Hi. It seemed like a good day to reach out and say something. But my words are trying to hide and understandably so. There’s a lot to say for the really rotten year its been. And I feel like garbage. My thyroid may be trying to kill me and can’t decide which condition it wants-Graves or Hashimoto’s- since the numbers for both tests are high. Then again, I’ve never had an easy time deciding on anything so why not have two fucked-up issues at once, right?
But I have a new doctor that is so much more competent than the two archaic male fuckheads I have been dealing with for over a decade. And she actually listens…and she’s given me happy pills to add to the happy pills I am already taking. She totally understands that while my dopamine was finally sorted, my serotonin was non-existent, so now I shall finally have a hopefully ample supply of both. I laughed differently last night…it was only the first day of taking the Serotonin merry-makers, so I doubt it was the pills…but perhaps it was the relief of being listened to and knowing that someone understands what I am lacking and what I need?
So, I’ll tell you about my year as well as I can…but not today. I can’t find the right beginning to the story I have been stuck in…the fact that every belief system I’ve ever dipped a toe in failed me immensely and I was left blank… empty and hiding beneath the pillows on my bed. Bipolar 2 is such an asshole…at least most of the time. It strips you of everything and isolates you from the entire world. It makes you cry until your eyelashes fall out and then makes you cry even more until you have nothing more to give
I miss my friends. I miss talking to you about books and movies and places and of course, music.
And since the words aren’t coming, I’m adding music for you. I know it may seem lame to some people, but the people who understand me…who like me and maybe even love me just a little may appreciate the list. These songs have been screaming into my ears for the past month…its the only playlist I have been able to listen to….so they speak volumes.
And feel free to share something with me too. U know how much I love it, because even when I say nothing at all…I know that U know.
P.S. Before the list, I need to say something to Judas…my Dear Brutus, and fellow ice-cream assassin. Thank you for once upon a time keeping the wolves on the other side of the door and for stepping up when the boys definitely couldn’t be men…and shame on you for the times you couldn’t be real with me. You & I could have been real friends. Boy, we really wreaked such havoc on each other as well as a few bad angels, didn’t we? Happy Birthday. (Le temps passe et oh, comme les vampires sont lents et stupides ! )
Birthday song 🙂
Onto the playlist: “ Where words fail, music speaks.” ~ Hans Christian Andersen
1.) Cannibal
2.) This Glass House
3.) Digital
4.) Smothered Inside
5.) Sweet Dreams
6.) You Look Like Rain
7.) Etude Op. 25 No. 11 (Winter Wind)
8.) Eyes Without a Face
9.) Something Rotten
10.) Oh Klahoma
11.) Don’t You (Forget About Me)
12.) Dreams
‘…Ohwarfarin’ terrapin Unconfined, undesigned, Undersigned, bantering, Bartering, bellowing, Barracking, blundering, Pillaging, plundering, Living and lavishing Hammerings, harrowing, Flourishing, flattening, Levelling, reveling, Wrecking, and ravaging, Savoring, savaging, Oh warfarin terrapin Unconfined undesigned You’ve got me worried and wondering Worried and wondering Worried and wondering…
13.) I’m Not Done
So, I lost my head a while ago But you seem to have done no better We, we set fire in the snow It ain’t over, I’m not done
Some do magic Some do harm I’m holding on, holding on I’m holding on to a straw
Who is the Alpha And what is made of cloth? How do you say you’re sorry and there’s nothing to be afraid of? Is it dark already? How light is a light? Do you laugh while screaming? Is it cold outside?
One thing I know for certain, Oh I’m pretty sure It ain’t over, I’m not done.
(Yearly playlist sample, Birthday Wishlist, and the unquiet mind of a cracked writer on the eve of her birthday)
On This night waaaay too many years ago, there was a struggle happening…a fight, you could say. And it was a fight that my mother and I were both involved in and the fascinating thing was that we were on the same side of the fight! She was no doubt a scared 21-year-old trying to deliver a chubby almost 10-pound baby….her first child- without the help of any pain medicines and with a doctor that refused to perform a cesarean. As usual, I was biding my time, no doubt sleeping, curled in a breach position, in a warm safe place- refusing to make my entrance into the world until I was absoluitely ready. You could say this was the beginning of my infamous lateness in life. My mother has told me many times that she was in hell with me for 21 hours of labor. That’s nothing compared to the hell I created once I got here-questioning every single fucking thing. Asking her for answers about God that no one could possibly answer which enraged her so much, she would make me standoutside the house because she was afraid that God would strike the house, due to my blasphemy…telling her at 5 that I was either going to marry Spock, or my sickly-seeming cousin who was just a few days younger than me or better yet-the blue-eyed Jesus that plastered every wall of every relative. Had I been able to speak as quickly as I would have liked, I would have warned my mother that I was going to be a handful and a half for her… I should have at least probably been delivered with a note asking her ‘Are you ready for the storm?’
Over my childhood, I decided to become a scientist, a basketball player for the Harlem Globetrotters, a cosmetologist, a Janis-type blues singer and eventually a writer, a voodoo dabller, a Chaos Magician, Baphomet fan-girl and even proclaimed myself the reincarnation of Jesus’s Magdalene when I began sharing my naughty jesus poetry publically. I spent my last teenage years living on the street, feeling knots in my stomach for every nice car with a rich asshole in it that stopped to let out a young hustler boy they had just sodomized to the point of tears…I wanted more than anything to collect every single kid that had no family as well as what I had promised my grandma years before-every lonely old person and stray animal and give them all a happy, loving place to live and feel safe forever. Instead, as a teen, I read On the Road and No One Here Gets Out Alive-a guidebook for every magical thing and person worth learning about in life. I spent endless nights listening to The End and Stairway to Heaven, as if both could tell me what I should do with my life. I becameor perhaps realized that I was a writer, with my worn notebooks in a store bag sitting by the river until dusk- when the hefty river-rats that terrified me- would come and sit by me in the reflection on the city lights bouncing off the river and into my eyes. I loved people, or tried to in my own feral child way, at least and I fought for my existence…then I became a mother, which saved me and despite never planning to be a mom and the terrible things people around me would do-like leave adoption numbers in phone books open for me to see, I gave birth and kept my beloved Nile and that’s why I am still here to tell you all of my tales. Instead of being all of those things I thought I might do in my childhood, I became a writer, a mother, a lover and of course the fucking kind of fighter that gets back up after every single swing I have the misfortune of catching. The fact that I have been fighting every day or almost every day of my life to quiet and console my bipolar brain makes me think that out of the two of us, my mother and me- and the great fight we were having on this night so long ago, I was fighting just a little harder than she was…as a matter of fact, soon after birth, I turned over on my own as if to say ‘ok, let’s get to the good stuff, no more lying around for me’.
Out of all of my struggles and battles, I have fought my mind the most-even more than ex-boyfriends, my family, and that former friend named Judas…I have played with magick enough to know what can be done-even when it’s candle magick in the rain… My mind is forever a playroom full of thoughts and ideas that fly through the air at sometimes impossible speeds, but By God I do indeed catch them sometimes and I keep them inside of me until they grow strong enough to stand on their own…and once I birth them, I keep them at close range because I know how cruel the world can be to beautiful, fragile things. This past year was a practice in lengthening the leash i keep them on and letting them dip their feet in the world…sharing the things I create and more and more, I am feeling good enough to let some of them out into the word. For better or for worse, regardless of what the rest of the world thinks of them, they are mine and I treasure them, so they can always live with me even if they are rejected by everyone else.
Last year was a shifting year…and so fucking painful. It begin with knowing that someone I love more than words, was going to go through a divorce at the same age I was a child…this slammed me back into my own childhood for months…I wanted nothing more than to hold on to the little girl that was going through it this time as well as my little girl-self that had gone through it years ago. Luckily, the wonderful little girl going through it now is an amazing human and her parents are doing their very best to co-parent and she is going to be more than fine as a result…but for me, I lingered in the past, like I often do…I even decided at the last minute to lighten my hair back to the color it had been as a child…this took endless money, endless research, and endless damage- so of course also endless treatments too…By the time I reached the color I wanted it to be, the urge had passed and I wanted my raven hair back…which is indeed here again!
Last year also meant time with Nile being here again, though only briefly while waiting for his apartment and though I wanted to believe it would be like a second childhood and he and I would spend hours watching MST3K, it did not happen…he pulled away-perhaps because as an adult, he needed to pull away and stand on his own…it was like the pain I felt when he moved out years ago all over again…I cried, and I ached and the bipolar depression clawed and pulled me off my feet repeatedly through the year, especially since November. I still find it hard to understand why parents are forced to change while their kids are so willingly changing…I wished we could have used the time he was here to hang out more, but it just didn’t happen. That being said, he is coming to see me tomorrow and making me homemade fettuccine alfredo and I treasure every chance I do get to hang out with him, and he is such a great person…I am very proud that I actually created and nourished and grew this person, much like I do my writing and he can stand so firmly on his own now. I hope I can say the same about some of my serious writing projects by the end of 2023.
And then the year had to end with the death of my kid brother…my silly little dumb brother than I never, ever dreamed would leave this place before me. I have cursed everything…I have cried and punched and raged and am certain there was a mistake…FedEx must be in charge of dying and as they often do with everything, they got it wrong and were meant to take me. It’s made worse by the fact that we didn’t get beyond a silly disagreement…if he is anywhere, he should know what’s in my soul now though, so perhaps he knows everything I didn’t say.
And now here we are on the eve of my birthday. Yummy pizza and now it’s either a Kubrick documentary that I love about The Shining movie or the actual Shining movie itself. I kicked my ass into getting my playlist for the year together too. I’ll start with 6 songs from it in this post…Most of my year was about climbing…about getting higher…that’s what I do…I’m a Capricorn…I climb…I stumble, I fall, or even occasionally jump off the edge and then I dust myself off and begin climbing again. So many of the songs that mattered this year were about getting higher…and of course, the crashes and falls. These songs matter to me so much, so even if you hate them, they are part of me.
