Tiny grains,

Falling from edges,

Hard, not flat,


A groan of measure,

Precarious angle,

Tilted past salvation.

A dream–

Like sand in the wind,

Touching, scattering–

In the crucible of time.

Shores bare,


Until nothing remains.

Defending Arrakeen

As you are no doubt aware, I have been contending with a persistent yet elusive enemy. Somewhere within the palace, he was waiting for the opportunity to present itself. Now that some form of protection has been established (blankets), the only thing to do was find the pilot and kill him before he could complete his mission. I am pleased to report at this noble hour that the Atraides forces have located the pilot and have disabled his Hunter-Seeker. The pilot was taken to the deep desert and dropped there with a thumper stuck to himself. Good luck pal.

Intelligence suggested we might throw off the Hunter-Seeker with a post that claimed I was dead. This deception has proved successful, and as of that post, the Hunter-Seeker is gone, clearly fooled into thinking I was already taken care of. This lapse allowed the pilot to be found and a new, less likely to survive circumstance become his primary concern.

A proud day for prosperity on Arrakis that’s for sure. No filthy Harkonnen traitor is going to kill me from behind a wall. You little fucks are tricky, but not as tricky as I am. The spice must flow.

So, the suspense of the last few days where I have felt the presence of an active hunter is finally over. I am free to come and go from the palace as I see fit. The stress that has been lifted from my shoulders is quite a relief. Nothing like knowing a nearly unstoppable enemy is closing in on you to create a little anxiety.

I will stay in the sanctuary of softness until the new day is here to greet me. Then, I will rise and see what challenges await me. Hopefully not assassination.

Long live House Atraides!


Score: -2

Well, it got me. I am poisoned with toxic chemicals and suffering madly. The Hunter-Seeker, however, is still out there. Lady Acute Withdrawal on the other hand, has her fingers around my throat.

Physical suffering of a new and unfashioned depths has taken residence in all corners and crevices. My inner temperature is gone, as though exposed to the vacuum of space and sucks out into the darkness. I shiver, twitch and fidget uncontrollably trying to stay warm. My stomach has fully eaten itself and there is nothing more than a long, uninterrupted PVC pipe going from my gaping pie hole to my utterly disgusting anus.

My mind is filled with unhappiness, malice, cruelty. There is a bonfire blazing in there with little angry demons dancing around it singing a merry song of death.

My only salvation during this most acute period is ****. She has stayed with me as I write in agony, and worked hard to keep me distracted and laughing. That is a friend right there. I’m over here about to fucking flay myself alive with anxiety, but she kept me grounded and thinking about something other than my state.

Thank you.

Tonight there is only misery. I hope to fall asleep and wake up with a new bucket of energy to mess around with. I was feeling so pent up I actually jogged today, albeit a very short distance. Someday.



Hunter-Seeker: I know you are still out there. Now would be a great time to float on in and fuck my shit up. Just saying. Tomorrow though, you better watch the fuck out. I’ll be fresh, and if you zoom at me, I’m going to thrash you then find the damn pilot and kick the ever living shit out of him too.

The Hunter-Seeker

Those of you familiar with Frank Herbert’s Dune know this little contraption is usually death to the one it is trained on. I have come to this determination through a several-days long evidence collection effort. I know now that one of YOU out there have trained this thing on me. I am still looking for the pilot, but to no avail.

The Hunter-Seeker is following my posts closely (first at intervals of 10 minutes, then less and less). It has been narrowing down its response time, and I do believe it is nearby somewhere, lurking. Soon it will be within a few meters of me, at which point it will move at supersonic speed to inject me with a toxin that will render me into jelly. Unless…

This may be my last post ever, as the weapon of my demise is only a few moments away after this post goes live.

To whoever out there in the blogosphere desires me dead, please know that I may yet be able to defend myself from this thing, and if I do, I’m going to come looking for YOU. If you are a Harkonnen traitor hiding in my wall, time is running out. I’ve got my Fremen warriors right here and we are going to Voice your ass to smithereens.

Maybe more blog posts to come, maybe not. We shall see.



I’m no Paul Atraides, but still, apparently, worthy of assassination.


Calm down Denethor.

I decided to, despite my skepticism about inclement weather, to go out and try my new and improved Muck Trench Bass-assassin fast retrieve bait. That was going pretty good for a few minutes, casts were long, accurate, retrieve felt good, bait had great vibration in the water, yes.

On the southern horizon, it was looking particularly stormy, but I paid this no mind until the flash of lightning caught my attention.

Lightning is no joke. I can strike miles from the storm center, and only needs an adequate bridge to complete the cataclysmic discharge. I became acutely aware of my circumstance: alone in an open field, a good 15 yards from the nearest tree, waving a graphite stick in the air. The “potential danger” alarm went off. WEEE OOOO WEEEE OOOO!!!

I called Mo to tell her I was fleeing with alacrity, and should be home soon. If not, I may be dead, or crispier than before  and that she should come recover my body if 10 minutes go by and I do not come back.

I have never chugged my clunky chug-sticks faster without breaking into a jog. I got home as the thunder and lightning were increasing in frequency just to the south, and as I watch now on the Doppler, I can see that cell about to go right over the field I was standing in.

At first, I was the hunter seeking my prey, but as I did, a much larger predator came onto the savanna and I ran like a frightened gazelle. Run off my spot by a fucking thunderstorm. Bastards.

Anyway, nothing like a brush with being “hunted” by something large and formidable to put the sparkly fear of God right in the pantaloons.

“No Despair”

I am now listening to music and feeling remarkably better, singing “Ventura Highway” here in the fading moments of the weekend. You know, music just lit my fire again!

I’m going to redirect my life in a totally healthy direction, and I’m already started! Now, let’s sing for a little and celebrate this calamity that has forced such a beautiful change! The restoration of my long lost independence is about to be realized, and the groundwork for success is being laid. I know that shit had to get kinda choppy for me to hurry the fuck up, but I have, and I am continuing to pursue a deep and full future.

If I could update my Score. it would be a +1.5 right now. BOOM BITCHES.

I’m going to sing myself exhausted and smile at all the great memories I looked back on today in the last few hours. Man, I have lived with some beautiful women in my life, and each one of them still makes me smile. Yeah, I know I’m a fucked up asshole. Whatever. Since then, I’ve made a fair bit of progress out of the slop of unforgivability. Forgive me ladies, I did you no justice. I was a fool who had yet to become. I’m sorry.

Tonight blog, despite great toxicity, I am channeling a constructive enthusiasm which lends me to forge a better future for myself. If dissatisfied with life, figure out what is within the scope of influence, and change! Inact change blog, if you are stagnant, if you are dysfunctional and always disagreeing, just talk!

Singing seems to be a worthy activity for conjuring some zest for life. What a jubilant expression, to sing, to have your voice go out into the world regardless of how shrill and glass-shattering it is. Man, I am fortunate to be where I am, and I will never stop trying to improve the lives of those I love, and also, promoting my own personal health above all else. This is one of those moments where I am choosing the life path that ONLY coincides with better mental health. Logically it is not sound, since I am not paying any rent where I am. To take on 1,400 a month is pretty yikes.  However, blog, the point here is money is meaningless in comparison to sound mental health. I would pay through the flaming anus for stability.

It doesn’t matter what it costs blog, money is irrelevant. The only thing that matters is if we are living for happiness, honesty and love. I fucking despise money, but it’s cosmic relevance is not lost on me, however. To play the “Real Life” game you need money. There is no avoiding it if you want to establish any sort of identity in society. You need money coming in. You need to be USEFUL in some way, in a way that somebody else would throw money at you to keep you doing the useful thing you are doing. This is my life/dream/destiny = to be eternally useful in a morally relevant context and to make just enough money to keep people from bothering me for more money. I wish for nothing but shelter, food and someone who loves me the way I love them (and won’t let me perish).

I’ve had a rapid sort of calamity driven epiphany today, but I’m glad it happened. It was very useful in igniting a ferocious Bunsen Burner under my repulsive/bio-hazardous ass, in order to get me aptly motivated to erect my independent existence. I hadn’t planned on this, but I am adapting admirably given the semi-hostile circumstances. Also, I’m sure as time passes, I’m going to be more energized to forge my new identity in a city that knows nothing about me. I have a chance to start all over, and make that big fucking splash somewhere I’ve always known myself capable of.

Today needed a turn in the positive. Did you really think an erupting volcano was where the evening’s diatribe was going to stop? You should know by now that optimism is the engine that drives me forward, and the hope of a full and beautiful future compels each step towards the future I hope I earn. I don’t know what’s happening or what’s going to happen, but the one meager thing I can plan for is that I will do whatever I have to to achieve stability for my family and love those who come close to me. I will be loyal, and honest always. Once you are family, you never aren’t family. I will protect and serve those I love with the full-throated enthusiasm of the very first rooster to call out the arrival of dawn.

Know this, blog, I will be the man I have always known I am, and his arrival upon the landscape of independent society is nigh. Prepare for a slightly more introspective and insightful future. For my future love, for my career, and for all the people who I will help in my time serving the needs of the disadvantaged. The meaning and significance of this destiny is irrefutable, and is mine, for the rest of my life.



Score: +1


Things have taken a turn for the turd bowl here in the last few hours. I’m in solitary confinement while the storm of resentment grows and looms just outside my door. No one is talking to anyone, no one cares to ask how, or what they might try to do to bring peace. No, instead people storm off, or just sit there doing nothing like the whole world has gone away. It’s pretty lame, to be honest. look at all the wasted, useless sorrow that has been spent on these such events? If only you two could talk to each other then maybe you’d actually hear what the other has to say.

This environment frustrates me today. I imagine it will be better soon but not without some effort on my parents’ part. They have to salvage this Hindenburg before it’s just a burning metal skeleton.

I applied for 4 jobs today, and my resume already good at least looked at on a weekend. Noice. I updated all my resumes, and I’ll probably be adding more fluff on to them to make it poofy and such. It’s not bullshit if it’s true, but relevance is the scale that determines fluff quality.

I would have liked to have had a normal day. Instead, because of my parents and their total inability to do the basic conflict resolution any couple should be able to after being together for so long, I’m in my room with the door closed. Everything is anger, hatred, malice outside. I refilled my water and it was fucking excruciating to be out there in that big sweltering pit of misery they’ve made for themselves.

Man, I was on such a good feeling earlier this weekend. What a bummer. Totally out of my hands. Like a fucking spiritual rainy day. Fuck. I wanted my goals met, and now because of trauma triggers, they won’t be. You know, I’m writing myself a guilt free coupon here. I spent all the mid morning and early afternoon beefing up my employability and getting my name in people’s hands. I can think of no better way to deal with a situation than to take charge of the areas of it I can control.

I can’t do anything about when and for how long my parents fight, but I can decide where I am when they happen. I have no interest in smashing my head into the two single most stubbornly opposed to communicating individuals I have yet dealt with. They listened to approximately ZERO suggestions I made for them. I said things like “ask for clarity,” “Don’t mind read each other,” “tell me about how YOU feel,” “can you frame that as an ‘I’ statement?” Not for one second was any of that even remotely considered relevant, because it went out the other ear and onto the shit pile of things our son says that aren’t worth a fucking thing.

Meanwhile, they’re still not giving a shit about my email even, the one place I tried to adequately express myself today. I feel just, hopeless right now. I wish they’d just drive away for a few days and leave me alone.

She comes in here acting like I wasn’t going to Mother’s day at my sister’s house today. Did she ask me, ever? Nope, she just assumed because I wasn’t talking to anyone that meant I wasn’t going to do anything fun today. Assumed. Right there, the very thing I’m talking about. No communication. No asking me if I was going, no acknowledgment of anything that’s going on. Ridiculous. I need an actual healthy environment in which to thrive and this sham is absolutely not it.

This is fucking 1 day after they said they wanted to be better communicators with me they pull this assumption shit. Are you fucking kidding me right now? What did my request retain its meaning for all of 23 hours? NEW WORLD RECORD GUINNESS. Look it up. One day later blog, it’s back to zero. Fuck me in the eye please.

Someone’s going to need to wake the fuck out of the stupid zone and move themselves somewhere more useful. The outside world won’t remain intolerable forever, but I eagerly await the events that will lead to a rendering of reason and explanation. Ultimately though, this crisis will be brushed under the rug like every other before it, and the table set for the next party guest to come in and blow up safety, normalcy and fun with idiocy. THIS COULD ALL HAVE BEEN AVOIDED. I hate to say it, but this didn’t have to get to the point of me not want to live here anymore. If you all had just fucking done some things to take care of each other and listened to you son’s suggestions, maybe he wouldn’t be pushing the eject button on living under your roof.

I’m determined to be a healthy person, and I won’t have the two of them fucking that up with their stubbornness and inability to share/trust/love each other in situations of vulnerability. I don’t know what it is blog, but I’m not the doctor. I don’t have the cure. They’ve always had it, in their hands, the whole time. I just tried to remind them they were holding it. to no avail, mind you. Oh blog, how acutely frustrating to be totally unable to address something broken between two people you love.


Other Thoughts

Good prematurely early morning Blog.

As I rise to face the new day, I am ruminating on a few things:

  1. I forgot to mention I believe I would now be considered the “top volunteer” at NAMI Sacramento and just got handed this Friday’s warmline duty. When Lynn said to me “we thought of you first,” I really felt good. I knew I was making an impact, and spreading the word about how hard I work and also that I am funny. And maybe kinda cute?
  2. I haven’t heard substantively from **** since my trauma trigger of Tuesday night. She asked for space, which I have respected. The wheels of anxiety would like to get all fired up on speculating, but I don’t indulge them. In this new era of self-awareness, moments like this are broken down into components: part of it is sadness, fear, but then there is hope, promise, and positively projected outcomes. Even if one or the other is proved to be false, their contrast prevents one from dominating over the other. So I sit here looking at these two anxious reactions, neither being appropriate, and am now moving forward with my day.
  3. I am not going fishing this morning. My stomach has been feeling less than satisfactory for a day now, and I believe Moo is to blame somehow. She was fine after a couple of days and I project the same for myself, or less. My body tends to destroy outside invaders with a sadistic glee. Sadly, this means the fish will get to celebrate their independence for yet another day… for now.

In general, I find my attitude is good, but my prospects for the day are dim. I must come up with something proactive while the physical part regenerates or becomes stable. I miss not having **** to talk to. It sure did feel good those three days when we were communicating often. It was like old times, in a way, but free of the doubt and speculation. It felt like we had gone to school together as kids, then come together as adults once more at some point down the road. It’s odd, but good, and I really do notice suddenly being deprived of it.

I keep having image filled dreams that I can remember bits and pieces of in the night, but by the morning all I can remember is that I did have a dream about something. It’s very strange, but also nice since the weed for the longest time had suppressed that memory retention. I look on my FitBit and see I’m getting oodles of REM sleep. Science says I’m dreaming, but what about…?

Schedule Change

Typically I don’t do well with sudden schedule changes, but today I’m proud of myself. My boss called me when I had just pulled up to work to come back in five hours. Instead of getting frustrated by a pattern of inconsistency, I embraced this new test of my strength to handle the unexpected and continue moving forward with positive energy. I drove home and I will be driving back in not too long, and I am perfectly fine with that. What I’m doing, the work itself, is the thing I long for. The opportunity to help move Nami’s goals forward and show them who I am. I have such a fantastic story, with a happy little ending as well! I can’t want to start sharing that saga in the In My Own Voice program, visiting schools and helping spread awareness about mental illness. Also, that life is still possible with it.

Well, I’ve felt prolific today, for sure. I’m going to re-institute my daily Score and have it on one post designated as a “check-in.” I feel like I should be extra careful considering the results of tromping into the past last night. I need to be prepared to deal with a very intense level of potential emotional upheaval, and my score will help maintain an average, alert to trends, and offer keen, involved introspection on a daily basis. This was something I was doing, and had done for years until early last year. I believe this should have been done back before I moved, because then I might have noticed the dip I had fallen into… or been able to correct sooner than I did. Either way, the score is going to help. End of day check-ins are an important tool in keeping track of the Westin brain machine thingy doo-dad.

So I’m going back in not too long, and he (my boss) has things lined up for me down the road as well. I’m doing it! I’m with NAMI Sacramento just like I wanted to be before we all moved. I’m with them and rising in the ranks, also just as I had hoped. Man, when you say you’re going to do something fucking hard, and they you go right out there and do it. Holy shit Blogosphere, that’s a great feeling. HOW ABOUT THAT? YEAH, THAT’S RIGHT. So probably one more at the end of the day going over as a summary and a post about how things went down. Man, I just wish I was working more. I reached out to NAMI Yolo, since they’re like right here.

I’m going to ask a ****** about the ************************** this week. I have a ***** ******** number to call from my resource book. I want to know what the success rate looks like, what is required to succeed, what makes a good argument, essentially, the basics for application. I think that is a good avenue to explore if it is possible and doesn’t fuck up anything else. Either way, this is a way I can contribute some knowledge to the miasma of thoughts on ****** and her situation. Sorry for the redactions, it’s really not appropriate for me to be at all specific, but I nevertheless wanted to demonstrate that I was not a inert information receptacle.


Have a great day Blog, I’ll be back this evening.




A Curse Upon Fishes!

I googled “A curse for fishes,” and surprisingly, there is nothing of substance. What… there isn’t 1 fucking witch or shaman who fishes? If I had magical powers, I’d be helping my fellow anglers! Priority numero uno.

So please, internet, if you know of a curse, or have a list of reagents for said curse, send me an email.

You might be wondering why I have “stooped” to invoking the dark powers in order to catch a fish. I view magic as a grey area as far as it applies to being a fishing technique. It’s pretty much still a skill thing, so it’s kinda okay. You can’t be just some Schmendrick and have a go at the fish curse. It takes talent, mastery and alertness to be a successful angler, and some sort of discipline to wield the dark powers as well (I imagine).


I am being incessantly berated about not using live bait or the infamous “cheese ball” to procure a fish faster I have also been told by anglers in the area using, and seen the effectiveness of, live bait. I’m telling you blog, just one time, right here right now. There is only one true angling law:

Saltwater = anything goes because fish is meat


Any Mooper can get on a boat, go out to the islands with a bucket of anchovies and catch dinner. A TRUE GOD LOVING JESUS GUY angler only needs his wits, arms, ears and eyes. It’s my job to deceive the fish, not tempt it beyond resistance with something it normally eats anyway or is too hopelessly tempted by to be irresistible. Boo. No blog, the SPORT is the act of trickery, so you can see how there is little or no skill involved in cheese ball.


I’m always making things harder then they have to be… but GOD DAMN does it feel good to earn that fight once you trick some poor fish into thinking that little scrap of plastic was edible. Muahaha.

So today I’m going back out with my last ditch technique for catching a Bass. When I come back, I’ll be expecting one of the 800+ of you could come up with some fucking spell or seance I can do to improve my odds. I’m willing to harvest odd ingredients for a curse if need be. Anyway, here goes nothing!



Dear blog, tonight I am in the midst of a pretty serious down spiral. **** sent me Eminem’s Love The Way You Lie, which sharply parallels our prior relationship. It has rendered me to ruin, and broken my optimism entirely. I cried then and I sob know, feeling death inside me again. A part that used to love her, a memory of when it did, how it all came apart and is gone forever. The shattered night our relationship died. I’m flooded with visceral trauma like it is all happening right here. I’m reliving one of the greatest mistakes of my life. Over and over.

Deep in a well of pain, I regret to abandonment. She’s better off without me. I’m only going to interfere. I’m useless. I’m trouble. I’m going to create even more regret one way or another.

The passage of time will refresh the imbalance, but clearly there is emotional volatility going on. I need to be mindful of that. A lot of powerful memories lie buried in the past, and they are just as real to me now as when they happened. ******* had some intent to affect me with the music, which is not very nice. She has motivation to show me what I missed out on I suppose, as if I can’t see plainly enough.

Where does this road go? Should I walk down it?

What is this feeling?


My state of mind is contrasting between a revisited sense of abandonment as well as a rising hope for the future. I don’t know why I try to go back to the past. I guess my hope is that there would be something good there, like a redemption of sorts. It’s a narrative I keep convincing myself is real. I still delude like any other broken-hearted person.

The volunteer machine moves slowly.

I come out here and give these words to the ether. I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel like I’m being surrounded by rising water, or some such strangulation of my fire.

There’s no point in digging. The whole process frustrates. I have a deep unresolved thing that gets no better by looking back.

Something She Lost

An Abstract Prose Narrative

Back in the days full of sun, dreams merged like clouds blowing in the wind. Dancing light and fingers touching the tall grass the days were by. Holding breath in the kiss of tangerine love.

Opening up a bounteous bloom of cosmic preponderance and entrenched in unique beauty. Hinges, wings and cryptic messages sparked a deep fascination. Could such a world blend with my own? Maybe a merging of these twisted dimensions may yield a beautiful offspring? The investigation within the cave of the eye began. Tumbling down the hole seemed a drunken escapade so delightful, wanted, yearned for. Always.

So to do sunsets yield to night, a time and a time went by. Stale air and old closets were hiding. Shriveled up socks and neglected piles of things.

Threads cobwebbery enmeshed and ensnared. Thorns dug in deep. Hatred like raging lava buried the what had been in incendiary death.

What then at this brink? Her last words were of a lost piece of the personal past. Her bloom, in a book, in text where her secrets had been hidden. The unfurling of her thought, ripped to pieces by division, scattering her from her anchor. The fissure had grown vast and deep. Her words echoed into the chasm, unreconciled.

Long since the sun shown so, my hands found her dreams once more. Symbols, language and such an imagination. It was all here again, unearthed by the expansion of time. Scrawled in her adorable ink, all that she was missed was remembered. Kiss, laugh and dream.

Now, to feel her dust on my fingers, such a sigh. This one sad little ember of it is all that remains. Kicked me into the ditch and left me to blame, while peasant heart still aches. All little sounds and sniffs forgotten.

Such is the death of things, and the rocket propelled moments when fireworks are right there and everything is back. Over and done, but never forgotten. The book returns to oblivion from whence it had come.

Monday Bumday

I guess things are not going so good. I don’t feel like anyone is really excited about anything I’m doing right now. I’m in a physical place where I have no privacy, schedule or spark in my life. Things are starting to taste bland.

Part of this is the fact that no one has any reason to invest anything in me unless I’m in crisis or causing a disturbance of some sort. I’m useful, mind you. I do often work my ass off and contribute. I am appreciated for that in a small sense.

The thing I am beginning to understand is that I’m not desirable. I’m not someone who would compel one to invest energy, love, time or words in. Some people got excited about me for a time. Then they learn who I am, and they distance themselves. They did not like the whole-me thing apparently. I can understand that, most of the time I don’t either.

Puts me in a tough spot. No one is giving me feedback about what makes me so undesirable or repulsive, so I’m not sure how to change. I don’t want to be this way, where I am just a piece of luggage. I’m clearly easy enough to walk away from. I think the reality of all this is starting to really harden around my ankles.

Today, I realize that even if I wasn’t permanently diseased, stigmatized and obese I would still probably be pretty easy to hate. Or forget.

My parents will always love me, it’s true. They’d prefer I not be too much trouble, which is no burden on them and I agree that I should aspire to that end; as it should be. However, they are under no obligation to give a shit about me beyond that. My passions or my thoughts however, are neglected the attention I feel they deserve. I’m not worth investing the time into because no one ever engages me fundamentally on any of the things that are strictly in my court, no matter how many times I do the same for them. This is the story of my relationships: give to my partner endlessly to keep her around, and loose her once I’m to tired to maintain the charade.

If not for my eagerness to try to do right all the time, I’d be just another mentally ill degenerate living like a parasite in the intestines of the middle class. Since that fate didn’t sound particularly fulfilling… I sought alternatives.

Somewhere between penitential servitude and true happiness there is a grey space. Things here seem real, but never feel like they are. What I have now are the distant cosmic echoes of massive emotional explosions, peaks, troughs and all the feels in between. They hang in my night sky like fading stars, with only the most distant of outlines left, reminding me of what they had been.

There is no where to go from here. I’m not going to be able to change myself into a more desirable person. I am at a crossroads where one direction leads to implosion, and the other leaves me fighting for my life an a sealed compartment rapidly filling with seawater.

I wish you the best on your journey. I don’t know if I really want to keep going on mine anymore.

Down a Peg

Well I’m having a down day after game night last night. The lowered dose of Latuda might be a part of that. I had to step down as the higher doses were causing me some barfing of the not good variety. Mainly though, I’m feeling sad inside my body, penetrating all the way through my skin. I feel weighed down, slow, unresponsive and lethargic. Nothing captivates me, or even renders much of a distraction in my current state. I find myself thinking about being alone, and feeling lonely. I cherished companionship as much as I squandered it, and that truth has left me empty handed and futureless. I knew such vibrant women, and they all went away. Now I am all by myself in this world, being the only person I know who can consistently tolerate me.

My parents have done masterfully in regard to protecting me and keeping me from imploding. They are a constant anchor in the real world that I cherish. However, they are not that piece which represents a level of unattainable completeness or symbiosis. A central expression of meaningful union in partnership which has eluded me my entire life. In truth, the disability is my own, in my inability to conduct myself properly or consistently in my past relationships. I may be unloading the guilt cargo onto myself.


Now what? I have a frustrating amount of uncertainty in my future and also I am feeling less than inspired by my situation. It’s been a year since I even touched a woman, let alone had a relationship. The ache of absenteeism from participation grows over time, but becomes no more attainable as the moments pass. What are these memories of love? Are they joyous or are they a burden? I look at them and see what could have been, if only I knew then what I know now, and so on. The hindsight helps nothing. The core of it is that I am alone and remain alone, because that is what my life is right now. Largely by my own manifestations, but some due to exterior decision making, I have forged a path of aloneness.


