Drop that bitch!

So, in a recovery program, steps 5, 6, & 7 teach you how to own up.  Steps 6 & 7 are the ones where you look at your character defects- your seven deadlies and how you act out upon them- show them to the world, you little pot-stirrer, you!-and ask your HP to remove them- Humbly ask.  So, there’s a book designed for steps 6 & 7- Drop The Rock.  I highly suggest to ANYONE who wishes to improve his/her life.  It’s just damned good.

Everyday, I have an app I subscribe to: The Leo King.  It describes the astrology for the day, planet energy and a tarot card for the day et al.  Today was the 7 of Pentacles reversed.  Why are you raking up dead leaves?  Why are you tending are garden that needs to be left fallow- there’s a word for you!  Let that shit go- DROP THAT BITCH!!!!!

So, last night in therapy, I come up with the term, Drop that Bitch!  Drop it!  No longer serves you?  Let it go to the wayside.  “Leave it”, as you would tell your dogs.  “Wrecking Ball”…intersante.  So, show of hands- how many people had a shitshow for Christmas?  That’s what I thought.  I had three people come out of the woodwork.  One is irrelevant.  Two was an ex-friend.  And three was the kinky Scotsman.  WTF, over?  So far, I’ve blown off two of the three.  The one I’m obsessing over is the irrelevant one.  Drop that Bitch! Let it go.  Just not that into you…Remember that one?  If they want to spend time with you, they will move mountains.  And not hesitate to do so.  Here’s another secret- you are/I am worth a mountain, or 12.

So, I talked to my tattoo artist yesterday.  Yes.  It’s time.  I’ve turned another corner.  My knees ain’t getting any better neither.  As a matter of fact, they are getting worse.  I have a four hour window where I am good, then I am useless and pained for the rest of my waking hours.  Oh, if only I had known.  But hindsight is 20/20.  So don’t put glasses on your ass and look back!  Drop That Bitch!!!

So, I’m down to, like 4-ish parts.  From 84.  to 4.  Since 2008.  7 years.  I’ve worked my ASS off.  Dropped that bitch/bitches.  I was cleaning out my desk and found the piece of paper that had my hep C cysts imaging on it, before I began Interferon in 2012.  During Dave’s trial.  Stone cold sober.  Bitches.

Oh yeah, my house has a ghost that likes mischief/gremlins.  My bipap machine stopped two times last night.  MM hmm.  My teacher is coming over to smudge next Tuesday.  All over that shit.

So, 2015 was an interesting year.  Dave’s gone.  Drop That, Bitch!!!!!  WOOO HOOOOO!!!!!  Not my fucking problem, anymore.  Went back to whence he came.  My neighbors all think I’m crazy.  Sweet.  Stay away.  And maybe I am nuts, I’m also an artist.  Fine line.  Friends with the monster…Drop them bitches!

So, today the advice is- if it’s making you crazy, restless and discontent- Drop it.  Just let it go.  You can only control you and your reactions.  Today has the potential for emotional volatility, so think before you speak.  Yes.  I just said that.  And for God’s sake:  DROP THAT BITCH!!!!!!!






Dave is Dead

About a week ago, I found a magnet on my door.  Some fuck nut had put a magnet on my door (private entrance), and it fucked up my security system.  So, all morning, I was on the phone with personal calls and then to the security company.  Well, I didn’t have the proper information.  My father was here when it was installed, because I was probably in the hospital.  Anyways, there was A LOT of information I needed to get clearance that I did not even know I needed.  Communication is weak in my family.  Very weak.  So, my dad is up North watching my 100 year old grandmother.  He’s being a smart ass- cuz, naturally, I thought it was Dave fucking with me.  So, my father blows me off.  Which hurt and caused old wounds to open up- you don’t care, you never protected me, blah x 3.  Then, he calls me back and tries to tell me what to do, he wasn’t hearing what I was saying.  So, we yell and he hangs up on me.  K.  Dee.  (His father)

So, then I call Dave’s old Parole Officer to see where to send the PPO.  The PO calls me back and leaves me a message: “Dave is Dead. He died last week.  Dave is dead.  You don’t have to worry about him bothering you anymore.  Dave’s Dead…”  WTF!!!!!!!

So, after I inhaled, I started to sob.  Belly aching, heart breaking sobs.  I mean, like, the full body sobs?  I’m a mess.  He was a monster.  And why he was a monster and how he became a monster, I’m not 100% sure, but I know some aspects and those are private.  Some things are best left unknown.  Even he deserves some peace. He always tried to seek God.  He tried to be a monk, he tried to go to church.  He tried everything.  Well, God is love as one of my friends told me tonight.  And, as a medium, he did make it to the other side- the light side.

His PO has no idea what he died from, we guess physical problems- HIV, HEP C, Diabetes, IDU Meth Addict.  I think he overdosed on meth as a suicide run.  That’s my bet.  AS his PO said, “doesn’t really matter, we all wind up the same.”  A freaking men.  A freaking men.

So, after I gained my composure, I called the security system company.  Apparently, my system has been in test mode for some time and I have a faulty device.  Really?  Just so happens, the beginning of the year, my neighbors stole my WIFI and changed my password.  I had to change it to something they would never guess.  Then, the magnet on the door, and something else.

And now that Dave is gone and no one knows?  Mm mm.  I gotcha.

SO, now that Dave has passed away, how do I feel?  Torn.  Really torn.  But really glad he’s not in pain and tormented anymore.  Neither are we.  We’re all free.  I think that means I have forgiven him and now I can heal.  Really heal.  Cuz I was never able to heal or grieve constantly looking over my shoulder since 2012. Jesus, what a shitty year that was. Christ!  Lost F Dog, lost Chris, Lost Button, found out I was a SRA survivor, Interferon and Dave’s trial.  Fuck that year.  If I was ever going to drink, that would have been the year.

