people. But I think it is very hard to see. I am 30 and have only seen it thrice. The face of my grandfather, the eyes of my husband and the stance of my father as he faced me for the last time.

My grandfather died in love. I am sure he loved many others aside his daughter but I was witness to the moment between him and her, I bear witness to the moment the love moved between them and passed. My very first, life changing glimpse of true love. I see it in my husbands eyes when he looks at me. I wonder if anyone else can see it pass over our faces. I feel it in my eyes and in my mind. I have no doubt that my grandfather’s final thoughts were truly of my mother, his daughter. I have no doubt that my final thoughts will be of my husband. I have no doubt that my mother’s final thoughts will be of my father and I have no doubts that my father’s final thoughts were of my mother and I.

Through all of the hell of this disease and of this life at least, we die in love.

Through all the misery and pain. At least I will die in love.

I thank the Great Mystery for this.

For you have my heart great darkness, unknown, you capture and rupture me. You allow me to see as I am blind and allow me to love as I know hate. We are friends, yes?

– Unknown