I don’t think I should be allowed to hurt anyone again. I am quarantined, restricted and buried deep at the bottom of a mine shaft. I wish I hadn’t blown my chance to really be that person I had hoped I could be. The shape of my life has moved me past that point, and only the echoes of the days that have passed in the rare light of summer sunset. Every man has a time in his life where he sees the top of the mountain, the pinnacle of emotion, the height of passion and has a chance to relish that moment. That time, was some of the best time of my life. Subsequently, there were polar extremes in that time but the emotions I felt, the passion, the love, it was all so real and more beautiful than anything I have ever known. Those times are gone as the sun slipped beneath the horizon. I will never forget. I could never forget.


Maybe the future has something more for me, but I have no expectation. I plan to give whatever I have left to my family. They are the only thing that matters now. They never left me, they always helped me when I obliterated my existence. Many women have told me they loved me, but none of them did enough to want to stay and help me when the shit hit the fan. The terrible truth of my disability, the rapid deterioration of functionality, the heinous obesity of decay which permeates. I was too ugly to love in that state, and something more appealing was elsewhere. In the arms of another man or another life, there is a lure stronger than the word “love” which calls louder than the morality of the implication. What does love really imply? Is it worth fighting for? What does it mean to fight for love? See if there was even a shred of functional communication in any of those relationships we might have had a chance. Rot led to infection and then death, ignored, untreated, unaddressed. If ever I am to have happiness in the arms of another in my life it will need to have a FOUNDATION of communication. Core principle.


I don’t want to go back. What was back clearly didn’t work. I have evolved since then, and become more of a complete person now than at any point in my life. I do believe I have the tools I need to succeed despite my circumstance and emotional hardships. I loved them, but I couldn’t really talk to any of them. I didn’t know how. Neither did they. It took me nearly 15 years to learn, but fuck, I’m not going to sit here and bitch about being alone and not do a damn thing to change the reasons I am alone. If you can’t communicate, learn how! If you want to find someone who understands your definition of love? Try making it really clear what you stand for, what drives you and what you believe in. I’m not hopeless. It’s stupid to be hopeless since the future is entirely unwritten.


Thanks for being a part of my process this morning. I’m just dealing with my thoughts out here.

Burning Out

Remember how I said that Sunday was my last family activity? I forgot to mention my parents are moving as well, and as of this afternoon that task too will be completed. Meanwhile, I’m barely hanging on. My energy is in the tank, my attitude sucks and my motivation has shriveled up and died. It has been a grueling week plus a few days. 

However, by the time late afternoon gets here, I really will be left alone to have my weekend. I can relax and regain some inertia. This run has taxed me, and there have been consequences. Mainly, I drive much more aggressively than I have in the past. I need to stop doing that because it is dangerous and not beneficial. I also blew up at this lady who asked me if I could plug her dual diagnosis site. At first I told her yes, back earlier in the week, but as you can see, I haven’t had the strength to post until now. She poked me yesterday asking if I had done my favor for her, and I told her I’d post it when I was good and ready, if at all. If I’m the one helping you out, don’t prod me to get me to do it faster. That’s infuriating. So, I’m not going to post her content as a reminder to myself and others: treat me with respect, and you will be treated with the same… treat me like an idiot and count me out. 

It’s an hour before my alarm goes off. I just had a series of perturbing dreams that I clearly remember, for once (a byproduct of hugely reduced cannabis intake). I dreamed about Amanda, and that I was kicking the shit out of her ex husband. But he was like, unstoppable. He insisted on annoying me and no matter how hard I hit him or choked him or smashed his face with bricks, he just kept coming. He tore my Fitbit off my arm, he stole my phone, he was standing over me while I was in bed, it gets weirder from there. Amanda and I tried to have sex but he was right there and I couldn’t get hard. It was totally strange. Then there was an alien invasion and people were being harvested and taken up to the mothership. We were all fugitives running from safe house to rendezvous point. For some reason or another, Amanda and I had to split up. I cried because I knew we were both going to be caught before we reached the next safe place, and I was never going to see her again. It was a strange dream with a bummer ending. 

Today I’m finishing up the move for my parents. We are hauling food to the new apartment. After today, moving time will be over. I can’t tell you how badly I need the time off. I also really want to see Carly but she’s been busy for the last two months. A product of circumstance, mind you. I still believe Carly is repulsed and also not interested in talking about my herpes, which will relegate our relationship to a platonic state. I guess I don’t mind that, since I was the one who did this to myself. I can’t expect anyone to want to have sex with me anymore. 

Well blog, one more day. 


Well I had a bit of a “lost my shit” moment this afternoon, as one after the other disappointing thing happened at work. I basically work with people who put forth the bare minimum effort in their occupations and nothing negative I point out ever fucking changes. I’m so tired of hoping the supervisors will do something and watching them ignore the things that make our workplace a fucking joke. And it’s a joke. I’m surprised we aren’t laughed at more often.

I got on the road and was insane. I cut people off, I was yelling through my window and I nearly rear-ended someone in my fury. Basically, frustration boiled over and I began to hate everyone and everything. Like right now, for example.

Part of me thinks this is still part of the marijuana withdrawal because that tends to make me grouchy. It’s been a week, so it’s kinda late in the game for that to be the case… but I never flip out like this. I’m usually calm and logical, not exploding with anger. My emotions have become significantly more volatile since stopping the weed.

Trouble is, there’s nothing I can do about it without surrendering my standards. I set my goal for the first Friday of next month as to when I would start smoking under new guidelines… but here I am only a week out and I’m suffering. This is just something I’m going to have to push through. I guess.

I’m pissed at everything right now. The world is so fucking stupid it blows my mind. There’s nothing I can do to change any of the bullshit things that happen every day in my life. I just stand up, get socked in the face, and get back up again ready for another. Isn’t life fucking great?

I’m supposed to play D & D tonight but I’m furious. I don’t feel like playing a game I feel like killing someone with my bare hands. I want to choke the life out of some of these worthless fucks at my workplace, then crush their faces in to the floor with my foot. Fuck every single one of those motherfuckers.

God damnit this is fucking stupid. Why do I even bother trying? No one cares. No one gives a shit. I’m all alone out here with everyone in the world with their backs turned to me. Pretending I’m not here. Who gives a fuck what I say?



I made it to the end of the day and I am glad for it. This weekend has been the most conflicted and most emotionally taxing one I’ve had in distant memory. It was a constant battle to resist my urges and stay true to my goal. Now at the conclusion, I am well-fed and at peace, ready to pass some time before going to bed. 

Do you ever get that feeling like all you want to do is get in bed and hide? I’ve had that feeling since 7 am. I knew that there was an appropriate time to acknowledge that, but it wasn’t until just now. Yet another thing I had to hold myself back from. 

Tomorrow I go back to work, and the schedule aught to help me stay focused. It’s the long stretches of unstructured time that I struggle with. Tonight, all I have left to do is relax and enter a peaceful sleep. My fit bit tells me I’m getting a whole lot more R.E.M. sleep than when I was smoking, hence the dream I had earlier. That’s really the one potential snag in this equation: nightmares. I could be ruined tomorrow if I have a terrible nightmare. My very first dream in months last night was a nightmare. Not a great sign. Nightmares alter my neurochemistry which has an immediate impact on my life. Not something most of you have to worry about. 

I got a chance to chat with friends today. Played some games. Did chores, and kept myself distracted. I’m proud of myself for not caving in. I never even opened the drawer. 

I hope the rest of your Sunday goes well. 

Dreaming Again

If there is as aspect to regular marijuana use That I have become somewhat dependent on, it is dream suppression. Why would that be a good thing you ask? Most people enjoy dreaming for the most part, but I am consistently tortured by it. 

Tonight I had dreams, and was eaten by a dragon, which may not seem like a big deal until you appreciate just how vivid and horrific that experience really was. Fictional? Yes. Terrifying? Also yes. This is but a brief glimpse into what my dreams are usually like. 

So I know I’m still doing the right thing in quitting, but I don’t much like all these side effects. Most of you have no problems dreaming and marking them as irrelevant, but my dreams can ruin my next day, spin me into depression or anxiety and generally haunt me throughout. I do not like dreaming, it is a liability. 

So as I forge ahead with my self-imposed sobriety, I now must accept that I will dream, and chances are, it won’t be much fun. 


Score: +2.5

It’s been a tough couple of days. With the heat being as unrelenting as it has been, I’ve not been getting good rest and feeling generally irritable. I had a bad nightmare two nights ago, and that can make my neurochemistry imbalanced the following day. Yesterday I only worked a half day. I just reached a breaking point and just lost all energy and focus. Today it was much the same, but I got 3/4 of the way and bailed out. I have been having a very hard time focusing on my job. My mind wanders and I can’t concentrate on what I’m doing. I often find myself typing things out that I’m thinking rather than what I should be doing. This has been getting worse lately, peaking today, where nearly everything was off. I was double checking, which made the already tedious process even slower. I’m not sure what my problem is. 

I know I deal with ADD symptoms, but I’ve always been able to push through it. This week though… I’m hopeful that tomorrow will be better. 

I’m also feeling increasingly depressed. I don’t know what trigger is. This heat is like poison to me. Maybe that long weekend just contrasted so harshly with the brutality of the work week in a very stark way. I wish I was still having fun like I did, but that’s not realistic. Life is mostly work, occasionally enjoyable. There are people out there who genuinely love their jobs, but I do not. My job is hard, and as ceaseless as the mail. I never truly enjoyed it, even when I first started. I’m good at it, and I understand it well enough, but I don’t take much pleasure from it. This will be my lot, because I don’t get to just choose whatever I want to do. I dropped out of college, and I have no skill that is something that I would like to do professionally. I could see myself as a PC game designer, or managing a computer repair shop… maybe. But these are dreams, and just as unattainable as my other incorporeal fancies. I don’t spend much time on things that will never “be.”

I’m sure this will pass. I just need to hunker down and get through this rough spot. It’s not as hot today as it was yesterday. Maybe I’ll feel better tomorrow.  


Score: +2.5

My day began with the return of the ghost. This formless specter occasionally haunts my dreams, where it usually succeeds in killing me through suffocation. I often try to confront the ghost, but it is unimaginably powerful. It wins every time. In last night’s permutation, it was after my sister, which has not happened before. I woke up before things got out of hand, as the ghost was trying to carry my sister off into a closet. I have been consulting with Amanda about what this all means, but even the dream guide can’t make much sense of it. All I know for sure is that the ghost comes out when depression is near. 

My anxiety has been rather constant, and it’s largely physical symptoms. My muscles are in a state of spasm and agitation, my thoughts are spinning around rapidly, I feel like a weight is pressing down on my chest. And I’ve done my cognitive homework on this one, so I’m not just thinking bad thoughts and allowing anxiety to carry them out of control. I have tried things to reduce anxiety, but they don’t get me out of the hole. So I called my doctor and she called back today and after some discussion we agreed to start me back up on Buspar. I will be taking an introductory dose until she can see me again on the 20th. She’s afraid I will get manic since I’m on a max dose of Welbutrin and the Buspar could push me over. But I told her that the only times I have been manic were when I went through a full unmediated cycle and then once when my first psychiatrist put me on 3 antidepressants at the same time. So it’s not something I think will happen. But if I start to get out of control, I can just stop the Buspar. 

Anyway. I’m ok overall. The anxiety is irritating, but surmountable. Things in life are progressing. Amanda goes back to work in two weeks. I’m really not sure how that is going to go. She has so much hatred for that place. 

I’m going to be ok. Hopefully I sleep soundly, without any dreams. 

What Is Done & What Remains Undone

Score: +3

It’s Saturday, and it’s really hot here in the desert southwest. I have been keeping busy with some mandatory responsibilities and sweating a lot. Blah.

All this incessant heat has me thinking about my life, now that I’m huddled in the shade trying not to move. If there’s one thing that I’ve managed to let go of, it’s my past. Since coming off the cannabis recently, I had expected to have a lot of nightmares about stuff that happened in my last relationship because the pot suppresses dreaming entirely (but then uncorks a torrent of dreams for days). Instead, I have had no nightmares, just odd dreams with little or no context and very random things happening. Nothing out of the ordinary. To be honest, I don’t have much trauma from my past relationship, except for that night I tried to kill myself. I don’t like holding on to bad feelings, and negative things because they are poison for the mind. In situations like a divorce, the memories and incidents should be abandoned (once processed for merit), because they are never going to be properly resolved or brought to any sort of closure. I could dwell, but there’s not much to be gained there. I don’t harbor any resentment for Jax anymore. I’ve let go of that part of my life, and fully moved on. Going back is useless.

So this weekend I’m the on call tech, and my phone has already rang twice. Amanda had her art in a TV show that was filed here in San Diego today and we are going back there to pick up her canvases which were used as decorations around the house. It’s going to be on A&E networks and FYI at some point in the the fall, on a show called “Tiny House Hunters.” It’s just another great opportunity for Amanda’s burgeoning art career. She is more than a month sober and deep into her treatment program. Things for her have been improving over these last few weeks. She has taken on the lion’s share of the housework and has started tackling projects around the apartment. I see her pride coming out, and she wants the place she lives in to be a reflection of how she feels, and as that feeling gets clearer and stronger, things will begin to take shape in her environment.

As for me, I’m recovering and doing well. I experienced a very low point back early in the week, but have struggled up and out of that pit. I am on a higher dose of lithium, but I doubt that would have had any effect by now. My symptoms are fading as time passes, which is a sign that I am not headed for a prolonged bout with bipolar depression.

I have such a good life right now. A life that I am happy with and that I can develop respect for myself in. I don’t disregard the errors of my past (of which there are many), but I don’t hold on to them like they were something precious that I desire to keep. I have learned something of quality from my negative experiences, in order to improve myself for the future. But I refuse to be upset, hurt, bitter or even resentful of things that happened to me, and because of me. What’s the point of all the bad energy? Does it help me feel good about myself? Do I gain some sort of satisfaction by being miserable? Do I yearn to be the victim of my own calamitous life? See how these questions all point to a destructive thought sequence with no possible positive outcome?

I’m all about improving. Life is constantly providing me with new things to learn about, and from. The things that we experience (with a proper interpretation) are there for us to build off of; we grow and change in a manner of our own choosing. We can, therefore, exist in the past, where nothing can be changed, or thrive in the future, where anything is possible. If life has any one lesson to be gleaned it’s that unpredictability reigns supreme. That’s what keeps me (at least) tuned in for the next new thing that will happen, whatever the outcome. There’s no judgement, only understanding.


Sop have a good night, and take the path that makes you feel alive, full and real. This world has so much to offer, if we can disconnect from regret and move on from pain.

How Things Have Changed

I just went back in time to October 3rd 2012, and read my personal synopsis post, which was so very shocking. Back then, I really did hate myself. I had no pride, no escape from the mistakes of my past. The burden of my errors was smashing my mind to pieces. The post I read was dark, troubling, loaded with fury and seething with regret. I’m really surprised by it. I didn’t really recall it being so acutely bad. But clearly it was.

I reflect, because when I look at myself now, it’s truly amazing to see the full-scale transformation that I have undergone. I’m a man who is proud of who he chooses to be, not ashamed or otherwise mired in sadness. I am confident, assertive, charismatic, hilarious and honest. I sensed from my words that I was deep into depression and not able to grasp any sort of positive thought. I had no love for myself. The contrast between them and now is striking and noteworthy.

I see in this reflection a clear example of the dramatic change I have created for myself. I built this new life I lead from a place much like the one I wrote from more than two years ago. I have come so very far in that time. It shocks me to read those words I so vehemently spat onto the page. I was a troubled, unresolved, angry person back then.

So give it a look, if you dare. The words are laced with a deep internal rage, and unacknowledged loathing. Reader beware.

Back Then

I’ve been reminiscing. I was officially divorced in late November, but that was not the thing that would push her out of my mind. Instead, I find myself pondering the strange outcome of our life together. We were so happy at times, so sad at others. I found that my depression really took hold of me through the winter of 2013 and our relationship being destroyed was collateral damage to my down-spiraling. I had gained a ton of weight, and was smoking cigarettes every day. My life was hanging by a thread. But for all of the sweet caring and love Jax had for me, I think she was shocked and horrified by how deep my rabbit hole goes. When she saw me break down into suicidal anger, and threaten those cops with weapons, she lost all semblance of respect for me. It was too painful a thing to behold, the one she loved willing to throw his life away. I know that after that night, she wasn’t coming back. She had seen the demon and wanted out. And frankly, I don’t blame her. My life was being primarily destroyed by me, and in my haste to obliterate myself, I had forgotten all about her. I was not interested in her trauma, the story was about MY trauma, and MY suffering. I made no space for her to breathe, and I choked her out of our relationship.

I wish things hadn’t gone that way, because she had a lot of value as a person, she was caring, creative, understanding and funny. She enjoyed coffee just as much as I do, and we had a blast collecting rocks together. I miss her sometimes, at least, those things about her. There were plenty of places where we were impassably disconnected, but neither of us realized that those differences could have been bridged with understanding, if only given the time to build it. I gave up on Jax first, sending myself into destruction. But she also saw me at my weakest, most vulnerable point and chose to sleep with someone else, which kinda sucked. When I was in the hospital, I cried myself to sleep at night on those plastic pillows. I sobbed because I was sad about what I had done, but more importantly, scared that I had lost the one person I loved. Which I did, I just hadn’t been told that yet. She came back after that night that she asked me to “let her go,” but it was clear her mind was in another place. She was already gone.


I did this to myself. And ever since that dismal point, I have striven to make something better out of my life. I admit that along the way, I lashed out at her in anger, in comments and emails. But eventually I wrote her a formal, heartfelt apology, where I laid out the shortcomings of my actions and asked her for forgiveness. I became aware of the large margin or responsibility I was accountable for, and took action on doing the right thing with it. I learned something from the fall, and I have moved on from that broken place to the best of my abilities. Do I still resent Jax? No, not at all. I actually completely understand why she did what she did. It’s not what I would have done, but I get where she was coming from. I have been looking at that night as a tragedy, when in reality it was an opportunity. A chance to prove my worth to the person who matters most… me. And that I have done.


So today as I work, I really don’t spend much time thinking about sadness as it pertains to that night. I think about a friend who I lost, and a life that I was leading that had all but dried up and was heading no where fast. It needed to be changed, but could I have been the one to change it? Not likely. It was already too far gone, and the board needed to be wiped clean and the reset button pushed. It was the only way, and our relationship may not have survived that, even if I had not melted down. I still regret the way I treated her, because I was so blinded by my own suffering that I never gave her the attention she deserved. I never really listened to her pain, only questioned why it was important. I was in no way mentally capable of handling anyone’s problems but my own. And even at that job, I was failing.


As I go along through my life, I can only look back and thank Jax for the time she spent with me. Having her in my life was a source of joy that had no rival. She has since moved on and found someone new to love, and a new place to call home, and I wish her nothing but the best in her journey. I have my own adventure to go on, and I’m very glad I am. Jax, wherever you are: thank you for being with me. I had fun, and I’m sure you did too. You will always have a space in my heart to call your own, and no one will remove you from it. That part of me will always be yours, whether you want it or not. Have a good life, as I will try to as well.

Lather, Rinse, Repeat

It’s another Monday and I’m here before work writing another check-in post. I had really sad dreams last night, even though I can’t clearly remember what they were about. I know that someone I loved was gone, and I was trying to find a way to get them back but it was not possible. I woke up feeling off, and I haven’t felt right all morning. I actually feel vaguely stomach sick but I got myself to work anyway. I contemplated calling in, but nah. I don’t have a good reason to stay.

My weekend was both exhausting and rewarding. We totally unpacked the storage unit on Saturday and took two truckloads of stuff to goodwill and another truckload to the dump. We also set the rock tumblers going on the bounty of agates and chalcedony Moo found while visiting the north coast of California. So I will now have a regular obligation to go down there on Saturday and change the grit over the next 3 weekends. But in that time, those rocks will be renovated and beautiful. They are some of the best agates I’ve ever seen, and jasper of varying colors. Truly great loads. And soon we will see their buried secrets underneath all that pitting and weathering.

In fantasy football news, the playoffs started for me in the family league. Each round of the playoffs is two weeks long, so one must win two weeks in a row to advance to the final. I haven’t been able to put two wins together all year. But last week I beat my cousin Jessica to make it to the postseason, and this week, I built a 58 point lead and my opponent still has one player going (Julio Jones). This will likely reduce my lead to 20 or so. He’s a dynamite WR and I fear him. He’s probably not going to cover the margin, but he will cover most of it. In the work league I’ve rattled of 11 in a row now and just overcame a huge 100 point deficit on Thursday night to win by 33. I had AJ Green on both teams, who exploded for 11catches, 224 yards and a touchdown. In my work league he was worth 42 points.

All told I’m doing fine. I feel a bit off today, but I’ll probably get over it. My muscles are sore from all the insane work I did on Saturday. I was going to exercise but I’m in pain and will wait until I am not in pain to do my thing. I got a workout mat out of storage and a medicine ball too. I’m in good shape to get in better shape. Lol.

Have a good day, and happy Monday.

**UPDATE 1:30 pm**

I’m on lunch. I’ve been training on Mbox and the ticketing system we use to keep track of tasks all morning. The time has really zoomed by. I’m pretty tired still, and somehow chemically not right. I’m straining to keep with it, but I am and will. I’m hoping that I survive the night in fantasy football. I’d rather have a lead going into week 2 than not. Duh. But hanging in there.

The Flight Of The Navigator

I’ve had the most amazing dream. At first there were four of us, and we were all friends somehow before the visitors made their first appearance. I think maybe we were never intended to know the truth. Aliens from another world, another time saw us though. We felt them. But time passed after the first encounter. I tried to convince Jax that we had to do everything we could to get back to them. We had to pack up our lives and go back to find them at whatever cost. One of the original four was devious and a cheat, and he wanted to exploit as his primary objective, so they shut off his kidneys and let his body die. Jax fought with me, said I was ruining our life, and she yelled that she hated me. A literal chasm developed in the floor of our bedroom, and I took what I needed and fled to the woods. She came looking for me, but only to get more angry with me. She killed herself instead of coming with me to find answers.

So there were only three of us, and we worked together in a high security facility somehow connected to the first encounter. We used our access to gather clues. I was determined to face the visitors again. And on that final night, we executed our plan to go back to the rendezvous point. And the authorities were closing in, knowing too late what we were up to. They were waiting for us. And just before we were captured, they took us with them in their silver spaceship.

I get the feeling this being had taken a liking to us, and interactions between us and the visitors were hallucinated scenes, sometimes another traveler in an recognizable barren desert, sometimes just a voice or strange objects which seemed to defy reason. Like glass that melts in your hand like water. Or vials filled with fluid with strange words printed on them. But we all were onboard their ship traveling to who knows where. There was difficulty, since the gulf of understanding between our two beings was so vast, we got the feeling that we would never be able to directly interface with our hosts. Time has no meaning to them. They can move into any parallel reality, on a whim.

The alien who had taken the three of us had then been ordered to put us back. So they dropped us into an ideal reality, one where we would want for nothing. But I couldn’t stay there, not after having touched the edge of understanding. I questioned that reality they put me in. I begged to be taken back. We all did. Our minds were open now, and we didn’t belong back in a closed world. I saw my friends again back on the silver spaceship. We talked some about what we had each seen. Then they began to age before my eyes, their bodies were moving in an out of time and space. I watched them blend into one being, who I knew then to be our host, and I finally had my chance to ask him questions. It was clear we could not be put back on Earth. We didn’t belong there anymore. Something about seeing these aliens had changed us forever. There was only the vast unknown of the universe stretching out before us. And we were all going out into that vast unknown together. With a benevolent guide who was just as fascinated by us as we were by him. We headed out into the stars, together.

My dream ended there.

Pictures I Saw

I see pictures from back when we were together, and I remember those times. It’s not a good feeling. I think about how different it was then, how much things have changed since. I think about where we are now in our lives, how much I’ve altered the course of my ship, how distant I have become from that past. It’s alien to think of being back there, where I was slowly destroying myself in unhappiness. Things were different, yes. But I had my chance at that life, and now it’s gone.


I discontinued the search for new people through OkCupid. It’s just not what I need right now. No one wants to talk to me, and I can’t keep a conversation going with anyone. They lose interest and eventually fail to reply. I don’t even really know what I was expecting. I went on a few dates, but am I looking for love? Am I even remotely interested in a relationship?


I can abide the solitude, because I really should learn how to stand on my own. Every time, and I do mean EVERY time I have attempted to be fully independent, I had someone else in mind. I was eventually working to make a relationship happen, AND juggle independent life. Though at that point it ceased to be my independent life and became ours. I was accountable and involved with someone who then became fundamentally necessary to my success. And every time, I lost he relationship, and lost my life as I then knew it. I let myself hit rock bottom. I decided my life was no longer worth living, more than once. And why? Because I staked my claim on life with someone else, and that unpredictable variable sent the whole thing to the shit-house.


This time, it’s different. I don’t have to do anything for anyone but me. And frankly, I’m hard enough  to deal with on my own, let alone with another person muddying the waters of possibility. I just have to find a way to cope with the big huge sum of loneliness that will build as time goes on. I am hoping that I can still find solace in this blog; expressing my thoughts daily, venting about my woes, telling you all what I’m doing with my inconsequential little life. I have no one else. I’m made to be this way, maybe too volatile and odd to be paired off with anyone for the long term. Hey. I had the idea once that finding another mentally ill person to be with would be the way to go (thinking that two people who understood what it was to be mentally ill could sympathize with each other in a most unique way). I even used this very blog to find that person, who must have had some understanding of my situation, being that this blog encapsulates my mental health journey in all it’s vacillation. But, frankly, I was misled. I was not accepted or protected, I was forgotten, and them abandoned. I may have been my own undoing as well.