So, I can’t sleep. I’m starving and all I have is a turkey Lean Cuisine.  Every time I get  up, I get out of breath and my chest hurts.  I don’t know wtf that is about.  I’m tired.  Just tired.  And I got a four year old coming tomorrow morning.  Er, this morning.  Jesus.  I can’t do it.  I can’t do…everyday is a battle.  With PTSD, DID, HIV, alcoholism squirrel brain, war with God, neighbors, no friends, no men, I’ve been sick with a bacterial infection for two weeks.  I was so sick last Friday, I was hallucinating.  Fuct up.  I just can’t do it.  At least, right now, I don’t feel I can do it.  I just feel like I’m almost at the top of the mountain.  Just a little further and I’ll be there, but I’m so fucking tired.

I cut a bunch of fuckers out of my facebook account.  I cut out some really long term friends who have just not been there for me and I haven’t been there for them, insensitivity, circumstances, life.  Just trimming the fat.  Plus, if they don’t give a damn about me when the shit hits the fan in my life, when I’m there for them when the shit hits the fan in their life, wtf am I hanging around for?  Or, I never hear from them?  What’s the fucking point?  None.  Just noisy fuckers.  Fuck em where they eat their eggs.

So, it’s 2:37 am here on the EST.  Usually they’d be coming home, waking me up.  I’m thinking about a food run.  It’d be fast food, but it would be something in my gut.  I need to take care of myself really hard core especially now.  No lip service, action only.

Well, I hope you are all doing well.  Life’s a bitch.  Get a helmet.  Thanks Denis Leary.

Decisions, decisions…

So, yesterday was pretty much the worst day I’ve had in a long time.  I had zero sleep, been so nauseous, I can’t hold down my meds, lost ten pounds in a week, hallucinating, and have trouble/shallow breathing.  So, good thing I was going to my immunological disease clinic for labs and lab review and anything else she could throw at me.

Well, my liver enzymes are rising.  What that means, because I have Hep C AND HIV, thanks Dave!  I had to do Interferon.  For those of you that don’t know what Interferon is, it’s like chemo for your liver to eradicate the Hep C.  You take these horrid pills- I used to call them my chemo pills twice a day.  Made me so nauseous, I couldn’t keep anything down.  So, I learned to take em at night, right?  Then, once a week, you have to give yourself an injection of this Interferon shit. It Interferes with your body, dig?  So, I did it for like four or six months, but here’s the deal, well, two:  It’s supposed to eradicate/cure the Hep C and then it makes you bat shit crazy.  I mean, BAT.  SHIT.  NUTS.  It doesn’t matter if you have a mental health history or not, it will drive you, literally, insane.  And it did me. I was doing it during the criminal trial with Dave. This one one computer troll called me, “fat”.  I was like, that’s Interferon buddy. Let’s see if you can put a serial infector in prison, stand up for yourself and others (How many we don’t exactly know, somewhere in the thousands we guess), stop a health epidemic, stand up to an abusive, drug abusing, sex addicted, satan-worshipping ex, and do interferon.  Fuck you.  When you pay my bills, we’ll have some thing to talk about.

Anyways, I told my NP, Edna, I wasn’t doing Interferon again.  It’s akin to suicide.  Liver cancer or something.  She says it’s fatty.  But the Interferon never cured the Hep C.  I had to break it to my mom.  Not easy.

And then?  Labs.  And my last two Hep B vaccines.  So, I go down to the lab- which was packed.  And she takes these three tubes out of a specially sealed packages, TB, Meningitis and another one I couldn’t read.  So, I look up TB symptoms on the web.  Anthony.  Just got out of Prison- an institution, half way house, Pine Rest.  All a lot of people crammed into little bitty living spaces.  Bastard.  So, my mom came over with a kerchief on yesterday.  Looked like Clint Eastwood’s mom.  Had to call people and tell them to get tested or checked out for TB.  Because I was possibly exposed.  Humiliating.

September 8, 2015 8:53 am

So, how was your Labor Day?  I spent mine between my couch and bed.  No one called from the lab.  No one called from the doc office.  I called this morning and left a msg with the nurse.  I was hallucinating Friday night before bed.  I’ve finally been able to eat today.  Because I haven’t eaten in a few days, I’ve been pigging out.  And shopping.  And having PTSD episodes.

Did I mention I have a new part?  He’s a part of a part of a part- yes that is possible.  His name is Zachary.  He is four.  He has a door with a latch on it with more cult memories.  I’m like, is this shit is ever going to end?  My therapist is gone, out on medical leave.  I won’t see her till the 18th of this month.  WTF, am I supposed to do?  I’m busting out every coping skill and skill I know.  I gotta call the DBT therapist today.  Cuz I need to deal with this.  I’m all emo brain and my meds need to be tweaked.  I see him today.  At three.  So, we’ll see how that goes.  I want off the Geodon, back on Saphris so I can sleep and I can go back on Tramadol for my pain.  That stuff works.  That damned Norco was bullshit.  No more Opiates again.  No more.  Never again- unless I have surgery and it’s all monitored and controlled.

Well, I better get going.  Gratitude is an action.  Need to clean and organize the sacred spaces.  The matching night stands come today for the bedroom.  Gotta get my poop in a group, but I can only go so fast.  you know?

Have a good day, y’all!!!!

So, that’s the health drama- with the HIV, I have about one a year.  But, I met a new part- Zachary, 4 year old boy. Part of Vicky, wj=ho is the other side/part of Vickie.  Great.  1 o’clock two nights ago, he had his toolbelt on and was ready to make our meditsation corner.  I’m like, bud, not now.