And I collected all of the things I have wanted throughout the year but was either too poor or too stingy to buy myself into one single Amazon wish list. if you have a look, you will see that most are things that matter to me…like jewelry…or notebooks because I still use notebooks to begin my work these days before transferring my nearly indecipherable handwriting onto my computer…and of course, incense, because I burn incense while I work and write, so these things aren’t just whims…they are part of my life…my creative ritual. And these days everything is a creative ritual to me…its about manifesting and moving…climbinghigher. My WishList
So, there you have it. My first real post for the year and the beginning of the playlist of songs that spoke and speak for me…I’ll add the lyrics when I can’t find a lyric video, since that’s where the importance is in all songs for me…they tell my story….and you can have a look at my list and see what weirdos like me like to surround themselves with…too bad, Amazon doesn’t have a very cool taxidermy section, isn’t it ? 😉
So, this year, do we dare climb higher than ever, Mes Amours? If so, take my hand and I’ll lead the way…but never, ever look behind you or below you, Trust me.
La La Love You,
~Lucia13
2022 Playlist Prt1.
1.) Idles ~ MTT 420 RR
Are you Ready for the Storm?
2.) Nine Inch Nails ~ 10 Miles High
I’m getting closer…
all the time I tried to get so high I made it 10 miles high I’m going to get so high (My nightmare’s everywhere but inside a living indication of every situation. But it seems I have been neglected, complication hindered my salvation but I try and I try and I try)
I’m going to get so high You’ll never get inside I swore I’d never turn into you I’m closer all the time I made it 10 miles high Can’t tell my truth from my lies I swore to god I would never turn into you I’m getting closer…all the time
Tear it all down tear it all down tear it all down tear it all down…
3.) Machine Gun Kelly ~ Papercuts
Bleach my hair, mess it up Take my life, dress it up…
4.) Regina Spektor ~ Prisoners
In my cell I’m tattooing myself with Mermaids and swallows and though I do swallow My mama thinks I’m grown but I’m really just little And someday I will remember…
5.) Modest Mouse ~ Trailer Trash For my silly kid brother and the childhood we shared together.
Live in trailers with no class God damn, I hope I can pass High school means nothing
Taking heartache with hard work God damn, I am such a jerk I can’t do anything
6.) David Bowie ~ I’m Deranged
And the rain sets in It’s the angel-man I’m deranged…
I am beginning this post at 11:43 p.m. I have no idea when I will be finished or what I am going to say from one line to the next. But I know it will come because it always has and it always will. Writing is the only thing I can do, except be a mother and get along with children. Writing has been with me through everything, and it is with me tonight.
Nearly two years ago, when a therapist asks me how I continued from one day to the next during the heaviest bouts of bipolar depression, I told him that it was through writing. It was a virtual appointment and he raised up in his chair to get closer to his laptop camera and in a whisper says, “then you write your ass off!”. During that session, it was apparent that we shared the same sense of humor because we discussed selling our organs in exchange for better medical treatment, so my reply was, “no not my ass. that’s a biiiiig, vital part of me, I’ll just write my guts out instead” and he said “very well, then write your damn guts out so that you keep breathing… breathe to write if you can but please, keep writing so you breath, ok?” This wasn’t supposed to the about me, but by God it is about me because as I always do, I will write about what I know and all I know right now is what I feel so I am sharing it with you because there is nothing else I can do with it.
This morning, I woke after about 2 and a half hours of sleep. I had the clock set for 9:30 a.m., but I woke before 7. My eyes opened and I was suddenly awake. I hate mornings and I despise alarms but I was going to see Nile and Mara today, so it was worth waking up for and I had a lot to do around the house, like mopping and a million other seemingly niggling things that shouldn’t matter in the great scheme of things, but matter just the same.
I got out of bed and did the things I needed to do, pleased with myself that I didn’t wait for the alarm to wake me at 9:30. I was sleepy and my period has been really, really bad this month so I was feeling drained, but I was ok. At 10:07 a.m., I sit down at my desk to see if I had heard from Nile, proud of myself for once being early instead of running late. I am always late for everything. Then a minute later, I went in and picked out something to put on. For one passing second, I thought about how my black shirt smelled just like my mother’s old house and wondered why, but then got on with the things I needed to finish and forgot about it.
What I didn’t know is that at this time, my youngest brother, who is almost 5 years younger than me was dying or dead. And his wife was trying to revive him for the 16 minutes it took for the ambulance to arrive. He did not come back. He was gone. Just like that. This fucking person who had been the Charlie Brown to my Lucy since I was almost 5 years old, the person who I had stuck together with as a small child against his father, my stepfather after he beat us with a belt for things such as laughing too loud was no longer on the planet. This broad-shouldered hulking, over 6-foot plus, occasional pain in my ass brother was dead.
Of course, I didn’t know this at the time, I didn’t know until I found a message from someone on Facebook that I didn’t know. I get a lot of those messages every day, and I nearly didn’t bother checking it. But it was from a female so I hoped it wasn’t something vulgar and opened it. It was a message asking me to call Angela. Initially, I tried to figure out which Angela this might be, then I thought of my sister-in-law, Someone I haven’t spoken to for about 5 years. I replied to make sure that I wasn’t mistaken and she replied with yes, your sister-in-law and that I needed to call her. I didn’t know what to do with this…I am kicking Effexor. It’s been fairly easy, but I’m paranoid and anything that involves my family always makes me extremely paranoid. We haven’t spoken in a long time and I wasn’t sure what I was getting myself into: I thought it might be something like a case of he said, she said from years ago, so instead of calling, I messaged my sister-in-law. I asked if things were ok. and I waited for a reply. But there wasn’t one. Then I sent another message and ask if there was something wrong and if the girls, (my nieces) were Ok. I told her that I was paranoid from medicine withdrawals so that I could start a new medicine in a few weeks and that I was not going to fight with anyone. I have worked so hard to find some kind of peace with everything for so long, my stomach was in knots, but I have always been very up-front and open with Angela so that’s how I was this time. I assumed that my mother was upset about Thanksgiving and wanted to get in touch with me or something. And I also worried that maybe my aunt Alice, who is older and struggling, may have gotten sick. So I asked her again if something was wrong and she replied with “yes, call me.”
Still not knowing what I was getting myself into, I finished getting ready and sent her another message, probably something panicked and borderline incoherent like please just tell me what is wrong. And that’s when Nile called me.
He told me that he had seen that there were messages on Angela’s wall about my brother and people saying how sorry they were. I assumed that maybe he had gotten into another foolish accident like he had done when he was a teenager.
What now seems like another lifetime ago, I had been on my way to my mother’s house once and saw what was obviously his truck which had run off the road and into some bushes and against a tree. I felt sick, but instead of letting my friend go see if he was still in the truck, I had to do it myself. I remember screaming at her that it was my brother and I needed to go to the truck. I crawled and waded through the thorns and bushes in my long skirt and sandals, cursing him as I went for doing this to me and making me rip my skirt to shreds just to get to his stupid truck. I made it to the window and saw the windshield was broken and the cab of the truck was full of blood. Too much blood.
I raced the rest of the way to my mother’s and found that he was OK-he had driven off the road and cracked his dumb head on the window and had bled a ton, but he was ok-giant stitches in his head and I believe the truck was garbage, but he was fine. I remarked later what a jerk he was for making me discover such a site and for killing my favorite skirt. That was about 29 years or so ago. For the past almost 3 decades we have argued, bickered, teased one another relentlessly and then about 6 years ago or so, he said something that made me really angry and that was it. Then there was the election and everyone in my family voted for Trump and by doing this, they caused me and mine extreme issues…I couldn’t understand how my family could do this…it hurt. It hurt beyond more than I would ever admit to and I felt completely exiled. So I broke ties with all of them.
And now here we are. My brother is dead and we never resolved our differences and I am so angry at everything and I do not know what to do except write this to help me stop crying. The stupid kid that my mother had with my “new father”, the baby brother that made me feel that I was no longer important so I tried to drag him outside and into the creek by our house when I was nearly 5… to put him the water like I had seen someone do with baby Moses on TV…the kid who was the pain in my ass because he kept asking me to play with my barbie dolls when he was 5 or come hang out in my room when he was 10 and I was almost 15, to listen to Prince at night during the summer when we had nothing else to do is gone. I am the oldest. I was supposed to die first. But I didn’t. I have had high blood pressure since I was 12 fucking years old. At 21, my pregnancy had to be induced early because my blood pressure was dangerous and both my son and I were in danger of dying. I have been the one that played chicken with the trains when I was a teenager just to see if my mother noticed. I was the one who walked through Downtown Cincinnati at night on my own when I was 19 and homeless but somehow was never attacked. I was the one standing on the goddamn bridge with a raging mental illness that no one in my family, including myself, understood at the time. Goddamnit, I was supposed to die first. I am the fucking oldest.
I do not know what his life has been like for the past 6 years or so. I know absolutely nothing. I just knew that is was not time for us to try to resolve our differences because it seemed like differences are all that we had any more, but then again, as the therapist said, that made perfect sense considering our childhood. We both grew up and learned to escape the past and survive in the best ways we could. One of the things we both did was tease and insult one another all of the time when we were together, and we were together at dinners for my mother’s sake back in the day…it was coping mechanisms for what we had experienced as kids.
Let me stop here long enough to say that if you think it’s ok to hit a kid with a belt because they do something that makes you angry, fuck you. Fuck you and I hope you suffer a sad fucking life and rotten death because no child-regardless of what the child does should be hit with a belt while you tell them that you will keep hitting them until you hear them cry. This is what my stepfather did to my brother and me until I was 13 and I finally broke the rotten bastard. He had hit us for laughing too loud while my mother was on the phone, probably asking to borrow money from one of my uncles because my stepfather was a lazy asshole. My brother and I had found something to entertain ourselves- rolling a small ball back and forth to one another on the kitchen floor. We were laughing because we were actually having fun, which was rare when my stepfather was home. I heard the familiar sound of the belt buckle being undone, something that still makes me instantly sick, and within a few seconds, the old bastard was on us telling us we were being too loud. He started with my brother who was 8 or 9 and hit him several times on the back until he began to cry and then he told me to turn around so he could hit me too. It hurt a lot. Have you ever been hit by a belt? It causes gashes and welts in your back and legs and backside that make it hard to sit down.