I clearly have a lot swimming around in my brain right now. I’m trying to stay awake so my nights don’t become nothing. I don’t want to fall into a pattern of coming back to my home, eating, sleeping, and getting up to start my work day having had no unwinding time between. See blog? I’m thinking about how to take care of myself. This is the evidence of progress beyond my past relationships. This is the step I have been trying to take for nearly 12 years. I have a long way to go yet, but I’m really trying. With all my heart.


So thanks for your presence blog reader peoples. Even if you casually glance over my latest nattering, you are, at least, there in a place where few would chose to be. Most people don’t care what happens to me, or want nothing to do with me. I’m not surprised by this, but it does make my world a lonely place sometimes. It is what it is. I’m coping. Thank the Jeebus I have therapy tomorrow. I could sure use it.

Not For Lack Of Effort

I’m going to keep trying to make a connection with someone, even if they all don’t pan out. I have to be real with people, it’s not like I can hide my disorder, or make believe that I’m someone I’m not. I don’t know how to be artificial and fake. That is a big turn off for a lot of people who generally live in that world. There’s nothing I can really do about it, however. It just lowers my resolve to be continually defeated in my efforts. I’m still forging new territory, every day, making strides towards something better. I’m just on the verge of going totally independent, which is really exciting. I have a lot of good things to look forward to, and I shouldn’t be so mired in my past. I get so hung up feeling distressed and alone, and having something die in me somehow. I have poisoned myself with her memory, and emptied myself of tears.

I get this way sometimes. Despondent. I don’t deserve the bulk of the nastiness I carry with me. I carry her regret, and mine, even though she doesn’t carry anything at all. She’s free of grief and back to being in love again. I’m a lot more rudimentary in my recovery. I don’t bounce back perkier than ever from catastrophe. It takes me some time to get my bearing back, and figure out what new thing I need to try to avoid hurting myself again in the future. It’s a frustrating plight sometimes, but necessary as a precaution. I just can’t afford to go making the same mistakes again. Ever.

So what the hell am I doing on OkCupid? I’m probably inviting trouble, but I may be allowing myself a chance to blossom under a new regime. The possibilities of finding someone are low. And I’m not giving it my best effort, nor is it the driving goal of my life. Hopefully I can find meaning within myself, and not need to go running off to the next great relationship to fix my pain. Or have it satisfy a need that I could not satisfy for myself. I want to be self sufficient, so here I am doing the best job of that I can muster. I’m not expecting to find love. I just want to find my own place to call home and have shelter. I want to prosper in my environment. I also don’t like being so very lonely, but I have to go on this way, I suppose, until I’m strong enough or ever in a place to handle something more than that. I don’t imagine that day will be soon. Because I’ve had some time to experiment and I’m already a lunatic who clearly can’t be affiliated with. Or some such other reason to be totally ignored. I guess the truth is a reality no one wants to face. We’re all so happy living our make-believe lives. And the fake and superficial pervade our interactions and poison the deep well of the mind. I’m so tired of thinking what I had was so great. It wasn’t She’s got a lot of problems that probably haven’t been addressed. And I do pity the next long term guy she goes with, because he’ll learn how unwilling to change her own vices she really is. It’s so easy to point the finger at me, because I’m the one who took the time to acknowledge all my actual wrongdoing, point by point. And she gave me no such respect, but little more than a sentence a few months later acknowledging my words. But there’s just nothing for her to write about, because nothing was ever wrong with her to begin with? What is the lesson I’m supposed to take from all of this?

I ask a lot of rhetorical questions. Or maybe just ones I don’t want to have the answer to. I wonder where all these moving pieces are headed… where all the collisions that amount to our interactions finally are tallied up. I think my asteroid has pummeled a few other ones in it’s time flying around the sun. I may have some steam in me yet to pummel a few more.

What’s Been Said

I’m waking myself from the habit of subjecting my senses to the words of others. I tend to take in what other people say, entrenching their ideas or thoughts deep in a place of worth in my mind. I do this with Jax a lot, because her words are still so easily painful, easily reminding of a past not too far forgotten. At least, this is a weakness I have. Other people, who have decided to exclude themselves from my life, should not be considered a valuable source of information. I have done some bad things, yes… but did I deserve to be abandoned the way I was? Did I earn all the months of heartsickness I felt after my life fell apart?

I don’t think there’s a good reason for what happened. It’s certainly not the plan I had when I was trying to get out of the mental hospital. I had to break in to my own apartment just to get inside and get some new clothes on… because she wasn’t there for me. She was already decided that our relationship was over, and she’d moved on to a new guy. Again, not part of the plan.

But I guess all that pain had a good reason for being. I am well aware that Jax and I would never have gone far. I had already been making some big compromises to stay together with her, and I know from my past that when you compromise unwillingly, resentment builds. I was growing to really dislike some things about her behavior. The way she would never talk about her trauma or explore it’s reasons for being, or try to correct the pain she felt because of her PTSD. EMDR is a great way to undo PTSD but I could never get her excited about any of that. She would always get upset with me and say that she didn’t want to talk about it, and it was making her more angry that I wanted to talk about it, or kept asking questions. So big fights would happen, and we’d never resolve them, or get a chance to talk about them. Eventually, it would just get forgotten. I also really dislike the way she refused to learn anything outside her sphere of understanding. I couldn’t get her excited about astronomy, my RTS games, geology, meteorology, philosophy, grand unifying theory… you know how when you’re into something, you ask lots of questions about it so you can learn more? None of that was happening here. She likes to watch lots of really bad television shows. She may be a terrifically creative jewelry designer, but her creativity doesn’t get much help anywhere else. I would have needed her to somehow change her whole personality and become a different person altogether, if there was ever to be a chance we’d make it. It was a change I kept hoping I could inspire her to make, but that never happened. Instead, we grew distant, as we had fewer and fewer things to talk about or share. It was like being on an island of understanding.

My world was damaged by a premature separation that took me by surprise, even though the warning signs were there for all to see. A collision of bad events: my meds stopped working, things were getting bad between Jax and I, and our environment was poison ever since I left my job. I made the life toxic, and the relationship could not survive it. I just forced her to do something she would have done eventually, anyway.

Moral of the story is: I’ve moved to a better point of understanding my crisis, how it happened and why. I can see my part in the meltdown, and I recognize where I need to adjust my behaviors so this sort of thing does not happen again. It’s a gift, that I have been given my calamity. My job is to learn from what I have done, and to not repeat the same foolish mistakes over again. To start, I had to go back and reevaluate myself for what I had let happen to my life. That’s hard to do, and requires an unbiased eye to perform accurate readings. These are some of the things I have had to accept and grow with, knowing that life is not going to provide me with the things I seek… and that everything of value in this world is earned. I regret the direction I took my life. I am determined not to let that sort of thing happen again.


In the news from bizarre-o-world, I might have acquired a living arrangement with my Uncle of all people. His wife and he are divorcing after 20 years or more, and he has no place else to go. So I guess there’s a chance I might be living with my Uncle in a shared living space… which I am ok with considering he’s a cool guy. He likes football, and we have that in common. Oh, there’s yet another thing I was REALLY excited about, that Jax could give two shits. The NFL, and all the work I put into my Fantasy Football stuff is a source of pride for me. But like I was saying. If you don’t already mesh with her, she won’t change to mesh with you. I have a doubtful feeling about Jax’s future… I don’t think you can just move on from such a huge decision to leave me and get a divorce, to falling in love with an new guy 4 months later, and expect that to just work out. I have a hunch that life is unforgiving, and people unwilling to change the things that lead to missteps, are doomed to make more of them.

Drunken Murmurings

I’m way too drunk on alcohol right now. And you’d be surprised at my spell-check for this short portion that I have written. It’s alarming. Needless to say, I’m glad my ex has found love again. Or some semblance of the security she seeks. Whatever it may be, I hope it brings her the joy she’s so eagerly craved and deserved. I feel like she’s had a pretty tortured life and needs something she can just lean on to get her through the years. Or some such alternative. Well, however the scenario is posed, I’m still abiding my sadness alone. I’m still unfulfilled and yearning. I’m still keenly aware of how unready I actually am, and not just snapping up love from the first real opportunity presented.

I can’t blame her though, she has all the attractiveness of a shiny new plaything. It’s the question of longevity that pervades, and can only be truly answered by the test of time. This is the test I put my conceptualization of love up against. And it was felled by time. And patterns that refused to change. I wonder if she will do this all over again with this new guy, or some permutation of disaster yet unknown. I tend to think my cautious approach the wiser one, not leading me back into love before my divorce had gone final. But I leave everyone to their own devices, as I have no control over this. I wish she would take the time to change within herself the things that would need to be different if new love was to arise in her life. I’ve had and have chances to advance the cause of love in my life, but frankly, I don’t really want love right now. I’m not ready for it and my body is tired from having to do what I do already. If she’s so “on top of it” and “together” that she can handle a new healthy relationship right now than so be it. I have my disabilities, my disadvantages. I work up from the bottom of understanding.

The pleasant news is I’m doing well, and striving to be more than I am, and hoping sincerely to expand my potential. I’m not ready to be your partner, I’m still comprehending my role in the most recent disaster to affect my life. I’m not so rapidly forgetting my responsibility in this thing that I’m willing to make a whole new relationship. I’m not “getting back at you” by doing that. I’m not proving anything to anyone. I’m just doing what’s right by me, for the time being. And it’s hard to do the right thing, and obey the laws of moderation and respect my mental illness. I have no desire to repeat the same mistakes I have made. If I truly felt that I had learned everything I needed to learn from my divorce with Jax, then I would be the first guy to leap at new opportunity. But honestly, I’m a work in progress, and I know what my limits are, and what I can handle, and I’m not pretending to be ok with myself, I ACTUALLY AM OK WITH MYSELF,  which is a big improvement. I’m not abusing my body and eating crap. I’m working hard and applying myself fully. I’m trying to learn new things, while keeping myself in the priority seat of my life. These are benchmarks on the way to self improvement. Something my ex has little need of, apparently. Her admissions have been limited and her comprehension of the tragedy seem stunted. I’m not sure if she’s just going to do the same thing over again, or if my life has had any change over hers whatsoever.  I sense that not much has changed.

I feel more alienated from my peers, yet I revel in my pride over my accomplishments. Without distinguishing myself, I would have very little to praise. It’s my unique nature that makes me do the good job that I do. And I’m all the more excited to get started tomorrow and really hammer out the nature of people’s issues. I find I’m at my best when I can apply myself fully. I don’t know where we are in comparison to each other. How have we both changed? Fucked if I know. I can tell you how I’ve grown, not about how I was the victim. I’m not going to flower it up and make it seem like it all was their fault and I was just doing what I had to do. I’m a realist; if it’s anything I’ve learned from reality, it’s that nothing moves without growth, and growth comes from learning the full scope of things that took place, not just the parts we pretend we only see. Reality is brutal, and unforgiving, and not judgmental. It’s WE who apply the judgement, based on how it affects us. In all honest truth, the facts remain the same. Inarguable. Indistinguishable from the ultimate truth of their being.

I’m a person who accepts his flaws, and proceeds forward. The easy thing do do would be to cover up my flaws and re-engage love under the auspice that everything was going to be just fine and that there was no problem in the first place. I think this would just lead to disaster again for me. Honestly and truly, I’d fail trying to cover up my flaws and dysfunction gone untreated or without remedy. I would be prone to the same catastrophes that had befallen me earlier, only repeated and twice as painful.

I’m never going to suffer the way I did. I promise myself not to fall into the same pit of sadness and despair. I promise.


Jax, I hope you are all done learning, and can have a full and wonderful relationship with that guy. But I’m not so quickly healed from such a devastating blow. I have a deeper well of being that reaches it’s depths deep into suffering, a place you’re decision to vacate our life has left me. In times of anguish, I remember myself and hold firm to a belief that all things are dealt to us so that we may learn. And learn I have. I wonder if that feeling is mutual.

Tipping Point Reached

I’ve finally had enough of the group at work. It’s gone too far. People are flagrantly disregarding any sort of professionalism and respect. It’s stunning, really. I find Laurel to be a breath of fresh air, bringing a bunch of new knowledge into my world. All these other jokers may or may not be here next week. Who fucking knows. But I’d really be shocked if delinquency, lateness, absent minded nattering, meaningless anecdotes, racist jokes and bored stares were rewarded with lots of job security. In fact, I may just have to clarify my idea if “rightness” in the world. I don’t think I’m barking up the wrong tree with my dedication, professionalism and performance beyond what was being asked. I have no fear for myself, but THEY should have the fear, and the fact that they DON’T bothers me a bunch. I wrote an email to Laurel at lunch, because I was getting sick of Jew jokes, silly laughter and then an onslaught of questions directed at ME because they were not paying attention when Laurel showed us all the first time. I want to be clear: their behavior is dramatically impairing my ability to proceed. Its awful in there. It HAS to change.

So I pleaded with Laurel for sympathy. I asked her to pass my words on to someone higher up the food chain, and to keep my involvement out of the reprisals. I just want a safe, happy workplace environment full of people who value their jobs. That might be asking WAY too much at this point, but discipline is an order. Something must be done.

So, the cog wheels are turning in some way. I’m sated that I was appreciated and understood for my plight. Laurel is RIGHT THERE WITH ME. I certainly hope that place gets some kind of wake-up call.

Remembering Those Times

When things were so blissful because I was in love. When my heart floated somewhere outside my body, and every day, I felt blessed. I was given a rare privilege, to embark on a life journey with another, and to vow oneself to that final objective. I found out that our ideas about togetherness were different, and our love was expendable. Somewhere back in the mercurial onset of our relationship, I was so very deep in love with you, so very proud and ready for the world. I was not dealing with my own personal stuff, but my life was so good, so happy, that none of it seemed to matter. I know now that it does work in at you, no matter how hard one tries to repress it.

I learned the hard way about myself, and how I need to be cared for. I wasn’t getting the right stuff, in the end, because the whole thing just got so convoluted and distant that it stopped making sense to me why we were still together. I remember thinking about it, but honestly, I knew she made me happy inside, every day, to have her in my life. Even as limited as things became, I still yearned for her affection. Like the way it was when she first came to my town. When we whisked her away from that rotten life she had been stuck in and brought her to a safe place where she could grow. I thought this was the plan, anyway. I wanted to build something with her, and I never took care of my own shit and lost my chance to do that.

I find myself more melancholy after I’ve consumed a great deal of alcohol the day before. I get so sad sometimes, remembering how good it felt to be hugged, loved, squeezed. How deep I was in her, how vital and fun we could be together. The way we were always laughing about something, no matter what it was. Or doing some unexpected, spontaneous, kooked-out thing. It was her originality that I admired, and it’s the driving force behind her creativity, which I know is profitable and still believe every dollar we spent on jewelry supplies was well spent. Never doubt committing resources to the creativity of others.

I guess this is the sad part of being too nostalgic. I get lost in soupy memories of good feelings, where I was stretching to the top of my comprehension of happiness. I remember those good things just as much as the bad, because I know what it’s like to be ecstatic, and I know what it’s like to suffer. This gives me a keen awareness of multiple emotional states. I know that though I may be happy right now, I’d be happier if I were in love with her again. I would be happier if I was doted on, smothered with affection, kissed, held… I don’t deserve any of that, but I certainly know what it was like to have it. I miss it so much sometimes.


Shiny eyes , night
Steady heartbeats–
Taking flight.
Whim of wind,
Who’s cries did tire
All alone, dark
Huddled near the fire.
Return a way
The bleak drive–
Without mercy,
Turned over in the sea.
Dead to time
Thought of disparagingly.
Shallow pieces
Hunted by deep sharks,
Forgetting the future,
Betwixt the remarks.
Sunk in memories,
Chortling murderer…
Where are my pillow tears?
The world is tearing me apart.

Apocalypse Soon?

I’m a big believer in, what I have come to call: the Pacific Meteor Theory. The oceans on planet Earth account for 70% of the surface area of this spherical home of ours. It’s all connected, but in the northern hemisphere, the Pacific Ocean is the largest contiguous body of water there is. Interrupted my tiny islands, and bordered by HUGE dense population centers, the Pacific is a giant, horrible, sleeping predator waiting to strike. It’s a great sum of combustible fuel in the cosmic firestorm of our time. Granted, the probability of the Earth being slammed by a meteor of substantive size IN THAT AREA is really low. Really really low. But of all the other meteor impact scenarios, I see it as the most likely, and the most deadly.

It’s not hard to imagine something like this happening, having clearly dodged a bullet 9 miles above remotest Russia in 2013. We got lucky at Tunguska in 1908, which is still pretty recent history… in cosmic terms. Both times, they were over continental land… but still in the northern hemisphere… where the Pacific is. If we DON’T think about this, how are we going to be prepared? I’ve done some math, and here’s what the experts are telling me:

An asteroid of 500 meters in diameter would generate a tsunami which would devastate 180,000 square kilometers of coastal area and kill 30 million people. All of the pacific islands would be battered under a deep-water tsunami of over 66 feet high. And that’s 100 kilometers away from the impact. Spreading outward. Depending on WHICH area of the pacific, effects of large asteroids transcend mere oceanic woes and become global catastrophes. The probability of these things happening is basically unknown, because we have no idea how to quantify the density of objects idly floating about in the inner solar system. There may be oodles of things, and there may be very few. They’re REALLY small and hard to find with a conventional telescope, because they hardly reflect any light and generally look like a hole in space.

I see that earlier in the development there were all sorts of big impacts… but the time for that solar system development has long since gone by, and everything is pretty neatly organized in our solar family… but not totally. There are still little floating death blobs out there, and we should be ever aware how fragile a balance we have here on this fuzzy little Earth.




Pre Coffee Thoughts

I’m not big into social media. I’m reluctantly a part of Facebook, but only because my whole family is on there and we shit talk with each other. I’d miss out on those interactions otherwise… and even though I can be stubborn, I will sometimes cave in. But I generally draw the line at this point. My internet profile is pretty low.

But I could, theoretically, have a way to make even my most inane thoughts into massively distributed text transmissions. Even have a way for others to monitor my activity! Hooray?

I find the premise to be flawed. This “service” of message posting and sharing is highly suspect. First, unless it is your JOB in life to be famous and have people pay attention to you, one has no business owning an account. “Hi there, I’m Stoofus and I’ve got some thoughts about shoes.”

Is this really what we’ve stooped to? We now care enough about Joe Nobody to see a live stream of his every thought. I sense that we’re going to be disappointed. No one has THAT many rad thoughts. They probably hire someone to do the posts for them. Probably.

In short: don’t be hasty to deem every passing whim as recordable material. Some of what we think is just rubbish. Some being yet worthwhile. But how many “tweets” am I going to care about? How about none.

I know I’m an atypical individual. I’m generally not amused by what most people are captivated by. I find people to be a somewhat boring subject manner. Ideas are far more compelling and worth discussing. But I must be prepared to be alone in my thoughts and desires. No amount of hoping will ever make the “tweetsick” world any different. Sadly.

Nevertheless. We continue on, while making the pointed observations that help quantify or define the parameters of our awareness.

Ni Ni Song

I wish a tender place to sleep
To soak the sunlit hours deep
Into the cracking cave of night
Where hours vanish with delight
A warm embrace of embers’ glow
Hiding deep beneath the snow
Blanketed buried soft and neat
Do shadows on the canyons creep
A frail flag against the wind
So eyes to their duty rescind
Beneath the tumult of mashed up scenes
Chewed on slowly by my dreams
Tired lays the body down
To wed the throne of most renown
King in chambers home at last
You’ll never know the time has passed
For morning’s light when next you meet
Allow your mind to just intreat
A passing memory of darkness gone
The new sun rising to its song

Some Paper, And Forgiveness

I have said many times how I intend to change myself and my actions for the betterment of my life and future. I have been frank, and disclosed my darkest errors. I do this so I can learn, and grow. The feeling isn’t one of mutual respect though, and no matter how I try, I’m never going to get the satisfaction of understanding, the solemn love of compassion… things I desperately seek but have no healthy way of receiving. I can do the best I can, within my capabilities, to express, document and scrutinize my responses, emotions and thoughts. But it’s not a two-way street, and the gratification I’m looking for comes from a place of functionality, not disconnection. Jax and I are now permanently disconnected, so I’m not sure what my thinking is in writing her that letter… a letter that contained my most heartfelt regrets and apologies. It’s private, otherwise I’d have posted it here. In short, I’m not able to be at rest knowing I left so many things unsaid, or undone in our life together. I couldn’t just let that go, knowing that she has this idea about me in her head that I am a piece of shit or not worth being with or whatever. I can’t just be ok leaving it at that. I want her to know, that I’m changing, even if she is not. I’m advancing my life, every day, just like I said I was going to back in the beginning.

I’ve come a long way with the anger, which I was buried in at the time that Jax told me she had an affair while I was still in the hospital. But who’s to say what is good and what is bad? I can understand this crisis from my standpoint alone, and deal with the emotional responses that I am made aware of. I can’t go doing impossible things, so, why expect that of myself? Seems kinda pointless.

I am moving on the best way I know how, and after surviving a few months of anguish, I’m emerging from the haze and am ready to address the next circumstance. I can’t change the past, duh. But I can change how I feel about it, and how I interpret the situation for myself. I can choose to take something wholly beneficial from this calamity and use it to propel myself forward. Goals are out there to be reached, met, surpassed. I am confident I can do these things, if I grind away at them and take my time in reaching milestones. My expressions have become starkly more useful and less emotional as time has passed, and this should be an encouraging sign to anyone that even the most vile of heartbreak can be overcome with the dull ache of time. Not the same excruciating pain, but a reminder of where it used to hurt and why.

Jax, best of luck on your adventure to wherever it is that you are going. I have disconnected my concern, and am satisfied with where I have left things between us. It’s never going to be right again, because trauma has seen to disbanding even the smallest of insurrections. That’s what you wanted though, so I can’t say much else. I’ve move my own way, and am not headed a vastly different direction than you. And we will not be meeting again on this journey, I know. Because my path requires a level of energy and commitment that you do not want any part of. You do really believe and love your sister, even if her advice can get you into more trouble that it was originally worth. Be well on your travels, as I will be on mine.


I write to free myself of the burden of sorrow. And sometimes it presses me down hard and flat. And it’s all I can do to struggle against it and allow myself a breath. Sometimes there is no escaping it. The sadness comes and swallows me. I am immersed in the inconsolable thoughts of deep hurt and traumatic pain. I don’t exactly deserve this magnitude of emotion, but I can still deal it to myself regardless. It’s as constant as the sunrise, this disorder. You can expect there to be a down whenever there was an up. I sit here in the gathering dark and wonder about what kind of person I want to be. I hold my self in a respectful regard, while maintaining a leader’s ambition. I can be a great person, but it takes a lot of work to get it there.

I have a job interview tomorrow. First thing in the morning. I’m pretty excited about that. I get another chance to prove my value to another person and try to get hired. I really want to work. And keep at my successes with realistic goals that can be systematically achieved. Is it really all about the hurt I feel in the moment of anguish? I certainly hope not. Seems like a bad place to be making a decision. I’ve learned from hard mistakes and I am doing the best I can to carry on. It’s all I can really expect.

I hope this place continues to be as forgiving and open as it has been. I take solace in the act of casting my words out into the forever. Some how, these words will carry on somewhere, and be of use to someone. That completes the circuit. So to speak.

Reminders Of Her

I’m struggling with a lump in my throat and a tears swelling in my eyes. I am reminded of how much I loved her, and how much it hurt to have that abruptly cancelled. I’ve not fully comprehended the shock of abandonment. of a love that I thought was deeper than any I had known… to have that ripped from me is inviting indescribable anguish. I suffer with a empty chasm that had been filled with adoration for another person. I absolutely loved every part of her, every smile, every sob, every tear she cried, every funny little way she walked. I can’t help but remember how deeply I loved her. How truly, I appreciated her company, and revealed everything to her, and let he be in the sacred circle of my life. To exile her from it has been like committing treason on myself. Part of me died forever when she told me that she was through with me. It’s a fundamental rejection based on circumstance, elated emotions and a lack of foresight. Truly I believe life still could have worked, gotten better even been something totally new, If you’d only have been willing to try again with me. But even that was repulsive. Everything about who I am you found abhorrent to such an extent as to never want anything to do with me, ever again. I can’t help but take that kind of personally. And I’m such an idiot, because I’m not observant and I fall into ruts. And I lost you when I was in my deepest dark place. I lost you, the only thing that I truly held in the center of my love. Ever. And I lost you.

I don’t think I’m likely to just “get over” that. I royally fucked up, and did enough bad things to her to drive her away, permanently. I must be an unadulterated toxic waste site that kills everything that strays near it. Is that the reality of my solitude? The true depth of the bleakness of having been given up on, and left forever. I can’t relay the level of suffering that comes from that cold, real fact. It drives itself through me like cold steel. I can’t breathe sometimes because I miss her touch, her smell. I miss the way she laughed at my jokes, the way she listened to my stories. I never had a ton of things in common with her, but I appreciated her creativity, her spontaneity, her ambition. She had fire, and spunk, and I liked that. I thought her heart would forgive even my most wretched of dispositions, but I was wrong. It had a limit, and that limit was found and broken. I wish I was still being loved the way I had been… I wish I was still in love with her the way I imagine I was. I wanted to center my whole life around this rare flower, this traumatized beauty… I just never let her know how precious she was to me, I guess. I can’t explain what happened to me, but I sure can learn from it. And I’m doing my best to make sure this doesn’t happen again. But to do that, and pursue my mental health as my life priority… I will surely to be used to doing it alone. I can’t expect to put someone through the kind of torture it is to deal with someone who is deeply mentally ill. She never really understood what kind of challenge I was, and she got frightened when she found out, and wanted out. It was all too much. The neglect, the constant analysis and lack of compassion. I get it. I mean, I have to get why, because how else am I ever going to learn anything from this disaster?

