BOOM!

That’s street for, “yer world is about to get rocked”.  Prepare to be amazed…or disgusted.  At this point, I don’t really care which.

I am on a med known as Prazoscin, or minipress.  It’s many side effects suppresses night terrors.  It was like finding the Fountain of youth.  Although after several years of taking it, two weeks ago yesterday, I had my first night terror/flashback.

I was four and holding the hand of the High Priestess of the Oakland County Sect of The Brides of Satan.  She was four foot nothing, frosted blonde hair and the teeth- the fucking teeth of the satanist/cannibal.  Filed to a point, stained with blood, cigarettes, et al, and yellow.  Yellow, grey and red near the gums.  They use dentures to cover their cult teeth.  She was holding my hand- 4 years old mind you- and we were at a murder/suicide site on the East side of Washington Street in Oxford.  The East side of main street was the other side of the tracks.  Lots of rentals, Harleys-gang type riders and guns and coke- well, an 18 year old named, “Eddie Hamilton” had hung himself?  Apparently.  I was there with the High Priestess to disseminate the scene, and to make decisions.  See, the plan was to kill my makers and my parents and have me slide in the hooves of the High Priestess.  But, no.  God had other plans.  Alotta other plans for me and them.

So, it was decided.  “Eddie” would be dismembered (Chopped up) and covered in egregious amounts of lime and put to rot under the church in the village that had rebuked their advances.  “Eddie” was to rot under the now, UCC church’s bell tower.  Three days later in August, all that remained of, “Eddie Hamilton” were some of his teeth and some half rotted bones.  So, that was settled.

10th grade. 1989.  Miscreant.  Flurry of cause and effect.  New Kid.  Lasted three months.  Loved Elvis. Disappeared after three months and was never heard from again.  The kid’s name?  Eddie Hamilton.

So, that has been haunting me for two weeks.  Today, my rock and her daughter are driving to WA to begin a new life.  I have a sponsor who makes time to be a recovery coach, buy a recovery house, candle her mans ear, but not sponsor me.  So, in a few weeks, I’ll have seven years.  I did it with God, cuz these last three sponsors I had were the most hands off, except one, bat  shit crazy mugs I ever had.  7th step says- is your shit working for ya?

I had a dream about My Greek love-Joshua last night.  Why? I have no idea except that God wants to torture me.  Three, four years ago, Joshua was in Kzoo.  I had not seen him since he departed for Jerusalem in 1992.  We were to meet up in a year and I was to join him in Israel, happily blah x 3. When I came home from Greece, after recovering from Greek Chicken Pox, I told my father I had to return to Greece and then to move to Israel to be with Joshua.  My father had lived and taught in Kenya in the 60’s.  Israel and Western Africa were rumbling towards war.  I had no idea.  He denied me.   I sobbed and drank harder.  Twenty some odd years later in a home west of Kzoo.  Joshua was in the Israel military as a Tank Commander and had been a POW twice.  He had been married, had a beautiful boy named David, and was living with a white girl from IA who was his enabler.  He had turned into a 24/7 drunk with either MS or ALS.  Either way he has managed to take his enabler all over the world for several years.  But he was going to replace her soon.  MM hmm.  I walked out on him and ran like the wind.  They tried to catch me.  No no, Roma disappear, seely boy.  So, I had a dream we were back on Spetses and it was Christmas and it was frosty.  We stayed at the boys school there.  Where The Magus was filmed and the guy who wrote the Magus taught at the boys school.  Something about retsina, a roof, a full moon, gravel in his ass, and teradactyl doves the next morning.  But alas, that one was not meant to be.

Neither was the quarter mexican super duper special agent.  Neither was the biracial Emmy nominee comedian that I was engaged to a million years ago.  Discovered I was pregnant.  My Pediatrician told me the pregnancy was ectopic.  So I had a D & C.  Dusting and Cleaning as they are treated.  “Living room’s Done!”.  Then, I was ferried off at 19 to MN, for my first in patient psych visit.  That was where I saw DID- in a DUDE- up close and personal for the first time.  Mine was playing euchre or something.  My king picked me up with my folks with a bouquet of daises.  We went to the Wisconsin Dells, on the way home.  1999, after I lost touch with my king, heard he got married and was well on his way to a life of well deserved and earned success, I was at an OB/GYN.  Did the usual questions- how many children?  How many live births? The humiliating ones.  I told the RN my pregnancy-choke-was ectopic.  So she had me lift my shirt to see the scar.  I was uber confused.  Oh, there it is, she said.  No.  That’s from my belly piercing that didn’t work.  Well, then an argument of sorts developed.  Well, if it was ectopic, they went in through your belly button!  Nurse Ratchett hollered.  They did a D&C I said- that’s it.  Then, she thought I was trying to lie to her or some sick shit, I’m beginning to realize my doc lied to me and I could have had Jonathan Micheal, and this bitch is picking a fight with me!  So I- as graciously as I could, through gritted teeth, said something to the effect of you’re the nurse, you’re the goddamned expert, you should know!

