Category: My Life Story

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Charleston, West Virginia My Life Story On My Own Writings

Forever Dogs

I hadn’t seen my dogs for almost 2 weeks because people were telling me it was too dangerous and I could get killed.

But one day I couldn’t take it any longer. As a single person I have friends, but its mental & airy. You miss the vegetable acceptance you can get through family. But Slippers & Patton are more than family. They are forever friends. Missing them was this pain in my heart that wouldn’t go away. I felt like they were calling me.

I’ll never forget the crazy smiles on their faces when I came through the door. We were all barking and crying and running around in circles trying to bite each other. Then James- who had not seemed to be there- called the cops but I didn’t even care. We were outside of time.

I went outside to talk to the police. They said I wasn’t in trouble. I wasn’t breaking the law since it is my house, my dogs and only James has a no contact order on him. But they said they didn’t want to leave me there just in case anything happened so they waited outside to give me 5 more minutes with my dogs & then told James to tell me a next time when I could visit them.

That was today and I just got back from 2 hours of seeing them. First we rejoiced, then we sang our favorite songs- Stand by Me, Fur Angel, Dog Went a Courtin’ & more. Then we had a snack. Then we lounged and stared into space. It was great to vegitate together. It is hard to be a vegetable in solitude. Plus they make me cry with their faithfulness.

Mushrooms were growing in the front yard of the house I used to share with Slippers and Patton. What does this mean?

I don’t place dogs above humans but I don’t place humans above dogs either. They seem very much alike except in how they dress. People keep telling me to get a new dog, but the thing is I have zero interest in dogs as a species. I have an interest in two specific people- Slippers and Patton.

Scorpio is a water sign, which means love and emotion. It is a black 8 turned on its side whose goal is to dig the deepest hole possible in one spot in order to create bonds of love so strong they survive the threshhold of death. Death is the test of love and everything really. Only that which is real survives.

So I’m not a let go and move on type of person. I don’t mind suffering for something which has value. But I would rather not invest in something which death will hack apart. Only those things you would suffer, bleed and die for really matter in the end because those are the only things that carry forward. That is my philosophy anyway. I believe there is an eternal world where treasure accrues. A relationship that withstands the tests of hell becomes immortal. Of course, this willingness to accept pain can sometimes backfire and make you hang on to the wrong things. But I do want my relationships with Slippers and Patton to make it to the Forever World. They are such special friends to me.

Lettuces forever.

Which brings me to another issue…. for a while there I felt I was finding a groove. Surviving as a poor person was seeming not only doable, but magical. Cleaning my clothes in a bucket, picking lettuces from the Lettuce Patch for the Poor, accepting charity where offered… it felt like I’d stepped into a fairy tale. But when I shared my enthusiasm for poverty on Facebook people started throwing all kinds of fear and anger at my head, calling me desperate for attention, playing at being poor, condescending to actual poor people while also abusing all humanity by being a lazy slob who needed a job. They also said they’d seen me make soldiers cry with their own eyes. On purpose.

Normally I don’t mind retard attacks, but now that I have no husband it feels more unnerving than it used to. There is no one to take my side against a mob* nor do I feel as willing to lose the support of random acquaintances.

The get a job thing bothers me especially, because I do have a job. In fact I care so much about this job that I’m willing to sacrifice wealth, respect and safety for it because it feels like a divine calling.

I don’t relate to the view where your success as an artist is based on the number of humans who know your creations. What if you only had an impact on one human? What if that human was your self? There is no way to measure how impacts play out over the course of time. What is more impactful- a song known only to Noah that he hummed on the ark for his animals- or the most popular song on earth right before everyone drowned in a flood? You can’t say really.

And beyond that, I feel art changes the world even if no one at all hears it, because it carves new spaces in the world of imagination. The realm that precedes that which is possible on earth. Success is the extent to which you can open the portals you are trying to open and build the magical kingdoms you are trying to build.

At first I just wanted to write songs, but now it is important to me to write the specific songs that bore the hole I am trying to bore. I have a feel of the sort of energy I want to usher into this plane. Muses come and go but there is a muse behind them who is constant.

And if my muse guides me to beg for quarters why not? People got so angry at me for bringing up begging on facebook but I think there is something beautiful about it. Someone holding up a cup, giving you the opportunity to place a coin inside? Who knows what good could come from that? And what is the danger in a coin moving from one place to another?

The problem is these other people’s views on life & their horrible judgments of my character really threw me off my own wavelength to where I couldn’t write songs or anything. As though I was a monster for not devoting my life to a 401k plan. But it’s hard for me to see how a life where you aren’t following your own spirit is even a life to begin with.

For me there is no choice. Even if I try to do what others want I won’t. I just have to do what I’m going to do anyway and hope for the best.

“Lettuces For The Poor” Lettuce Patch. If you take a solemn vow to be truly poor then you can take a lettuce of your choice.

Also, I have been on dates. Sweet men and delicious food.

Also, playing gigs for dollar bills and delicious food. I love it how people throw money into a hat or a guitar case. That is what started me thinking how beautiful it could be to beg with a metal cup. In between music, men, EBT & lettuce patches I am eating better now as a poor person than I ever did as a married lady of dignity and grace.