I don’t know how to tell you what it feels like to be strangled by sadness, dissolving into vile acid and hissing with despair. I wish I was somehow still worthy of her love. I wish I had the validation of someone there, making you smile inside. Because that’s what she did for me, she made me work so god damn hard, every day, pushing myself to the limit and doing it so that I could have that life with her. It was what I wanted when I went to work, when I started being independent again, I did it for her, for that life with her… because I loved her so much I glowed in the dark with energy to make her, and myself proud. Jax, I don’t regret giving all that year of my life to you. I would do it all again, because you were such a joy for that time, and such a clever little spot. I’ll never forget how good you used to make me feel. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before in my life… like nothing I ever expect to feel again. I’m deep in guilt over how I took care of myself, and how I contributed to the way we fell apart. I wish I had it back. I wish I had her back. I wish I didn’t have to hurt so bad all the time, and feel so totally alone sometimes at night, and the feel like you just wish it could be ok again. But I know, it won’t be sometimes.

Should’ve Known Better – Richard Marx

Another sleepless night I can’t explain,
Somebody said they heard me call your name,
The radio won’t let you leave my mind,
I know it’s over but I don’t know why.

Should’ve known better–
Than to fall in love with you.
Now love is just a faded memory.
Should’ve known better–
Now I’m a prisoner to this pain,
And my heart still aches for you.

There was no risk that I wouldn’t take,
And not a promise that I didn’t make,
All I asked was that you just hold on,
And now I’m wondering what I did wrong.

Should’ve known better–
Than to fall in love with you.
Now love is just a faded memory.
Should’ve known better–
Now I’m a prisoner to this pain,
And my heart still aches for you.

I gave you all of my body and soul,
Never believing we might lose control,
I took my hands off the wheel.

I can’t remember if the lies were true.
It’s been a million years since I touched you.
I thought time might help me win this game,
But being away from you is slowly driving me insane.
Should’ve known better–
Than to fall in love with you.
Now love is just a faded memory.
Should’ve known better–
Now I’m a prisoner to this pain,
And my heart still aches for you.

Unwritten Words

I have been writing huge posts, often rants about my painful experiences around my suicide attempt, but not publishing them. In fact, I typically vent for up to 500 words or so, and then delete the post entirely. I let one go today, but realizing I would rather have just deleted my rant, I did after the fact. I’m sorry if you read it and were like “what stick got up HIS ass today?”

I have a lot of feelings that don’t need to be solidified as a post. More often than not, I indulge the destructive thoughts by giving them a creative outlet in my words. But do I want to save all those words? Fuck no. Most of what I write is biased nonsense, and you should know that by now. It’s not intended to be ubiquitous, it’s not a tween pop hit. It’s MY blog, and it’s often dark and quite belligerent; mired in redundancies, and sometimes at a total loss for how to articulate the feeling, but trying nevertheless. I don’t write for anyone but myself, for myself, for my thoughts to be real, heard, and then dissipate forever. Take it or leave it.

So, like I was saying… there are just too many posts that don’t need to be posted… because they come from an emotionally unhelpful place, and are happy with just having my attention for a few minutes, let alone achieve semi-permanence. I’m trying to keep the thought faucet on a drip… for now.

Just Waking Up

I had nightmares. It was demonic possession in this dream. And they poured hot mustard on my knee so I would write down demon words and talk in demon language. It was unpleasant. But this is how sleep goes sometimes. At least I’m not having to face The Ghost.

I’m my dreams, I’m suffering in one form or another. It’s very rarely a not horrible dream in which not horrible things are happening. Very rare.

I’m going to group today. It was a little crowded last week and I’m not too big a fan of that. The groups lose value when they get bigger. Chances are someone will grab the limelight and not let go of it. Then we only deal with one person’s problem the whole time. Not fun. Not rewarding.

Seeing her again yesterday only reminded me of how far she has fallen. I used to respect and care for her, but not anymore. I think poorly of her and have no desire to interact with her any further. She’s left my concern and I’m glad to be rid of it. I’m doing so much better without her. It’s measurable, the changes I made to myself. I’m so proud of that. It can’t be taken from me either.

I’m here in snuggy town. I’m warm and safe. Not possessed by demons. Thankfully.


I’m doing the best I can in my environment. But not everyone is on board with the emotion regulation prerogative. I’m working my ass off to be healthy in body and mind. This second part is where the hardest work is to be done. I’m being proactive with daily exercise and a really good diet. My calorie intake is way down. I did mention that I lost ten pounds as of three weeks ago. And my shorts are too loose. They fall right off my ass unless I have a belt. So. Work is being done despite my Mom having a total fucking meltdown over the last day or so. I have no solace in resolution, because the emotional awareness work needs to be done and acknowledged. My mom won’t admit to there being a problem because she is too proud and insecure about herself and how she is perceived. She needs to be right in order to feel good, which is a fucked story. She may have a lot of feelings that aren’t being appropriately acknowledged and dealt with. Instead they find devious ways of getting out through misdirected emotional outbursts. Inexplicable reactions based on non participation in a mindful process. If in wise-mind, more reasonable ways of dealing with emotions can be found and implemented. It takes work and practice. My mom has lost her way in this regard. I wish I could help, but the whole thing is above my pay-grade.


It runs in the hot air and makes everything stand on end. It’s palpable anger, the effusive radiation given off by disagreement. I find myself in an environment inundated with it sometimes. My parents have been together a long time, and seen their way through lots of issues. Because there are always issues. Two people are bound to argue about something, given enough time. Trouble being the basic communication and expression skills seem to get lost, and misread, or misunderstood, or whatever. At some point, there is a fracture and it doesn’t do anything but widen from there on out. I wonder why this is. I’ve contributed, on many an occasion, my own anger or other unpleasant feeling in some non useful way. I’ve not identified the source of my emotions and not coped with it regardless. I’ve been in meltdown mode, where all I can do is curl into a ball and close my eyes until the abuse stops.

When there is tension, its code for someone not dealing with emotions in a useful way, perhaps both. Emotion warfare is easy to engage in, because all you have to do is act on the impulse of the first arbitrary feeling that solidifies itself in your mind. Then hold on tight.

I have my own problems to deal with, naturally. And I don’t really know what to do, given the environmental hostility is totally out of my hands, and has little or nothing to do with me. Nor will it be alleviated by my abrupt intervention. I’m not a fucking hero or anything. I’m not going to ride in and make it right. Yeah, how unbelievably unrealistic is that?

I have enough trouble being in my own head. I don’t go inviting more negativity into my world if I have the choice. Sometimes there is no escaping it. When the RV is full of anger, some of it leaks out the door and gets into my area.

Terrible Anguish

I’m here feeling really sad about my life and it’s current manifestation. I guess I wish I was doing something I could be very proud of. Instead, I feel like organic waste. I feel like a pile of steaming compost. My heart is heavy and I can feel it in my chest like I swallowed a stone. It’s cold and unforgiving and not willing to listen to rationale. It just hurts and reminds me that through this part of my recovery, I must be alone. I’m not too good with that, because I’m affectionate and soft. I like to be loved. To give love. To have something invaluable like emotional bliss is more than I can bear thinking about. I’m so fucking far from being emotionally happy it’s not even fun to measure the distance to go still. It seems all so insurmountable. And I am sad to be constraining my parent’s lives with my situation. I would like nothing more than to succeed and lift the burden of my presence from them. But it’s all out of my hands right now. I even wrote a letter to Hope Connections about that possible IT job. Haven’t heard back from them. Haven’t heard from DoR either. Boy would I really like to do some stuff to make my life better. I hate being stuck. Waiting for others to decide my fate. It’s pretty fucked. But I didn’t want to be here. I was living my life until it collapsed. I was doing ok. I could have been doing a lot better, but that’s my future goal. For a reestablishment of my independent, dignified self. But I’ve never felt as “off” as I have been because of this most recent collapse. I put so much into that life. Now it’s gone and the memories are bitter. I remember the first time she stepped foot in San Diego. I was so damn excited to see her. To have this life with her that I planned. It was all such a huge mistake. I wish I would have known the kind of person she was. I wouldn’t have wasted my time. She’s the opposite of what I needed. A poison in the prerogative of denial. Of looking everywhere but within the self for answers. Like I did. Leaning on love like it could hold me up. When it never could. She never loved me like I thought she would. Love to her is like any other emotion. It comes and goes with the tides. Eventually she had no love left for me. When I loved her too much. Treasured her. But why? Because it was all I could understand about love. It was my only definition. I guess I’m writing all of this over again because I really have no other way of coping with this unquenchable sadness. I’m trying. I have not given up. But this is hard and I hurt. And someday, it won’t be this way. Someday, I’ll be me again.


I have been contemplative of late. I’m thinking a lot about songs, music playing in my mind. I think about stuff… sad songs bring back memories of what things used to be like. When I was in love and happy, and living. I put together a pretty solid run there, from the end of 2012 to the beginning of 2014. I did well and thrived. I just didn’t have a job that understood my difficulties, or a partner for that matter. I think she always sympathized with my disability, but never really understood it. I mean, how can you know I carry this terrible weight and then have THAT be the reason for abandonment? I guess I have this pervading nostalgia when I think about her. It makes me feel gutted, empty and woozy. I reel at the hollow space in my soul where love once shown brightly. I don’t intend on nourishing that avenue much either, as the future days climb up upon us. I need to discover self-sufficiency and interdependence. I can do that, though it’s hard and hurts sometimes.

I have a lot of time to think about this stuff… probably why I’m so hungry to write… a deep need for understanding is filled by the acknowledgement of my words. I report my progress to others, but really, no one is here paying attention to what I’m doing with my moments. I’m left to my own devices, which has some benefits and also some clear drawbacks. I’m not the best keeper of tasks, I’m not the best motivator. I do what I can, given the circumstances.

For now, I’m just glad I have this blog: a place to reconcile my ever turbulent mind. My little slice of sanctuary. I hope you out there have one too, whatever shape that takes for your life. It’s healthy, so why not.

My arm is almost back to full power. Still have some pretty nasty pain when I extend, or push while extended. It’s the blood vessel that got fucking torched, I can see the bruising in my arm. A lot of work to do there to make my arm back to the way it was before last Tuesday.


Same Old Lang Syne – Dan Fogelberg

Met my old lover in the grocery store
The snow was falling, Christmas Eve
I stole behind her in the frozen foods
And I touched her on the sleeve

She didn’t recognize the face at first
But then her eyes flew open wide
She went to hug me and she spilled her purse
And we laughed until we cried

We took her groceries to the checkout stand
The food was totaled up and bagged
We stood there lost in our embarrassment
As the conversation dragged

We went to have ourselves a drink or two
But couldn’t find an open bar
We bought a six-pack at the liquor store
And we drank it in her car

We drank a toast to innocence
We drank a toast to now
And tried to reach beyond the emptiness
But neither one knew how

She said she’d married her an architect
Who kept her warm and safe and dry
She would have liked to say she loved the man
But she didn’t like to lie

I said the years had been a friend to her
And that her eyes were still as blue
But in those eyes I wasn’t sure
If I saw doubt or gratitude

She said she saw me in the record stores
And that I must be doing well
I said the audience was heavenly
But the traveling was hell

We drank a toast to innocence
We drank a toast to now
And tried to reach beyond the emptiness
But neither one knew how

We drank a toast to innocence
We drank a toast to time
Reliving in our eloquence
Another ‘Auld Lang Syne’

The beer was empty and our tongues were tired
And running out of things to say
She gave a kiss to me as I got out
And I watched her drive away

Just for a moment I was back at school
And felt that old familiar pain
And as I turned to make my way back home
The snow turned into rain

The Heart Of The Matter – Don Henley

I got the call today,
I didn’t wanna hear…
But I knew that it would come.
An old true friend of ours was talkin’ on the phone–
She said you found someone.
And I thought of all the bad luck,
And the struggles we went through–
And how I lost me and you lost you.
What are these voices outside love’s open door–
Make us throw off our contentment–
And beg for something more?

I’m learning to live without you now.
But I miss you sometimes.
The more I know,
The less I understand–
All the things I thought I knew,
I’m learning again.
I’ve been tryin’ to get down to the heart of the matter–
But my will gets weak–
And my thoughts seem to scatter–
But I think it’s about–
Even if, even if you don’t love me anymore.

These times are so uncertain–
There’s a yearning undefined.
A people filled with rage.
We all need a little tenderness–
How can love survive,
In such a graceless age?
The trust and self-assurance–
That can lead to happiness,
They’re the very things,
we kill, I guess…
Pride and competition–
Cannot fill these empty arms!
And the work I put between us,
You know doesn’t keep me warm.

I’m learning to live without you, now.
But I miss you, baby.
The more I know, the less I understand.
All the things I thought I figured out, I have to learn again.
I’ve been tryin’ to get down to the heart of the matter–
But everything changes–
And my friends seem to scatter–
But I think it’s about–
Even if, even if you don’t love me anymore.

There are people in your life who’ve come and gone–
They gonna’ let you down–
You know they hurt your pride!
Better put it all behind you; cause’ life goes on…
You keep carrin’ that anger, it’ll eat you up inside, baby…

I’ve been tryin’ to get down to the heart of the matter,
But my will gets weak–
And my thoughts seem to scatter–
But I think it’s about–
Even if, even if you don’t love me…

I’ve been tryin’ to get down to the heart of the matter
Because the flesh will get weak–
And the ashes will scatter–
So I’m thinkin’ about–
Even if, even if you don’t love me…

Soap With A Prize Inside

The bounty of reason is understanding, and paired with it are the stern disciplines of learning. Pestilent eruptions of the sour state can perturb the objective. I find my medley in the mass-confusion of anxiety-laden emotions, and the “cool change” of logic. I have a subject determined by the shifts of the air, and a temperament as turbulent as planes under altitude. I have the sown seeds of beneficence; instructed from the start by the gilded hands of unconditional love. Who’s prosperous heights did rival the towers of old; who’s decadent exuberance did cast the boy into the role of joy. I comprehended the innocence of love without condition or end. Only then to be challenged in the elementary institutions of public conformity. Where identity went by the wayside, and the acceptance of the horde assumes a paramount position of importance. In the frail summer of trials, I was baked and subsumed into the larger entity of community, population. Scored by the masses unperturbed, then cowering to standards beneath moral cooperation. Individuality gone, bored and lost in pages of nonsense. In the forum of society, sallow urine stained bedsheets and all, twisted into a sickly sweet subversion of the self. Becoming a fool, jester of the corporate front. Undoing the scars of history, bound forever to recognition, trying in emulated gestures. Profoundly unaware as the density of bricks. But this is where we are. All hands raise the colors of combat. A duel between the contained and the unrestrained. Assaults the memory with a firey fragrance built to fruition. Totaled and rolling down the sum, passes like moons over the stars; behind the darkness is want.

A Morning Dance

I’ve had my head in the world of new music lately. I discovered the brilliance of Billy Joel’s 52nd Street, then had a grand time learning The Who’s Tommy. I just found out about how awesome Gerry Rafferty is, for example.

I haven’t grown up in a sheltered musical environment by any stretch. My parent’s music collection is what I grew up with, so, there are bound to be a few dated oddities in there… like Steeleye Span or Renaissance. You see… this has been a stumbling block of sorts in my life. No one I have ever been with jived with my musical preferences. I listen to what I was brought up with, and enjoyed it thoroughly. Frankly, I find most modern music to be abhorrent. Rap and most thing R&B I will pass on. To me, music is about the quality of the sound, the instruments, the beats, the lyrics and how they’re composed. All that said, Lady GaGa is this generation’s Madonna.

Every genre has it’s good and it’s bad, obviously. I don’t just blanket love everything antiquated. I’m still picky.

But who to share this excellent collection with? Ah, the greatest mystery of all. And not one that needs an answer anytime soon, hehe.

Speaking of mystery… I read a poignant and sharply worded reply from Jax to one of my earlier posts (on her blog, in reply to me, I suppose). I really wish she would have posted the rant as a comment so you all could see it. I don’t like judging things like this, because it takes away from an understanding of content/message. I’m not really sure what the hope is in retaliating, or getting all worked up about something anyone with eyes can see. I don’t get flabbergasted because I live in a tent, as though I’m somehow surprised by a truth I’ve known all along. I have selected my lot and am intent on sticking with it until “better” rolls around. That’s just me (which I guess is a destructive way of thinking, according to objectors). And frankly, this whole topic was never really open for discussion. You decided to respond in your own limited, dimensionless, usual capacity, and in such a way that seeks no resolution, but responds as a defense-mechanism (driven by rage) does; by lashing back and objecting to the points that are (quite) indisputable. I don’t argue when it comes to things that just happened one way and not another.

But she’s right that for a time, I would not help myself. This is true. I was so strung out on work, that I had pushed all my “self-worth” chips into the center and bet it all to win. Trouble there, is when I started to break down under the stress, I lost my identity as I lost a place to function at work. I let work be the column that held up my sky.  Even in your somewhat deluded state, I know you can see how that job was my world, and it consumed me. And why is your reaction to my situation to abandon me? If I can’t hold myself up… hmmm… fuck him, we’re out of here! Right? Did it go another way that I’m not aware of? I was there too, IN CASE YOU FORGOT.  I saw that when things were at their worst, you wanted out, and took the first solid exit opportunity you could. That happened. I don’t know how you make that turd smell better, but I applaud you for your efforts in trying.


Dr. Kower agrees. She said to me that she tried to stop the collapse by going with my med changes that I was recommending… but even she knew, based on what I was telling her every few weeks, that it was doomed to fail. That was hard, being effectively “squeezed-out” of my job and my disability’s symptoms were already charging back into my life.

So what does any of that matter?

I know some new things now that I didn’t know about myself. And I’m improving. To me, this all seems like I’m headed in a positive direction and whatnot. I’m not sprinting towards glory or anything, but who is really?

Your words, Jax, don’t carry the load of truth with them. Instead, they are eased with lies, misconstrued facts and bitterness of some form. I’ll not participate in the rhetorical exchange. It doesn’t matter to me anymore.


What’s really going on here is that the end of our arrangement has come, and now it’s time for a cool change.

Deleted Myself

I’m off OKCupid, because it’s not the right tool for making new friends that I had anticipated it being. Recently, I met someone who I was having a great time talking to. But she got wise to my dysfunction, I guess, and basically told me there would never be anything deep between us, ever. That was tough, because I’m not a deplorable guy. I certainly have my flaws, but it’s part and parcel with the territory of my mental health. For most human beings I meet, this is an insurmountable obstacle to getting to know me. I think you all just want to be normal friends with normal people. Good for you. I’m not so fortunate that I get to decide willy-nilly what social connections to keep and which to forget.

I am bound to a solemn truth about who I am, and the maximum of what I can be. I have fun getting to know people, and I can bring a lot of enthusiasm to a new relationship. None of this makes a difference to you.

I just wanted to make new friends; to get to know someone other than myself, and have things in common with another being that we enjoy discussing. All out of my reach, it seems. It’s easy to be “too good” for me, because I’m not perfect, and not pretending to be. I could get farther by lying, concealing… but I don’t because I can’t abide lies within myself. I could trick you into liking me, and you would. But If I tell you the truth, you’ll eject from this arrangement and never come back… like they always do.

I’m not optimistic about my future as a social being. It seems bleak, and already doomed to being alone. Now that I have framed it all negatively, I still have to be here in my life, dealing with these truths. Cold hard facts of my limited reality.

I’m not going to throw any relationships out. They are precious to me, in whatever capacity they fill. I never just say “fuck you” to people and leave it at that. Everyone deserves a chance. I will give you that chance, just try not to hurt me with it.

I’ve loved people in this life. I can say that I have, and that it is truly a fantastic, uplifting and energizing thing. I know that love is really complicated, with lots of energy needed to sustain it. It’s just not a thing I can handle now, possibly at all. I’ve tried 3 times to love someone and be with that person, and been thrown out by all 3. I should probably take a hint, and stop trying. So be it.

Scolding The Infadel

My life is pretty boring right now. With the potential for abrupt change waiting in the wings. It’s no way to go on functioning, I’ll have you know. Time is a tiger sinking it’s fangs into me.

I don’t really have to explain anything at this point. I’m not in denial over my lot. I’m taking myself and my illness seriously, and not just brushing it off like it was no big deal. That’s not my way. I’m prone to complain if things get bad. I’m going to let you know if something bothers me. I just prefer to be straight, rather than having to remember all the lies I told.

I guess I’m still grieving. It’s only been a couple months, and sometimes I simply burn with loneliness. There’s not much that can be done about that. I’m the guy who got used and discarded like so many candy wrappers. I’m not saying I wasn’t to blame, because I certainly helped get myself thrown out as junk.

I gamble big on people. And I lose, because most people out there are fucking idiots. I give my ex wife a lot more credit than she deserves sometimes. I hope you realize I do this because sometimes I hate myself more than what she did to me.

I just don’t get it.

But hey, I’m out here still alive despite my efforts. And I intend to stay that way and be more involved in the world than I have been before. These are acceptable goals.

I’m getting away from my mindfulness. Which has only helped me become a better negotiator with my thoughts. I guess I should really try and reiterate some of the things we’re learning about, as they have direct practical applications in my life.

I need this self-talk. It helps me make sense of my feelings. I get to experience them, and have them gain the recognition they so desperately seek.

I must confess to reading Jax’s blog. I shouldn’t have, because I find myself angered at her, again. This time, it was because leaving me was to be all about her “doing it by myself” and not needing anyone else to carry her. So she goes and gets attached to a new boyfriend. I mean, right? Who didn’t see that coming? I guess I’m not surprised. She’s transparent and shallow, as most non intellectuals are. She doesn’t even see the hypocrisy of her own belligerent actions. Not my concern much anymore. And I’d rather have my prevailing beliefs about Jax disputed, not confirmed. I hope the best for her, I really do. But I can’t really care that she’s doing the exact opposite of what she said she wanted when she left me.

Life moves on. Pain or no pain. Beard or no beard. We go, boldly.



Whistling thicket,
Yellow with sun,
Bound in days–
Numbered nights,
Heat to dry–
Pale shivers of air,
Spill their hot secret,
In honeycomb songs.
Driven bright–
Amidst towers to heaven,
Who’s tops brace the sky.
Peeling back rinds–
The acrid snap of time.
Twilight lies no more.
A blanket of darkness.
A cold crept up on toes,
Among sagas prevailed,
Hopes for the best,
While wearing a jacket.

Flirt With Danger

I was happiest with Jax, I think. There was way more sex with Jennifer, but we always seemed to be on different frequencies. It was like, I only understood her sometimes. With Jax things were free, liberal, possible. I felt that with love as my guide, I’d make some serious headway against mental illness. It’s not fair to put that on a relationship. It’s my battle, and mine alone. Ultimately, I still have to go out there and function and prove it to myself. I want to be a part of the scene, open again. I want to be a part of a world that is only a few short steps away.

But I was happiest loving her. I loved her like she was a rare gem I found deep in the soot. I coveted her, to the point of trying to control outcomes, which is no bueno. I felt impending doom with Emelia. For whatever reason, I just knew we were doomed. I never felt that way with Jax. I figured she would just be there with me regardless of circumstance. I wanted that to be true, because I would have been there for her until the bitter fucking end. But that love was cut off by a permanent disconnect. Once those fuel cells are closed you can’t reopen them.

I write out of a prolonged ache. I want for a better life, I’m so driven for it that I’m driving myself crazy with enthusiasm for the next step.

I want patiently to be enrolled in the Department of Rehabilitation’s program so I can go to MHS and get help finding a job. Or better yet, if this NAMI tech support thing pans out, I’d be enthusiastic to be a part of that. I just wish something would happen, because the suspense is quite literally painful.

I am quitting coffee, I’ve decided. I’m gonna ween myself off it as the days go on. Yesterday was a zero coffee day, 2 cups this morning, nothing tomorrow. We’ll see how it goes.

I am haunted by old sadness that doesn’t belong in my life right now. Guilt over a past said and done. I wish I could lift my eyes up to the sky and take hold of my dreams. I just need a little help here and there, but I think I’m doing it. I certainly hope I’m doing it.

I just want you to know that It’s a struggle, every day, to tolerate these unbelievably massive feelings of sadness and emotional pain. That some days you just suffer more than others. It’s neurochemical. It’s not because I did something wrong, it’s because my brain is sending the feel sad signal for no good reason. I just have to swallow it hard and keep moving forward. I have objectives in my life. Things I want to do, places I want to go. I can’t let momentary waves of fear and pain overtake my drive for progress.

Adieu blogosphere. Keep your eyes aimed high. You never know what’s coming up next.


I’m writing to you from a dark and unfriendly place. Where my emotions are overwhelming me and I can’t think straight about anything. Through the tears, I compose these words in acknowledgement of be being so low. You see, I’ve squandered friendships because of my oddities, my parameters and my limitations. I’m in the shadow of my regret and my feelings of genuine remorse for any pain I’ve caused. I can’t be the guy. I never wanted to be the guy, but somehow I feel like there was more to this than the first level appreciation of the physical. I cried, a lot, because I know I was getting too attached and involved. I made the mistake of getting in over my head, and I need a way back to higher ground.