The bitch walked out.  I’m fucking devastated, heart in the third level of this building and my doc comes in.  Oh, those years of acting and hiding the unnamed pain.  Smiled through the tears.  You alright?  She asks.  Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine.  When I left in 2007, to come to GR?  On Mother’s Day, I planted a Rose of Sharon for Jonathan Micheal.  It’s still blooming.

Well, I feel like curling up in the fetal position and shutting off my heart and brain.  How bout you?

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Get Low…

I watched the reunion of a Lion with his caregivers.  They raised him, and then he was released into Africa.  The lion had his own pride and his caregivers were told the lion, named “Christian” would not recognize them.  Well, the Lion did.  It was Lion hugs, kisses, bumps, jumps for all.  He even introduced them to his wife.  Then, at the end, it said get in touch with an old friend, you’ll be glad you did.  And friends never forget or die or whatever.

I started to sob.  I am still sobbing.  No one would be happy to see me if I went and looked them up.  I was drunk my whole life.  And when I did sobered up, it’s been hell.  Pure hell.  I really don’t even know why I stayed sober except to defy everyone.  And a power much greater than me had a large part in it.  And I don’t even know why…

I’ve had a weeklong fibro attack.   Everytime I try to do something, other than be quiet and still, I have a fibro attack.  The next step are opiates.  I can’t do that.  But, yesterday?  I understood why Hunter S. THompson blew his brains out.  He lived a full, vibrant, mad, wonderful life.  He was going to spend the rest of his life as an invalid.  So, he blew his brains out.  I get that.  I feel very alone, very isolated, very scared, very sad and confused.  I hate this month.  July is one of the worst months for me.  It’s a pivotal month, you can tell the rest of the month by it.

A long time friend, is moving away.  She has a new man, a new, job, a new home, blah x3.  I am a liability.  She can’t drink with me.  I’m a recovering alcoholic.  So, she hangs out with her coupled, drinking girlfriends.  She’s even having her, “Spur of the moment” last minute goodbye MI, Hello WA, at a bar.  Well, that was easy.  I loaned her two grand of my graduate loan money so she and her daughter wouldn’t lose their ass.  She pays all the men back, but not me.  Guess it’s just as well.

So, here I sit, on an Africa hot Saturday, no Christians around.  In my bedroom, still achy and buzzy, and seriously contemplating a Hunter S Thompson.  And I can’t do it, so I’m stuck here in this godforsaken town, with 9 medicare days, HIV+, with a man that gave me his HIV strain, who also sold his soul to the devil, drank human blood, and taunts me daily.  Did I know any of these lil factoids when I was with him the first time- the time he gave me HIV and then three months later, saved my life from an overdose?  Hell no.  You must try to understand how these narcissistic sociopaths work,  They’re good.  They are so good at morphing into whatever you think you want, they become it and WHAM!  You’re shark bait.  So, he gets released off parole December 22 of this year.  Oh goodie.  This will end so well.

My parts are quiet.  They’re scared.  They are afraid.  All my life I’ve been afraid. Jut once I’d like to be not afraid.   My kind of afraid is not from only living in the past.  It’s experience after experience, layer upon layer of fear.  It has never stopped.  I’m trying to live life like I have hope.  Like I actually have a future that is not fraught with despair.  It’s not looking so hot.

I have a family that loves me.  I have an extended family that loves me.  I’m sure there are some people out there that love me.  I just haven’t met them yet.  To be continued…

Is this thing on? Testing, Testing 1, 2..Check.

Well, I have no idea why the screen is black and my words are white.  I could make an Old Glory comment, but I digress…

I also haven’t posted since, probably May?  I got out of the Spa May 8th, and then went through a week of partial.  Then, I made a couple of decisions.