By the time he hit me the third time, he was breathing heavily because the asshole had been a chain-smoker since he was a little boy, (as he used to proudly tell us), but he was determined to make me cry. Cry Goddamnit and I will stop!” And that was when I found something in the pit of my stomach and the base of my spine for first time: I finally found all of the fucking nerve I had inside and said between hits “Keep hitting me, old man, because I am not going to cry’“ He hit me harder a few times and then because he could barely catch his breath, he had to stop.
He walked out of the room without saying anything else, and that was the last beating he gave either of us. I had fucking finally stood up to the monster that had terrorized us…The bastard that used to yell at my brother because he didn’t get the right wrench from the toolbox or would call him names and work him into such a nervous state that when he was an impressionable scared little boy, he had grabbed the hot muffler of a riding lawnmower and burned the skin of his palm off because he was being yelled at so loudly. I had heard this through my bedroom window and even after he had burned his hand, he still kept yelling at my brother, So I went outside and defended him. Back in those days, I defended him a lot…I even slapped a kid my brother’s age on the school bus for calling my brother a name. Of course, my brother was angry because he said he could handle it himself, but loyalty is like that and regardless of what my family can say about me, I have definitely been a loyal member of our family for most of my life, so it didn’t matter that it was a little kid to me; I just knew he was being a shithead to my brother and I was the only one allowed to be a shithead to my brother so I slapped him open-handed and movie-style hard.
As we grew older, we still maintained the typical brother/sister relationship and when I moved out eventually, my brother would save money, usually a dollar every few weeks and send it to me wrapped in a Wrigleys chewing gum wrapper, stuffed in a letter and taped securely in an envelope. Some days, this rolled or folded dollar was all that I had. I would hang on to it until I knew for sure that my boyfriend, who was a master shoplifter, wasn’t able to score a can of soup or I wasn’t able to find something else to eat that day, and then I would spend the dollar on a couple of 33 cent boxes of mac & cheese and it would be the best food in the whole world! And I thanked him for these small gifts. I always thanked him. We would write letters back in those days to one another and I would tell him about the places I had been or the people I had seen and he would write to me in his messy little brother writing about school or something that had happened with my monster stepfather.
But by the time I was 21 and had become a mother, he had grown into a quieter, more distant person. We still joked and teased one another but were no longer close. He had his life and I had mine. We had the past that we had shared and the shit we had dealt with and we had both done what we could to move beyond it, even though he was still stuck living with his shithead father who would degrade him sometimes, but then also try to be nice to him and I would watch my brother try his hardest to win the old bastard’s favor…sometimes it worked, sometimes it failed miserably, like when I helped him streak his hair in the 90s and he made the mistake of asking the old bastard what he thought of his new look. The bastard replied to my brother that he looked like a fucking f*gg*t and my brother turned and walked to his room quietly. I heard him crying and knocked to see if he was ok and to say I was sorry that he had been a jerk. But my brother was angry, maybe angry because he knew that I knew he was crying or was just angry that I had been the one to encourage him to do his hair in the first place. Coping mechanisms. The therapist said these were coping mechanisms. We grew apart because we were both coping.
7 or 8 years ago or so, I was coming out of another Hellish depression. I had avoided seeing anyone in my family at the time because I knew they didn’t understand my depression, They could only understand the depression they had suffered, but knew nothing of what the difference in a bad few days or weeks were compared to bipolar depressive states. I had stopped trying to explain it because I was embarrassed about my depression and embarrassed because it made me feel weak. This had been a particularly hard depression to beat because in the middle of it, something had happened that had never happened before. While sitting in a place called The Pub, after glancing at a man staring continuously at me from the bar for about 40 minutes or so, I glanced up again just as the man begin to change into swirls of colors. At first I believed this was just my bad eyesight-seriously, I can’t see more than two feet in front of me and now I have to hold things away from me too to find the sweet spot to be able to read it. I need glasses. But I hate doctors so I don’t have glasses right now. Eventually, I will, but not now. Then this newfound strange delusion scared me into thinking I was finally going full-blown insane and that maybe I was a Schizophrenic or something else that just hadn’t been diagnosed yet. So, it was a rough summer.
And then my brother stopped by unexpectedly one night to ask if we would like to come and see my mother on her birthday. I didn’t know how to answer because I knew that I was still not ok…I was scared about the van Gogh swirling experience and was afraid that I wasn’t ready to be around people, but it was my mother and being the oldest child, I knew I was supposed to go and he told me there would only be a few people there anyway, so with an apprehensive gnawing in my gut, I reluctantly agreed.
And there were more than a few people…there were people I had never met. To say I was overwhelmed would have been an understatement. I was lost and sick and dizzy and I wanted to run back to the car and leave, but I couldn’t; Nor could I explain what I was feeling because no one would understand. So I tried to be nice but mostly stared into space because I was so out of my element. Then when I was leaving my brother said something that he and I had said before about other people only showing up on Holidays…and now he was saying it to me “See you next Thanksgiving or Christmas” he said in front of everyone, which I felt gave the impression that I only visited on holidays for free food or gifts. I was not only embarrassed that he had called attention to me in front of people when I was doing my best to be invisible and to make an effort for my mother, but the fact that he was insulting me the way he had insulted others before infuriated me, I was hurt and I was so mad at myself for being foolish enough to be there. I remember getting in the car and saying aloud, “no, you will never see me on any other holiday” and that was it. That was the end of me and my brother and the coping mechanisms we had developed to move beyond the fears we had shared as kids…two little kids with sore bottoms and backs from a belt, standing outside trying to figure out where the brake line was on the car so we could cut it and the monster would hopefully die on his way to work. Once we figured out we didn’t know what we were doing, I relied on the other option: Chaos Magic, though I had no idea that’s what I was doing at the time. I looked at my brother and I said “I hope that SOB dies” and sure enough, on his way to work, he did indeed have an accident but not enough to kill him and not even enough to keep him away for a few days. But at least I had tried.
Ruben died today being the father of two daughters. Two young daughters and his wife, that spent 16 fucking minutes trying to revive him. I don’t know how to help her. I called her and spent the time in a stupid crying fit instead of being strong like I was supposed to be. But I kept thinking it was a lie and that they would start laughing and tell me it was a cruel joke, the way he and I used to play terrible pranks on my mother about my brother being in jail or my house burning down, just to see what her reaction would be. We used to play phone tag just to see who was able to hang up on the other the fastest. We would do this for hours sometimes. He would offend me by telling me that I was spoiling my son by getting him too many toys or for not sending him to school instead of homeschooling him (though my son went on to college and had close to a 4.0 when he earned his degree) fucking coping mechanisms…tear down the walls we shared as children and build new walls to separate our childhood from the present day. I get it. The therapist was right. Whether my brother ever realized that was what we were doing, I will never know. I assume he died hating me. My brother is dead, but the smoking man that terrorized us as children is still alive and I have so much fucking anger, I wish I could walk to his house and beat him with a belt until he has cried and then beat him some more…coping fucking mechanisms. There is nothing that can make me believe there is some “master plan” for the reason things happen. There isn’t a fucking plan, just holes and unfairness.
And here we are now. My eyes are swollen shut and I am so angry and hurt and sick. I do not think my brother would have wanted me to go to his funeral and I understand.
This year began with my son in ICU with Pneumonia. I couldn’t see him because he was so worried because I have high blood pressure, just like I have all of my life, (even though I take medication), that I would get covid if I came to see him. Instead, he sent photos of himself. He was sickly, pale and he had an IV in his neck and seeing him that way and being away from him nearly killed me. I prayed to every single being I could think of. I prayed to every god and demon I could find. “Take me and let him live, I said. Let him live and just fucking take me.” Fortunately, my son did improve but he has been through so many horrible things the entire year…I have been worried more than I can ever remember worrying before. I have screamed out to my dead father, my dead grandmother, and to every possible ancestor or being that might be listening…tell me there is more thanthis! Give me some fucking sign that there is more to this whole fucking mess than the depression I drown in. Tell me there is more than working my ass off every single day just to make sure there is food and the rent is paid! I have begged my father to come and see me in my dreams and yet I have had no dreams. I have heard nothing from anyone. This year has been the most desperate year of my life as far as trying to find answers to the things I have never been able to find…when I was in my early twenties, I went through this and bought every religious book about every religion I could find. But I found no answers then and I still don’t have any answers. The whole idea of life and death and fate is fucked. All of it is totally fucked. None of us have the answers and I don’t even know if there are answers and that is such a painful statement to type.
Today I spent the day with Mara. She is 4. She is so much like me that it’s scary. My son was a wild thing, but he was usually behaved and did what I told him most of the time. I can count on one hand the times he was in major trouble. Mara on the other hand is just like me, She woke before him this morning and trashed his house,…I saw the video. my son was so hurt and so surprised and angry, he was in tears, but he did not do the things that my stepfather would have done to me. She trashed the place as if vandals had broken in…I mean to the point that he had to bring her here and then go clean it up…used cat litter everywhere, spilled toothpaste and hair gel and soap and a million other things. She had made a mess and then tried desperately to clean it all up before her dad woke up. It reminded me of the crazy things I did when I was 4 and 5. I am very frank and open with her. I told her it was dumb and that she hurt her dad’s feelings and I never wanted her to do such stupid terrible things to him again. She promised she won’t but I am skeptical…she is my grandchild…she is clever and curious and much too smart to only be 4 years-old. She told me about someone she says will die soon. She said this very matter of factly today and I didn’t know how to reply. But being with her kept me as calm as I could be, having learned that my youngest brother had just died. I had older brothers from my paternal side but they were all dead before we knew each of us existed, so he was the only brother I knew. He was too young to die. This is such bullshit. He was Charlie Brown and I was Lucy, always tricking him into kicking the ball and always pulling it away before he could kick it. I will never watch read or watch anything Charlie Brown-related again. That blockhead is no longer here for me to bully or maybe one day talk to about things and the coping mechanisms the therapist told me about.