This being largely my point, grief aside: the work of self reconstruction is still just getting underway and can’t handle the burden of an involved relationship of any kind. It’s too much for me to be responsible for, and I don’t want the mantle handed to me. I can’t do it. Or, I’m not ready to yet, give me a few months and see where I’m at then! I need to establish myself again in the world. I’m just so scared inside about disappointing people I care about. I don’t want to let the people who have been there for me down. I can’t let that happen. So as the tears from a deep undisclosed fear start to burn in my eyes, I’m reminded that Rome wasn’t built in a day. In other words, settle down turbo.

But Who am I? I have an identity out here through the various ways I try to express myself on this blog. Sometimes to excess.  But It’s not my fault you tuned in to listen to wacko-radio.

I’m trying to stay positive. Everything is on hold today because it’s memorial day. I was expecting some mail but I guess it’ll have to wait.

My main problem is that sadness is just really accessible right now, so it’s hard to not be distracted by something and forced to write about the sensations. My sadness is both real and imaginary. Real because I’m truly humbled by the generosity shown me by my parents, and fearful of letting them down somehow. I know they have my back, but they want to see me succeed at life, just as I do. So we can all be happy with measurable goals being met and surpassed. I’m giving myself a hard time. I have to right my own ship before I can take on any passengers. And so it goes.

I just need to listen to some music and lose my head a bit in another land. Right now my body burns with sadness. I must be free of it. Music, energy of song, singing are all therapeutic. So here we go.





Burning With Pain

It’s like a little fire in me that won’t go out. It sits back there in the darkness and waits for the next rush of air to spark back to life. I can’t seem to stop this from happening, as well.

It’s hard. I was not expecting things to end the way they did. It has been tough. Trying to rebuild my life, repair my personality, restructure my independence. These things are quickly incinerated, tirelessly reconstructed, and newly appreciated.

I don’t want anything (thank goodness), and I have been penitent at every junction admissible. My random splatterings of hateful words are part of my process too. I have raw, heated feelings that will go quietly into the domain of the unacknowledged. Who else do I have to talk to about these things, save you out there?

I don’t expect to be received, understood and rewarded for having feelings. It’s up to me to understand why, and cope with the immediate. I’m yearning for the acceptance of love beyond my family. I endure despite hardship and stress and pain.

I’m not sure what to do. I have things I do actively. I participate and refrain from judgement as much as I can. This road I’m on is long and winding. I’m ready for the endurance test. I’m doing all the right things to make myself ready for the next stage of life ahead. I hope my practicing, discipline and effort carry me. I have hard work to show for myself.

I don’t know how my ex is doing, and I don’t know that I care. I would put time into finding out if I felt that would prove useful somehow. It really does not. I find myself hoping she’s ok and not struggling to survive or anything. She lost her job, I was told. So, I don’t really know how she’s going to make it out here. It’s hard to get a space in San Diego. Property values being high, and increasing the closer you get to the coast.

I’m already thinking about when I “move out.”

I imagine a charming studio somewhere in the east county. Where the property values aren’t so bazanga-fred.

$750 – $900 a month, depending on the location and circumstances. I have also been looking at small residences like guest houses and whatnot.

With regular, consistent employment, I see myself doing this in the next 2-3 months (ideally). My DoR intake done, I’m just waiting on their call so I can get started with the employment portion of my recovery.

This is possible, right? I can do this!

It’s doable. And more importantly, it’s something I really want and will not be happy until I have made that step.

I fret over being lonely and misunderstood. Sometimes a pain grows in me. Very deep. It bubbles up and makes me feel insignificant, wasted and broken. I don’t deserve that. But then, why does it still happen? Does some part of me demand to be heard over the din of positive things happening in my life?

I find that, if true, to be most unfortunate.

It’s not going to hamper my goals. My progress is PROVEN with FACTS. I do things. I take a step forward.

I have things to look forward to. Every day. No doubt.

So, thanks for letting me process some stuff. I just have a lot of thoughts in my head and no place to put them save out here, in the cyber-ether. Be well travelers.

I Want Tomorrow – Enya

Dawn breaks; there is blue in the sky.
Your face before me
Though I don’t know why.
Thoughts disappearing like tears from the Moon.

Waiting here, as I sit by the stone,
They came before me
Those men from the Sun.
Signs from the heavens say I am the one.

Now you’re here, I can see your light,
This light that I must follow.
You, you may take my life away, so far away.
Now I know I must leave your spell
I want tomorrow.

Message In A Bottle

Dear Jax,

I’m composing this letter to address some of the things I did while we were married. These things created a burden or caused us to separate further in our distancing from each other as we fell out of love. I want to take responsibility for my deeds enacted, because it matters to me that I have a handle on what not to do for the future. I want to be clear in objective as well: I’m trying to clear my slate of guilt and regret. I’m not here to supplicate. I know I was wrong, I know it. That’s a tough thing to swallow. I am only too keenly aware of my shortcomings in the arena of relationships.

I want you to know that I thought we “had it all,” for what it’s worth. We may have some things glaringly not synced, but the large portion of that disconnect is not vital to maintaining love. Love comes from a place of strength and reassurance within. I know now that I did not love myself when I was with you. You often told me that this was the case, often asking me how I could love you if I did not love myself. I never had an answer.

Also, from the beginning, I never gave you the space to have your feelings. You DESERVE and have the RIGHT to express exactly what you feel. I was always scared of trauma relived, because I know that trauma pain never gets any better when it gets looked over. It needs validation, and being rejected by me and argued with because of your feelings is not good either. I couldn’t handle unregulated expression, because I was not strong enough to hold your feelings and not freak out. I just thought they were harmful, not good, and rejected them rather than pay them the attention they deserve. I was judging, when I should have been listening.

We are ineffective communicators of important information to each other. We had feelings and things that were exclusive; I never told you about the real struggle I was enduring, the slow ups and downs of the disorder… and I felt like you probably kept things from me too. I believed our mutual illnesses could have been the strength that united us. Instead, we kept our mental health problems a secret and tried to pretend it was ok regardless. I know I did this to try to maintain stability, versus making myself even more of a burden on us. I know I was the needy one. I “needed” more than you did, because my illness goes deeper and affects me more than yours does to you. This is not a derogatory comparison, it’s just true. I am more needy than most, because I can’t always support myself. Sometimes things just rot, and rot some more until the pain becomes too much to bear silently.

I should have given you the space to be yourself, and sometimes I felt like I crowded your life with my presence. I had to have control, though, this issue became lees and less an issue as time marched on. As soon as my symptoms started coming back, all bets were off. I relapsed into the familiar, the need to exercise control over my life, because my emotions were all over the place and no one could keep the lid on.

All in all, I let you down. But you let me down too. You did sign up to be in a relationship with a mentally ill guy… and I thought that was a grand idea. We SHOULD be the best stewards of ourselves, and we were not when the moment counted. I disappointed, with my illness coming full force into my life and wrecking everything it touched. It went on uncontrolled and had very little in the way of resistance in it’s struggle to take over.

I know what kind of life I CAN HAVE while still being mentally ill. I need a place willing to bend with my moods, be forgiving and understanding, and above all, patient. Despite all this “me taking responsibility and whatnot,” I can’t help but wonder why. Why did this one fight, this one moment of collapse, sadness and despair have to be the thing that splattered my life like a watermelon out a window? It didn’t have to, but I sense you may have been looking for a way out for a while, and this moment happened, and it was just an opportunity taken. You could be free, and so, you chose to be free. I know it’s a hard, unforgiving reality you’ve embraced. It must be difficult to go and do your life, and I’m so unbelievably sorry to have forced you (in some part) to the decisions you made. I didn’t do the things I needed to do to keep myself healthy, let alone the both of us. So, our relationship failed.

I’m not asking for anything. That time is gone. I write this for my own reasons, to expedite the process of recovery from the deep resonating sadness infecting my life today. I expect and want for nothing. I have to go forward, bearing in mind the mistakes and problems I’ve had. I still have a life, and it still demands to be lived, every day.

I’m processing. This letter is one among many outpourings of my tortured soul to try and make sense of the harsh realities of living while mentally ill.

The Last Unicorn

I cry every time I hear “Man’s Road.” No fucking joke.

It’s just SO FUCKING SAD I mean how can you not cry? You’re a HEARTLESS CRUEL BABY SEAL SMASHER if you disagree.

I was thinking this day would come, but I wondered greatly about when it would be. Today was the third strike on my attempts to get together with my ex and fill out the last paperwork for our divorce. Mostly my fault that it broke down, but we’re still getting things done via snail mail instead of meeting. Then this thought popped into my head: you are never going to see her again.

It’s true. What reason other than to divorce her would I then have reason to see her? So, that was it, that last time she made me wait for an hour at the Starbucks in La Mesa because she was running late. It was anticlimactic. I wanted out the moment she walked in. This whole thing being “over” is helping me a lot, because now I’m not stuck in a place of stagnation. I’m not in an environment that will settle, but instead, strives and pushes with constant motivational drive. I feel myself becoming stronger, and I like that, especially knowing I’m doing it by myself, for myself.


But right, not ever going to see her again. That’s a strange thought, considering I brought her here with the intent to build a life with her. Instead, she’s off on her own doing whatever with her existence. Independent from my concern or occupation. I’ve grown beyond a need to find out what she’s thinking, and are now focused on what I’m thinking, when, and why. I’m a much bigger deal then Jax, in my mind, so I’m going to give my attention to the more deserving party. That’s an interesting revelation: The attention I give to Jax sustains a lot of negative feelings, so being disconnected from it is a revolution of new resources to be spent on myself, and not her.

It’s really freeing, to be the observer. To hesitate before action, and contradict instinctual impulses. Middle-mind.

I’m clearly learning some new things here with all the classes and counseling I’ve been through. It continues to add value to my world.

Never going to see her again. It’s haunting me, like there’s something wrong with the fact that she’s out of my life. Well, duh.

The best part about this WHOLE THING is that I’m learning something new. I can’t tell you enough how I appreciate the ability to garner something of use from every murkatroid situation that my life is subjected to. Whether it’s through my direct action or not, I’ve fouled up any number of things that will require me to LEARN, with hopes of not repeating said miscues.


A little scatterbrained today. But all is right and good. It’s another day, another way to prove my worth to me.


I’ve had some time to sit here and think, which has lead me to a point in which I desire advancement. I’m not happy with where things are in my life, and I’m feeling more and more capable of handling a larger load of responsibility. I can get myself places, and I’m never late. I have my DoR appointment today and I’m super excited to be a part of their program. I just know this is going to help me find and keep a job, which will only further catapult my life into a new successful direction.


I don’t have much in the way of nagging negativity. Jacqueline experienced that first hand when she came over here; I got super anxious and lost my cool when I started feeling like garbage because I was doing nothing of immediate importance. But as a good friend will, she listened and understood, and gave me a bit of a reality check so I could get my face together again. A good thing, because I was looking at a slow day where I couldn’t accomplish much of anything, and to bear that time feeling anxious about it is a subscription to misery. I desire to avoid undue suffering, so I kept myself occupied cleaning up stuff and making the place look fresh for my parents (when they were to come home).


I ended up going out to see my parents Sunday night at Lauren & Mike’s house in the Mission Beach area. It was nice to just get out and drive somewhere, to have an appointment to keep. It helps with establishing relevancy, which has become the crux of my struggle to establish a new identity since Jax. It’s working, I’m glad to say. I’ve seen unprecedented, uninterrupted growth for consecutive weeks and onto months. I’ve advanced my life and my goals incrementally, but still progressing along. Soon, big changes are headed my way, like employment, housing, medical coverage… all in due course. Either way, I’m still excited about what is coming. This week has been the busiest so far, which is a good sign. And from here on out, I’m looking at having something concrete to achieve nearly every day of the working week. I have classes, groups and medical appointments to go to, as well as anything new that happens to pop in to my life. Exciting times, yes yes.


I wanted you all to know, first hand, that your acknowledgment and support through Likes and Comments to this blog or its posts has helped me tremendously. To have my words recorded is fine, therapeutically, because it makes my thoughts become focused and real, and gives them a place to exist outside of my mind. I do this with negativity as well, venting carelessly, and yet, you still read and process with me. I can’t tell you how honored I am to have over 300 of you out there who follow, or used to. It’s a pleasure to write, for me, and it’s working out nicely that I happen to be good at it, and therefore, enjoyable to be read. I will continue my creative expression as long as it has a use for me, and to date, it always has presented me with a chance to “let out” something I may have been keeping inside. Be it for good or evil, it will always be my live journal, marked by the cockamamie inscriptions of this, a lunatic mind.


Farewell travelers


Dazed sweet caress

Of gentile down & dew

Brought spoiled sunlight bare

The burden of heat wanes

Past scorn her servant

A solution same

To reason through doubt

Fissured in hate

Divided by lands crossed

Vexation plain

But avoided all the same

A trial by the fire

A steward’s course is laid

Take hold the mantle

Of times


Lost My Marbles!

Seriously you guys. I have no one in my world to talk to about all these crazy-insane feelings I have inside me. There’s no one to listen to my hurt, my alarm, my dismay… and all the extra fun bonus shit I don’t have a quick name for. I want to be heard goddamnit! So, I yell into the ether of cyberspace. And it’s my right and responsibility to represent myself at all times as an honest appraisal of the real me, otherwise, what’s the point if I’m just lying about everything? I’m certainly not growing or learning anything by doing that. I try to garner something useful from all calamity, anyway. In reality, I’m much more contrite about all this stuff. It’s underneath the floorboards of my home. Ever present Edgar Alan Poe-esk beating heart still haunting me, I reckon. I guess my unreconciled feelings are largely corked because in therapy I’m not dealing with these emotions specifically right now (Jax). We’re looking at the deeper trauma, older relationships, ancient hurts. Maybe that’s just bringing back more nasty memories into the forefront. So I’ll be frank, that my last utterance was harsh, but also reasonable in most respects.


Because: I still wanted to try though, to make it right between us, and you broke my heart. Smashed it. I still wanted you after the affair and all that, but you’ll not have me back, a shamed cuckold who is more angry and bitter about his downfall into darkness than he is acknowledged and understood. Easily said!

But hey, I have a right to my feelings, whatever horrible form they decide to take. In this case, brutally honest. AND HEY: I’ve been nattering on about all the things I’m trying to do better, to get right after a mistake was made. I try endlessly to figure out my part, my problems, my mistakes in this whole falling out. I think I have a pretty good handle on my issues. Want me to rattle off a few here that I’ve specifically been working on:

  1. Acknowledgment without judgement or implication
  2. Self-regulation of emotional responses based on known triggers
  3. Middle-mindedness and introspection as part of a healthy world outlook

I still need some practice with 2 and 3, but I’m great at helping identify and understand feelings, and I’ve been practicing my skills at my DBSA meetings. I hope to continue to improve at these things and reach my goals of being self-sufficient and personally responsible.

It’s lofty, but I deserve something better than the standard lot for someone with my diagnosis. Seriously.

I think I have a right to be pissed. It’s my feeling, so I’m going to have it whether you think it’s a good idea or not. My life as I knew it has been rotting in the sun for some weeks now. I’ve had to go back to square 1 and try to reassemble a new reality. From nothing. With nothing to hold on to. From the brink of suicide, to abandonment, to the slow march of progress as done by the retarded.

Yes, I’ll admit, I’m pretty fucking retarded. No doubt. It is both endearing and frustrating. My brain might as well be silly dough. My intellect is keen, but all the pieces around it are fucking hopeless. Pretty much.


So, yeah. I’m still angry inside me. And I have a right to blast my ex right off her port bow. KABOOM! So be it!



Why not forgive? It seems like, if you are complicated enough to experience joy, pain and boredom, you could manage to release the negative feelings associated with me. It’s only a burden on you, which is why I petition you to forgive and forget me. I’m not the one you want, but I could certainly do less harm to your fragile world than I already seem to. If you could let go of the animosity, the disdain, the hate even. It seems to me that since you have no way of expressing or receiving gratification and acknowledgement for said harbored feelings, that it might just be easier to release them from concern. I am willing to listen, and hear your feelings. Though, I doubt you will take me up on this offer, but if you want to call me just to express your contempt, I would be ok with that. You WILL be acknowledged. Recognized as valid and the importance of said feelings reiterated and recorded. It’s really the last thing I have left to offer you. So, take me up on that if you want to exercise healthy recovery from poisonous feelings held tight to the self without hope of release. It sounds to me like a lot has been going on, and maybe it would be nice to know someone out there still thinks about you, still cares about what you do or do not do. I still contemplate a way out of this pickle and on to something that works. That does not have the same stigmatized feelings as before, but is universally new and intended to suit our now independent lives. Is animosity worth holding on to?


If it’s any consolation:

I have written before that I could not forgive you. I’m mistaken. I CAN and DO now forgive you for ending our life together. For leaving me and taking up the arms of another while I was in the Psych Hospital. I also forgive you for the anger-driven words, the intentions and the scalding nature of our break-down. I am strong enough to recognize your feelings and move beyond that. It’s washed clean, as far as I’m concerned. If we meet, it is as distinct adults, drifting on the open sea of time and change. But I doubt we will cross paths. It seems like that’s the way you want it to be. I’m not one to argue anymore, so there we have it.




Dispatches From The Front

I have had some time to sit here and think. Boy. I really had the hammer fall on me. It really breaks down to a few sordid details: can I be a good steward of my life? Will I be able to handle the next dramatic thing that is sure to happen? I’m not making anything unnecessary happen, so that’s good. And by that, I mean to say I’m not adding any more drama to the situation by managing my life. The circle is expanding, yes, but these things take serious time, and should be done right lest they need be done over again. I have to make it this time, and the weight of that is smashing me down… sometimes.

I’m still achieving goals. The next one is looming: on the 29th I have a Department Of Rehabilitation appointment to be processed into their program. That’s really exciting, because things are going to rapidly pick up speed once that happens. I will be enrolled in a recovery program that will help me get a job, and maintain that job for a long time. HOPEFULLY.

If there is one thing I can say about myself in comparison to my ex wife, it is that I continue to strive for self improvement. My ex is now actively dating other men. I have a difficult time thinking that is a grand idea, but it’s not my life. Maybe she’s stronger than I am and can handle having a partner back in her world. Maybe?

It’s sad that people are treating her poorly. EVEN THOUGH I have no reason to give a shit, I still care about her. I still want the best for her. How could I not? I loved that woman. I don’t just throw that out like she would (did). I was supposed to be tied to her for the rest of my life. Not so, yet, there is still room for decency.

Things are going along nicely, other than the occasional hiccup with momentary issues overriding the primary goal: independent life. I am going to get back there this year, and I am going to be stronger and more able than ever before, because my independent life is a matter of my self worth and pride. I still have pride, despite being a humiliated cuckold. My life deserves to be lived with a sense of importance and merits therein.

Me and my friend Jacqueline are talking regularly sharing the arbitrary pain of life. She works really hard, and I can see that and admire her effort. She’s a good person to look at as a role model: sticking with it despite suffering. It’s all too often true that we make life harder than it has to be, so realistic people like Jacqueline but things back into perspective. Heck, my life looks pretty sad by comparison… but eh. It’s a project I continue to work on without need for noticeable completion or marked by pauses in progress. Things are happening, I know that, so why stress unduly?

I honestly hope my ex wife finds some peace. Her turbulent life is not a good place for healthy mental habits to form. She’s got a lot more to sort out, I think… being the one who dumped me, being the one who cheated and broke the whole world so she could go have a life she would get excited about. It’s going to take a lot for that whole thing to be right, like in her head, where it all must make sense and be justified despite clear violations of morality. I hope that pill is not too tough to swallow. Life is hard enough.

I’ll close with some placid thoughts: got 5 RTS games on my PC right now, and they are all so vastly different from each other. I’ve been thinking a lot about game design and mechanics, as I am prone to reflect on my own RTS game called PRIME. I will make a new blog post where I lay out the incorporated elements me and Will once planned to introduce once we had the available resources to launch this game theory into reality. It’s profoundly advanced. Uses sound unlike any other game. Makes improvements to the existing standards which innovate and stand apart from the market’s current saturation of RTS games.

Something to look forward to?


Returning The Serve

Hello again my dear friend,

I have had a hard time writing. Things are a bit blocked-up or clogged in my brain. Lately, I’ve been feeling the pinch of urgency and the rapid need for progress. I’m making steps, just in my own way and time; that’s got everyone a bit nervous that I might somehow find this proxy living situation to be permanent. That I may want for stagnation, and make no progress advancing my goals. I endeavor to avoid this doom, but I remind myself that I face it, which can drive down my mood. AND that last sentence incorporated “doom” followed by its anagram. Thanks, I’ll be here all week.

Your words this time around I found particularly inspiring. Driven with the cause of desire. Propagated and externalized with the insistence of a plea. I’m humbled by your concern, which is far more then I feel I deserve. I sense that my life’s pendulum antics have given rise to a common feeling; we both possess the ability to experience it. What we do from here, at the pint of recognition, is the key. Either I can start doing battle with this thing, or I can supplicate and let it own me. I’ve been fighting hard against the desire to cave-in and surrender. It’s harder when I truly detest myself and wouldn’t mind it if I was dead.

It’s a road rife with peril: but it’s the one I’m bound to in this life. I’m not a strong-enough person to pull myself free of the calamity… I soldier on with well-dipping hopes regardless.

I will take to heart and hold on to the words and suggestions you have given me. I especially appreciate the Church of Billy Joel. I am The Stranger.

What is important is that you care, and it is your intention to see nothing but benefit come of this exchange. I wholeheartedly agree. I can see no better use for a friendship that to stimulate and encourage the growth of life, peace, prosperity from said arrangement. This seems to be your objective as well as mine, which is a find-and-dandy thing to have in common. Since we pursue goals, our struggle with no doubt be festooned with plagues and peril, but it’s too good to not fight for.

I find myself at a loss to continue, only because I have no direction for which to take the discourse. My struggles will continue much as they have for weeks, until I am strong enough to have and keep a job, and provide. I am a ways off from that objective, mostly because my mental health has to be rebuilt from shambles. But I’m still here. Still fighting.

If you have a question that you’d like to have answered, feel free to inquire. I am an open book. I’ve recently become friends with a new person with the same name as my ex wife. Nice? She’s kind and listens. Seems interested in casual sex as friends but I’m terribly unsure if this is a good idea. I yearn for something that feels good, but at the same time, recognize my state as fragile. Thankfully, none of this is a secret to her. Being aware of the problem helps to make with the intelligent decisions.

Well. It’s morning and I am drinking my coffee in my humble tent-like abode. I have a busy end of the week coming up here. Good. Busy means no time for unwanted creepy thoughts to get back in. I plod on. One little footstep in front of the other to success.


It’s a mercurial world I reside in; the temper of which is inexplicable. My desires and intentions are muddied and lost in the still clear pond water of my consciousness. Somewhere along the way, I get turned in to a frog or some other undesirable, or the language in which escape is written becomes an illegible scrawl on the side of a cave. I’m both agitated and befuddled. Both culprit and clown. There is no end to the axial dysfunction, so why not stretch the thing as far as it will go? An offer coded in the temptation of despair. I am banished to the oubliette of want.

In times such as these, I find myself at a loss to initiate progress. JUST THE THING that might help stem the tide of rage; perplexed, forsaken, and used to further bludgeon my state into a wallowing mire of despair. I find no solace in accomplishment, only an insistence that it was not done soon enough, or done too late for it to be of any worth. So there you have it. Logical mind poisoned. Spreading malicious filth wherever it goes.

This is my escape. My outlet in words. So that somehow, someway, you might hear me. You might just hear the heart being ripped free of my body. You might be privy to the collapse of my will. Ambition might finally turn to arrogance. Love might go away and not look to be found again.

It’s a good thing I’m loved. Otherwise, the hell I experience as part of my life would be unusually unbearable. My parents saved me, and continue to do so despite my attempts to wriggle free. I have nothing I can give back to them. I’m temporarily useless. Saturated in guilt.

For the immediate future, I have booked items that are to require my attention. I have a reminder app that tells me what I have still to do. I look at it every day. Some things are easier to handle than others. At this uncertain juncture, I appeal to mercy to show me some way to get my head back where it belongs. Grounded firmly in a variety of reasoning that is unlikely to lead me to suicide, or nagging thoughts therein. Unworthy and temperamentally unwanted, I strive for something better than what is. Consistently endeavoring to be alive again. With help. I just might get there.


I’m stuck in a bad place. I have vivid thoughts of hatred permeating my every action. Sulking, head down, loping along like a diseased animal, I pathetically wait for death. My courage is frail and my will to survive is all but whisked away like so much unwanted dust. Trying to combat, I vary approaches to tasks, introduce new elements but to no real avail. I still stagnate. Hating myself. HATING. I’m lost in dread, obscured by pain. I’m driven to write, only that there be some break in the monotony of feelings overloading me. There is nothing to hold on to. So I fall.

Cessation of Diatribe?

It’s not about me this time, mostly. It’s no secret I keep my ear pretty well pinned to the ground these days. I like being informed, versus just ignoring something that caused me pain or discomfort. Shutdown doth not equal closure. I mean, wouldn’t you rather KNOW what the hell is going on? That way, no surprises. Better?