Also, someone I like asked me if I wanted to be friends with benefits. What does this mean? It sounds like such a cosmopolitan offer. My lesbians have assured me that pain this way lies. Then one lesbo called me on the sly to say she thinks its a great idea because relationships suck.

Also, I have a side hustle working as a secretary for one of my heroes, an herbalist. Years ago, I made a list of 10 people on earth I would like to meet. The other 9 were jackasses but this one has been a benefactor to me and changed my life. To receive help from someone you admire is a sweet feeling.

Also, it used to shock me how the black people on my street would walk down the sidewalk dancing and singing out loud. Now I do that too.

Also, I like the musicians I meet. I no longer hate people who play guitars. I guess I just hated the musician in myself because I grew up in a world where musicians had AIDS. But I’ve really come to cherish their freewheeling ways and the time we spend together. I love being able to ask people if they would prefer to eat a shit filled dick or have their own dick stapled to the wall & they will just consider the question and answer it rather than making me feel like I’m some kind of freak. I like being around people who are stoned. In their own way they are kindred spirits.

It’s almost like I’m becoming a free spirit.

Charleston West Virginia where I live.
Patton is glad I’m back. I wish you could have seen his smile a couple days ago when he saw me for the first time. He looked insane.
Slippers my goldie angel.

* Btw…….. I said I feared no one would defend me from mobs now that I’m a single lady but that didn’t turn out to be true. My lesbians came to my defense just as they have before. Not just intercepting stones, but hurling them back. From a Scorpio perspective, nothing means more than a friend who will fight for you. This made me cry as well. I hope every female finds some serial killettes to have her back.

We normally start song time with Stand By Me, a song that was written by a dog for a dog.

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Charleston, West Virginia My Life Story On My Own Writings

Magistrates, Felt & Crack Hos

I lie in bed at night with the lights on not wanting to shut my eyes. Cause when I shut them I see that James is angry at me, really angry and that makes me scareder. I wish there was something I could do to change it but there isn’t.

And when I close my eyes I feel how heartbroken I am about my dogs. I want to see them so badly it’s unbearable. But if I start crying I’ll have to sit up to keep from eating snot so it’s best to just lie down with eyes open.


On the bottle my middle initial is K but I may change it to Nunki, the second brightest star in Sagittarius. Nunki means Open Seas and brings the gifts of blue and communication.

A bossy friend told me of a poor person’s clinic near me where I should go for fear medication so I can sleep. I went there. In the waiting room a man was scratching himself while mumbling about killing people. His voice got louder as he groaned about being burned at the stake. Finally he was just shouting “Steak! Steak!” I started to freak out so texted “Help me!” to a friend then in a girly voice the man said “Help me!” Once I realized he could read my mind I relaxed.

The clinic gave me an official looking bottle of pills in a white paper bag for absolutely free. I had just walked in off the street with no insurance or anything. But they said if I come back I will have to give them blood. A price I won’t pay. I would rather pay in money. The pills they gave me dried out my mouth anyway.

James had his hearing. He pled guilty and was sentenced to one year of parole. This meant I didn’t have to testify but the trial was still traumatic because I don’t like seeing James in trouble. And I don’t like knowing he will be mad at me and potentially punish me.

My lawyer recused himself on the day of the trial for which I had prepaid him. He said he had to because he had been telling the magistrate that I would plead the 5th in order to not incriminate myself. Basically he implied I was lying. He did this because I wanted him to help me keep James out of trouble & also to keep me from having to testify. However, I had made it clear to my lawyer- I thought- that I wasn’t lying and I didn’t want to be portrayed as such. So this was unnerving & left me with no one to look out for my interests or explain what was going on.

I had also hired James’s lawyer to protect James. Like a damn fool apparently. Before he was hired I asked if he would be defending James by throwing me over a bus. I wanted to protect James but didn’t want to be sacrificed. He said “Good heavens! Of course not! That’s not how it’s done!” But it appeared he lied. There was something about the way he treated me that scared me on a deep level. James has been telling my friends that he & his lawyer are now going to sue me for abuse. I don’t know what kind of abuse but I guess I’ll find out.

But Monday I was not on trial. It was the state vs James. After James was sentenced however, the magistrate- at the urging of James’s lawyer who we will call Shitindick- said I wasn’t allowed to go into my house to get my possessions or see my pets. He said if I did I would go to prison. I started crying hysterically. I had already been told that nothing could happen to me at a trial that was for James so this was confusing. Technically I didn’t have to even be there.

So the next day I returned to the magistrate’s office to seek clarity. Everyone in the magistrates office assured me the magistrate could not legally ban a witness from seeing her dogs or accessing her own possessions. They looked me up in their system but there were no orders against me. They said it just couldn’t happen without a hearing or a petition against me being filed, none of which had taken place. They had no idea why the magistrate would have said that.

So I went to talk to the magistrate himself. I said I didn’t understand the legal basis of him telling me I would go to prison for collecting my things or seeing my dogs when there had been no hearing for me. I had not committed crimes, been offered legal representation or had anything filed against me. I told him his office had looked me up on the computers & assured me no conditions such as these were in place. They said it was impossible to punish the victim in a trial, only the person on trial can be punished.