In December 1999, he was helping me move my things late at night to a new place. I had the flu and was really struggling, but had no choice but to do it that night…he asked if I had any money on me and I had a twenty, which I gave him so he could stop the Uhaul and get a soda and a candy bar. He took the twenty, bought the chocolate and his soda and never gave me the change for my twenty back…I didn’t ask him for it either because although it was the only money I had at the time, I figured it was my way of making up for all of those dollar bills he had rolled up in Juicy Fruit wrappers and sent me in the mail so long ago. When he got back in and turned on the radio, this Black Crowes song came on.
“You know this song has always reminded me of you” he said. “No shit”, I said, both taken aback by his sudden kindness like he had been when we were kids and also because it’s always reminded me of myself too. He turned up the radio and we listened to the song in silence…me with tears in my eyes because once when I nearly died in a car accident, the names of angels began running through my head in those short seconds before near-impact…names I had never heard before and couldn’t even pronounce. Since that day, they have never run through my head or made themselves known to me again. The tears were also because I was certain that one day I would no longer be alive and he would have to try and understand where I had gone and why.
But he went first, and he went too soon, and now here I am, feeling lost in time, like I’m ripping my skirt and cutting my legs trying to get to that fucking truck to make sense of what the fuck has happened or how he usually managed to hang up first and beat me at phone tag.
I have a habit of sharing things on my blog that very few people know anything about…sometimes it’s the very first time I have ever shared it with anyone. I’ve always said I am at my most honest when I am writing here and that’s still true, so here we go…let’s see if we can make sense of the things in my head right now.
When I was 19, I started to walk over this bridge like I did on most days, The John A. Roebling Suspension Bridge.
It was late afternoon in late May and on a whim, I stopped and sat on the rail by the sidewalk on the side of the bridge, which you can see in this picture that I found on Wikipedia.
The sunlight was blinding, the river looked like an endless pool of silver light…the sky was an unpromising void-completely empty of everything but the faintest flat blue. I remember it seemed ugly, just like the rest of the world seemed to me. I put one leg over the side of the fence so I was sort of sitting on it like a horse and waited for a few minutes, though I don’t know why. Then I put my second leg over, so my back was facing the traffic going over the bridge and I was facing the empty silver pool of light that the river was, with my feet resting on the thin bar beneath the fence. I don’t know how long I stayed there. I remember my head feeling clear and relatively quiet, which was unusual for me. I’m not sure how or why, but two friends, my ex pal, Judas and Larry found me and suddenly, I was in tears but I don’t know why I was crying. I walked back to the pizza place they were working at and had a coke and a slice of pizza and then went back to my apartment. They had asked what I was doing on the bridge and I just said ‘I don’t know.’… because I truly didn’t know. The whole incident still feels surreal to me.
A year later, after a soul-punching fight with a feral devil of a boyfriend, I opened the bottle of pills I had stolen from his adoptive mother’s dresser drawer. The bottle’s label was almost completely faded, so the pills must have been really old. I took two, and then another pill and then two more. Then I took the last three. I didn’t want to die. I just wanted to sleep. I wanted a quiet peace in a place where my brain wasn’t raging and moving too fast like a giant machine that never stops hammering and pounding. I no longer wanted to see my boyfriend’s devilish, arrogant grin when he said something rotten that cut me to the bone or continue living in an apartment with no electricity. I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. When I woke it was early morning…I had been asleep for over 48 hours. As usual, my boyfriend hadn’t been home, so he nor anyone else knew what I had done. I picked up my notebook and walked toward the river to try making sense of my mind and to put it into words. I used to try writing everything down so if necessary, someone might find it and understand it. I never managed to write down what had happened with the pills and I think it was years before I told anyone what had happened and when I did mention it, I made it into a joke about being a silly irresponsible 20-year-old. This is the first time I have been honest about why I did it. Over time, I have managed to cut the self-appointed judges and jurors from my life, which means I have nothing to lose by being honest so if there are people reading this that judge me, believe me when I say your opinions no longer reach or hurt me.
Fast forward to almost a year later, and I am back on the bridge again. This time, it’s a little after 6 a.m. and it’s freezing. But the sun is a golden, promising color…the kind that tries its best to take some of the chill off of the biting winter morning for you. I’m halfway across the bridge that connects Covington, KY to Cincinnati, OH. I stop to look at the pure, blue sky and watch the oncoming barge slowly make its way toward the bridge. I have a little person named Nile growing in my tummy that has demanded I get dressed and walk for miles in the cold on my own so that I can go to the bus terminal downtown where there’s a tiny deli. Inside of that deli is a tall wooden barrel and that barrel is full of chilled pickles. Large dill pickles individually vacuum-sealed in small bags for a dollar each. At this point, I had been pregnant for over 3 months and morning sickness was finally starting to fade. Having a pickle by myself with my little one snuggled deep in my heavy-coated belly, watching the morning wake with the steam coming from the barge and the buildings on both sides of the river and the city yawning and stretching to life around me was the most wonderful thing I could be doing. I felt free, at peace and absolutely alive.
And from that point on, the days of swallowing pills, climbing over the edge of bridges or sitting in my room cutting lines into my skin ended. I had a purpose. The most important purpose in the whole world and though I didn’t yet understand that I was struggling with bipolar and had been since I was 16 or so, I was determined to be the best mom possible. Being the best mom possible meant protecting him and in order to protect him, I needed to be strong and in order to be strong, I needed to, of course, be alive.
Despite the low points, I experienced and the toxic people that happened to be around, I did a pretty fucking amazing job at being a parent. Seriously, one of the only and biggest regrets I have is not going to build-a-bear one day when he really wanted to go. I kept a close watch on him so that he would never experience the things I had experienced. I taught him that a single parent could indeed be enough and that women were just as capable at anything as men were. Though he watched as I did everything any man could do, from carrying couches upstairs while holding him on my hip, to yelling at pushy people who took it upon themselves at traffic lights to clean our car windows and then expect me to pay them, he grew up feeling a bit protective of me… For example, when we were walking down the street and there were groups of men, he would squeeze my hand tighter and sometimes try to pull me in an effort to cross the street. I usually said no, and I would tug on his hand, quicken our pace and walk by the men…I had to show him that it was OK and just because we were outnumbered and I was a woman, I wasn’t afraid, and honestly, I really wasn’t afraid-at least 98% of the time anyway.
I have battled bipolar and MS for most of my life, though to be completely honest, like I have always said, I am the luckiest MS-affected person in the world. I have numb toes and fingers that sometimes wake up just to be overdramatic for a minute or two and feel too much of something, but for the most part, I am so fucking lucky. I still walk and I still obviously fucking talk. I don’t take medicine for MS-just a heavy dose of vitamin D that manages to push my D level into an “average” range, according to my blood work. But it’s enough and while I know this isn’t the case for other people, it works for me.
Bipolar is still the scariest fucking asshole I have ever met. It dims the lights and makes the floor beneath me disappear. It turns people staring at me from the bar of a restaurant into swirled, Van Gogh colors and it either makes me sleep for days or stay awake for days creating things. Sometimes, It still tells me to just. go. to fly away somehow…like off bridges and overpasses, for example. Of course, by now it surely must know that those silly words aren’t going to reach me, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t scary. However, over time, especially since I became a mom, those impulses have changed and now, the Call of the Void has become an ally and almost just as tough as Bipolar. The impulses to jump or do something terrible aren’t coming from Bipolar these days, but from what I have read, they are more like warnings-that even completely ‘sane’ people experience. And of course, some are just my over-imaginative mind creating scenarios and images- but I’m a writer so creating images is what I am supposed to do!
So, here we are now. I went back to the doctor on Thursday. I was so sure that the Biotin or Collagen had altered my tests and having been off of both for 5 days, a new blood test would show that I am indeed back to my usual underactive thyroid. I was certain of it. During the appointment my doctor casually threw out words like Grave’s Disease and Cancer as if he were talking about what he might have for lunch-completely unemotional and cold. I suppose this is how he has to be, and why I would make a terrible doctor. I used to want to be a child psychologist-I wanted to save children from the things no one saved me from…but I worry that I would be too emotional and would want to take them away to a safe place and give them sugary cereal and let them watch cartoons, play video games and draw pictures…to forget about their pain and obviously, that wouldn’t work, so it’s best that I write tangled word-songs instead of trying to heal people, right?
Later Thursday afternoon, I received my tests. As you can see-the collagen and biotin were masking the numbers-but they were actually making them show up less than they really are.
Obviously, in the grand scheme of things, these numbers aren’t insanely high, but they are too high. My TSH is still basically non-existent, but I am used to that when I haven’t had medicine in years…My neck feels swollen and when I touch it, I can feel that my thyroid is too big…especially on the right side. It has been that way for almost a year but I kept telling myself that it was just because I needed my thyroid medicine. The reason I choked last year was because of my swollen thyroid. Getting these results online on my chart-because apparently doctors and nurses no longer have the time (or is it compassion?) to call and tell you these things themselves- really was a huge, scary blow for me. I cried for a few minutes and then made jokes because that’s what people like me do. People who learn to take a punch, then laugh and just fucking keep surviving. I mean, of course I would have something as morbid-sounding as Grave’s Disease right? Of course it has nothing to do with an actual grave, but morbid humor is like silly putty...we can do with it whatever the fuck we want-even stuff it in the hole of a leaking boat.