This constitutes my actions in regards to my ex. She is off living her independent life. I’m here in the Swamp making things go, day by day, in a forward direction. I really have no idea if what she’d doing is “working out” the way she thought things would. Friends she put a lot of trust and importance on, flaked, or opted out of her life and it’s drama. Such has been the case lately, as more and more of the so called “friend” circle falls apart. Now, the very schmuck who fucked my wife now wants nothing to do with her. Not surprising, but certainly not a good thing. What you don’t see, is my worry: That she’s put far too much stress on this fragile life revolving around her workplace. Now that some of those relationships fractured, her environment becomes poisoned with stale blood. I’m not sure what’s next for her, but I am concerned. She’s stubborn enough to live on the street just to show everyone that THIS is what she was forced to stoop to, because of how fucked the world is. We all know there’s not much use or truth in that mode of thinking. And she isn’t likely to take personal responsibility for anything that’s happened, regardless of outcome. So why bother?

I don’t have much to add in comparison: I’ve MADE new friends, based on principles of mutual understanding and coinciding interests. I’ve forged new ground, applying for programs, getting help, bettering my mental health support structure… all the while, my ex is drinking, making doctors appointments a low priority, and dismantling all the good work WE DID together to get her healthy. I don’t understand how ANY OF THAT makes her life better than it was before. I KNOW she’s in this ZONE of being independent, and not relying on anyone to make the wheels turn. But how practical is that? We are two sick people trying to get right in the world. It’s a hard enough job to do alone, let alone, with someone of like-minded capabilities there to help. There’s no hope of explaining any of this to her. That she could still be independent the way she wants, AND live the life she had. Or, it used to be possible to consider these things, but now, seems like desperation.

I think, despite all the pain and suffering, I’ve come out of all this feeling stronger, more capable, more loved than before. I saw what unconditional love was all about when my dad held me while the cops put handcuffs on me and hauled me off to the Psychiatric Hospital. He came to me and said “this isn’t you.” Which is right, because it’s more the Ghost then me. Me is good. Ghost is no good. Depressed and insane… not a great combo for the rational thinking.

Moral of the story: don’t stop trying, believing, thriving. Life is not a Journey song, it’s a tiresome opera with long build ups and unsubstantial crescendos. I tend to think I’m on a hard-packed path upon which many depressed people have trod. However, there is still much to be learned, and I need to be USED to the feelings of sorrow and pain that come with this disorder, while not making it any worse than it has to be.


We are all strange to each other now a days. I mean, we drive independently in cars, go to single-desk jobs, interact as needed, not as though it were necessity. Which I believe it is, and should be considered a huge part of daily operations as respect to it’s importance is due. For me, I’m discovering, I need others in the world, so I can see what I am to someone else. Acute reflectivity. This helps me establish identity. Who am I, to you? Do I exist in your world? Or am I just a thought, a passing remembrance, that there’s this guy out there who writes a blog…?


I guess this is really about who you surround yourself with. Because this circle of people is going to help you establish who you are. So I need this group to be full of good peoples. In my case.

Community. It’s a concept by which coexistence causes a benefit to the group, in either a sharing of resources or formalities. Either way, being together, with people who share a common interest, is vastly superior to heading out there in the world alone. THERE IS NO ALONE. Alone is a myth; and only practiced by people who INTENTIONALLY desire to exclude themselves from some part of life. Since apelike-monkey days, we have always incorporated social interactions as part of how we creatures live. It is silly tho think we DON’T WANT to be in a group. We do. We MUST. Or a leopard is likely to pop out of a tree and ambush your ass while your out there going solo (fruits and berries style). I believe, truly, that dysfunction of the brain leads to isolation. I know this from my own bouts with severe depression. It WANTS you to shut-down and go away. Forever. But we insist on others, because there is more to existence than thinking you have to prove it to everyone that you can handle things on your own. NO ONE NEED DO THAT. It’s a great way to get eaten. Instead, we celebrate togetherness, and welcome new friends in as they come. Resources, shared.

I have a new friend. Oddly, her name is Jacqueline. NO NOT BIRDY. Different person. A full-blown Jacqueline. No condensing this one to Jax. Nope.

I really like her. As a friend (what do you expect from me at this interval?), cool person and eager learner, I find her awesomely acceptable. Not to mention the fact that I’ve pretty much laid my whole life so far out there, flaws and all, and I still get curiosity and interaction despite it all. WAY TO PROVE MY DEPRESSION IS WRONG, LOGICAL BRAIN! It’s brilliant. And healthy! Followers, readers, and spammers, I have been clear: Interaction  = win. What I don’t need is a relationship. But neither does she, so we have that in common as well. Mostly, I want to learn with someone. Grow with someone. Have a friend or resource available to help me reflect when I need it, but mostly just to have someone like-minded with me so I can has a fun on this adventure. Because that’s what life is; adventure waiting to be had. Good attitude, right?


So if I can keep from fucking-up, I might actually get my life going in a stable way for some time. Hopefully more then the 1 year mark. I need long-term stability dog. Read, long.

The First Thing I’m Going To Do

When I get my head screwed on straight, is take good care of myself (to the MAX) better. I mean, get out on the water often, hike around, sniff the air. Be an outdoor pup for a while.  I love to fish. I should go out there and do it often. It’s healthy, and revitalizing, and FUN.

I got a hold of Will. YAY! Friend.


So 1.73 came out yesterday. It’s pretty spectacular so far, for the Tau (still have not tried Eldar or IG). 10 per squad now on Fire Warriors vs 8 in the last release. And now they have some VERY NICE and diverse upgrade options. Looks POLISHED. They went and added a shit-ton of information on the expanded tooltips. Resource gain rates are clean, expected. Units interact VERY DIFFERENTLY. Squads are tougher, better, more useful. Buildings die a lot faster. Like BFME2 speed. Literally, the right push, and you start damaging buildings and the game is over. Makes it all the more necessary to PLAY COUNTERS. Always find what they don’t want you to have. Be rewarded with victory. ZOMFG missile turrets, 4 hits, dead Skyray. Boo. However, no more bouncing around and having to wait to stand up, only to be bounced by another fucking ‘nade. That is gone. Commanders get instant upgrades. SHA? But are not MECHATRON with the powers. So many more little things got fixed. Hard to grapple with it all, given the derelict state of my brain.

So, even with THAT. I can’t seem to stay happy. I can’t seem to get on the right track. It’s going to have to be a full-scale overhaul, and I dread the daunting ordeal therein. But I deserve better than what I am. I deserve a chance. So, in order to deserve it, I’m going to do something largely symbolic and overtly dramatic. Haven’t decided what that is going to be, however. Bare with me, it’s been a real fart of late.

I had lots of enthusiasm for life, a while ago. Hey, I even dug up that old post and re-blogged it. So whatever. I’m aware that there is a good out there. I just REALLY need to be a rock-solid hammer f justice. Or, maybe just sure-up the places on my starship that abundantly extrude oxygen. Or something!






There. I said it. I deserve that. Every last syllable.

Spectators of my life in the arena would be dissatisfied with the level of suck. It’s a frustrating, sad, agonizingly painful time. I still struggle. The hurt be not abated, but swelling with new circumstantial fuel. I find things are nearing a breaking-point… I wonder if my parents truly regret their decision to take me back in. I think they do. I think it would have been better some other way. Not that I have that “other way” all mapped out or whatever. I don’t. I’m just speculating with the hopes of causing myself to feel even worse about all that I’m going through. It’s hard enough.

Seeing my “wife” was pretty humiliating. Crashing the truck with her in it did nothing good for my standing. Being a weirdo and still having feelings for her is just flat-out repulsive, I guess. I don’t know what to think. I just know I want to be released from my life. I want out, permanently. I still think about how the world would JUST BE A BETTER, SAFER, NICER PLACE if I could just kill myself. So many burdens would be lifted. So much agony would disappear. The hurt of my loss would fade, and life would be better on the other end. I have few doubts.




I’m still too big a pussy to do it. I can struggle with thoughts about it all day long. I’ll never do anything about them. I’m a wasted, worthless, hapless, idiot. Hope this hat fits nicely, you FUCKING MORON. Could you fuck your life up any more? Is this how you are going to be remembered? That fuck-up punk who never did a god damn thing for anyone that mattered? WHAT A FUCKING WASTE YOU ARE. YOU MAKE ME SICK WITH YOUR PATHETIC WHINING AND SOBBING. JUST FUCKING DIE YOU ASSHOLE. DIE MOTHERFUCKER DIE.

And thus, I go on. Wishing I was dead, but going forward anyway.


At least YOUR LIFE is ok, right?

My Office is Someone’s Driveway

More accurately, a driveway my parents rent, which the shade from the RV’s awning draped over the concrete slab (previously), mentioned, creates the new indoor-outdoor domicile. This life thing. Boy. Who said it was going to be so fucking random and horrible? I’ve dealt with an unfair amount of calamity, IN MY HUMBLE OPINION. FUCK. I feel crushed flatter than hammered shit, with still more things that need to happen before the dust might actually settle. It’s a truly odd sensation: feeling the breeze blow in a room with no walls. It feels like the wind could carry me off, rip me free from my moorings and cast me deep into the uncertain fray.

I’m on target for a second rescue venture: taking Jax’s stuff out of the apartment and moving it to her storage unit in Old Town. I’m not sure what I think about all this helpfulness. I’ve been given a very limited, rickety platform to stand on, representing only a few planks of genuine gain from these encounters. So far, I can hang my hat on the need to get the apartment clean, with or without her help. THOUGH WITH HELP IS MORE FAVORITE THAN NO HELPS. Even if it hurts me to look at her… even if I still feel the raging burn of her betrayal in my guts. I just have to do what’s right by my life, and everything else will fall into place over the passage of time. HA. HOPEFULLY.

Another furious public ass-fucking is still in the cards for me, but I don’t see my humiliated state being of much interest to anyone. Perhaps the revenge of helping is my best road here: I can hold the high-ground with positive action. At least, for myself, I will know I’m doing the best I can, and that will have to be good enough to satisfy. A snickers bar for my meddling consciousness and other vital self-reinforcing places.

As you can see: its early and my brain is a walnut of destruction.


Operation: RESCUE

She was in need of rescue from a not-so-great area of town at 1 am. So, I went out and saved the day. Truth be told, I’m more concerned with my restful sleep than I am with my desire to ignore her cries for help, malice there entwined. I COULD have said: fuck it. And I would have been in my right to do so.

Ultimately, she’s just another person asking for help and in my limited capacity, it made me feel good to DO SOMETHING. Even if there was no logical gain. I got her to the apartment, were she can sleep. And therefore, I can rest easy. I’m an absolute ass, until needed! So Huzzah!

Will has all but stopped talking to me. Not sure what I did there, if anything. Hopefully he reads this and goes: “hey, I’ve neglected that fucking dude for too long.”

I was also thinking: hey, this isn’t so bad, this whole life/living shtick. Not too shabby, considering where I WAS HEADED.

As for Jax: she has no solid plan. Her circle of work-friends has utterly crumbled under the strain she placed on those flimsy relationships. Her mom is petitioning a return to Florida. Yikes. Now disowned and bitter, she has no one left to turn to, save the puppy who won’t stop following her around town. No else is likely to cooperate or help her. There’s gossip, and innuendo, and rumor in the place of good, effective communication between people. It’s a drama-filled existence that suits me not. She has no place for the cats to go… bonus? Which means on Tuesday, I have to take them to the Humane Society. I will also be recycling a great deal of her stuff. Tupperware drawers, miscellaneous nick-knacks all going the way of the fire. Purged clean, hopefully leaving the apartment spotless and ready for new people to live in. And our deposit back. Digits-crossed.

Without the memories, this whole thing would be done by now. Hard work, yes, but feelings make that work even brutal with their nagging, useless contributions. It’s so clear to me how she does not look at me with love anymore, even after my shiny rescue was complete. I could feel her awkwardness, her struggle for understanding. Between the sniffles and sobs… she found answers the easy way: looking to dramatic change, dependence on others and disregard for doing the things we would have needed to do to fix our mutual lives. Alas. None of that will ever be.

I have some hard decisions to make coming up here. Tuesday the awning-room arrives, so I will finally have a place to set up shop and get working on an individually managed space. This should help correct the identity-breakdowns I’ve been having lately.

So, 1 – 2 am rescues are a welcome way to build reputation and merit as an not-asshole person. Maybe someone other than the Three Bailey-teers will go forward having figured that out.


The times are changing without me these days. I’ve rendered very little raw decision-making power on my life, but, holy crap, how the circumstances change. After 2 relationships that fell apart around my hospitalizations, I get the hint, be sane and get the girl; be yourself and die alone. My wife of VERY NEARLY 1 year has abandoned our relationship. though we are still legally married, she refuses to have anything to do with me, and sleeps with another man, and has gone on as if there were no reason to give a shit about me, or my plight. Truth be told, it was not a story told from the perspective of one who is right, and one who is wrong: its guarded secret misgivings and circumstantial arguments that led to this catastrophic breakdown. I had NO designs for things to end up this way. I just wanted my life back, with my lovely partner, and my 2 snuggly kitties. All of that is gone now.
In short (for the telling of it oft dredge the creeks of peaceful thoughts with raking machinery of judgment): We had minor issues. Problem there, is minor issues become large problems if they never get talked about or addressed. Communication between the two of us has always been an issue. She doesn’t like to listen, or be told things (whether helpful or not). Talking about a disagreement or situation or feeling would often result in her entering “lockdown mode,” where talk became useless because she refused, simply fuming within, like a tea kettle on the heat. I was often promised “we’ll talk about it later,” or, “just leave me alone. I’m only going to get angry if you keep pushing me to talk,” which was fine (I guess), only that resolution (or attempts at it) occurred 1/3 of the time. The other times were simply ignored, or neglected utterly, and still, not addressed. I could have put more effort into understanding her, and her way of coping with things. FUCK. Even as I say that, I’m not sure what the hell else I needed to do, besides show myself to be willing to work things out, talk, share, sympathize compassionately, and get on with life. It’s not as though I NEVER tried, I did. It doesn’t work unless BOTH parties agree, working things out and talking is a good idea, and leads to more good things, rather then bad stuff lingering, unresolved, waiting.

This lack of mutual ambition towards relationship goals was the root of the problem. That, and I don’t know if Jax actually understands what being married is all about. There’s spoken commitment (worth as much as its corresponding deeds), but nothing compares to making a LEGAL and BINDING contract to represent your dedication to the long-term relationship. Taking that step means: hey, I like you. We should be partners in life for as long as we are both here, alive, and stuff, forever. At least, THAT’S WHAT I SIGNED UP FOR WHEN I SIGNED THE MARRIAGE LICENSE.  I can imagine no better way of living than to spend my life with you there to help me. BOOM. I mean, right? Isn’t that the objective or desire when marrying someone?
But I was wrong, because I think of relationships not as an errant grocery bag dancing between cars on the interstate… I think of it as a wall. Solid. Strong. Pure. True. Just. Lean on your wall, because it is strong, and built to endure.
I honestly think: that she had a lot of built-up resentment from not having her issues addressed. Then, I got fat (er), and she quit being sexually interested in me. COINCIDENCE?  Then, when tensions began to mount, she only contemplated how to run away, get free, break out of her relationship, so something easier, superficial and impermanent would come along to make her feel happy again. She admitted to loving me less than I love her. She admitted before leaving me in the lurch, that she often contemplated leaving the relationship.  I guess she ultimately wanted something that forced a relationship to begin-again, going through that puppy-love phase where the guy fucking you can do no wrong, and is a savior from the hell you were just recently enduring, and has brought you happiness (at least, for now). Brilliant.
What bothers me is that nothing here has been addressed. Memo to guy who is fucking Jax currently: If you sit down with her, and let her become a part of your life, TAKE HEED OF THESE WORDS. You will certainly want to know this shit before you decide, like I did, that she is the one. She may go on not addressing her own issues for some time. Currently, I believe her to be in stark denial about what is healthy, good, right, and what is garbage. She has made some major decisions lately. Life changing and irreconcilable. She will do so at the whim of a spark. If you can somehow get her to open up and be somewhat introspective of herself, then hey, you did what I could not. Go for it tiger, you earned it.
She looks at me with eyes clouded by hate, resentment, frustration. So, I’m naturally the target of a lot of bad press. Which is fine, because I feel like I deserve some/most of that. But we here at my blog are concerned with presenting a balanced view of life, its struggles and tribulations: so all words must be said, and learned from.
Ask yourself, guy who is fucking my wife, has anything been resolved? She might be falling in love over again, but what’s to say the same lack of communication I experienced will be true for you? Maybe you are the perfect dude, and can give her anything she wants to keep her happy. Maybe you will have better luck trying to cage the Birdy than I did. But I really doubt you are a “better” guy than I am. I’m a spectacularly intelligent rarefied wacko. I find it hard to believe you are anything more then a hard-cock and a cute face. Your time in the sun is fading fast.
For my part, I see that my communication skills are still TRYING to do their thing. I just need someone who will actually play the introspective understanding game, and try to be good at it. Jax is a poor role model for good mental health. Drinking regularly is a great way to ruin your medication’s benefits. So, not sure what the master plan is over there in “betrayal-ville” but it’s your life to sail away in, or scuttle. I’m always going to be here, hoping for the best, but fearing the worst for you.
For the future: I need to be EVEN MORE CLEAR about what mental illness entails (for me), and what to expect from someone who struggles actively as I do. I have all the right pieces to make a great relationship work, for the long-haul; my perspective then only enhanced by the addition of another who can help me navigate these treacherous seas. In the famous words of one cancer-stricken multi-billionaire engineer S.R. Hadden: “Wanna’ take a ride?”



I don’t think I can forgive you for leaving me when and how you did. I don’t forgive you for abandoning me, and our life together. I don’t forgive your inability to communicate your feelings. I don’t forgive your lack of patience, your instincts to burry your issues, your constant lack of curiosity about me; your world. I don’t forgive you fucking another guy while we are married. I don’t forgive you. I hold you responsible for the part you played in the disaster you helped create. I don’t forgive you for breaking my heart. You deserve nothing, because you had no regard for me. You are not forgiven for betraying your vows. You are not forgiven for hurting my family.

I do not expect you will ask. But just in case you do: you are not forgiven.

Friends In Mind

Smile, it’s a new day.

I had the most upsetting dream last night. We were all kids/young teens in Jamul again. I received a cryptic, emotional handwritten letter from you and I was trying to figure out what it meant. I kept trying to find you to talk to you about it, but no one knew where you were. The last time we had seen you was at a party.

Then somehow I found you at the house where the party had been. You were in a bathroom, standing in a claw foot tub completely clothed, and you had the letter in your hands. Your arms were cut and even though you were dead, you were awake and speaking to me. I don’t remember what you said but I know you were alive, even though you were dead. The letter had been a suicide note.

It was like a flashback in the dream, telling me the truth of your whereabouts, and I was devastated and refused to believe it. I felt responsible.

I went to the fire station and police station to get as much information as I could about possible deaths or medical aid calls from the night of the party. I can’t remember now if in my dream I was able to get any information. I think it was just a wild goose chase, and that the flash of a moment of seeing you dead was the truth.

I woke up feeling like it was all too real. And I felt the weight of that guilt and responsibility as I got out of bed. Because I hadn’t emailed you lately. Because of the suicides in the past that I irrationally felt like I could have prevented.

I hope this email doesn’t trigger any negative or uncontrollable feelings in you because I know you are vulnerable, but I had to let you know because I know I don’t have my vivid and meaningful dreams for nothing. I needed to reach out to you and let you know that I care.

Your friend,






Hey, sounds like a premonition to me. March 3rd.

You need not feel any way at all on my behalf. I have suffered devastating pain, to the point of designing to take my life, and endured. The bomb dropped on me AFTER the hospitalization was an agonizing revelation, and yet, I still remain. Struggling, albeit. I’ve felt my will to live shake back to it’s core. Doctors in the hospital told me repeat suicide attempts are 55% more common if you take anything but Lithium. It’s a shocking world we live in, full of eccentric trajectories and hyperbole of the literal. It makes no good sense, but I’m not the judger-version of myself anymore. I’m a leaf on the wind.

Don’t take any of my life’s destruction onto yourself. Hasn’t this calamity hurt us all enough? Haven’t we given due suffering to these events, and now, represent a period of transition from, up and towards the real? Sobering, yes. Feeling infantalized, gut-shot, ponderously slow and completely retarded on a rotating short-shuffle playlist in my head which cycles randomly, but more often than not. I’m looking for anchors which I can lash myself down to something concrete, stable; where I can ivy-creep my way into a new mode of life. I don’t know what I’m doing, most of the time. Everyone takes me so fucking seriously. I really need some unconditional love to please stand up, please stand up, please stand up.

I’m going to be ok. I can’t say I’ve thought much about my dreams. This new Depression medication when taken at bed time ensures a good night’s rest, and seems to nuke dreamland into a barren-state. Which is good. Dreams are more often of your ilk, in nightmares, which then become all too real and totally inescapable. I have felt my body die in “dreams” before. I felt them come to take my soul away from my body and then I woke up. It made a noise, like lots of voices all making a note together. A single, ominous note, full of their screaming, increasingly louder.  Perhaps I should tall you about the Ghost sometime. And how it tries to kill me.

Wearing my Asshat

I am such a fool. But hey, that’s not going to fundamentally change. I like being a bit askew, makes me feel different. I thought about using this post to belittle myself further over how my relationship deteriorated and is now dead. But this, we already know. We are aware of the circumstances. I’m making progress, not looking back.

Her story has been tough to endure, mostly because I’m just SUCH an asshole to her. I’ve never seen anyone go from one extreme to the other as fast as she had, AND TO MAKE PROFOUND JUDGMENTS ALONG THE WAY! Here I was thinking Cavalry Archers had the hardest job. Wrong. It’s you.

But whatever. It just means, she quit on this life. That’s all it will ever mean anymore, because every other emotion and statement tied up in her betrayal hurt too badly to deal with regularly and also have no logical reason to exist for as long as they seem to endure. We’ve collectively moved on. Which is a good thing, because there are still a ton of new things to do in this life. I am currently:

-Becoming a regular Bass Angler

-Engaging my peer community in weekly meetups

-Staying vigilant with appointments

-Keeping a positive attitude despite it all


I won’t deny my inward spiral has been largely negative. Self hate mired in pity doth not oft lead to the good. So I got out of that.

One thing I want to be clear about though is that I’m sacrificing my self-image in order to continue on leading my life. So while you WILL have a chance to hear my wife cry “rape” and belittle me as an objectifying testosterone-driven moron, you will not hear me strike back. I won’t dignify the assault on my reputation, because I know it’s what she needs to have be true, so she can justify her adultery to herself. If I’m a bad man, I probably deserve to be cheated on. I mean right? I’m already an ass, so it’s ruined either way. Why not pile on the shit to the wagon?

In other words, I’m just “over” it so I can move on and get to posting about my Angling adventures or any number of new face/place I encounter along the way. Already actively looking for a new “someone” to be the person (peer) I relate to on my issues and tribulations. And getting results, as the search deepens.

So below is a reblog of her most recent post, just so you have an idea about what a true rat-fucker I am.

Self Prescribed Creativity

Funny how things and people react. I’ve been speaking my mind on the internet for this long I’ll surely not stop now despite the fragile complex of certain people in my life. Knowing perhaps that certain things I say and talk about may offend others is simply something unavoidable. I speak my mindless regardless. And it is my mind.

I’m finding myself looking back on my marriage and dissecting the relationship. Being in the midst of an odd friendship with a man I of course find myself comparing from time to time. Mostly in the ways I’m treated. I’ve realized that in my past I haven’t required a certain level of treatment for myself. I’ve been stuck in a rut of relationships where I’m not treated as a woman but as a sexual object. I feel anyway. My last relationship for example. I used to be greeted everyday by my…

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The Ugly, The Bad, And The Ugly

Talk about flinging some poop, I sent this innocuous letter out today, and earned the following replies on Facebook:



adsfasrhgsgfghbfjgj kjg
















So there. I’m going to get through this and get on to a better state. It’s going the right direction now. Plus, maybe I will make some totally helpful friends along the way who can coach me and help me feel better. I’m going to get back to my MH blog that I go to when in crisis. I’ll have a link up as soon as I get settled.

I just want to thank the family members and friends who have made this dreadful trial bearable with their love, compassion and support. Still have a long way to go, but making progress.




Burn the Heritics!!

I am one to judge. And many other notable flaws. Struggling with this brain-sickness is truly hopeless. It changes and gets worse right when things seem to flatten out. Then I lose everything in a meltdown and have to go rebuild it all over again. I like playing with LEGOS… but not the part where I build the Space Shuttle to scale with 1×1 cubes and YOU come along and flatten it for fun and mandate a rebuild post-haste. I like the part where I earn a “nice work” type comment when I get done. But hey, we don’t ever really get what we want: like stability, forgiveness and understanding. Clearly too much to ask of others.

I have been pulled free of the casing/shell of my old life. The furniture is gone. The possessions are packed. All that remains is to see her and her things vacate the apartment immediately, then clean, then done. My previous life has paid the way for a new existence, as a side-show attachment to my parent’s RV. I will live in a tent, essentially. WITH FUTON. So, not sleeping on rocks, and whatnot.

For the future: No more letting people get close to you. IT ONLY MAKES THEM HURT AND BETRAY YOU when they find out the reality of how fucking sick you are. They don’t want the “job” of being your hump-puppet-love-mommy. I mean really, who wants to take care of the horny guy with a hamster-wheel for a brain? I can see why this thing has failed me repeatedly, and caused me trauma.

So I enter a long stint of celibate remorseful sulking, which is like to ensnare my progress for a month or more. I intend to rise above the sulking portion and actually get some shit done. But I’m in this for myself. Alone. Not even Will is invited, and he’s easily my best friend. No one who COULD get hurt is allowed anywhere near the reactor. Period fucking end.

