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?

When she’s gone.

When she is gone. I do not know what to do.

My mom is in Northern California celebrating her mother-in-laws 90th birthday. I dropped her off at the airport this morning and I hated it. I do not like it when she is away.

It was a trip that was hard for her. She has not traveled in a few years. My task is to care for her animals. I am left in a situation I have been in before. My mother raised me to take care of animals, to respect them. I have four cats, she has four, all adopted. However, my mother has a dog. This dog of hers is so devoted, like her last dog; will not eat anything until my mother comes home. When my mothers parents needed her to do what it is I guess that daughters do… clean up the mess, she traveled to Southern California from Oregon to help them.

I spent almost a year tending to her animals. She spent almost a year tending to her family, she suffered in silence. I stayed here and suffered in silence. I would travel from my home to hers to care for them, twice a day, 30 min each way. She traveled through hell, watching her father and brother die. I told her I was going to come down. She told me not to. She would not let me feel the burden. Eventually I just moved into her house. I could not travel anymore.

I ate Mortadella and brie and baguette for a year. I almost lost my marriage. I traveled and traveled and traveled. I gained 20 pounds of wine and Italiano meats and cheeses.

My mother lives less than a mile from me now. I moved closer to her. Now, she is always near. After my father died, my mother moved close to me. Then… her father died. Then her brother died. And finally, after my mother had brought her here to live close, after my mother had nursed her and suffered the abuse of a woman who had lost control, my grandmother died. I woke my mother up to tell her the night her mother had past, I had to be there for at least that. On this I was not going to let her down. I stayed with her.

Every family member that my mother and I had had, died. Now she is visiting my fathers family. I would not go. They are not my family anymore I guess. It is my own decision, they cared for me when I was younger but as I got older I was isolated and endlessly teased by my uncle. I was called a “satan worshiper” , “black devil” and such. I had always felt unaccepted among my fathers family and my cousins. But… I belong to my father, not them and he loved me. In the end he told me he loved me anyway, even through the bad years. My mother has always loved me regardless.

I guess my point for this silly post is that, I love my mom. You see? She is too far from me now with a family I do not trust. Her dog is now finally sleeping after eating. I checked on her cats, all accounted for and pissed off that she is gone. I do not blame them. I would never want to see my mother get on a plane. I would never want to see her leave.

My husband is carving a pumpkin, my son is playing… life seems as it should be.

But the history… I want my mom. I want my dad. I want it all. Right here. As it should be.

I miss you mom. So very much. I hope you are having a good time. I know you would rather be here but… you always did do the right thing. I love you.


I have long held my angers, judgement and flat out irate rantings about the folly of human kind. Right now I would like to write it out, let it move through me and offend many people. For those people I offend… fuck you. For ONCE in my life I could care less. I have stopped thinking about you, helping you, sacrificing myself for you.

Human beings are a mass of disease. Horrid things we are. For all you blonde. bimbo bomb shells, please… kill yourselves. For all you ego stated men of pleasure, please… kill yourselves. Just do us all a favor. Become a Saint and sacrifice yourself unto the will of whatever pathetic God you believe in. I am so sick of this shit.

I am just a middle aged, fat, ugly human. Woman with a cunt… as you fuckers say.

Kiss my ass.

I wanted my husband home tonight. Made him a wonderful dinner, I have been taking my meds you see, I am a “good” wife now. But the meds do not change how I feel. Why do humans demand so much? Why do we have so many children? Why do we suffer and blame a nameless, empty God? My husband is out making a living. Every second he is away he misses me, does the best by me and his child. Why is this happening? Why has society accepted this “norm”? I may be a bitch with an illness but I am a bitch that loves my husband and child. I am a bitch that wants to be with them, both of them, everyday without the threat of outside crap.

My husband loves his job. I love his job but I miss him. He works harder and harder to support us.  I miss him more and more. I would give anything that society was not so ignorant with a lying government and shit for brains democracy.

Why? Why for this small pathetic life, can I not just live and enjoy it? Why do human fucking beings take so much from each other? It is pathetic how much so many try to become God. Money, power, control. Fuck it all,

Just want my family. No fancy restaurant, no massage, no T.V. show, no maids. I just want to be with my family. I would like the ones who need ” more” to kindly fuck off. Really. Human bastards. Fuck off. And take your money and religious domination with you.

Sorry hubby. I am ranting. I am keeping the potatoes warm for you. 🙂

*edit* I am sorry about the rant post. I had always dreamed of something better than this. I for some reason thought it would all be cuddling with my husband and child, cooking with my adopted uncle, talking with my mother and laughing with my father over oysters. Life is beautiful but something is fucking it up… am I the only one who sees this? I do not think I am. March on my friends. I will bring the muffins and soul fire.