He didn’t answer my question but just started talking about how the courts had bent over backwards for me (referring to when they banished James from the home while I was crying hysterically & begging them not to.) He kept saying “You ALLEGE these things against your husband” as though I was some conniving cunt trying to get James in trouble when he knew I’d been attempting to get the case dropped for months. He said “You’re not dumb, you ran for office.” as though dumbness was a prerequisite for getting head slammed.

“You had you chance to call 911 when James came back to the house.” he said. True, but how did that magically turn him into a monarch who can issue commands with no legal basis?

It’s obvious a crack ho lives here. I’m trying Mommy but it’s not easy!

On other notes, it’s not that easy to function at the moment. I hope this is just a phase but my beautiful apartment is turning into a crack den. On the plus side, I’m doing an okay job of learning poor people secrets. It’s not even so much about getting by with less, which I’ve done for years. It’s more about saying yes to free stuff and yes to other humans helping you. Being a mooch was always my greatest fear so being poor is good in some respects since it forces you to receive stuff.

Where I come from people offer you stuff, but you are supposed to refuse. “Oh please, let me run out in this blizzard to get you fresh bagels for breakfast!” “Oh no, please don’t! I’m on a diet anyway!” “You on a diet? Nonsense! I insist.” “No really, I couldn’t.” This goes on for a few minutes as a charming display of politeness & consideration.

So when someone makes me an offer now, like “Would you like this bagel?” I don’t know how to respond. Are they actually wanting to give me a bagel or are they wanting me to refuse it? I’ve been trying to say yes and see what happens but it is unnerving. If you said yes where I’m from you would be a social leper. But bagels are so tempting to the poor.

A person gave me this guitar. I said yes. Then laid it down on a dirty mattress with no sheets, crack ho style.
Every day I check my tongue. So long as it’s still a perfect triangle I know my spirit is intact.
Categories
Charleston, West Virginia My Life Story On My Own Writings

A Life for Julien

Everyone said leave James so you can have a life. What is a life? I thought I had one to begin with.

I don’t know what I think of my life so far. Right now I am delusional because I can’t sleep at night. I don’t know why. I don’t like shutting my eyes so I try sleeping with the lights on. I wake up a few hours later & want to see what is going on in the world.

Being single is fun. Because you can do what you want. People always said “Being single is fun because you can do what you want.” That always seemed dumb. I liked what I did when I was married. Writing songs, baking muffins. I didn’t feel I was suppressing a desire to suck two dicks at once.

But I can’t deny that something has changed because I am having a lot more fun even doing the same things I used to do. I feel less inhibited. I don’t mean in terms of men or flirting. I just feel more free to be a dumbass.

There have been so many moments of paradise. Performing music is paradise. Writing songs is paradise. Drinking an alcoholic beverage, talking to a person….

I was playing in an antiques store & there was this door that opened over and over making a chime sound. The chime sound mixing with the music was paradise. I’m playing with a bass player named Bill. The bass mixing with the melody is paradise.

I have a weekly gig at an Indian restaurant. The music mixing with images of Hindu gods is paradise. Getting paid in food and carrying my box of food home is paradise. I love playing for tips and I love playing for dinner.

I went to an open mic where someone was playing keyboard in the most elaborate fashion. The chorus was

We’re not dumb. We’re just as smart as you.
We’re West Virginians. And we’re humans too.

The audience was singing this in unison. The keyboard was going wild. Someone threw a bottle through the air and it missed the trash. Bliss overtook me and I threw a bottle too hitting Bill in the head. Absolute paradise.

These paradise moments keep stacking up to where I almost feel I’ll lose control.

There is a flip side tho…. I am struggling more than expected to run a tight & crisp ship.

For starters I don’t know what to eat. I stocked up my pantry with boxes of macaroni and tuna fish, not foods I especially like. But even cooking macaroni is too much work when you don’t have a dishwasher. I don’t feel excessively grounded. I always felt it was James who kept me down to earth.

I was single once before for about 6 months & I really started to go off the deep end. I was nailing bath towels to my wall to use as telephones. If I managed to get 5 dollars, I’d buy a pool noodle. I wasn’t delusional… it’s hard to explain but I was very aware of whether or not contacting people via bathtowel actually worked. But imagination & magical thinking took over 90% of my brain. I was writing songs constantly. I performed all the time. I painted. Did nonstop magical experiments. Then for dinner I would smash a can of green beans open with a hammer.

So when I feel spaced out and start walking in circles, I worry a little what the future holds. I hope that staying connected to other people will keep my feet on the ground.


****

Now some pics…

A mermaid created by Vulgaris & a box of tea from Avulva who wants me to suck a bag of dicks this summer. Will I? Probably not because I am superstitious about men using their penises as straws to suck out the life force. Not to mention that I can’t afford STDS when my goal is to live off $2,400 a year.

People have been sending me things to hang on my wall which means so much to me. I can’t say I feel that alone. The problem is, many of the things require nails to hang and the landlord said no holes. I bought a pack of command strips but the instructions were so complex I gave up.

Tuna fish, macaroni, tuna fish, macaroni. Together for every meal. Food is mathematics. And handwashing dishes is worse than expected.

I’m not happy with this situation because food fills in the bass notes of our emotions and I want the full range. I like people who eat. I like people who cook. I don’t like people who spend years living off candy like I always do.