So here is where we are with things:
Like I mentioned before, two of my maternal aunts had their thyroid removed either before I was born or when I was small, so it was probably down to Grave’s Disease since I remember my mother saying more than once that no one in our family has ever had cancer. Thyroid issues can definitely be genetic, so chances are I have Grave’s Disease. That will suck because they will more than likely want me to ingest radioactive iodine to basically kill my thyroid-that’s what they do these days, rather than remove it. If I were to ingest the radioactive drink, I would need to be isolated from people for 2-3 days because I will be fucking radioactive. Apparently even my pee would be radioactive, which would be kind of funny if I had a willy because I imagine I could just pee on weeds and kill them in some black and white sci-fi Godzilla movie sort of way…but I do not have a willy so the idea of radioactive pee doesn’t seem cool to me at all. There are anti-thyroid medicines and I am hoping that they will allow me to try those, since my numbers aren’t too insanely high…however, these medicines lower your immune system and screw with the production of bone marrow. One of the reasons I do not take an MS medicine is because they fuck with your immune system so this idea does not seem good to me either. The other choice is removing my thyroid. OK, so that isn’t going to happen… I have an impacted wisdom tooth that has caused me immense pain off and on for decades and I am too terrified to be put under and have it removed. The only medically related thing I have done besides two MRIs for my MS lesions was have a baby. I had him and a few hours later, was in the shower-with my IV pole still attached, and then putting on makeup and just wanting to go home…that was a cinch…but the idea of being put under for anything is my biggest fear. My mom wouldn’t wake up after a surgery when I was little. I remember the nurse coming out to tell my stepdad that they were having trouble getting her to wake up and in that instant, my whole world crashed. I was so scared that I would be left on my own with him and I began trying to figure out how to save my grandma and me from being with him. Obviously, she did wake up and had numerous surgeries after that without any issues, but that fear has stuck with me forever. There are times when I am having nightmares and I can’t find my way out of them, which usually makes me too scared to sleep for a few days, so the idea of being put under scares me beyond words.
Of course, the other possibility is that its cancer, and though I fear that it is cancer, I know I can’t think like that and have to hope for Grave’s-which is a strange position to be in…much like when I felt enormous pain and pressure in my brain, had an MRI where the technician went suddenly very silent and no longer smiling and jovial with me-as if they were at my funeral- and found out two days later that it was the Dawson finger lesion that had spooked them-I remember saying to the nurse who called (back in the days where they actually bothered to be human enough to call with results) “so its definitely MS? thank God” because I thought it was a tumor. I remember she thought that was strange-to be happy that it was only MS. So I need your vibes again-positive vibes that it’s only Graves disease. I won’t know anything until May 14th-the day of my endocrinology appointment. But May 14th was my Grandma’s birthday and the day that Nile was supposed to be born (he arrived a few weeks early), so I am looking at it like a good omen.
And my Aunt Helen was the pillar of strength and cool to me when I was a little girl and even after I was grown.I wrote about her in a post once. My mother used to tell me that I was a lot like her and she was also one of the aunts that had her thyroid removed, so I’m trying to look at this as just another way we’re alike. She was tough, outspoken, and free. Her murderer was a tiny little man that couldn’t control or keep her, so he shot her… in the fucking back- like cowards always do. The fact that such a strong spirit could be silenced by a simple little mortal is the reason I never like turning my back to doors or to anyone I am in the room with, especially if they happen to be angry with me. No one in my family has made such an impression on me. This was her in the late 60s and early 70’s and then a picture of me from August of 2019. The light was bright when the picture was taken of me, but I remember my slight squint from the bright light and my expression completely reminded me of my aunt. I’m hoping she is with me for this crazy Thyroid silliness, so she can help me kick its ass and just get back to life again. Even if she isn’t, I’ll get through it. After all, I’m still that girl standing on the bridge: the one watching the city wake up and feeling the warmth of the sun on a winter’s day.
And this is me from the day of my first appointment on March 25. I’m writing a post about being the only witch in the garden center earlier that day. I will put it up Sunday evening or Monday morning depending on when I finish it. I’m getting ready to start painting a sparkly blue wind mobile for little Mara (there are two Maras in my world), and who knows how long that’s going to take.
Saying thank you for your love, positive vibes, and kindness doesn’t feel like it’s nearly enough. I’m giving every single one of you the tightest, most sincere hugs possible.
I Love you.
~Luci
Seven Mary Three ~ Devil Boy
Because on one Easter Sunday, I finally escaped a feral Devil, his rotten grin and his cutting words. I love this song because it’s an eternal reminder that I made it out alive.
Hi, (please forgive typos-I’m too tired to proofread right now)
OK….i have no idea how to even start this post. I should be getting ready for bed because I have a very early morning in about 7 hours. The idea of even writing this post seems needy and weak. There’s a lot of things I can admit to being, but needy and weak aren’t on that list. Seriously, I choked for the first time in my life last year-on pills, and rather than run for help, I handled it myself. I spent the rest of the night shaking and feeling sick about it, but I saved myself because I have been that kind of person since I was a little kid. I don’t know how to ask for help and I don’t like feeling weak or scared. But I’m doing my best not to have a panic attack right now and I totally believe in the strength of positivity and healing vibes-regardless of where they come from and how they help, so I’m writing this.
I braved the doctor last week-Thursday. Its the first time I have left my house since August 31 of last year. This was completely intentional. I have had high blood pressure since I was 12 years old. I’m a type A personality, so things like hypertension comes easily. It doesn’t matter how relaxed or active or how over the moon I feel, my heart is an aggressive jerk that works way too hard-basically, just like my immune system looks for fights within my body and attacks the myelin that covers my nerves. And my body hates getting help-for example, if I take anything that boosts my immune system, my MS rages and hands me a relapse. Luckily, the last one was almost 2 years ago and other than some numb hands issues, it backed off, but the relapse was caused by just taking probiotics for two month…You would think I would have learned my lesson as far as supplements go, but I haven’t…well, i have now, actually…but I’ll get to that in a minute.
So, I have hidden away from the world to protect myself from getting Covid. Having hypertension could make it worse for me, though ironically, I’m not 100% sure that I actually didn’t have Covid in late February of last year-when I got the cold that Nile had…I lost my sense of smell for about 3 weeks and my taste for about 5 weeks and my chest felt like I was being crushed by a sumo wrestler…I have always had this strange fear of dying from something as useless as pneumonia and I remember wondering if maybe that’s what had developed from the cold-that’s how rough it was. But i didn’t go to the doctor so I’m not sure and so by the end of August, I settled into hiding away in my apartment until the world was OK again. I remember seething at the idiots that refused to wear masks because those people are so completely clueless and the fact they were and are endangering people drove me…and still drives me crazy. I missed Christmas and my birthday with Nile and Mara and I’ve cried a billion tears because I felt like I was being a bad mom and a terrible Lolly for not being there for them. But Ialso know that I need to be OK so I can stick around for years and we are so close to getting vaccinations, I know I can make up for the time I have lost…and I also knew I needed to go to the doctor-after not having medication for things like thyroid issues and bipolar for three years…so after a billion talks with my loved ones, I agreed and I mustered the nerve to leave my safe place and go into the doctor’s office on my own and face things at last…and you know what? It went well-like really, really well!!! and I was prescribed my medications…we are back on the Effexor train again, kids-the same high dosage I used to take, though I haven’t started it yet because things have been crazy since Friday.
Even getting my blood drawn was a piece of cake and a lot less painful than the daily Copaxone shots I used to do…I was nervous about the words ‘complete blood count’ because I always am, but tried to believe it would be fine…after all, it always has been…but it had been three years and basically my diet looks like this: 20% of the time, I spend eating spinach salads, 80% of the time I am a coke and pepsi-drinking, taco-addict and pasta slut-because I make the absolute best spaghetti Bolognese you could ever taste, so I was pretty worried about everything this time. I waited all night for my results to show up on my mychart account (for non-Americans, that is an online account where you get to see your results before you have even spoken to your doctor. This seems like a good idea, but it sucks because you may be left with a lot of scary questions and have no one to give you answers).
Every time I get a CBC done, I worry about every possible what-if…my father and his siblings and his mother all passed from kidney and liver-related issues…I live with the guilt that when I was 19 and saw my father for the last time and he told me he was on dialysis for the one failing kidney he had left, I didn’t think to offer him one of mine. I lose sleep sometimes, wondering if I could have saved him. And every time I get extensive blood work done, I wonder if this is the point where I learn that my liver or my kidneys are screwed…and then there’s my mother’s side: diabetes and heart disease. My aunt said ‘it’s not about IF we get diabetes but WHEN we get diabetes. This has been in my head for years…so I am always prepared for bad news-either my cholesterol is going to be through the roof or my sugar is going to be so high, I have to be immediately hospitalized and that is that.
And yeah, in case you hadn’t guessed, I’m an anxious person…pretend that you can overlook the fact that Woody Allen is a pervy asshat and focus on the characters in his movies he plays-which are all basically just the real him anyway…pretty anxious guy, right? Well, I have more anxiety in my pinkie toe on a chilled-out Sunday than he will ever, ever have, believe me.
Around 2 A.M. Friday morning, my tests were uploaded and my blood work…cholesterol, glucose, red and white blood cells, etc…were PERFECT. I was beyond relieved and also a little in disbelief that I could be so “OK”. My TSH level was almost at 0 because it always is when I haven’t taken my medication-especially for three years…I have had thyroid issues for decades-two of my maternal aunts had thyroid issues so I am not surprised…but I went to bed feeling a sense of relief that I haven’t felt since last year, when after a months-long scare about Nile’s health, we finally found out that he was OK. I haven’t been able to finish a post about that yet because its the most scared and worried I have ever been in my life…I’ll do it one day, just not now.