1st and foremost- get a new frickin’ sponsor and jump start my program.  I went to the fourth of July party like I do, and someone who I used to- every year, mind you- talking the whole party, ignored, avoided, and insulted me.  All because they think I slept with a dude who is, at least, 25 years older than me.  And they never bothered to ask me.  Hmm, no gender bias there, cha!  So, yesterday I was really down, but having a great physical day.  So physically great, mentally, off my square.  NBD.  I’m used to that. I never have one day where all cylinders are firing at once.  It’s either physical pain, mental pain, or both.  So, I killed my kitchen yesterday.  Just scrubbed the hell out of it.  Took out a lot of aggression.  It’s like, 5 o’clock here, and it feels like ten a.m.  But, I finally touched base with my sponsor.  She said, “Ask yourself this:  What kind of program are they working?”  Ding! Ding!!!  Oh yeah, I forgot- it’s not always, everything is my fault.  There are two people on the plane and there are exits on both sides of the plane for said persons.

BTW, you know there is going to be a Blue Moon this month, here in North America, right?  I mean, Tom Cruise is ditching Scientology to be with his daughter, they’re checking out Pluto- all kinds of weird shit is going on!!!

For example, me?  Where have I been?  Well, I got out of the hospital, and adjusted.  Made a plan, like a five year plan.  I’m looking to get back into acting, I would like to take an Interior Design course or two and meld it with Feng Shui.  My sponsor and her husband are buying an old farm house to turn into a recovery house for women.  Don’t think I’m going to be all up in that, cuz, Damn Skippy!  I am.

I went to The Reverend Horton Heat by myself for my 42nd Birthday-by myself.  I went, July 8, to Comerica park to see The Rolling Stones again.  They were- both concerts were fucking a mazing!!  And I went by Myself.  I’ve started a diet.  I can’t walk a long pace everyday, but if my Fibro doesn’t have me down, I’m doing stuff.  I start Yoga in August.  I have to price out Masseuses. I saw a pain doc for my fibro, and they don’t treat fibro with Narcotics.  Movement is the best cure…except when you go batshit Like I did yesterday, and do too much.

I am seeing ZZ Top in August with my Sponsor and Possibly, Crue/Alice Cooper, with a really great, stand the test of time, friend.  I’m getting my house together.  I’m pulling it all together.

My system…I’ve been trying to live life to the fullest, so they can see what we’ve been missing.  I made a deal with one of the twins, Lily and Sophie.  Sophie is apparently a self injurer, although I have never participated in that behavior.  I have five, huge tattoos, but no mas.  So, I told Sophie, she let herself be known at the last hospitalization, that if she didn’t hurt us, we would get a sleeve done to finish out our right arm.  She was giddy.  So, I also found out I only have 9 Medicare, free standing psych hospital days covered, and then it flips to Medicaid.  So, if by some weird thing happens, and I’m traveling abroad with my ole HIV, and I have a psych meltdown, I’ve basically got to hoard those days like Return of the Jedi.  I gots to be an ewok fighting fucker, mother fucker!!!!

So, what else…Saw Dave walking to the Bus, on his way home from work.  He looked ECSTATIC, HAPPY, and OVERJOYED to see me.  I shit you not.  I just thought, “Fuck.  Now he knows I drive a different car.”  Got a security system for the house.  It’s loud and it works!!!

I’m trying really hard to be happy.  To make a conscious choice to be happy.  All the shit that went down, it’s gone.  It’s happened-It’s OVER!  They can’t hurt me/us anymore.  Dave can try, but he will not succeed in hurting me anymore.  A lot of people can bring me down, knock me off my square, but compared to what I have been through, taint nothing.  Ain’t no thang, but a g-string.

My best friend and my god daughter are moving to Seattle the end of this month.  They just lost their Aunt. Crushing blow for the whole family.  And then, she’s gone.  Next week and a half.  So, yeah.  That has been hard and a whole new way to adapt.  But, I’ve got a life waiting for me.  It’s been calling to me.  I’ve just not heard it until this summer.  My mom told me:  Don’t depend on others, because they will let you down.  I spent my entire 20’s trying to prove her wrong, my 30’s was the time I thought I turned into Wonder Woman, and then, at 35?  I got sober and had to restart my heart.

So, I’ve been a little busy, been fighting this damned fibro, been fighting period.  Good news?  I have grieved my past lovers- that I truly did love, and will always love, and even coming to terms with loving Dave.  That’s a trauma bond.  That one’s going to take a little longer and a little more work.

Okay, my fingers are barking.