Washing clothes in a garbage can. There are no laundry machines where I live or even in the neighborhood so this is my best idea.

Fresh from the garbage can, clothes hang to dry. I hope they don’t get wrinkled. It’s my first time trying this.

The jungle creeps into my kitchen. Music is a source of bliss but it needs a counterforce to keep it in check. I don’t know if I’ll be able to supply that force for myself.

A candle. I always keep one candle burning somewhere with a secret wish attached.

Categories
Astrology Charleston, West Virginia My Life Story On My Own Uncategorized

Sad

Well the thing I had been dreading happened. Neptune finally hit the bottom of my chart (representing home) and I had to move out of my house with James, Patton & Slippers into an apartment by myself.

I don’t know if I can talk about this yet because it is too painful. I poured all my love into one person and by the end he would not even allow me to speak in my own home- the home I spent one million hours painting & cleaning, the home where I served him food every day, made him 5 coffees a day, always did what he wanted and tried to please him. But no matter what I did his view of me kept growing darker and darker.


One wrong word from me had become so powerful it would derail his brain for weeks and force him to stay in bed, missing important deadlines. This is why I was no longer able to talk. So I stopped. But that wasn’t enough. In the end he said my very presence terrified him. He wanted me gone. And so I had to move out. That is the bad part. The horrible part. I can’t even process it or figure out what it means.

Based on what others tell me he is narcissistic & discarding me because of his upcoming domestic violence trial. I no longer reflect positively on him and it is easier to get rid of me than to own some mistakes and move forward. Some people tell me he has borderline disorder or might be experiencing psychosis. Sometimes he would scream at me “I’M INSANE- DON’T YOU GET IT!!!!! HOW STUPID ARE YOU!?!?! MY BRAIN DOESN’T WORK!!!”

Some men ask what I did to him to make him this way. Some say he must have just stopped loving me. If there is one area of life in which I applied myself it was as a wife. I did everything I could for him. He used to yell that his stress was due to the house being in foreclosure. “THANKS TO YOU WE ARE GOING TO BE HOMELESS, DON”T YOU GET IT!?!? HOW STUPID ARE YOU?!?!” So I got us in a covid relief program that paid all $18,550 of the debt. It took me 9 months. It didn’t even make him like me for one minute.

He said he couldn’t afford food so I got us foodstamps. He didn’t want to be bothered, so I didn’t bother him. If he wanted cookies at one am, I made them. I *wanted* to make them because I liked doing things for him. He meant so much to me.

He wanted me to run for office and I did. He wanted me to start a cardano stakepool so I did. If he wanted me to do astrology readings for him or his stakers I jumped at it. I would have done anything for him. I enjoyed it.

When I try to think of why he hates me these are the only things I can think of…

  1. I’m not capable of sleeping in the same bed. I just can’t fall asleep. For a long time, anything hurtful he did would be attributed to how I hurt him by not sleeping in the same bed and he needs that.
  2. I can’t swallow his cum. This makes me want to throw up. It’s nothing personal to him I just don’t believe in eating things that aren’t foods. Just thinking about it I’m starting to gag.
  3. I turned him into the police. I didn’t know he would get arrested. I just wanted their help and didn’t know where else to turn. It had been 5 years of him hurting me and in those situations you have little recourse since you are supposed to keep the whole thing private. Him going to jail was my greatest nightmare. I didn’t want that. But he will never forgive me for it. He says I did it out of spite.
  4. I had a mini-affair. After he came back from jail, he was darker than ever. I didn’t know what to do. He loathed me. If I tried to talk, he would twist a blanket into a rope & hold it over my mouth.

    I didn’t know what to do. I felt I’d exhausted all options on the side of good, so decided to try to the dark side & went to second base with a psychopath. In some ways, it helped because it diverted my mind from James, so I could leave him alone more. But it wasn’t long before this other guy was also threatening to kill me and I felt maybe I didn’t want to be a lying cheating whore anyway.

    So this could be why James hates me. But he hated me before I did it too. He hated me before he went to jail. He would scream at me that I was a stupid fucking cunt who had ruined his life. He didn’t say how.



If people had watched the last 6 years they would probably not understand why I miss James so much. But I really loved him. His essence and smell, not necessarily the way he treated me. Now that I’ve met more humans they always say I’m funny and that James must like how funny I am. This makes me laugh because, no, James does not find me amusing. At best, I’m a stupid cunt. At worst, a terrifying presence. “PLEASE STOP!!!!! STTTTTOOPPPPP!!!! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME!!!???” he would scream on repeat while covering his ears, crying and rocking back and forth if I tried to talk to him about anything. He does not find me funny.

But its more than his essence… I liked how caring and protective he once seemed. How loyal I thought he was and how much I thought he loved me. I liked that he wanted to put down roots with me and create something lasting. I liked collecting things with him and having a house and dogs. I liked it when we cooked together. I liked how he used to help me solve my problems.

When I first met him, I was pretty insane due to living in isolation with a husband who had me be 28 different people. James’s love & his encouragement to listen to myself helped me untie many knots.

But even in the beginning, some problems were there. About every third day would be spent in the closet crying because he would go into rages. I can’t remember what the rages were about. It seems like they didn’t make much sense. My first husband also went into frequent rages about things that were hard to understand. But with James I would block all the bad things out. Because he was True Love. I saw him as perfect and those were the feelings I had towards him. Absolute trust as well.

