There Will Be Something

I have sacrificed too much to feel loved and I am not saying that I did it to BE loved because the truth is….I wasn’t.  I just made myself think I was feeling something that didn’t exist.  I  believed it because I needed it so badly.  I have been a lonely girl.  I am witty and funny, attractive (unstable?), talented , intelligent, lonely, and appear confident.  I am also submissive to men and believe what I am told very easily.  When a man gives me attention I think it is because he has strong feelings for me and maybe we will fall in love but it is usually just that he has read me for the type who won’t make trouble and can move on when he is done.  For all my intelligence I need a helmet around men.  large (14)

I have wanted to be loved so much that I have settled for things I am too embarrassed to write about.  I once wrote about them on a blog without a filter but it was only a gesture, an effort to get one man’s attention back.  Now that we pay no attention to each other at all, there is no need to write the details.  I know them.  I know what I did.  I know what my sins were.  I am ashamed of how I crawled for crumbs of his attention.  I compromised my sexuality to satisfy his.  I did this with a few men.  Oh,  I would make adjustments to please men even before I knew if I should- before there was any proof they were going to invest enough to see that I AM accommodating.   I have been pathetic.  I have been alone for years and am now so divided from my own sexuality that I can’t find it anymore.

Sometimes I wonder what will become of me.

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Tonight I had a wonderful long conversation with a man who was my last “real” (not internet and phone), but REAL boyfriend.  That word doesn’t quite work here but it will have to do.  He always cared for me.  Sex was kinky and fun.  I enjoyed waiting on him, cooking, looking pretty for him.  I think I loved him.  I remember there being interference from someone else, someone wrong who reached into that relationship to break it, to make me think he was the one I belonged with.  Once I left “the last real boyfriend”, that man stopped talking to me.  I was humiliated.  I am always humiliated.  I have been ashamed.  I have made a fool of myself in my desperate need to be romantically loved.

I have reconciled so many things since my suicide attempt.  I have found the Lord.  I have found patience with my family and with myself though that is in its infancy.  I have my bipolar under control.  But I don’t know what I am supposed to do about love.  There is nothing wrong with wanting to be loved.  I was fooled a couple of times.  Horribly fooled.  I have a little box with a few cards from someone who, in the beginning, paid me much attention though the relationship was full of secrets. His. Because while I was in love, crumbs and all, he married someone.  And I never knew.   Two women at the same time:  I was the girl you cheat with.  She was the girl you marry.  My confidence has never come back. 

I once had affairs with married men.  I have accepted once a week “dates” that never left my living room and lasted one hour and a cigarette.  I have known how to make a fool of myself with men but not how to make them fall in love with me.  You know,  I sometimes feel shame in front of my father.  I don’t know why.  I think he knows maybe what a pathetic girl I have been with men.  Men can read that stuff, even fathers.

I tried to end my life over a man once.

I think I have been hurt too much and have been embarrassed too frequently to fall in love now.  I don’t think men will love me.  They will want me maybe.  But they won’t love me.  This is no longer maudlin thinking, the kind of self-pity we indulge in at the end of a disaster with a man.  I think I am just protecting myself now from the thing I want most.  I have only proof that it will go badly for me.

Sometimes your hand isn’t good enough even for a bluff.   You just have to get up and leave the table,

There will be something else for me.  I just know it.  Something that will make be forget how much I groveled, how pathetic, how fooled I was.  How ashamed I still am.  Something will come.  God has given me so much.  There will be something.  I just know it. 



Filed under Mental Illness, Personal

Roll Over Bi-Polar: A Short Play

 july 2013


Age 8:  Nobody likes me.

Age 13:  Pot, beer, pain relief

(Remain smiling)

Age 22:  Sleep with everyone’s boyfriend, asked to leave social circle

Age 23:  Sleep with everyone’s boyfriend, asked to leave social circle 

Some shrink:  Here take Wellbutrin, you’re depressed.

(Ten years pass without memory)

PCP who knows nothing:  Here, take Topomax and Ambien, I guess.

Flaco of the 7-11 parking lot: I’ll throw in an extra bag for half.