I woke up feeling so relieved and waiting for someone from the doctor’s office to call and tell me how much synthetic thyroid medicine I would be taken, but no one called…instead I received a message saying that my results had been updated and that here was a message waiting for me in my Mychart. I felt instantly sick and my head began pounding-I had no idea what to expect-but I expected everything…I wondered which side of the family’s illnesses had finally caught up with me, but I sucked it up and checked my chart anyway …and there was a message from the doctor telling me I needed to come back in a see him…because my T3 is high…like pretty high and that I suddenly have HYPERthyroidism…which should not be possible because I have HYPOthyroidism. Believe me, today it was 75 degrees in my place, but the breeze through the window gave me goosebumps and I had to put on a jacket…I know the symptoms and I know that I do NOT have HYPERthyroidism. So…after researching it and wondering how I could suddenly have such a high T3 level, I discovered ugly words like thyroid cancer and Graves disease… I’m not going to lie-I freaked…I am still freaking, but I’m freaking less now…because after doing more research, I discovered that supplements like Biotin-which i have taken every day for about 3 years, and Collagen which I have taken for about 6 months, can both have strange effects on blood tests-especially thyroid tests…so maybe, just maybe I am OK and the collagen has either boosted my T3 levels too high or the biotin has just thrown the test results off, which it is known to do…of course, I have to take this information into my doctor who I am sure has never heard of these strange flukes and tell him that maybe I do not have something terribly wrong after all..that maybe its just my silly supplements once again causing me issues…
Regardless of what i learn tomorrow-and I won’t probably know until I have gotten the results of my new blood tests which probably won’t be until 3 a.m. or so on Thursday morning, I need some positive vibes…and more importantly, some vibes for strength…I have to go into the office alone again in a few short hours…I have to hear whatever he wants to tell me alone and I need to be able to handle whatever it is…whether it was just a screw up from silly over the counter supplements that I am going to stop taking because they keep doing more harm than good-or if its something bigger, like Graves disease or something even worse. Just figurately hold my hand and help me get through this, so I can get back to writing things like the post about “the witch in the garden center” which is what happens when yours truly braves the crowd of pastel moms and goes shopping for plants.
It seems that most people believe me to be a sweet, (albeit a sort of strange collector of dead things and lost souls, which is in all fairness, quite accurate), smiling mad thing most of the time. But if those people saw my occasional 3 a.m. form, they would see that I’m sometimes something far more sinister-especially when I’m involved in a Ebay bidding war for a necklace that caught my eye and I just knew that I had to have it…but there were only 4 minutes left to win him. So I tied my hair up in a messy bun, turned the music up a little louder on my headphones and sat up a bit higher in my chair. Baphomet was reaching out to me from far across the world, so the great Wednesday-night Ebay bidding war was on!
Me:bids 56 cents and grins. Yonkers, NY: 6 seconds later, bids 78 cents Me:impressed with the quick reply, I grin an even bigger grin and bid $1.00 within 3 seconds. Yonkers:10 seconds later, bids $1.15 Me: Aware that the time is passing quickly, begins to growl a little like a hungry cat who thinks its saucer is about to be taken away, bids $1.25. Thenblows my long, messy bangs out of my eyes and sends an urgent, aggressive mental message to Yonkers:
“Look, Mere Yonkers Mortal, put your silly bidding coins away!! This slightly too-shiny Baphomet is miiine and if need be, I will bid 3, maybe even 4 dollars if provoked- so admit defeat and be on your way!”
I waited in tense silence with my fingers resting on my keyboard, ready to bid even more for my future goat-man treasure, but Yonkers had clearly received my harsh mental message and watched in shamed silence as the seconds ticked away. Two minutes later, Baphomet was miiine. Now, this shiny little Sweetheart is on his way to me-and no, this is obviously not my hand holding him, Silly! But I shall definitely model him for you when he arrives.
Happy Sunday, Sexy Deviants! It’s raining and will be 64 degrees here today, so yes, Sunday can indeed be a happy day. Spring has made his beautiful return and winter will slowly but surely be defeated once again.
This is the Amazonian-ish, Baphomet-Claiming music that most definitely helped me win the bidding-battle and its often the first and last song I listen to while biking too, so turn it up really, really loud so you can feel what I feel when I’m laying claim to Baphomet or feeling half-dead on my bike. I often listen to this when I’m really angry with people too because it usually does a brilliant job at helping me center myself and choose my words and actions wisely. (sorry this video’s sound goes a bit wonky by the end. I couldn’t find another one on Youtube, which is unfortunate because Beat Mistress is amazing!)
I hope you have an amazing Sunday!
Wicked Sugar-Smiles & Love, Love, Love,
~ Lucia13
“Grinning, Baphomet-Loving, Dead Things & Lost Souls-Collecting, Mad One”
When I was three, my father introduced me to pineapple milkshakes. This was such a big deal that I even mentioned it in a piece I wrote about him. Pineapple milkshakes are still a big deal to me. And honestly, I still have the palette of a three-year-old. Seriously, I know a wonderful 2 year-old that has a much more adventurous palette than I’ll ever have. I’m digressing. Then again, its 10:02 a.m. – digressing is pretty much the best thing you can do with an hour like 10 a.m. other than sleep, of course.
The problem with pineapple milkshakes is that it’s almost impossible to get the best, biggest pieces of pineapple through the straw which means if you want the best bits, you have to toss the straw and the lid and drink the best bits. When you’re three, this usually means the cup is too big for you to handle so you mostly miss your mouth and dump the best bits onto your clothes and hair. Over the past 16 days or so, my inability to write reminds me of the milkshake disasters I used to have. The opening in my mind that usually allows the best bits out has felt too narrow. Several nights after work for the past two weeks, I sat at my desk, staring at the blank white screen and couldn’t empty a single sweet piece from my head…not that there aren’t any good bits in my head; they’ve just refused to come out. Luckily, I never give up on writing or pineapple milkshakes, so the good bits will come out, I’m sure.
And in case you didn’t know, my birthday was 10 days ago!! Nile tells me that age is just a number, but it’s a number I’m definitely not happy about, though like the song says ‘yo I got plenty of time’, right? Though I have to confess that over the past few years, I’ve started to worry that I probably have fewer birthdays ahead of me than I have behind me, unless I make some pretty dark, lucrative deals I haven’t stumbled upon yet. I’m morbid, it’s my nature to think like this…but luckily, it’s also my nature to not accept age or time or anything else I choose not to accept, so as far as I am concerned, I DO have plenty of time, damn it! And much of that time will be committed to writing-regardless of what that writing might be. I desperately want to complete one of the biggest and most personally important pieces of fiction I have ever started, but then there are the Morgue Life short stories that have been stirring restlessly lately and of course, there’s my twisted poetry, (that sometimes becomes twisted, spoken pieces), that also demands my time. Speaking of twisted poetry, I started a new piece a few days ago-on a sleepless night I spent asking my girl, Alexa to shuffle Coltrane all night long. It’s called Knees in the Snow. I’m not absolutely sure where this piece is taking me, but so far I’m enjoying the ride.
But enough about sweet pieces; for now, I’m going to talk about me…which I suppose could be considered a sweet piece in few ways…
… Ahem, OK, let’s get back to my birthday. It was a good day. Pizza, amazing company, and horror movies-I was a happy girl. And this was me in my new birthday shirt: The shirt is quite fitting, isn’t it?
And speaking of gifts, I have a birthday list of things I really want, so have a look if you feel charitable & sweet or even if you’re just curious about the sort of things a weirdo like me fancies calling her own. I have gotten a few cool things so far that I will share with you in the future, Oh, and I got a great gift from my friend Phil, which was a very nice surprise that I didn’t even discover until this weekend. And you know, maybe I should just keep my wishlist up all of the time in the sidebar like I have seen a few fancy shmancy writers doing, so forget about calling it a birthday list, it’s just a wishlist of things I always want. I shall rename it my Gimme, Gimme, Gimme list.
And I have 3 more posts I want to finish and share with you, so there won’t be such a space between posts next time-I pinkie promise. I’ writing an entire post about a movie…well, two movies, actually-because I love the character so much…even though he is a total creep.
And before I say goodbye, I’ll share some pictures of little kid me, When I’m done with this post, it might be bedtime for me because me eyes are heavy and its nearly 11 on a frigid Monday morning full of freezing rain and the stink of the chemical reek coming from my druggie neighbors. There’s nothing good that can happen on such a frigid Monday morning that doesn’t require a bed…stop it, stop it-you know what I mean 😉
This was me on the first day of my existence this time around. I look pretty angry. Actually, this is still what I look like when I have to face early mornings. Apparently soon after I was born, I actually managed to turn over by myself in the nursery. That’s a pretty big deal. I suppose I was ready to find some trouble to get into instead of doing silly baby things.
This is me a few months later, and as you can see, I didn’t escape from the nursery, so I was forced to do baby things-like wear this silly baby outfit. But by this time, I had obviously slipped comfortably into my demanding Capricorn self. Though you probably can’t see from this choppy photo unless you click on it to enlarge it, I’m motioning to the photographer to just take the damn picture already! I have no idea why this is in black and white. I may be getting old, but I’m not THAT old!
This is me with my grandma whom I was very close to and grew up living with until I was 13…we were close enough to forego manners sometimes, so when she nagged me for being too slow getting ready when I had to catch the school bus, I could say ‘shut up grandma!’ and it was totally OK. She would just reply with a grumpy “I’ll shut YOU up!” I like what I’m wearing, but it seems a wee bit snug around my tummy.
Now, this is me in my element: obviously busy making mischief and wearing a stained shirt. This is one of my most favorite pictures of myself because it truly still captures my spirit. Luckily, I am a little less messy these days though.
This is me around 4 or 5, wearing my beloved Red Riding Hood shirt (Red Riding Hood is still one of my favorites) The missing front teeth were compliments of a cinder block that hit me in the face when a makeshift teeter-totter went very wrong. I swallowed both of my front teeth and my giant piece of bubble gum. It was pretty gruesome, but I was tough, so as you can see, I was fine without the teeth and the bubblegum. I probably stopped trying to build teeter-totters after that accident though.
This was me around 7 or 8 on the verge of my tomboy phase, which means I hated being in this silly dress. I think I’m biting my lip in the photo, which is what I still do when I can’t freely express my feelings. This was probably me resisting the strong urge to tell my mom that I hated the stupid, tight socks I’m wearing.