It was only when he started getting physical that the fog started to lift a little. Because I felt that was crossing a line. As a kid I heard that if a man hits you you must leave immediately,. So I felt I had to draw a line there. But I couldn’t. After jail I stopped trying to draw that line. Cause it felt like me drawing lines was the problem. The problem was that I was a bad wife who had got her husband in trouble. So I wasn’t going to make a deal about it anymore.

But in the end, he wanted me to leave. I was so malicious, so psychopathic, such a lying gaslighting spiteful cunt that he needed me gone so he could function. No amount of silence, service, tolerance, anything made me better in his eyes.


Now when I go to the house to visit the dogs he is neither hot nor cold. Neither happy nor bothered. I’m a janitor wandering in to clean the toilets. No longer a psychopath. No longer a malicious cunt. Just a nothing.



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Blue, Black, Silver, Water, Moons, Death & Ghosts Charleston, West Virginia My Life Story Writings

Hollowing Out

The scariest thing is when you love someone but slowly they begin to hate you and you don’t know why and so you try harder but you can’t be good enough and day by day they start to read more and more sinister motives into your actions until eventually you are an evil psychopath and there is nothing you can do about it. But you still love them. And you want them to love you. But you can’t control their perceptions. You don’t know why after basing your life around them you are morphing uncontrollably into this dark and sinister figure in their mind. And they treat you accordingly. Punishing you for the bad things you’ve done. And you want them to love you. They aren’t just a part of your life, they are your whole life.

And anything that goes wrong it is because of you. All negative feelings they have are because of you. If they don’t get out of bed, if they don’t have a clear head, it is because you did that to them. You are the essence of everything evil. But you want them to love you. And you don’t want to get help even if you need it because if you do they will hate you for making them look bad. But they already hate you. And you don’t know why. And you want to change it but you can’t.

And other women are good. They are deep and insightful. He tries to get them to open up. He tells you you aren’t allowed to talk. You are the essence of everything evil. But you just want him to love you. You would do anything if you could make him love you again. But you can’t.

You try every piece of advice. The problem is you are too boring, so you try to be interesting. But you aren’t. Because you don’t even exist except when something goes wrong. When something feels wrong. When there is a memory of wrongs long ago. Then you are the cause. The problem is you aren’t respectful. So you try not to have opinions and to always agree. Mental submission is the easy part.

The hard part is when he tells other women he loves them. If you find this behavior hurtful he says you are deranged. It is just a game. A game that you started. Other women don’t get upset when their husbands tell other women they love them. They wouldn’t scream or cry! Look at you! Have you looked in the mirror? You do this because you are an angry person. You are evil. You threaten people. He is scared of you.

And I could endure anything if I felt he truly loved me. Violence, poverty, insanity, I don’t care. But if they don’t even love you, then what was the point of it all? You give everything you can think of to give, always coming up with new things but in the end you are just the cause of their problems. Someone else is wonderful. She is so deep. He knows this because she doesn’t say much, just responds LOL to everything he types. How can she pack so much meaning into a few letters? Because she is good. You are bad. She is caring. You are a psychopath.

He tells her this. That you play games. She says wow you really need to get out of there. He doesn’t say what these games are that you play. If you knew what they were you would try to stop playing them. And you can’t ask him what they are because you aren’t allowed to ask questions. It is one of the rules. Meanwhile he tells her, “You know you can ask me anything you want.” She is allowed to ask him questions because she isn’t evil. But she doesn’t have any question to ask him. LOL.

You keep thinking of what you can do to change the situation, to turn things around. But he’s already told her he doesn’t love you, he’s just with you to have access to his computers. He’s just with you until the trial is over. You make him dinner. He eats it and leaves angrily. You wonder if he is reading this. If he is he won’t like the way he is portrayed and will never love you again.

But how can you make him love you again? You tried magic, prayer, cooking, cleaning, praising, listening, silence, obedience, jumping at any chance to be helpful although mostly he just wants you to leave him alone except for when he needs you to listen to him tell you about the bad things you’ve done. You got upset. That messed up his chemicals. It jacked up his cortisol and took away his dopamine and now he can’t work. Because of you. Two days later, seven days later his brain chemistry is still off. All because you got upset because he told another woman he loved her. He told you not to look through his stuff!

You tell him your love language is words and ask if he could say something nice to you sometime. You wait. You try phrasing it in a different way, making sure not to apply any pressure. Instead he asks her what her love language is. He tells her how pretty she is. Mesmerizing.

But he tells you it is just a game. In reality he thinks she has a pedosmile. She reminds him of his mother. You don’t know what to think.

You always felt his mother had a desire to interfere in your marriage even though she is dead. But this is probably too far out to blog about. No one will understand. Back before you became a psychopath he might have listened to you when you said something like that. Maybe. Bur you have learned not to bring those things up. You are a liar. A gaslighter.

And all you wish is that he would come back and that you could be good again and he could love you. And you could help him with whatever he is dealing with. And he could treat you with respect and affection. Because you have the house. The two dogs. The possessions you are now selling off to pay the electricity bill. It was all part of a dream of love and security. But writing this will make him look bad. Maybe you are a fucking psychopath.