1 year of Lonely Bull. Project already 12 days in… some progress measured. Not much. Burt going the right way at least.




I mean, holy shit am I fucking serious? I think things are already headed the “up” flavored direction at this point. Like I noted, the sold furniture covered the cost of the new room in which I am to reside. I am feeling GUILTY for incurring COST on my family unit, as it stands now. I feel bad for that. And I wish myself to just pop right off the pillow and go tear off a piece every single day… but those desires are not realized. I am mired in a murk-tacular muck hell called: neurochemical imbalance. Communication across the synapses is broken, because certain inhibitors are not present, and part of the communication is lost due to this depleted quantity of transmitters looking to be restocked. If the transmitters are inhibited, IN THE NEURAL GAPS between synapses, the complete communication passes through the synaptic gap without integrity loss. The message is essentially, complete as sent, and not compromised. I have NO COMPLETE MESSAGES CAN BE SENT syndrome. In a sense. Since the gaps between transmitters contain a variety of neuro chemicals, the guesswork of science has been, so far, how to individually diagnose and prescribe medications based on 100% new circumstances per diagnosis. It’s also, an uphill battle: in light of the brain’s morphology and neuroplasticity, so too must treatment methods to the individual’s symptoms of mental illness change as the brain does.

It’s taken me a lot of time to think those thoughts. You ever feel just fucking TIRED in your mind? I know the feeling of having my fucking brain muscle strained, ok? It’s like I REALLY REALLY had to cut through the bullshit going on in the background, all the time, in order to get down to a core of reason / worth.

So, one has to be willing to swallow that, as well as any NEW PERMUTATIONS that may arise. I find that unlikely, but STILL WORTH TRYING FOR. Good things are hard to get, but I’ve never given up on anything I truly believed in. Like love.

So it is said.

People Ask Me About My Jesus

And I hate to tell them I failed to water the last Jesus they tried to pawn off on me, and NOW IT’S DEAD. SO THANKS.

I resent being thought of as a Jesus-killing motherfucker. Even if I deserve it. This is the sound of mud hitting me at high speed, directly in the face.

I have potential and purpose. There is a rhyme to the reason! I tell you!

Look at the last two sentences… my words are becoming more mantra-like as this post goes on. Within reason, please.

So, effectively, I resigned myself that some things just die. And I say verily, I am feeling liberated. Today, moving out of the apartment was hard work, but It was JUST work for once. Not a fuck-secks roller-ass-coaster through pain and suffering. Which is meant only to sound undesirable.

Either way I see this, is that I have a chance to embrace a new attitude, and say GOODBYE CARL!

“Hey, where’s my damn cookie?” Said the tapeworm.


I thought my filter was good before. But have hence been proven wrong. NOW NO ONE IS GETTING ON-BOARD THE ERIC-TRAIN. Not no body not no how now go away!

Which is a good policy, but sad. Because being alone is always kinda sad. SAD I TELLS YA. And facing depression, bipolar style, generally being right unpleasant, is best dealt with in tandem. So to does my written thesis prescribe, but all poop-hell breaks loose from time to time. It seems unreasonable to expect anyone in their right mind to DESIRE to TOLERATE a severely mentally ill person. Which is what it is. TOLERANCE. AND PATIENCE. FORGIVENESS. PITY?


I don’t know where to go run. I could kinda go any way, if I can get this donkey-frigate rocking once more! Into the BREACH!

Time – The Alan Parsons Project

Flowing like a river.
Beckoning me…
Who knows when we shall meet again–
If ever.
But time,
Keeps flowing like a river,
To the sea.

Goodbye my love,

Maybe for forever
Goodbye my love,

The tide waits for me.
Who knows when we shall meet again–
If ever.
But time,
Keeps flowing like a river (on and on),
To the sea, to the sea.

Till it’s gone…

Gone forever….
Gone forevermore.


Blasted out the darkest ground
A prism lit in stories, abound
In madness-waged stormy skies
Tears run from his pale blue eyes
Taking gulps of air for breath
Plunging life in regretful death
Held away while on the brink
To choke and vomit into my sink
Waking dead in steep regret
And brushed-aside hurt beset
Pale as a hard fortress wall
Through with this and had seen it all
But scars reveal a secret way
Unencumbered by what to say
The screams now silent, but unknown
To hold them deep in solid stone
I grasp what little there is to say
And sweep up dreams gone far away
Choke down tears and curl-up time
Washing waves of sea and brine
Restore a not that was a new
And learn then thyself a way towards true
Sad sung and wage worn wrung
This is but night, being young
In time a temper turned to fail
A westward wind my heart hath sailed

Ping Pong Plop

JAX to MOO: I know nothing I could say could mend what I’m doing. I’d been going back and forth on myself about staying with Eric only because I valued you and Bill’s relationship so much. I can’t however remain in a situation where my trauma and mental health is in constant battle or put on the back burner. I feel like when I got with Eric I believed him to be a lot more stable than he his. I married him thinking that we would make the last stretch of stability into a real life, and instead I feel he’s only become worse and inconsolable. I will not pretend I don’t know that pain I’m causing because at the same time it kills me to do it. I can not, however, keep taking care of somebody when I myself need the care. Marriage is supposed to be about mutual respect and care, but I feel for a while it hasn’t been that way. I don’t need you to completely understand. Eric needs to be around people far more stable than I. He needs his parents who will continue to love him regardless of anything. All I wanted to make you understand was that I never lied, and I always loved you guys.

MOO to JAX: Jax, I won’t lie…we are all in pain.  My love for you was as if you were my daughter.  Given the nature of both your illnesses, it is not surprising that it would come to a head.  It’s just unfortunate that the communication between you and Eric wasn’t mutually respectful and honest.  I understand that with the trauma you have experienced, you have a difficult time stating your needs and desires until it’s too late.  But communication in any situation is vital if a relationship is to last and thrive.  All that aside, I am dealing with this the best way I know how.  As a family unit, we are strong and we will survive.  Love and family are the key to healing.  I don’t wish any ill for you.  I hope that you, too, find a way to heal and move on.  This is all very sad.  Please let us know if you find a home for the kitties.  We always loved you too.

JAX to ALL: this was my mother in laws response to an email i sent. i find myself a bit angry. it takes two to fucking tango. i didnt just give up.  didnt wait til the last fucking moment to state my needs and desires. i had been for months. ever since he pushed himself on me after i kept saying no, i’d been telling him i needed space because i didnt feel safe. didnt rape me? maybe not, but those moans were ones of discomfort and pain as he entered me when i wasnt prepared and wasnt willing, not of pleasure. time and time again he tried to initiate sex after even though he told me he would let me be the decider. he’d take my hand and try to make me stroke him and when i responded poorly he’d get angry. yell at me about how i didnt want to have sex and it wasnt fair. ask me if i could at least give him a blow job or watch him masterbate. even after saying how uncomfortable it made me feel and how if i said no to sex that meant every aspect he would still get angry and frustrated because i wasnt dealing with anything. my needs were heard but never acknowledged. i was put on the back burner time and time again because my husband wanted an orgasm so bad he couldn’t keep from traumatizing me. i’d begged for months for him to try to get some of his impulses under some sort of control including his sexual ones. yet he’d rather ignore them completely than try to get them under control. he once said if it were up to me making the moves we would never have sex. you just never gave up the control to see. i’m done being controlled and manipulated into love. you can’t alienate me or make me feel lost enough to want to be in a situation where my trauma is used against me. and as for cheating? i asked you for a divorce days before any of it happened. but your lack of acknowledging my pleas are the same ones that convince you i’m some vindictive whore. i don’t care. i’d rather find people i can feel safe with then continue to try to make it work with someone who clearly doesnt want to deal with anything and would rather keep me in a submissive hole.

ME: Um, wow?

NEW: The Lone Bull Project


It’s the title of this part of my life adventure. It’s a time for rebuilding, regrowing, renewing. It’s progress, towards a complete picture f the self. To be the master of The Ghost. I sincerely hope you stay tuned to find out what this entails, and where we have yet to go.


The project began 03-12-14, and expires annually
The project will cost me 75 lbs of my flesh.
The project will bring a new high-fantasy fiction world into existence
The project is for myself, by myself, alone to be won

More details to come. But the countdown has begun, even if the story has not.


**UPDATED 03/17/14
A series of priority-goals are going to be established at reasonable intervals to give structure to a more long-term prosperous living position. And for the immediate future, I have a color-coded spreadsheet with achievable tasks and a record of tasks completed. Incremental steps towards success. It’s only a matter of time before I get my head out the ole butt-chute and on to better things.

In honor of Robert whom I paraphrase: Know that you went out there and gave it your “all.” You went and gave it everything you had to give, every day. You can then walk away from that KNOWING you tried your hardest. Knowing that, rest assured that things will get better over time.

I chose to live a better life. A healthier life. A different life. On my own, for 1 year. AT LEAST one year.


I will be finding out how to be an amazing (it’s AMAZING) person again. How to live stable, happy and alone. To be at peace, and capable of great things once more.

This encapsulates the meaning and value of the project. The timeline is 1 year, at which point the contract will be extended, or cancelled. The contract can only be VETOED with parental consultation and approval.

So, again, still more details to come. But we’re already underway.

My Wishlist – (Pearl Jam + Me)

I wish I was a wholly desirable person. I wish I was free of mental illness forever. I wish I wasn’t so easy to betray. I wish my heart wasn’t so easily won. I wish I could just be 100% done with my love when it dies. I wish I could have someone who would make me feel like I was worth something. I wish I was worth cherishing. “I wish I was a neutron bomb, for once, I could go off.” I wish I was capable, steady and wise. I wish my healthy states were taken seriously, and my insanity taken not so. I wish I had no reason to lose my mind. I wish I had loved my partners better. I wish I wasn’t such an asshole-licking shit-raper. I wish people would get their heads out of their asses and SEE each other clearly. I wish my life was something that it will never be. I wish I could have what I need to thrive, and not be subject to causeless humiliations. I wish I could have sex with someone I love, nearly every day. I wish love was as exciting for me as it would be for my partner. “I wish I was an alien at home behind the sun.” I wish I had the time and patience to write out all my brilliant ideas. I wish people would not just remember the bad, but the good times as well, and weigh them out before making conclusions. I WISH I COULD LIVE THIS LIFE WITH SOMEONE I COULD BOTH LOVE AND GROW WITH. I wish education and “rightness” would rule the day. I wish my morality counted for something. I wish I had never got drunk and groped my sister’s friend while she was sleeping that night more then a decade ago. I wish I had taken advantage of all the women who wanted to fuck me in High School but never told me they did. I wish someone besides ME would make the effort to keep this thing alive. I wish. I wish I was flying through the sky, with the wind ripping back my hair. I wish I was the man you loved. I wish that you thought of me when you cheated on me with some guy from old town. I wish this list would stop being about how much I still hurt, but for how much I still YEARN. I wish I could be alive to see my death come in a natural, not forced, way. I wish I still had her. I wish I wasn’t going where I have been circumstanced to go, but will try hard for what I want regardless. I wish it wasn’t 100% over, but it is.



My rescue attempts go to fruitless spoil. She will never see me that way again. I am now the past (and unwelcome). It is me, this is what happens when I try ant take a real person on the ride. It’s a fucking nightmare though. And I don’t see how we really got confused. We are just, something not right anymore. Your decision making abilities are just fucking poor. You chose that uncertain fate versus trying to make it work with your husband? Who still loved you? Who would have taken you back and started over with you? I mean, like, fuck? Why Jax?

I cry to myself and know why it stings when the one who promised you the most was just lying. You just lied? You got bored? Like, what the fuck is your issue in deciding this life I built is now not what you want. You are making bad bad choices, like getting drunk while depressed. It’s only getting worse.

I hope you find a way out of this limbo life. Or if you have really scored in life and found a bunch of rich people just begging to take care of you, then hey, I’m still a cuckold either way. Cheated on while sleeping in a psych ward hospital bed. That’s low babe. I mean woah.

But I forgive you for this, and your total abandonment of our life together. I forgive you. Why hold on to it. Let it go.

Good luck out there. Please call before you come over, we need only to coordinate how to get your things and cats out of the apartment by the 8th of April.



Misguided Mind of Mine

I’m pretty sure I’ve won the award: easiest to fall in love with, but easiest to break up with also. 3 masterful romances, 2 ending in divorce, 1 in an arrest, and now 1 hospitalization!.

And I literally went insane on each of them at least once. None of them wanted much to do with me at that point. Dust settling, and realizing: “Yes, I can do better then this overweight guy who treats me like crap.” Paraphrasing, albeit. But basically giving you no reason to stick around since losing his job.

An abandonment at his weakest, most fragile juncture. Deciding whether or not it was worth living anymore because the one woman he loved more than anything in the history of his love was losing interest, or had lost her motivation to try with him much longer. She was ravishing, and knew it. She can have anyone she wants. She’s proportionality sexy. I imagine her spark for me had been out for a while. We had infrequent sex for months now. Once every few weeks, and for whatever reason, it was just trial and error. She had lost focus, or had driven herself into anxious states in which PTSD trauma became present in our lovemaking. I can understand why, mainly, because I invoked it by letting Jacqueline’s lack of enthusiasm for sex not take priority over my desire to come insider her. And so, she opened herself to me post pleading, and let me come in her despite a clear lack of involvement. I am now accused of “getting carried away.” Which is true, sorta… But Did I rape you? You were moaning softly the whole time for Christ’s sake! I’m not making it up. I remember, because I’m a sex-starved man who never took for granted a chance to make hot sex with a beautiful woman. Respect and want shared between two people is JUST SO FANTASTIC. We had that once. But it died and I already know why. But It can’t all hang by this thread, can it?

But she’s only been getting sexier since coming here. And I the opposite, until very recently, and that seems to go hand in hand with a disintegrating mood situation. Becoming less and less stable as time monkeyed on. And the reasons you got together, to understand and mutually cope with mental illness… the WHOLE FUCKING POINT OF THIS BLOG (which shared the conduction of your love to it’s current state); we let that die. We should be better friends to each other and try to help us get stable. First. To each, their own journey into cause and effect; let the spiral of independence come into focus. I am making alterations to how I will be living my life in the next few weeks. I am imminently considering a move to Northern California. Tech market is vastly superior to San Diego area markets. Much more opportunity for success.

I really wish we could just get in the truck together and go up there on a brand new adventure. Start the whole fucking thing over again.

Hi, I’m Westin, but you can call me Eric.

The struggle for dual mental-healthily-aware individual cohabitation was damaged irrevocably. I don’t believe in that hooligan mumbo-jumbo! I still love you. Why don’t we keep growing and changing together? Why can’t we be the masters of our mutual destinies? I firmly believe if we could get our individual lives together again, sell down, and reboot existence in a whole new world, we could make it work again. You are the family I chose. You are who I will be looking for when the apocalypse comes.

It hurts me to think of you out there just rocketing off away from me. Fueled by deep resentment. Regret. Hate.

“I’ll never let go…”

And I’m fairly certain “my heart will go on.”

Hand out some fucking tissues. I have a feeling a heartbreaking moment approaches….

If I have really done wrong here. If I am truly the linchpin of misery in these 3 relationships…

I’m sorry. And I cry inside with regret for how I’ve hurt you. I’m a terrible-great man. I have a callous-shoulderborn heart. I trust. I stay loyal, despite insanity. I try not to think about the short term, but how will this look in 4 months, 2 years… so on and so forth. Where there is a willingness, there is a way through. We may have the pegmatite seam in the granite, but we will need to chisel to get to that pocket of Aquas under there. Lookin’ gemmy! REAL GEMMY!

Hold on.

Fly Away Little Birdy

My Mom’s reaction to things accidentally ended up on my blog. So I gave it over to her and have it here if you wanted to read it.

Note to self

Although I pride myself as a student of human behavior, I find I am and shall always be naive when it comes to judging people.  I have always believed the best in people and I give them every chance to prove me right, but I am disappointed time and time again.  My heart suffers the consequence of my foolish beliefs and ideas about the way people should behave.  I love and trust far too easily.  You’d think that after all the times I allowed myself to believe only to be betrayed, I’d figure it out and toughen up…but no…I am destined to be a sucker and continue to believe.  I only hope that with each painful experience comes a valuable lesson…something that sticks…something that I will remember when the next opportunity walks through my door.  For now, I will wallow in self-pity, drink too much wine, use up a box…

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that tough spot.

I have no opinion to render, but always hear both sides of the story, once told.

Self Prescribed Creativity

i’ve gotten drunk everyday this week. i havent slept at my apartment in a week. i was kicked out of it two nights ago. can’t say i didnt deserve it. we are getting a divorce. i’d been struggling with my decision ost of this week. i knew it was what i wanted but it’s hard for me to accept something for myself that will harm others in the process.

i think i did what i did to finalize my decision. i tried to tell my husband but in a night everything id said had been unravelled. somehow what i said had turned into nothing. he imagined an apology and a hug would melt away the emotional abuse i’d been enduring for the sake of his mental disabilities.

i had sex with a friend. i hadnt sought it or expected it. i never imagined i’d be an adulterer but it happened…

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When life kicks you straight in the mommy-daddy-button, you’re probably going to keel over and sob. I mean, seriously, who stands there and takes it with a grin? Real life is dying of exposure in the taiga. Reality burns my flesh off with scathing fire fueled in the deep bowels of the evil hiding in my brain.

I’ll not be rid of him, but some form of regulation is an order. As of yet, the territorial lines between action and demeanor are hazy at best. Rationale seems like a concentrated offense, and usually always a brow furrowed deep in attempts to clear the murk of pain. I have no other place to vent my suffering, and my eyes literally ache from how oft I’ve cried. And I do mean oft.

I have to understand how I am myself.

I believe this new direction constitutes a militaristic coo deep within my nation, overthrowing one dictator and replacing him with a tyrant. What would Marcus Aurelius think? I still think we should hand the nation off to Maximus.

Russel Crowe, this comeback is dedicated to you. And Commander Peter Quincy Taggart.

I am stating it loud and clear. I am taking charge of my life and living it proudly, and for my health, and for my future and I will kick the living monkey piss out of this feeling. I will do that, then we shall have victory cake, which is “so delicious and moist.”

So, GLaDOS earns a dedication. Or at least a reference.

I’m going on from this. I am clearly useful in some capacity. I have an application in the real world. I posses skill, and loads of other great, personable, cherish-able attributes. My Mind’s Eye Theater character sheet reads:

Nature – Reluctant Self-hating Puppy Dog Faced Inebriated Nincompoop
Demeanor – Phantom -Mask’d Intellectual Roller-Coaster With Sparks and Flames Shooting Off It Going Upside-down at 90 Miles An Hour And We Just Came Off The ************** Tracks!!!!

I mean, there is likely some middle ground here. I think I need to get this negative voice, its malicious intent and other crap that goes on in the background. All the voices. The Ghost. It’s there, talking to me. It’s saying things that cause my soul to die a little as I listen. I try not too. I’m working  on a new angle.

I will probably be making incremental steps toward making my usefulness a sharp, pointed weapon. And I will poke doubters, disbelievers and other d word-ers for  their doings derogatory SQUARE IN THE EYE. Poke. Poke. POKE.


For now, I am just letting you know that I am still kicking. Still fighting.

Not going down. So here I stand…

“The cold never bothered me anyway.”


Here are my Wife’s words. She deleted my comment to this post.

Self Prescribed Creativity

my husband had a psychotic break last night.

i knew he had a lot of anger in him, but it seemed like it came out in full bloom last night.

i feel like i’m supposed to feel sorry for him. understand because i’ve been in a similar place. except when i was there i didnt push my anger on anyone. i had my trauma thrown in my face. i was called a bitch and a cunt. i was told i caused trauma because i’m inconsiderate. how am i supposed to feel sorry. how can i write it all off as he wasnt himself when he damaged everything i am.

i visited him in the hospital. honestly i was scared of him. all i could think of as i walked to meet him was of how i used to visit my dad in jail. he took my hand and told me…

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And Then…

She found another man… amidst the crisis of her ailing husband’s hospitalization. She found a new dude who told her something that got her to open her legs, and he entered her, over and over again, much to her delight. And so she fucked him as I laid myself down in my cold hospital room and sobbed myself to sleep, contemplating a deep regret, and acknowledging how badly I had hurt the ONE person I love (d) more than any I had ever cherished before. I held her in my soul, felt her pain, and cried… until sleep finally took me. Every night I was in there. And at the exact moment I dove deep into my lament, she let another man be in her.

Yep. She cheated on me, and shot our marriage right in the fucking head. This was probably not a good idea, in my opinion. My family alone is reason to stay married to a shiftless loser such as myself.

They (above) are so great. Solid, dependable, loving, kind… the list only gets deeper as I go. I adore my family. They have seen me burn my life down more than once, and been there to help me rebuild it. With love, even.

I was willing to have my existence extinguished forever. I was. Albeit, there was a lot of insane-juice pumping through my veins. I remember the police confrontation in hazy bits and fragmented memory-stained pieces. They shot me in the chest with a rocket-propelled beanbag. And it didn’t hurt at the time, because there was about 8 trillion milligrams pure hysterical-adrenaline running through my system. Hurts now, kinda… tender. But not because they shot me, but because my biggest love I ever had set fire to the remnants of my life, and made me alone again.


It looks like I am bleeding internally. And perhaps that is true in a metaphorical, euphemistic sense. My heart did just burst, finally, after all the time I spent trying to convince it that I would need to rebuild my life with her. That I had damn near burned everything down, but love would remain. Love would keep us together, because we VOWED to be MARRIED to each other for the rest of our lives. Through all the holyshitfuckdamn trials of life with mental illness. We would endure. I was SO FUCKING SURE she understood that my illness is no joke, that it is real, dangerous, scary, sad and IN DESPERATE NEED OF SOMEONE WHO WILL HOLD-THE-LINE IN A CRISIS.

Her coping mechanism was to find someone new to fuck. And who knows, maybe this will be the moment she becomes a huge success? I’m guessing she more than likely squandered her best chance at a happy life, when she let another man come insider her.

So, my heart is sick, and now gushing blood in all directions.

I’m so fucking sad. But that’s normal when someone utterly guts you, and reduces your (my) ambitious love to ruin.

She’s really gone, and for now, so am I.

*raises his chalice*

To good fortune, and better days ahead. I drink to your health, and mine as well.


Life is different, but then again, I guess I’m going to have to keep wading my way through it, regardless of obstacle or pain. Being alive is a great thing, even if it induces great suffering, and even if your heart is mashed to mush.

Jacqueline. I love you. And I will miss you terribly…

Because this is our final goodbye.

My Birdy…

You have finally flown away.


I threw her out, and that’s the end of us. After this final humiliation, where somehow I was at fault for some bullshit reason… I left, then she left, and now I’m apparently an asshole, and there’s nothing wrong with anything she did, and my feelings of rage, humiliation, embarrassment and disgust ARE NOT HE FAULT, AND SO WHY WOULD SHE CARE ABOUT ANYTHING THAT IS NOT HER FAULT?  I’m so done. FUCK YOU, STUPID BITCH. Go away and don’t come back. Correction: Go find another partner, and hopefully, when you do, you are a fundamentally more reasonable person, and not a LIAR who MISCONSTRUED REALITY,  interested in passing blame for your mistakes off on people who don’t deserve it. Go fuck yourself. And thanks for nothing.

So, word to the wise: if you can’t fix your own problems, do the very best you can to blame someone else for them, and create a false drama based on some misguided emotional reaction you invented to blame someone else for your problems. Oh, and involve people who have no way of resolving anything. Just worry them with the details of how their son is a fucking idiot who ruins everything.

Right. Like that’s fucking healthy. Go to hell. It’s on me to fix and eggshell around what other men have done to you? WHY IS YOUR SEXUAL TRAUMA MY FAULT? WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO TO YOU TO DESERVE TO BE REJECTED AND RIDICULED, TIME AND TIME AGAIN, EVERY TIME YOU HAVE A BAD MEMORY POP INTO YOUR HEAD? WHAT THE FUCK?

So that’s the end. I don’t care if I go it alone. Fuck the lot of you out there. NONE of you idle-reading degenerates have even tried to help. NEVER. She tried. But she failed. She can’t even help herself, let alone help me.  SEEMS LIKE THAT’S PRETTY CLEAR NOW. AND I’M OVER IT.  She has fundamentally lost my respect and care. I won’t say that I don’t love her anymore. I think I always will because I’m stupidly loyal and never really give up on anyone. But as a person I want in my life? Nope. Go away and be a problem for some other poor son of a bitch.

I’m going to divorce you, I believe, and soon. I really have no care for what happens to you anymore. Good riddance, and don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

I no longer give a shit. This was my last go at a real life, and I failed. So, goodbye. FUCK EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU. I hope you fucking suffer and die you worthless sacks of shit. Fuck you.

I’m gone.

“Crazy Little Thing Called Love”

Dear Erin,

It has been on some shade of delinquency on my part that the story had not continued until now. I have lost my job, about 5 days after I sent you that letter. I have been striving for employment, and just recently bailed out by my parents, who I am now groveling at the feet of. In a spiritual sense. They have preserved my little life yet again, believing, as I do, that work will find me soon.

I wrote a very dark and sensual piece of poetry A while back, when I was considering writing out my history entirety in verse. I came up with a poetic summary. I have included it at the end of this email, but I am unsure if you have seen it on my blog already. I do not know the level to which you have been digging through old posts. They are quite abundant, and a task that neither my mom or dad or wife are capable of fully comprehending. I write for myself, mostly, to cope with a symptom that strikes me, that deeply affects my functionality in some new unexpected way. I try to express the depth of my sorrow, the elation and pain and sunshiny days as well. I am biased, naturally, and horribly opinionated. So I rant from time to time.

