Stand up or sit down…

August 12th, 2015, I was admitted to the spa- the View.  I had to go for medical clearance first.  My part/parts come at 1 pm, and stay till 2 pm.  They make me sleepy, slurry, nodding out, it’s like I’m overdosing.  See?  It’s a quarter to two, and I feel better.  I can’t quite crack that one.  I’m working on it.

So, I go in, don’t do trauma.  Because it’s about time I learn how to do normal living skills.  I think it’s safe to say, after 7 years, I’ve graduated from Forest View’s Trauma Program.  Maybe not trauma, per se, but definitely time to take on some new healing modalities.

Over the weekend, from Saturday afternoon till Saturday night, I have constant flashbacks- flooding.  And because the flashbacks are so foul, I puke that whole time.  My poor roomie!  So, remember the first, “Eddie Hamilton”?  The one who I saw hanging from his closet- oxford had a lot of old homes- high ceilings.  Anyways, The High Priestess, whose name is Esther, closest I can recall, is holding my hand and hissing in me ear:  You can run this town.  You can call the shots here.  You can have all the power to make the decisions here.  She died later 1978, in the apartments by Huntoon.  Cancer.  COPD.  Something with her lungs.

Anyways, she requests to be left alone with, “Eddie” and I.  She instructs me to cut out his penis, and instructs me to suck all the blood out of it.  While I’m doing this-she had BIG guards that helped her.  Not guards.  Guards are helpful.  Henchmen.  Definitely henchmen.  She’s lying on the floor, diddling herself.  Whatever.  She didn’t hurt me.  That’s my thought process at 4.  She’s okay, she didn’t throw me to the wolves, try to rape me (?!!!), or beat me.

So, I remember the man in the blue robe.  The leader with the dark hair and grey eyes.  He’s Irish and Italian.  Big dude.  Curly hair.  Brownish/grey eyes.  He was arrested at Beltane in 1978.  He was discovered with two human skulls and various human limb bones.  He went for life.

So, this are the things that I’m flashing to in the spa.  I saw Katy Tuesday.  I told her about the 17 year old, six month pregnant left handed Bride of Satan, that was killed, her baby sacrificed, and how they ate her small intestine.  I told Katy that.  She finally shut up.  I think she wasn’t believing me with 79 parts and down to 5.  Cuz I had stalled in recovery.  I was living life.  I work on this from now till May.  I have from May till the end of August to live it up and pretend I am a normal human being,  I hate doing this.  Putting all this negativity into the world.  I hate it.  But what am I supposed to do?  Keep it all in?  Go mad because I’m afraid?  I challenged the cult’s biggest lie:  If you don’t join us, we will kill you or you must be killed or kill your self by 40/45.  So I made it through 40.  Now, I have a lot of time to work through before age 45.  I hope I can sail  through it.  Halloween is always so difficult.  That is the anniversary of the end of the cult and the beginning of the torture by the Roaches.  I remember hearing Mr. Roach say: “Well, we just have to ruin her.  Destroy her so she can’t finger us.  Kill her.”  And Lord, did they try.

I started having flashbacks in 2001.  About two weeks after the Roaches sold their house and moved off the block, you know, moved on the other side of Oxford, I began to have these horrendous flashbacks.  Sundays were the worst.  I can finally listen to church bells without freaking out.  We went back to the Oxford UCC church in the village where, “Eddie Hamilton” was covered in Lime.  All that remained were pieces of bone and teeth.  Esther said: Build the tower.  Bell tower.  It’s awful.  I can’t go back to Oxford.  I really can’t.  It’s too upsetting.  Too many fucked up memories.  Twisted.

I twisted my knee.  Fluid on my knee and they found more arthritis in my right knee.  We’re going to ZZ Top tomorrow night.  I saw them in high school.  They are amazing.  Dave- has been moved to Lansing.  I got no notice or anything.  I don’t know why I feel hinckey about that.  Why did they move him?  Why didn’t I get a notice/  WTF is going on, over?

I celebrated seven years drink free Saturday, August 15th in the spa.  They gave me Norco for my Chronic pain, mid August.  I saw the Addictionologist to step me down.  I’m thinking of switching programs.  I was addicted to Oxi-Contin.  For two years.  Awful.  So bad.  Chloral Hydrate, Valium, Xanax, Actiq pops.  Fuck, how and why am I still alive?

I found some emails from Dave.  Bat shit crazy.  Simple but difficult abuse-gas lighting.  I knew it was bullshit back then, I, “It’s not worth my soul to lie to you”?  Really, Dave?  Really?  What about lying to 1000-3000+ people?  Is that worth your soul?  No.  And you know why?  Because you don’t have one.  Never did.  Bastard.

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…