You warned him about this three years ago. That he would start projecting dark things onto you. That he would be attracted to dark women who represented the worst parts of him. That he could go to jail. You had a dream about it. But his perspective is different. You aren’t the one who tried to warn him. You are the one who made it all happen. You are pure hatred.

And all I wish is that James would come back. There is just this feeling in my chest & I want him to hold me even though he never really does that anymore. I don’t know what I did wrong.

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Charleston, West Virginia My Life Story Writings

help*

(This post was written March 1st 2023 but lost due to server problems then recovered thanks to way back machine.)

I don’t know what to do. I am so stressed out. I am trapped in a crevice with nowhere to go and I can’t endure the crevice any longer. I can’t talk about the crevice either because there is an upcoming trial in which I am a witness. I could write in my journal or talk to the nice shrink the government gave me but at the end of the day telling her my thoughts and feelings doesn’t change anything. I already know what I think and feel. I just don’t know what to do or how to endure. I don’t see any practical solutions. And I’m too anxious to pray cause when you are anxious and try to send out your thoughts they just spiral back down onto you. And to be real about it, it was my faith in God that got me into this trouble in the first place. So I don’t know what to do. If I stay in my current position, I will lose my mind. Imagine if every time you spoke the people around you started shrieking like chickens then swirled around in circles collapsing on the floor where they shook and screamed “Why did you do this to me? Why did you do this to me?” over and over. And you don’t know what you’ve done. How long can a person live like that and not go insane? I feel like I’m trapped in the Queen of Heart’s court in Wonderland. And I can’t even talk about it. Except vaguely like this.

No matter what I do I am always bad. There is always very complicated reasoning as to why I have done something wrong. So you just start recessing more and more. But no matter how recessed you become it doesn’t matter. Now your whispers count as screams and one wrong word makes you a murderer. So you try harder. You try different things. But every step you take is just one more crime you’re guilty of.

Somehow I ended up at a Wikipedia page about psychological manipulation and it had a list of traits that the recipients of manipulation generally share. It was like reading an exact description of my personality.

Naïveté or immaturityPeople who find it too hard to accept the idea that some people are cunning, devious and ruthless or are “in denial” if they are being taken advantage of.[17]
Over-agreeablenessPeople who are too willing to give another the benefit of the doubt and see their side of things.[17]
Low self-esteemPeople who struggle with self-doubting, lacking in confidence and assertiveness, and who are likely to go on the defensive too easily.[17]
Over-intellectualizationPeople who try too hard to understand and believe others have some understandable reason to be manipulative.[17]
Emotional dependencyPeople who have a submissive or dependent personality. The more emotionally dependent a person is, the more vulnerable they are to being exploited and manipulated.[17]

I’ve always had the hardest time accepting that someone could truly be lying or acting in a devious manner. I don’t know why. And if I am close to people I tend to believe anything they say without question. Even if I know for an absolute fact that it is untrue, something in me still believes. I’ve always struggled to have confidence in my own perceptions, instead I let other’s words override them. I will bend my mind into a pretzel trying to make sense of what people say, no matter how self-contradictory or flying in the face of reality their words may be, and I have always been emotionally & physically dependent on others to a humiliating degree.

So I guess this is a chance for me to learn how to trust in my own perceptions. Do I believe the person who says I am hurting them when I’m pretty sure I’m not or who says I am screaming when I’m pretty sure my voice is room temperature? Objectively I know what is true, I just don’t know how to have faith in my own mind. My faith automatically goes to believing what I am told. Unless you have this problem yourself, I fear it won’t make much sense.

Another big problem is my need to be good, which is used like a cattle prod to control me and force me into situations of increasing powerlessness. If you assert yourself, you are bad. You can get screamed at, but if you scream back you are bad. You must treat other people’s emotions like Golden Kings to be worshiped while ignoring your own or you are bad. You must swallow the words you are fed no matter how little sense they make or you are bad. You must accept that you are bad or you are bad. You must accept that other people weren’t hurting you, you were hurting them, or you are bad. You must believe what you are told or you are bad. Because if you don’t accept the words that are thrown at you you will see those around you crumple on the floor shrieking “LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE!!!! LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE!!!” Now you can see how bad you are with your own eyes.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to hold my mind together. When it gets bad I can hardly sing, clean or function at all. I can rarely think or plan. The thing that helps is complete detachment. But once again, this triggers my issues with being”bad” because it is bad not to care. You are supposed to care about other people.

And I WANT to care. It’s just that it becomes the rope that is used to strangle me.



* I just realized that titling this help sounds bad, like I am playing the victim. Anyway, don’t worry I will think of something.

** I was just walking and panicking cause my arms have started to shake probably due to nerves because I don’t see any light at the end of the tunnel…. it feels like the road leads off a cliff. And having the shakes is making it harder to perform basic tasks causing me to panic even more. Anyway, just when I was about to break down I saw this on the corner of a sidewalk.

It felt like a sign, because I see teddy bears as being one form that angels take. It’s like no matter how alone you feel there are always more beings watching and ready to help you than you could ever realize.