(Remain smiling)

Crappy psych ward in old hospital:  Increase Wellbutrin

Angel & Sugar:  Best heroin prices around and we deliver!

Landlord:  Get the fuck out

Employer:  We’re going to have to let you go.

LCSW:  You have  cyclothymia

(Remain smiling)

Boyfriend:  2 year sentence, can you come up and bring me some money?

New shrink: You are bipolar and need Lithium

Me:  Fuck off.

Psych ward:  Gives me more Wellbutrin, makes bipolar worse

Parents:  silent, tired

Car payment: degrade myself to pay my pimp, Chase Manhattan

Fluke money:  Invest in huge amount in drugs, sell it for 3 times cost to hillbillies in the north, pays for my habit:  Voila!  I am well.

(Remain smiling)

Rehab:  They don’t even bother with me.

LCSW:  Two more years of getting nowhere.

Suicide:  Survived, pissed, intent on a redo

Suicide:  Profound experience with Christ during my last breaths

Shrink:  All right, I’m bipolar.  Give me the meds.

(Authentic smile)


Sound familiar??

 (photo taken 2 months before I sliced my wrists)


Filed under Mental Illness

Jane Austen Is The Devil

Congratulations to that asshole Jane Austen for being a successful and celebrated author in the 18th century when women were not taken seriously over…anything really.  She did nothing for the perception of women nor women’s perception and if I could dig her up and kill her again I would.  Here’s why:

 Her books are ridiculous fantasies that should never have been considered GREAT literature nor should they all be made into movies!  The douche bag who first reviewed her as “talented” and set off the “classic suggested reading” label should burn in hell.

Pride and Prejudice alone makes me want to kill someone. This book, like all Austen books, perpetuates the myth that a man who is cold and indifferent to you and considers you mediocre at best is ACTUALLY in love with you and will eventually come around. He will not only come around and love you, he will come around and love you completely free of any of the psychological damage that caused him to be an asshole in the first place.In most of her stories he also comes around with tons of money.Conceptually, this is right up there with teeth healing on their own or “the Holocaust never happened”.

How did everyone buy into this as human nature and the yardstick by which we measure love instead of identifying it as the fairy tale for which it is? You could almost say, if you want to be dramatic, that Jane Austen is responsible for the unrequited love of every woman since her first book was released in _________. I could easily find that date, but I won’t do a google search on her. The less important she becomes the better for us all. The statement itself, her being responsible for 100 years of unrequited love, is unfair, I know. She doesn’t bear that weight alone. But she’s responsible for a serious portion.

Women have wasted their lives chasing pricks who use them for sexual gratification, ignore them and then call them for late night blow jobs on their way home to their real girlfriends (or wives) because they think these men are ACTUALLY in love with them and just can’t deal with love:

“He keeps coming back, he must love me! He calls every once in a while because he can’t forget me but he can’t deal with love because of his childhood but he will realize it and we will inherit the estate of his distant Aunt, the Contessa of Montvale, as she intended only to bequeath it upon his falling in love and then we will all have tea with inbred British people with terrible teeth and really long titles who all die young from the consumption…”


The truth is, that idiotic notion of how love works is one of the most widely held insane beliefs about  human nature and could just as easily have been that we don’t die, we just go on a “long trip”. But it says so in books and in movies and is taught to us by our matriarchs so with all that backing, it became reality to us women. It happens in great literature and the Academy Award winning movies born of them, so “Mr. Darcy” must be the blueprint for all outwardly and obviously cold or cruel men.

But this scenario is a rare case at best. It is more like “Eugeni Onegin” or better yet like a Bronte novel where “happily ever after” DOES happen but only after the rake has become disfigured and penniless or after you have died and he goes mad with obsessive longing. That’s about as close to the fairy tale ending as should ever have been put to paper. Had it been that way,the love bar would be lower, we would be happier creatures and and who knows what else might be different. Most certainly, there would be no hot, intelligent, funny, pretty, old maids in therapy who have wasted their lives believing that abusive or indifferent men really love them underneath it all. And I certainly wouldn’t have passed on ______ or ______ thinking there was some rogue who would fall madly in love with me despite the fact that he hadn’t the capacity to love. The notion that I would be the exception would never have occurred to me if I hadn’t been fed such bullshit by the likes of Jane Austen.