My blog is the current instrument by which I have become married. I know right? What?

So, this girl (see lonely, lost, depressed and very frustrated) was looking through WordPress blogs that caught her eye. Mine was one that even drew out real actual comments from her, which to me is rad, and a great honor to have someone comment publicly on your shit. I respond to my commentators, naturally. DinoJax, as she was then, start chatting, I send her an email asking to be her friend who has a keen understanding of mental illness (that we both suffer from some form of). I say something like: nur, um, maybe we could, uh, yeah… be like friend and stuff and talk and stuff to to to to like cope with OMG my hair is on fire! BAI!

We were similarly engineered and similarly traumatized individuals. I saw in her writing (because I blog-stalked her) a fantastic person just smothered in an environment rife with toxicity. She lived in Gainesville, Florida. A swamp with a college town built through it. I am paraphrasing. She hated her life there, and was slowly wilting away. Our talks deepened until we called each other for the first time. Then I bought her a computer with a webcam (because she spilled coffee on her only other one) so we could skype with each other. And BOOM. Love. I fell in love with her over the course of 2 months. Or, more or less, 2 weeks in. Then I started REALLY seeing her life and her style, personality, and I fell even deeper. We were attracted to each other, and I was totally willing to break my world in half for this girl. She got me, and got who I was, and looked at me stark naked and said “Yep.”

Metaphorically speaking, anyway.

So, I came up with a plan, that after making initial communication with her on November 5th, I would ask her to move in with me and pack her whole fucking life into 2 big suitcases and a Cat. THEN, please get on 2 planes and travel all the way across the country to be with me, having never sniffed my hair, having never seen me in person, just, boom, do it. I laid it out there. I loved her and was never going to stop. I had to have her in my life, and MY environment out here was 12 billion times better than anything she had going on in Florida. So, we did it. The single hugest balls-to-the-walls life-changing thingy doo-dad I ever tried to do.

And It has worked unbelievably well. I have achieved a level of freedom, independent thought and financial success that I had never before thought possible. My meds have offered some serenity from symptoms. My balance on said medication razor is wavering though, mostly because the brain is constantly changing, and nothing ever works forever, it just, stops, sometimes, and all the symptoms can come rushing back in all at once. Or cycling from elated with joy to imploding with sorrow in a span of an hour, that continues on this way for days. Unmedicated is being totally unable to function. At this point, I struggle. I cry excessively, at simple things, like the end of Frozen and The Last Unicorn, and because I get scared about bad things happening to people I love, and sometimes I sob because I feel unworthy of the very blessed and wonderful life I have lived. Despite acute pain and unnecessary (hindsight) venture into premature independence, I have recoiled to strike hard into success. I vie for identity somewhat lost to me through a deep unmedicated cycle 2012 – 2013. I just smoked pot, and lived with my parents, and struggled to find the courage to come out of that room. I was so scared, so lost. I had no idea how to stop the constant discourse in my mind. Pending decisions, fantastically horrible thoughts, regrets spewing over the cauldron and the stink of reprisal heavy in the air. I deserved to suffer. I had earned this misery.

But I got on meds, and was re-diagnosed rapidly. With my 12 years of experience in dealing with this disorder, I usually have a pretty good idea what meds to use to treat it. Based on individual metabolic processes and responses (side-effects) to the medication. Everybody responds differently. My wife’s meds are different than mine. We address symptoms as they arise, attempting to maximize the potential of several neurochemical transmitters in our malfunctioning brains. It’s a battle against time, because the brain always grows. This tips the balance. I fall from the edge.

Life is good, though. I’m working on being a consistent, high-functioning mentally ill person. I know I can do that, and more. I can achieve significance, and will, to lives, and gain experience through action, and find the depths of my emotions, and so on. I want to live a full life, one that I at least had a chance to be happy. So, I’ve been looking for my love, because I’m such a ridiculous romantic goo-hearted slobber-fool person, I really just need to find someone to shower with puppy love. Jacqueline had never had anyone love her as much as I do. I’m crazy about that girl. She’s my forever one. We married 3-12-13. Coming up on a year pretty soon.

Since our initial contact in November, she (timeline) moved here on January 4th, and married me 2 months and 8 days later. Sweet.

I have come to understand that I would not be fully able to comprehend happiness, if I had not (or do not, as the case may be) experienced the deep depressed lows that come with the wrong treatment plan, or death, or accumulation of regret, or trauma. Whatever the instigator, there are few things more horrible than the level of darkest sadness. Right? But without knowing, distinctly, what that felt like, I can compare the difference with love, and see how real and amazing love can be, and how very good I am at loving someone, and how I am very effeminate and impassioned and driven and brave. It is vastly different, because my personality exists in the light of love, and does not resemble even the same person when it is depressed. I disappear into nothing and become a shell of a person. This is what I endeavor to avoid. I fight my depression, and I will never stop. I admire my wife for this reason as well. She gives her all, every day, and I love her for how hard she tries. For her own sake. And I for mine.




Going back there:

Like steam; beads down glass,

Crushed, small breathing,

Bricked against the cold of ice.

Bare shivers climb–

Dying of exposure–

Locked out of home,

Seeking payphone forgiveness.

Biting back reasons,

Not to regret.

Originally: spun, wayward,

On a slicing wire through time,

Chance, risk;

Struggling to the premises, fading.

Brisk, bone-deep shakes,

Drive the pursuit of goals.

Aspiring eyes, welled, trying,

Daunted by respect for want.

Fooled for love-like states–

Stealing irresponsible moments,

To taste her heated moans,

Cast in binding-bliss–

Dry, waterless roots of resent, choking.

A purpose lost through trial,

Ignorant and capsized–

Chemically wooed,

Dizzy, misguided synapses–

Firing belligerently.

Romanced for rot,

Eating its sweet succulents.

Infectious pus spewing,

Fetid, mashed, intestinal wastes,

Swallowing the bitter-bile, thumping–

Hot blood,

Churning heart irregularly–

Throbbing in outrage,

Burnt by promise.

Married in, for, by… disgust.

Soulless, slipping into alleys–

Emptied through waste-ways,

Stained, parcels left alone in rooms,

Possessions strewn with disregard.

The sallow, bleeding papered-walls,

Spattered with hateful stains,

Strike a blow across my face.

Breaking the world, for her.


Things fell far from recollection.

Her sex viperous, uncoiled.

Still a yearning somewhere primal,

In unrequited hardness–

Driving wild, weedy undesired growth,

Poisoned by the circumstance.

Surrendering lifelessly,

To ever-aching thrusts–

Of regurgitated desires.


Eyes to not forget:

Burrowing with unspoken–

Sensual keenness, open, desperately–

Acknowledging a presence inside–

Releasing into her private warmth,

Grasping sweat-soaked touches–

Consumed by sensation,


Absolved of secrets,


After, bloated disregard,

Conscious of scattered lusts–

Responsible for my own want,

Tasked by a new stare,

Vexed, glowering with spat-out pity–

A face of words,

A ring thrown on the floor.

Coughing on bitter soil-dust,

In realization as moments blur–

Squandered days it seems…

Mounting, uneven scores,

Towards the future, now smeared,

Stranded silence.

Nobly striving–

For a dim yesterday.

The torpor-dreams of corpses,

Swamped, in the peat-murk of decay,

Sinking into the now.


Sought for no longer,


Stubbornly surrendering,

To a rescue.


Snapped By my Daddo at an Arizona Airshow in 1988, one of only 20 ever built. Even with an otherwise flawless record in 27 years of service, 1 crash is to many. More then one hundred dead. Decommissioned in 2003, three years later.  A symbol of our cultural decadence, and ultimately, just as flawed.


I’ve been thinking some about disasters of late. I really really feel itchy inside sometimes, like I’m somewhat expecting something to happen. Soon. I mean, sooner rather than later. I can’t explain it any more then it constitutes radical anxiety. Because that’s all it really is. An itchy, disturbing, prickly feeling that makes me ever-alert for the first disturbances from the ground. I know what should do in case of emergency. That’s not the point.

I feel like it’s looming. That’s all. And scientifically, I am 100% correct. It’s at minimum 180 years past a normal release of tension from the San Andreas. It’s easily been 300 years since anything larger than a 6 hit that area. Pressure has been building for a good long time now. Pressure. Pressure. If it moves just as fast as my fingernails grow, rock is compressing against rock for some nearly unfathomable distance imho, CONSIDERING WE’RE POUNDING TWO SOLID ROCKS TOGETHER. JESUS. Last time I checked, that’s hard to do, and creates pressure. Pressure. I would have like, YARDS of fingernail growth after 300 years, like turning a roll of toilet paper loose across the floor and watching it vanish into the horizon… whhifflewafflecracklsskunchkt… cunk.

Seriously though, we’re fine. Palm Springs, you need to gtfo right now because damn, why did we EVER build a metropolitan area right there? I mean seriously? On alluvial deposits as well? That’s not going to have been a good move for someone, at some point in time in the future. Will I be around to see it? Who knows. Ever see a giant sand wave destroy a city? Ever see a wal-mart disappear to a dirt-nami and be under 70 feet of sand in a few seconds? Yeah, I brought that! DIRT-NAMI, you can quote me.

Needless to say…

I’m still itchy.


Thin, blue, light.
Heat-remembering daze:
In linked regrets, lament,
Aches old and new–
Stranded towards pain.
The promise of new ways.

In simple tossing–

Hairpin, dropping–
Whimsical day.
Shining bound, blocked anyway.
A colored banner will fly.
Reminiscence’s stare–
The fate of the bold–

And glad, laid bare.


Respite from heat!
In toe-dangling strays–
Who cuckolds play at–
Being one with the stream.
Down our roads had heard–

That we’d been gone astray.

The Point of Don’t Return

I was let go. Or rather, I was backed into a corner, then forced to “not come back.” I’m unemployed for the first time in more than a year, and I’m stricken with sadness. My fragile day-to-day financial struggle just got exponentially harder to maintain because of my actions. I am in pursuit of several opportunities, but have not signed any papers yet. Despite the crushing ache of loss, I know, in my heart, I am going to have another job very soon. All signs point to “hired.”

The real problem here is that I worked very, very hard to earn the respect and trust of my former employer… but that was never what they had in mind for me. I had the aspirations to be something more than a Field Technician, but they would rather pay me barely above minimum wage and keep me locked in where I was. After a year of hoping fruitlessly for advancement or recognition, I was becoming desperate and discouraged. Why wasn’t my value understood? Why was I constantly running up against a petty regulation and only drawing attention for the negative things? The people who counted never saw me as anything more than what I was hired to be. I was in stasis, and when I tried to voice my concerns that I was not going to be able to continue this way, I was shot square in the chest with the reality that no one was going to care whether I stayed or left. I was not valuable enough, in their eyes, to make any kind of monetary sacrifice to keep.

Did you know I had a $1 raise pending, but upper management declined to give it to me? $1?? Are you fucking serious? It would not have made the difference in keeping me financially afloat, but damn, it would have been nice to be appreciated. It would have meant a lot for them to reach out and say “you’re worth this, and more.”

But I’m not. I’m not worth $1 more than what I was making. And hourly, that’s literally like $15 a week extra. I took this as an insult, which I think it was intended to be.

Naturally, things began to fall apart, as I was hammered by criticism, consistently told not to make my own decisions, to fall in line with the other robots. I had no desirable leadership qualities, despite my personal ambition.

I feel bad for leaving the way I did. But I gave them notice of 16 days first thing, and essentially, they said “don’t come in until we call you.”

So, I responded with “you’re punishing me for giving notice? Hope unbelievably petty.”

“I’m done.”

I hope it hurts you, losing me. I really hope it reminds you of how stupid you were, when customers who call in asking ONLY for me find out I’m not there anymore. Why? Because I’m not worth $1. Great trade-off. I really, sincerely, hope it burns you, right now, in your chest, and makes you angry. I hope I hurt you, because I’m petty too, and you hurt me first, and FAR MORE OFTEN. I stayed loyal to you, despite this. But that time is over now, and I dropped a bomb on you on my way out, and up, and away; to better things, and days full of promise, hope and desire to succeed… for someone other than you.


Through the tides of disregard I am held by the waving standard of disgrace. A moral purpose, guided by the utmost intentions are oft regarded as threats to the infrastructure. The stagnant hierarchy of power unwaveringly stout amidst the screams and moans of those slaughtered during the insurrection. Soul-stomped and hemorraging, the answer is risk. The gamble is teetering on the giant shoulders of the ever consuming flow of advancement. Pondering momentary vibrations; leaking confidence through gaping fissures in the sides of the real. A diatribe suffocated in the merciless vacuum of the deep, empty cold of space. The very life clinging desperately to not but bones rotten to their cores of stale marrow. Turned down and unwanted for ambition, as punctual as moments, as thoughtful and considerate as experience, as demotion pouts in shame. Shock is the mercy-killing of lies, beguiled by greed and rife with ulterior motivations. There is no time to thrive. No rain falls in the shadow of a mountain.

Lost as guide-less ships carried east on the wind. Fortune’s penultimate fool. I’ve strived and failed.

Not for more than a bookend. Placeholder in transition; as the monstrosity grows to regardless ends. Mired by its own reflection in the sullen, brittle glass of progress. Sand is dripping by, succumbed willfully to the hunger of gravity. Blood is the toll of fate. Tears are the demon that pries.

Farewell to summer. The age of velvet; scorched in Jovian gasses. Storms of regret expunge vitality from its rigid anchors. Forgotten is the wandering idiot who spun his fate in straw.

Goodbye familiarity and fraternity. Welcome to the new-dawn of agony. A tumult in which there is no air to breathe; no hope of survival beneath the ceaseless onslaught of terrible waves breaking hard against the rocky shore.

Bitter and Blue?

I do want to apologize for the slanderous tone of my post: Liars. It’s hard to concentrate on the rightness of things when you are unbelievably tired and can’t sleep. Insomnia put me in a foul place (needless to say).  I’m truly a much more reasonable person. I just got hurt feelings, seeing my exes off doing their lives and in total disregard for the past. They hurt me so badly… even beat me; physically mutilating my body with violence. All of that is swept away in the haze of blissful ignorance. I guess.

I am constantly reminding myself of how I have failed. I never stop remembering mistakes I have made, people I’ve hurt. Things I’ve said. Trauma.

This is not necessarily a good thing, because (more often than not), it’s fuel by which I burn up my confidence; my self-esteem. Remorse.

Other parts of my personality are subjected to hateful recollections, polluted by what reprisals I feel I deserve. I’m not the best judge of things when depressed, or hurt, or angry.

I’m trying to be more introspective, and keenly aware of these varying states: what they insinuate, encourage or imply. At least, as it pertains to who I am, or who I strive to be.

I will continue to be observant, and also, I feel like I’ve neglected sharing on this blog. Which I am now more inclined to do, considering the help it has provided me in the past. It’s a valid mirror by which I can understand (if not unnecessarily scrutinize) the varying terms of my arrangement with unquenchable sadness, turbulent moods, and haunting regret.

I appreciate your time. Thanks for reading.


My bitter insomniac self emerges. I sit here pondering the loves I have had. People who were, at one time, important to me. We fell into disaster together. I learned a great deal from the calamity of broken, beaten love.

But it would have been possible to delude myself into a blame-free memory of this. It would have been possible to lie and deceive myself and others into believing a reality of events that never transpired.

Or would it have been easy? I doubt it. I’m honest to a fault. Brutally logical. Calculatory and stoic from time to time… But always analyzing the data. Not stuffing it away in a cupboard somewhere never to be looked at again.

Some people can lie their way through life. Some people are afraid of what’s really going on. It’s animalistic fear. Fight or flight morphed into useless parameters it has no business being applied to.

With transition comes contemplative regret. At least, I feel remorse for things I did. Moments in which I hold direct responsibility. They are mine forever. I own them. I an proud of this, because I know I am right.

You. However. Are a liar. You have covered your trail with fresh dirt. You have built up a new life on a foundation of deceit. I truly feel sorry for you. I am also angry. For all the abuse done to me; it is now clear that you will not learn anything from these mistakes. You may just repeat them with someone else.

It’s shameful. And pathetic.

And I’ve moved on to a better life, though, I know you think you have as well. I hope you make it out in the real world. Somehow, I doubt it.


Pale wall shadows
Reaching dead finger-wicks
Sun-tied horizon mistakes
Banished thought whispers
Stretched out insane

Time-ticked agonies
Reserved soul-peakings
Fortunate self-martyrdom
Proclamation of pain

Dipped in red
Shining like a sunrise
Befuddled and bound
Pale bloodless hands
Pouring out promises
Sweet denials
Again to gain nothing
Taking on buckets

Gone down to riverbanks
Crispy-leaves travel
Careless on a breeze
Whisked away-daze
Better for change
Here lingering on shores
In search of tomorrow
But already gone


Of a gone down day.

Burnished in steep regret–

Sad for the time whisked-away


Empty hearts

Selfishly, concave.

Wishing, hoping.

Against the want of desire.

Blighted and alone

Wondering what steps can be made.


Samples in remembrance–

Thin wires of pain–

Wanton reckless hatred,

Souped within and boiling.

Living anew for the next day.


A fed soul.

Buckled-down against the future–

Wishing, hoping.

To hold off the bitter wind,

And watch the sunrise.


I’m largely oblivious to the world, I guess. A big dumb puppy. But I’m vile, angry and resentful too. Pretty fucked up, no? I certainly think so.

I have a muddied personality, filled with dramatically mixed signals and a cruel desire to inflict hurt on myself and others. I puzzle about why this is, and vow to be ever more vigilant against it. I try, with great effort, to unravel myself and expose the state I experience as “now.” I hope to understand why I react the way I do, why I convulse with hatred sometimes, why I take out my feelings on those I trust and love the most. I hate this about myself. But hating myself changes nothing.

I am ashamed. I have brutalized my lover with anger-filed words. I have cast her into a mysterious realm of not knowing if it is worth it to be my husband anymore. Life might seem to be floating along, but somewhere underneath, the anchor I have tied to her strains and groans against the pull of tides. She deserves better then a beautiful, broken man who is too fat.

I know she has a lot of growth as a person still ahead of her, and I can already see how beautiful and inspiring she is, and will be. I don’t want to be the thing that poisons that development, or holds the sun away from her petals. I sometimes feel like I don’t appreciate her enough. And she does such wonderful things…

Though we are very different. We enjoy distinctly separate styles of music. We can hardly watch a movie together. I hate Coconut. She loves it.

I still want her to know how much those contrasts offer a different view to me… that I still appreciate what she brings to the relationship, EVEN IF IT IS VASTLY DIFFERENT from what I’m used to. That’s why you marry someone… because they give you a different spin on life (along many other things). They help you see things where you would have no idea they were hidden. She shines light into the place behind the dresser, and finds my stuff that I lost back there a long time ago.

I have confidence, but it’s fragile. I try to put my best-foot forward. It fails sometimes, I get squished sometimes, but that’s a part of living. I am sticking to my guns, and just hoping I can hold on as the force of gravity pulls me down, harder and harder, as I race away from the surface of the Earth.

Mixed metaphors and colloquialisms don’t accomplish the goal.

I’m sad, because I feel like I deserve to be alone and miserable. I neglect myself, and my love for her. I am constantly berating myself over these issues. I make no progress. I swim in the soup of my own regurgitated failures.

Not much of what is said here comes from a place of validity. I’m mired in depression, and that’s no place to be judging yourself. I need to pay attention, especially at times like this, to my soul, and it’s fragile little state. It deserves to be loved, not hated. It deserves Birdy. It is valuable enough to have forged a life for itself, it’s being, it’s presence in the world. I am known. I am valuable, I fully intend to persevere.

Mixed up thoughts are crushing me down. For now, I can hold on to the positive. I love her so much, yet, I wonder still if I have already lost her, and she’s just too afraid to tell me…

I have no facts. I just know I will never stop trying to be her best friend, her trusted confidant, her biggest supporter, and her husband, for as long as I live.






Letter to Erin

I hope you are enjoying yourself and the presence of those you love. It is unique to have such connections to other organisms. We feel, so deeply… it’s what’s amazing about us. Humans.

I am a person striving for tranquility in existence: I have a week-to-week struggle to “make it” financially. Even with my wife working nearly full time… my work is primarily commission based. I’m not a salesperson, and I deal the straight-dope without the confusing vocabulary. People genuinely seem to appreciate that, and I have at least 15 returning customers who ask for me by name, and had me back out 3-5 different times on separate onsite service calls; a percentage of each total bill in my pocket (16% of the profit, anyways). So, I make long-term relationships, not “flash in the pan” sales numbers off single house-call invoices. I don’t know how to be any other way. I’m a terrible liar, and I ruin surprises. My wife calls me a “retarded puppy,” which I found to be a most fitting description. Business a computer technician is slowing down for the holidays, closing the circle, I’ve been wondering how I’m going to make rent this month. It’s an unstable balance, but we have go out there and TRY, and are doing the best we can. Day to day. Survival is my priority, and Jacqueline and I have managed to do that pretty well.

My wife and I are struggling to be independent people, of late; healthy human beings despite our disabilities. She has Depression (Major), and I deal with BiPolar Disorder type 2. My WIFE? WHAT IS THIS TALK. And not even the first one… OMG. Get the fuck out of here. No seriously, back when I lived in Santa Barbara, shortly after I left San Diego, I fell for a married woman, and she left her husband to be with me. And she got a divorce in 2006. And we were married in 2007, but it only lasted until the end of 2009, and was never the same relationship again after I attempted suicide.


She felt like it was may way of hurting her, or something, like MY trying to kill myself somehow means she’s a bad person… somehow intolerable enough to be worth killing myself because of the person she was. Like she drove me to it or something, which was only partially true. There is never just one thing that tips the scales; to where being alive is uninhibited agony. And the reasons for feeling are lost in a blood-like soup of resentment, illogical thoughts and burning anger. Reason is replaced by introspective self-destruction. Spiraling endlessly, down into a place where the core of the evil inside me is king; where life becomes meaningless, wasted moments of an ever-ominous, hateful, unrelenting reality, driving you down into nothing until death is all that remains. Then I thought, hey, why don’t I just fucking kill myself.

So that was a bad idea. Turns out, taking a half-full bottle of Trazodone won’t kill me. Just made my brain clog-up with cobwebs, blurry images of people I hated, and soon, the police. Because my wife called the cops in and had them 51-50 me. Danger to himself or others. 7 days in the mental hospital.

After the divorce, that whole social network up there that my cousin had originally invited me into, was obliterated. The husband and wife I stole, were the core of a fantastic D&D group. LARPed with them, played countless hours of D20 class-games, and had adventures of the rampant imagination a plenty. Our characters in her husband’;s D&D campaign fell in love late 2003, and then, the two REAL LIFE people fell for each other as well. And then we told her husband that we were feeling things for each other. Then we talked about it, and tried to come up with something to do about this Bizarre Love Triangle. He wasn’t particularly happy, because the marriage was already falling, and it just had MY TRULY catalytic influence enacted upon it, and was then blown to smithereens. It was over, and I was with a woman 9 years older than I… and we had such beautiful sex sometimes; she a post-graduate on her way to a PhD in psychology. She was experienced. But her new-found husband is BiPolar, and she hates him for never being what she wanted him to be, the man who romanced her out of her dying marriage, the man who made adultery seem like a magical journey. The very man who when at his lowest, most sad and hateful of states: all she could manage was to truly loath his weakness, his lack of control, his broken mind (so full of squandered potential), his ever accumulating fat. She thought she was a better variety of human than I. To her very core, she believed she was just, plain, BETTER than everyone. So she had a few enemies, and had an intolerance for me, as time drew on, and her dreams about who I really was, finally died. And in the end, my dependency ruined our life together as well. She took my depression personally, and she listened attentively to the most evil and loaded of maliciously spun words my dark and troubled mind could spat-out. She took my anguish into her self, and hated me for it. I’m not sure how it came to be so sick, putrid, and rank a circumstance, but she fought with me, every day, screaming. Just screaming. Looking at me with the burning eyes of hate. . And she despised my parents, who I secretly loved, but hated them too because she wanted me to (at the time). And I tried to be an academic for her, but dropped out of school short of earning my BA at UCSB. It would have been in English, with Literature or Writing as a minor.


My dad says; “If there was one thing, just one thing I wish I could have back, it would have been letting you go to Santa Barbara, back in October 2002. I would have made you stay here, and you never would have met her, and you never would have gone through BiPolar disorder alone.”


Now, they’re the greatest of support structures. They help me, and have ever since my rescue from total financial failure in late 2010. They came in and saved me from my broken life. A life that my wife had left me with, abandoned, overweight, depressed, and in an untenable circumstance.


Jacqueline and I just got back from having Christmas Breakfast with them, as a matter of fact. They loaded me up with cookies and sent the two of us home with more Christmas goodies than I could carry in one trip from the car to the apartment.


I have a more concrete narrative locked away in my head somewhere. Where more facts are laid down. More reason is applied to the memories. Things are assuredly skewed, because I’ve grown in to my disdain of that time, of those faces, of the things I did. I learned things, and sure, it changed who I was. It did things to me that I will never forget. And memories I can’t just un-make. I’m not sure how to swallow it, but there it is. In short, my first marriage to Jennifer.


I will be relaxing, eating a cookie, and be getting ready for a big Christmas Bailey, Co. Feast. 7 bone prime rib, taters, spinach casserole, more bread than you could shake a Galapagos tortoise at.


Have a wonderful day, and I shall continue the tale of progress towards “NOW” anew again soon!