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Charleston, West Virginia My Life Story Uncategorized Writings

Lesbian Fragments

For some reason I have been having the hardest time expressing myself & now there are so many thoughts in my head I can’t get them all out

So please allow me to share fragments of my mind through pictures…

A ginger root which I planned to carry with me throughout January as part of the “30 Days to Ginger Your Swagger” challenge. The idea was to do dumb & risky things each day for thirty days & come out at the end of it an empowered lesbian warrior.

However, this didn’t happen because I started off the year sick, which gave me time to reflect and I decided that a series of random dumb actions would probably not lead to empowermint after all.

Me taking a package to the post office, as I do most days as part of my ebay swizzle. I look worried because I am. I was certain I would go through life as a housewife and never face the jungle myself.

I have taken to wearing a cross because a) protection & b) maybe if people think I’m religious they’ll treat me better. So far that does not seem to be the case. It’s almost like devils are attracted to crosses. But it still makes me feel safe.

That is my Megatron Powers coat btw. Megatron is the spiritual being formed when women unite to activate their lesbian powers. No sex required.

Putting butterflies & airplanes all over my house in preparation for Pluto’s entry into Aquarius this April. I should write a blog post about this, but once again there are too many thoughts to deal with.

At least in the beginning it should be a refreshing change since it will bring more air into our lives, making people more social, optimistic, active & future looking. Eventually though it will likely reach a critical mass causing people to become heartless and ungrounded, willing to sacrifice past & present for an idealized future that will never arrive.

Still I’m looking forward to it.

Four candles lit to the four winds- Boreas, Eurus, Notos & Zephyrus. I love these cuties.

Arm healing after I fell off a chair on Christmas & crashed onto the floor. Why did I fall? Because I was trying so hard to peer into the truth of something. It felt like the truth was above my head & I kept staring at it harder & harder until I lost my balance.

A miniature vase being sold on ebay. Selling my possessions on ebay can be pretty painful cause each one of them was part of a cherished dream. I remember the feelings of hope and excitement associated with each purchase.

Mostly they are part of the dream called “Stuffington’s Estate” which involved James & I living in the most stuffy & pompous house of all time, where we would sit in the library in our leather chairs each evening by a fire sipping creamed soups. Surrounded by dark paintings of scowling men. James and I loved antiquing together, cooking new dishes & collecting things. So Stuffington’s was the place where all this good would pool up. It was the life I was working towards. Now what am I working towards?

An endless sea of glass. Waiting to be sold like slaves.

Three glass leaves that grew up together. What happens now? They get sold to separate homes & never meet again?

Real life empowermints sent to me by lesbian friend MK Ultra (Man Killa Ultra.) My lesbian name is OJ, standing for Orange Julius.

True Hope Empowermints. Hope is an Aquarian thing. It can give you wings and lead to your fall as well.



Lesbian Extraordinaire. That’s me. But what does the future hold for this lesbian once her glass runs out?

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Charleston, West Virginia My Life Story Uncategorized Writings

My Problem

My biggest problem in life is the inability to make decisions. This stems from confusion and a lack of clarity which stems from always doubting my own perceptions. This is largely the result of paying too much attention to what I am told versus the evidence of my own eyes.

It looks to me like he is wearing a red shirt. Because it is the color of a bright red apple. But he says his shirt is blue. I ask him why it looks the same color as a fire engine then. He says that’s because I’m a cannibal and cannibals think everything is red. I start to spin. How could I be a cannibal? How many of the people I’ve known have even died? Sure my grandmother, but many were at her funeral to watch her being lowered into the earth. Are you saying I snuck back to the cemetery dug her up and ate her? How would I manage to pull the coffin up all by myself? Do you know how much those things weigh? Also wouldn’t a cannibal need a meat processing plant? Where would I be hiding this? How would I even get the money to afford one?

And so on it goes for days until all my energy is gone. I’m pretty sure I’m not a cannibal but darn it is hard to prove. Next time I look at his shirt, I avoid seeing it as red exactly. Maybe it doesn’t have a color. Maybe colors exist in other dimensions that humans can’t understand. Cause seeing it as red means a war and I lose. It means being at odds with people I love. Seeing it as red means I am a cannibal. I eat people. So I just try not to see it clearly at all.

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Charleston, West Virginia My Life Story Uncategorized Writings

For Whom Empowermint Tolls

I wrote this a few weeks back but only now got the nerve to publish it. Cause it references neighbors & I’m not sure if it’s cool to blog about neighbors or not.

I’ve been feeling kind of bummed, like I reached the end of empowermint. There may be no way of getting more powerful than I already am. My last empowermint was smoking illegal drugs. It blew my mind I was able to achieve this and now it kind of feels like I’ve peaked. What more can I do? Rob a bank? Dallas? These things require cars and I still don’t have one.

I also sang a couple songs on stage without dying of a heart attack. It wasn’t as scary as I thought it’d be. Felt like floating, like I wasn’t there at all. Still counts as a mint though.

I’ve now been to bars three times. They are scary but exciting. People do drugs. I received a pot gummy bear. But this was after I’d completed my illegal drugs empowermint, so I didn’t eat him. Instead he was flayed and quartered. I fed the meat to a friend each time he got angry in the hopes it would calm him.