Love is a mystery. It is something that we want, crave, strive for, take a position on, can’t feel because our parents sucked, waste time over, become drunk with, sometimes find and lose because the expectation of it is outrageously high due to delirious 18th century female authors, get addicted to, experience briefly, fall in and out of, consider suicide over, embarrass ourselves in its pursuit, remember fondly, remember with anger, dream of, cry over, run from, sing songs wherein it is compared to oxygen, hate with venom and idealize with every ounce of our existence. It is the opiate of the human soul and only the soulless are exempt.

Many of us will live our lives with love just out of reach but always within sight courtesy of the Devil, Jane Austen.

Originally posted in 2012


Filed under Film & Judgment, Literature

The Whole Of It

In Psalm 139 it says “…even before a word is on my tongue, behold O Lord, You know the whole of it…”

This makes me feel so safe.  I can’t go wrong in prayer.  I can’t say the wrong thing or pray incorrectly.  Even when I have the hubris to con the Lord when I am praying He knows it.  But I am still loved. I imagine Jesus shakes His head and smiles at my prayers of negotiation.  I have realized that no matter what words come out of my mouth, He knows the true words that are in it, the true words before they become stained with my  thoughts.  And I am forgiven.


How lucky am I to have found The Way, The Truth and The Life?  Now this post may seem to you to be the square peg of this blog but it is the truth of my life, the greatest part of it.  I was blessed in that my pastor has the gift of shedding light on the Gospel.  In church, I grew to understand and find hope in the word of the Lord.  But prayer and praise whether alone in my little prayer room or with a small group is so much more intense, personal, uplifting…

I have felt the hand of Christ on my head countless times from my suicide to last night when I was praying.  I do not have to kill myself.  I am not alone.  And Jesus will never leave me.  No matter how bad things get Psalm 139 tells me also that  “…behind me and before, You hem me in and rest Your hand upon me…”  “Hemmed in”.  I love that.  I am secure in the hands of God.  I am forgiven because of His Son.  I am writing this because of the Holy Spirit.

God is alive.

I am alive.

Blessings to you all.

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Filed under The Abstract, the Truth and the Life

Ah, Men

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Faithfulness is merely laziness”. – Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

What a prick.

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Filed under Woe To Women

Fury & Light

I cut into them as if I were opening boxes at UPS.  I had no experience with this kind of thing and further, I had no plan to do it, no research was done, I just did it. And  it’s not like the movies.  It takes time to bleed out so I cut them again and crawled all over the apartment trying to force the blood out.p;ost 14th

I did not want to survive another attempt and I knew my family had lost their compassion about it.  I had to make this work,  I could not live another day in the grip of my sick mind, the distorting effects of amphetamines and some suicide spirit from the dark side.

Finally, having lost enough blood,  I collapsed on my bathroom floor.  I had sent a cryptic message to a friend so paramedics were dispatched but while I lay there, bleeding out, I felt a calm cover me.  I knew my life, my pain was over and relief just washed over me.  Then  a hand rested on my head and made a cross on my forehead with a fingertip.  My stepmother.  She does that stuff.  She was saying goodbye, blessing me, sending me into the arms of the Lord.

But it wasn’t her.  It was actually Him. 

As I tell all these other comical stories I want you to remember where I ended up. 


Filed under Personal

The Author


In 2009 I had to wear this outfit to go out for dinner with “slave and Master”.  And it was one of the most high-end restaurants in Manhattan.  I hated it while it was happening but I loved telling the story after. Still do.  I’m not making these BDSM stories up.  I am totally embellishing them but there is a lot of truth.

The photographer went a little Mr. Potato Head on my mouth.  My mouth looks nothing like that. You can’t Photo Shop when you’re shit faced, you just can’t.  On Adderall? Yes.  Vodka?  Just stay away from the computer.  Mr. Potato Head.  That was one of the lamest toys ever. Who wants to play with a plastic potato?   Mattel totally phoned that one in.


Filed under Personal