This is me around age 10. I’m rocking my pigtails and my awesome post-disco dance, dance, dance shirt. I was beginning to develop my wise-ass, cool as all get-out personality by this point. This is one of the few photos I have that reminds me what my natural hair color used to be…before I began dyeing it black when I was 13.
And here we are now. And despite the insanity of last year and basically most of my life, things are falling into place. I’m more aware of who I am than I have ever been and I’m starting to really feel totally comfortable in who I am too…I mean, I have always been pretty comfortable in myself, but I’ve had an extra boost of comfort lately…maybe that was a gift from the birthday gods? I’m still working on finding peace-something that I have been doing for a while now, and it’s finally paying off. And even more importantly, I can honestly say that I feel loved…regardless of how close or far away that love is coming from, I feel it, and to feel that after decades of resisting… not allowing myself to accept being loved feels absolutely priceless…even if I did have to spend a few decades to get here.
This song has been constantly looping in my head since my birthday. And that makes perfect sense to me.
Home is where I want to be Pick me up and turn me round I feel numb – burn with a weak heart (So I) guess I must be having fun The less we say about it the better Make it up as we go along Feet on the ground Head in the sky It’s ok I know nothing’s wrong . . nothing
Hi yo I got plenty of time Hi yo you got light in your eyes And you’re standing here beside me I love the passing of time Never for money Always for love Cover up + say goodnight . . . say goodnight
Home – is where I want to be But I guess I’m already there I come home – -she lifted up her wings Guess that this must be the place I can’t tell one from another Did I find you, or you find me? There was a time Before we were born If someone asks, this where I’ll be . . . where I’ll be
Hi yo We drift in and out Hi yo sing into my mouth Out of all those kinds of people You got a face with a view I’m just an animal looking for a home Share the same space for a minute or two And you love me till my heart stops Love me till I’m dead Eyes that light up, eyes look through you Cover up the blank spots Hit me on the head Ah ooh
I love the beginning of a new year-it’s a vast book of blank pages that you can do almost anything you want with.
But wait a sec, let me address the elephant in the room: the fact that I have neglected my blog for so, so long. There are things I want to catch you up on, but not today. I haven’t slept for the past 27 hours and I am still planning on having a New Years Day meal: Mongolian Beef-the same meal I had on January 1, 2020. (Don’t worry, I am totally sure that having a New Years’ repeat meal isn’t going to curse us to live 2020 over again…right?)
And no, I haven’t ghosted anyone either.
Things are going to be good…at least better this year. They have to be, and besides, we will actually have a president instead of an ignorant, rotten, wannabe dictator, so no more waking up in the middle of the night (or day) in a panic, frantically scrolling on my tablet blurry-eyed or turning on the TV to make sure that the Tangerine-tinted Dumpster Nightmare hadn’t shoved us headfirst into WW3. The past 4 years have been Hell, but I’m going to stop typing about that because the past 4 years, nor Trumpy, deserve the attention today; its a new year and hopefully, it will be a normal, mild year for a change, and yes, that is one of the few times I shall ever use mild to describe something in a positive light, other than when describing curry.
Now, let’s get to the music.
As always, it’s not about ‘new’ music, but the songs that meant the world to me…told my story in one way or another: These songs have helped untangle my crazy mind about the things I have been going through for the past year and also things I have finally started to confront from numerous once upon a times…they’ve offered a shoulder, and open arms…and they spoke for me when I couldn’t find the words myself-because yes, even I am at a loss for words from time to time. As complicated or foolish as it may sound, nearly every single line of every single song means something to me-in the same way that I’m sure certain songs mean as much to you… they help tell our stories. And trying to figure out the meaning of lyrics that are so important to other people is like a brilliant, though sometimes seemingly impossible puzzle; (it’s a great and occasionally a scary way to start a conversation too!) Music is the finest, most powerful magick I have ever known, second only to love and perhaps very rare, very intense infatuation.
There’s a meaningful order to the 20 songs too (plus the 2 bonus songs) because I wanted bonuses and I pretty much try to do whatever I want most of the time these days, so yeah, there’s 22 songs-all painstakingly curated by me over the past few days. It’s important to start at the top, which is the end, and work your way down to song number one ( listen to the two bonuses whenever you please. They are both beloved songs too, but there wasn’t room for them on my strict Capricorn20 songs-only list. Next year it will be 21, so perhaps a bit easier? perhaps.) I think this is the first time I’ve ever started from the end and worked my way down the list to the most important songs but it’s what my brain wanted so that’s what I am doing. Also, I have put the playlist on Spotify if you want to stream it. And I’ve tried to add most of the lyrics below because as always, the lyrics are the soul of the songs.
Oh, and I’m going to try to blog more. Yeah, I’ve said it before-but I need this blog more than I have in a long time-probably even more than when I created the blog (when I was stuck in a place where I was as welcome as Malaria and the whispers about me and mine were constant. I needed an outlet to express myself and while my situation has improved dramatically, I still need the same kind of outlet). I need to write more than I have been or else I’m going to completely disappear inside myself. A psychiatrist I had a muchofruitful chat with last week agreed-write, write, and write some more! So that’s what I’m going to do….and you know something, I feel like going back to the roots of my blog too, so even on days when I have nothing to add other than a song, a book or to even tell you about a terrible movie I’ve watched, I’m going to blog it. Perhaps you’ll get sick of my quickie posts as well as my usual epically long posts, along with my occasional rambling about writing (which was originally the sole reason I started this blog-but that was before I found endless friends and beautiful, kindred spirits of all sorts, which I am forever grateful for because you seriously help keep me going).
Regardless of what I feel like writing about, I’m going to blog it. I can’t guarantee that I’ll post every day– but I’ll write whenever I have the chance to share something with you, and though I have sucked at replying to your comments, I’m going to work on catching up, keeping up and replying to all of them…so don’t be afraid to comment-or as always, message or email me. I’m painfully shy too, so I totally get it 😉
So here’s my list-and if you also have a list of any sorts that you wouldn’t mind sharing too, I would love to have a listen.
Love, Hugs, & Sweetness, Galore!
~ Lucia
20.) Peter Murphy ~ Memory Go
Fade away, is that not What was what – what you thought? Drop that cause – now is all Memory go – junk the pause
Fade away, is that not What was what – what you thought? Drop that cause – now is all Memory go – junk the pause
Let it go, left behind Discreate the sentimental bind Then is gone – if debunk Memory go, reject the junk
Memory go Memory go Memory go Memory go Memory Memory
Promised love – “the caring game” Not cashed in is not the same An unreal life – addicted to strain Imagined and non-existent pain Memory go, not to fade Not repressed, not too safe Up in arms, up and tight Memory go – a backwards sight
Memory go Memory go Memory go Memory go Memory Memory
Fade away, is that not What was what – what you thought? Drop that cause – now is all Memory go
Memory go (is that not what was?) Memory go (is that not what was?) Memory go (is that not what was?) Memory go (is that not what was?) Memory go (is that not what was?) Memory go (is that not what was?) Memory go (is that not what was?)
19.) The Cure ~ A Strange Day
18.) A Place To Bury Strangers ~ I Lived My Life To Stand In The Shadow Of Your Heart
17.) Amanda Palmer & The Grand Theft Orchestra ~ Want It Back
16.) Lucid Rivers ~ I’m Sedated
I’m sedated by your stare; A haunted path came our way. Our friend’s don’t need to know — That’s the beauty of our game.
We said: “Probably go out tonight,” We drove pointing at the stars; She always did love them.
Your legs! — Twenty five to five already; And I thought time only flew when you had fun. Hold me! I do it to myself; Standing in an empty place…
Call my lover, Come and save me, You’ve rung out Too long lately — Call my lover, Don’t fuck with me.
We took a scythe; We took a life. I said good-night; I said a real good-night.
In the shadows of a million passing cars I am listening to the noises of the dark Take some time to wish I had a heart Though I know I’ll only end when I start On edge with nothing left to shoot I’ll lose me, after I lose my lost love That was a bad day I like to remember the good days only.
I know a liar when I see one; This broken mirror doesn’t hide one. You’ve witnessed all the sadness, I can pull from this cold fire.
Had to stop ‘cus we had a little fight Left her gazing at the stars. Through it all She always did love me…
Call my lover, Come and save me, You’ve rung out too long lately; Call my lover; Don’t fuck with me; I know to hurt you softly…
In the shadows of a million passing cars I am listening to the noises of the dark Take some time to wish I had a heart Though I know I’ll only end when I start On edge with nothing left to shoot I’ll lose me, after I lose my lost love That was a bad day I like to remember the good days only.
15.) POLIÇA ~ Fist Teeth Money
Fist on the floor, pay me honey Teeth on the rope, give me something Look me money
Wind, you roll me like a viper Time, you lead me to the fire
Wind, you roll me like a viper Time, you lead me to the fire
Teeth on the rope, pay me honey Fist on the floor, give me something Look me money
Wind, you roll me like a viper Time, you lead me to the fire
Wind, you roll me like a viper Time, you lead me to the fire
Teeth on the rope, pay me honey Fist on the floor, give me something Look me money
Wind, you roll me like a viper
Wind, you roll me like a viper Time, you lead me to the fire Time, you lead me to the fire Time, you lead me to the fire Wind, you roll me like a viper
Wind, you roll me like a viper
14.) Fiona Apple – For Her
13.) Ani DiFranco ~ Fuel
They were digging a new foundation in Manhattan And they discovered a slave cemetery there May their souls rest easy now that lynching is frowned upon And we’ve moved on to the electric chair And I wonder who’s gonna be president Tweedle Dumb or Tweedle Dumber? And who’s gonna have the big Blockbuster box office this summer How ’bout we put up a wall Between the houses and the highway And then you can go your way And I can go my way
Except all the radios agree with all the TVs And all the magazines agree with all the radios And I keep hearing that same damn song Everywhere I go
Maybe I should put a bucket over my head And a marshmallow in each ear And stumble around for another dumb numb week For another hum drum hit song to appear
People used to make records As in a record of an event The event of people Playing music in a room Now everything is cross-marketing It’s about sunglasses and shoes Or guns or drugs You choose
We got it rehashed We got it half-assed We’re digging up all the graves And we’re spitting on the past And we can choose between the colors Of the lipstick on the whores ‘Cause we know the difference Between the font of twenty percent more And the font of teriyaki You tell me How does that make you feel?