At the bar a guy told me he was hard and asked what color panties I was wearing. I asked if I could see his jockstrap. Then he starts shouting how much he loves sucking cock. Then he smashes a bottle over a man’s head. They start punching and blood is dripping down their faces. One of them has black X’s painted on his cheeks. It felt like being in a dark wonderland. Nothing like the world I am used to.

Everyone in the bar was larger than life. Some wore diamonds despite being men. One had just escaped max security for murder. One said he would fuck me over a fireplace. One had only three fingers on his hand. One wore an earring of a butt and said he likes doing everyone up the butt regardless of gender. One had just gotten stabbed. If I could be certain of not getting murdered it would be quite exciting.

But I’ve been so cloistered I don’t totally get where excitement ends and danger begins. A friend told me I was on my way to getting my organs removed. So I tried returning to pre-empowermint days. But that isn’t safe either. Once I believed that being a good housekeeper would ensure my safety in life. Now I know that sooner or later God throws everyone out on the streets. So you gotta be ready.

And then you get addicted to the thrill. I kind of want to see more of this crazy world. How many men are out there with X’s on their face? How many want to see my underwear?* What is PCP? What signals do drug addicts use to find dealers? What sweet words and caresses will organ dealers use to win the trust of healthy people? Can you be fucked over a working fireplace? If a man offers to let you watch him jerk off is it yes or no? I want to know everything.

But those lesbians. They keep reminding me I’m courting disaster and I know they’re right. What I really need is to join a ladies book club and I promise I will. Ladies help you become smarter and more organized. They encourage you to make crafts and sell them at a fair. Around men you grow clear and gelatinous. You wait to see what they’ll do next. You try not to set them off. Men are a feast for the imagination yet a practibrain disaster. And we all know exciting choices rarely pay off in the end.

So I’m trying to be good. Today I had the opportunity to do something fun but instead stayed home and ate 12 slices of cheesecake. Cause that is what Mr Rogers would do. Virtue today is happiness tomorrow. Thrills lead to chills. Aids. And death.

*FYI- I realize nobody wants to see my underwear. Men only feign sexual interest as a way of getting your money or something much worse.

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Charleston, West Virginia My Life Story Uncategorized

The Black Checker

Fuck me. Normally I’m somewhat average in terms of efficiency. Under crisis in August I rose up to become a top 10 performer. Mid September my balloon began deflating and now my life consists of staring at a mug until I finally get up and walk into a wall. Technically I still get a bit done but am nowhere near recommended levels of crispness for my weight range.

Is this a normal response to someone’s mind being overloaded by things they don’t want to think about? An early sign of AIDS? Right now I need to be calling the prosecutor’s office, visiting the courthouse, wrapping packages and taking them to the post office, doing some secretary work for a famous herbalist, cleaning the house since the front door is made of glass, stopping my plants from dying, cooking dinner so the meat doesn’t go bad, playing with the dogs to keep them from sliding into depression, plus I really need to buy a coat and some pants since the temperature keeps dropping and I gotta get these things and more done by six when the sun goes down.

Cause then I have my night time stuff to do.

But rather than performing the tasks essential to survival (in the end we all die anyway, right?) maybe I’ll just sit here drinking coffee and tell you how my empowermints are going.

The most important thing is that I completed my illegal drug empowermint. This was sort of the jewel in my empowermint crown to the extent that I kinda of feel I’ve peaked and have nowhere to go but down. Maybe that’s why I’ve been tailspinning. My whole life I’ve wondered how people obtain illegal drugs when there is no clear road to obtaining them. You can’t buy them in a store, you can’t ask people if they sell them, so how is everyone is high? Well it turns out the answer is friends.

I’d decided that friends were the next realm of empowermint anyway. You can know how to dig ditches and start a campfire but without any friends you gotta hard hoe to row. And I literally knew no one of flesh and blood. Now I know a few.

And I really, really want to write about them. But I don’t know if that’s rude. I’ve always avoided being friends with writers for this exact reason. Just like I’ve avoided being friends with musicians because they have no morals. And tall people because their heads are too far away from earth. And dark haired people because they are wusses. Thin people are harsh and intolerant. Fat people just chuckle when you want to talk about something serious. People with large heads are obsessed with conspiracies. Small heads look weird. Long necks lack commitment. Short neck means tiny brain. Men can be dangerous or break your heart. Women might assume you’re a lesbian and you end up having to eat their pussy just to be polite. There’s a reason to avoid everyone.

I almost feel I’ve gotten too many ideas about life stuck in my head and now I need to clear a few out. Men who eat pasta are gay. Men who avoid pasta are gayer. Drugs are bad because they’re illegal. Hot dogs are bad cause I once found a short thick hair in one. Bars are bad because ghosts live in them and they can get stuck in your hair then follow you home. Honey mustard dressing is bad cause if you eat it you’ll attract men who like to be done up the ass. Red attracts violence. Purple insanity. Black death. White can make you so spiritual that you attract dark sluts who give you aids. Orange can make you attract fun loving sluts who also give you aids. Gold will turn you into a man. Silver softens your brain. The world is full of things to be avoided.

More than ever I feel like a black checker all alone on a checker board. My player has decided he’ll use me to make his next move. He doesn’t have many checkers left. But whichever direction he moves me in I’m gonna get jumped. Maybe this is why I keep walking into walls.