White Snow

I am Bi-Polar… blah, blah, blah. I prefer the term Manic Depression as that is what my Grandfather called it. I feel safe, terming it so… blah , blah, blah.

OK. Let’s talk about the pills.

I have had these little diamond shaped devils for about a week now. I am truly afraid to take them. I filled the RX you see? I brought the little fuckers home but… I just don’t know. I am so afraid of these pills. They are a “mood stabilizer” with what my RN say’s “they carry a low side effect”.  Honestly my little blog, I just. Don’t. Know!

If I do not take them will my life end as I feel it is everyday, slow and terrorizing? If I take them will I end up with the fatal rash/liver failure that is a common black box warning with these white little devils?

I don’t even want to think about doctors.

I am just a fucking “thing” to them.  Do not get me wrong, I truly feel I may need this medication for the rest of my life, as my Grandfather did but I am scared. The doctors do not trust me and I DO NOT TRUST them. I do not affect their lives, not one of them will remember me. However, they affect me, judge me, control me and tell me what to do, always, forgetting about me. They control, forget and judge. I hate being controlled, forgotten and most of all, judged.

So… Do I take the pills and die? The thought of taking the pills makes me want to die. Do I take the pills and live? They will most likely help me live, though I doubt, not enough.

I must be reminded. I have to do this for my family and doctors.

Clean bill of heath for Catt. Try not to kill yourself. Eat up your pills like a good girl. Try not to vomit them up as usual and keep praying they will actually give you a medication that helps you survive.

Little white diamond shaped pills. They smell like bread crumbs. I take them out and feel them in my hand, I roll them around my palm. They are small and shift like snow flakes. They feel so nice and soft, falling around my fingers, the pills feel too numerous to count. In my palm I can control them. What will they taste like? These… white snow?

What will you do to me my littl’ uns? Will I fear more? Will I panic? Will I scream in pain? Will I rest and dream? Will I hide and die? Will I breathe and live? Will I…

Will I?

Eat the white snow when I am thirsty. I always ate the sweet, white snow in Reno while watching my father work his bow and arrow. I always did in Nevada, clean, white snow like spoons full of cream and cold water.

Should I? Should I dare eat this demon/dream? What will happen?

Break the silence as I hold fear for white snow diamond candy.

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. 🙁


When it rains it pours. Found another tear jerking gem thanks to my buddies on Reddit.  🙂


The Hours

I have just curled up on the couch with a beer and my cats. The house is empty save myself of human activity for the first time in months.

I have hit play and The Hours is now covering the screen. Nicole Kidman works the beginning of the movie playing Virgina Wolfe (a personal icon of mine) with a narration of her suicide note followed by a very long swim in the river.

Few movies affect me as this one does and even fewer comfort me as this one does. The cast is Emmy and delicious. Staring the greatest actresses of my time. I am in the mood. When I sit to watch this movie… I know. The mother of darkness, my soul’s never ending companion is upon my mind like the weight of a soft naked woman sleeping. I am depressed. No cause or reason. Just depressed.

I like the quiet of the house. Empty of life save my kitty sharks, prowling the house and my own thoughts.

My husband and son and uncle are at a family BBQ. I tried (and my husband praised me) to attend. However I was not “there”. I could not smile for the life of me and in the face of happy, talking, socializing people I withered like so many dead flowers. I had to escape from the people I truly love because I could not keep up. The sweet naked woman that blankets my mind stirs and sends me to myself. I needed aloneness. To leave the awkwardness. To lay beneath the down with her. To be alone with her. To suffer and embrace the depression that controls me.

I want to be social. I want to be normal. But I am not. I never will be.

I have always heard that I should never allow this disease to “control me”. But I am starting to think that maybe, just maybe, I should stop fighting it. My mind has worked this way all of my life. I strive to be “normal” and thus make a mess of myself. I do not want people to see me as different, crazy, depressed or what have you. But I want people to know. I have a disease. I can see things others cannot. Should that hold no value? I can see in the dark. But like all in the dark, I lack the gift of the sun, of light.

So here I am. Feeling quite pathetic. Like a child on time – out.

The hours of my life pass so loudly, shuffling through time like clinking high heels on marbled floors. But only I can hear them. They would call this madness. I must be mad. But the floor must be walked. The hours will pass.

My life will end up floating through a cold river. My words written on endless paper. My time will be spent struggling against those waters and those words. I will break all of my bones upon those river rocks.

My time will be spent with a soft, naked woman who curls along side me and whispers. Or my time will be spent missing her while she is away.

She whispers to me during the hours. And when all is silent. I can hear myself.

“Dearest. I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can’t go through another of these terrible times and I shan’t recover this time. I begin to hear voices and can’t concentrate. So I am doing what seems to be the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness, you have been in every way all that anyone can be. I know that I am spoiling your life and without me you could work.”

I will not recover this time.

I will fall asleep with her… I will.