You tell me what’s real
They say that alcoholics are always alcoholics Even when they’re dry as my lips for years Even when they’re stranded on a small desert island With no place in two thousand miles to buy beer And I wonder is he different Is he different Has he changed What he is about? Or is he just a liar With nothing to lie about?
Am I headed for the same brick wall? Is there anything I can do About anything at all? Except go back to that corner in Manhattan And dig deeper Dig deeper this time Down beneath the impossible pain of our history Beneath unknown bones Beneath the bedrock of the mystery Beneath the sewage system and the path train Beneath the cobblestones and the water main Beneath the traffic of friendships and street deals Beneath the screeching of kamikaze cab wheels Beneath everything I can think of to think about Beneath it all Beneath all get out Beneath the good and the kind and the stupid and the cruel There’s a fire that’s just waiting for fuel There’s a fire just waiting for fuel There’s a fire just waiting for fuel There’s a fire just waiting for fuel There’s a fire just waiting for fuel There’s a fire just waiting for fuel There’s a fire just waiting for fuel There’s a fire just waiting for fuel There’s a fire just waiting
12.) Amanda Palmer & The Grand Theft Orchestra ~ Lost
11.) Cold Cave ~ The Idea Of Love
10.) Tori Amos ~ Yes, Anastasia
I know what you want, The magpies have come
If you know me so well then tell me which hand I use?
Make them go Make it go
Saw her there in a restaurant Poppy don’t go I know your mother is a good one but Poppy don’t go I’ll take you home
Show me the things I’ve been missing Show me the ways I forgot to be speaking Show me the ways to get back to the garden Show me the ways to get around the get around Show me the ways to button up buttons that have forgotten they’re buttons Well we can’t have that forgetting that
Girls girls what have we done, What have we done to ourselves??
Driving on the vine over clothes lines but officer I saw the sign
Thought I’d been through this in 1919 Counting the tears of ten thousand men and gathered them all but my feet are slipping There’s something we left on the windowsill There’s something we left, yes
We’ll see how brave you are We’ll see how fast you’ll be running We’ll see how brave you are Yes, Anastasia
and all your dollies have friends…
Thought she deserved no less than she’d give Well happy birthday Her blood’s on my hands It’s kind of a shame cause I did like that dress It’s funny the things that you find in the rain The things that you find, yes
in the mall and in the date-mines in the knot still in her hair on the bus I’m on my way down, on my way down All the girls seem to be there
We’ll see how brave you are, oh yes We’ll see how fast you’ll be running We’ll see how brave you are We’ll see
We’ll see how brave you are, oh yes We’ll see how fast you’ll be running We’ll see how brave you are Yes, Anastasia
Come along now little darlin’ Come along now with me Come along now little darlin’ We’ll see how brave you are
9.) Xiu Xiu ~ Get Up
A piano fell on my face You told me to get up When I could not control myself You say to get up
Consciousness demolished And I try to hold the pain inside You say to hold it in
Love me forever Don’t forget me It’s the late in the game to ask But I’m still asking
A harmonica fell on my face It did not hurt that much If you leave no one will find my corpse You said: “Rise from the dead!”
Sometimes a person cannot help what they do You mumble to get up Operating now without belief You say “shh shh shh,” and to get up
Do you hate me now Because I seem so stupid Or do you just Very quickly leave me right now
During the rape of everything decent The flickering flames impressed me A saxophone fell on my face How is a mystery When I am shocked by my own foolishness You say you are not as shocked And I repeat that I am shocked by my own foolishness You get up and leave the room
Love me forever Don’t forget me It’s the late in the game to ask But I’m still asking you
You’re the only reason I was born You’re the only reason I was born
8.) The Dresden Dolls ~ Delilah
7.) Tom Waits ~ November
6.) Pixies ~ All Over The World
With a pet at my side God in the sky Snow falling down Freeze my body to the ground I can’t ride But one more time I will ride All over the world
Washed over the side Top of the sky Slow diver down Two feet land on a different fround You can’t live easily You can’t even speak But all of them speak All over the world
I will meet you over there I am going to meet you over there Washed over the side Top of the sky Slow diver down Two feet land on a different ground You can’t live easily You can’t even speak Fish all of them speak All over the world
A plain with no herd Not even a bird When one side is hot The other side of the moon is not It’s just like a ride Maybe some time They’ll make it a ride All over the world
I will meet you over there I am going to meet you over there
Time is an arrangement Time is an arranger I am a derangement
All my thoughts All I am are my thoughts All my thoughts I am all what I’m taught
Better call the ranger Got a train derailments Better call the ranger
What I’m taught All I am are my thoughts All my thoughts All I am are my thoughts What I’m not
5.) Grizzly Bear ~ Two Weeks
4.) Jonathan Bree ~ You’re So Cool
Body so fit, so full of spark With affirmations as your wall art You were driven, eyes on the prize A yoga routine, home exercise
Now like the faded star In sunset boulevard I play the devoted butler Morning coffees by the bed While all hard fought endeavours Bring in diminished returns
You’re so cool, it’s true You’re my kind of girl Keep you ’till the end
Find solace in the privilege to pursue Most people are crushed into servitude
3.) Bellmer Dolls ~ Every Angel is a Terror
Lipstick on your pillowcase and smeared across your pretty face Every one you used to do Every thing you put us through you were always taken care of…
…we breath ourselves breathless.
Every Angel Is A Terror…
2.) Actors ~ Crystal
Lost on path under the stars watching the sky falling apart into the night out in the cold yours is the hand no one can hold
I could breath on the outside you could break me on the inside I could breath on the outside I could stay on the outside
Into the night out in the cold yours is the hand no one can hold lost on path under the stars watching the sky falling apart
I could breath on the outside you could break me on the inside I could breath on the outside I could stay on the outside
I could breath on the outside I could stay on the outside
1.) IDLES ~ A Hymn
I want to be loved Everybody does I find shame in the crack-like corpse un-cadaver reign I want to be loved Everybody does I find shame gripped tight like your withering fame We made it Shame.
Hot Zumba classes at the new church I lost ten pounds for the wedding I played happy til my teeth hurt Sofa surfer extraordinaire Lambert’s ash in my falling hair, yeh.
I want to be loved Everybody does I find shame cuts rips real nice as we change lanes We made it I want to be loved Everybody does We made it We made it
Shame.
Teletext has a place in my heart Ten percent discount, I’ll show you how Gregory’s birthday in a placid town, wow Janine held the flag with white knuckles I’m burning the Astra til the wheels buckle, yeh.
I want to be loved Everybody does
Shame Shame.
EXTRAS:
1.) Santogold ~ Icarus
Like a plane, I’m high up Watch me go higher I’m sitting high up on a wire Here I come your way, why oh why?
Eyes see it, wide open They’re sparkling like gold. Hear you calling, oh ayyy Oh for you I’m getting close Higher oh ayy oh Higher oh ayy oh I’m sitting high up on a wire Here I come your way, why oh why?
Go to flame, if they will hold me Everything that may have me Oh lure me down, scold me I want all that I can take.
High up ohhh High up ohhh I’m sitting high up on a wire Here I come your way, why oh why?
2.) Clipd Beaks ~ Blood
WARNING: video contains fake blood
Down in the valley low, I wager all I’ve got Won’t give my blood away for no one I played a lonely soul Sent you my lovely poems
Can’t give a ghost to some for nothing
Blindness overthrown Something coming on lying on the coast I’m wide awake I’m breathing oranges
I am a Holy Ghost Nightmare overdose I am Turning(?) into something awesome
So I pull the switch, the switch, the switch inside my head. And I see black, black, green, and brown, brown, brown and blue, yellow, violets, red. And suddenly a light appears inside my brain And I think of my ways, I think of my days and know that I have changed…
Hello You,
I’ve recorded an audio blog post that you can stream or download, or both if you want. I’m considering trying some podcast software or something to make it easier to share posts and things I create so if you have any ideas, let me know. For now, I’m using Soundcloud- though I’m running low on free space so I have to do something fast.
Here are some pictures-The first are from March, when I had an almost week-long break from the depressive episode that had been hanging on me for so long. I thought it was over, then Bipolar caught word of my happiness & relief and whispered to his friend, Death: Oi, hold my beer!
Depression intermission 1
Depression Intermission 2 (I look like a Vulcan in this picture. I’m pretty sure I had pointed ears hidden under my hair!)
Depression Intermission 3. Sitting on the floor in the sunlight of late March. I like the blue-effect the light had on my hair, which is always just a tangled, chaotic mess that exposes & expresses what’s going on in my head 🙂
The others are from this past week, including a gif from some video that was made for a lash review and to help me become more comfortable with myself because one day I would really like to video blog. I’m leaving the gif in the sidebar permanently so when you’re reading my blog, you’re never really alone; I’ll be here with you.
From shyness-to strength-to happiness- to mischief, like my friend Shane said.
Just a few days ago, with a sincere smile.
In front of one of my favorite tapestries. The lighting gave it a Sepia feel, and U probably know how much I love Sepia.
The song Colours is absolutely perfect and I considered attaching it to my post, but that’s probably not ok to do, so I’m adding it here. I love this song so much and if the idea of colors makes perfect sense for bi-polars so it fits very well with the post. Also, notice the sweet Pixies-ish vibe of the song?
Grouplove ~ Colours
My next post is definitely going to be about what happened 1 year-ago as of tonight when 3 a.m. found me sitting half-naked in the hallway of my apartment, ugly-crying because I had just broken my arm.
DarkLucia13 