Operator, Can You Give Me Heaven’s 800 Number?

Dear Great Omnipotent Force, Spirit Guides & Gentle  Beings From Other Dimensions,

I’m at the bottom of a well. “I shout but no one hears.” Do you? Can I even call you a you?

I just watched Oprah Winfrey’s show called “Soul Sunday.” Her guest was Neuroscientist Eben Alexander. He wrote a book called “Proof Of Heaven.” During a coma he went into another dimension of toxic jello to suddenly being guided by a beautiful woman from another dimension flying on a enormous butterfly into a world that had no suffering or pain at all. I cried because I have to get there. He said we could do it ourselves without having to have a near death experience. But I try and I meditate and I love and I do talk to you and I do good things, but something is still wrong.

His words made me hopeful because I’m scared to die, but I’m even more scared to keep living life like this. Now to have a non loving and non spiritual teenager berate my son in front of her infant and to take my Grandson away from me for sticking up for good, that revenge is evil. You know more than anyone how I have nourished this baby. How it has nourished me after my last ten years. I thought it was my gift. Why is the gift gone. Leaving me here alone my pain?

The abuse I’ve endured by my own Mother is still very real. The abuse by psychiatrists has damaged my thinking inside my brain and made me hate myself because now I have a label. The abuse by well intended people when I say, “please help me” and they lecture and proselytize that I should just be more positive or the worst advice from someone is that we can’t find happiness in a child is just plain evil. And that came from a Mother of small children.

You gave me the gift of a son and now my Grandson. He helped heal me and give me a reason to stop thinking of myself. He if even for a few hours took me away my PTSD and torment of living with “mental illness” which I don’t think I’m ill at all. Child abuse is not a disease of my mind! It was the circumstances I was raised in.  That’s no fucking chemical imbalance.  I’m just forgotten, abandoned and misunderstood. This baby was something to love and teach and laugh with. He looked at me with no judgement and often times when his own mother came to pick him up, he would not take his eyes off me! Loving and holding and feeding him was also me feeding my own inner child.

Loving myself back.

Why when I stood up calmly and rationally to this 17 year old Mother who calls my son stupid and screams at him in front of baby in front of me, why when I went to protect my child and his child, did something allow her to win? As she screamed at my son out by the car, while baby was screaming inside car, I watched from afar, waiting for the right moment to strike. I went outside and tried to stop her and the pus that came from her mouth was this: She screamed at the top of her lungs, “Stop judging me! You drive me fucking crazy!” I said, I’m not judging you, I’m telling you that it’s a mistake to call someone you are suppose to love stupid and that you are harming your child, your fiance and now me. the one person who accepted your pregnancy. The one person who spoke up to you and encouraged you as your abusive parents make your life harder. The only one who would babysit for you. For free. Me buying all the supplies on my disability as I wanted to help. I am the one on your side.” She screamed “Fuck you!” I ran away ready to explode and yelled back, “my son will never marry you. You are evil and cruel to people who are trying to help you.”

Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Maybe, I should have run away from the car crying in my bare feet and just run off into the night into the hell hole neighborhood I lived while my son watched his mother break down. I swear I wanted to kill myself that night. I don’t know why I didn’t. But the next morning when I woke up to realize I’m still in this dimension that is tainted with hell, i saw all the baby things. I saw the bottle the baby didn’t get to finish before she left with him and my son in a revengeful rage. I could feel the next morning the old habits that anti psychotics brought on and wanted to tear up my apartment so I would not slash my wrists. I have not done that in over five years. Because the drugs are gone now. But, some leftover piece of  toxic chemical, withdrawal Iguess, came out. I took at plate and threw it at the wall and it ended up shattering my sliding glass window into a million pieces. I don’t know who that person was who was doing this all I know was it was pain, pure hellish pain that had to come out or I would overdose. Either the window or me. I felt possessed by something awful. I had to call my slum lord and tell  them a lie. A nice repairman  I  have  seen before fixed it, but a policeman  had to come over with him to make sure I didn’t  do it or  they would charge me money from it.  I am terrified of police. But this man, with K9 unit on his jacket, (which means he probably uses dogs to sniff out pot, which I  smoke) was nice  to me. I had to lie.  I was lying. I felt  sick to my stomach for the lie, but what choice  did I have. I was smart enough to put a rock in on the back patio to look as someone had  thrown it. The messed up part was that it was doubled pained window and what looked like a hole at the top was still intact.  The repairman thought it was weird it didn’t break from the outside and maybe even sensed  that I had done it,  but saw the pain in my eyes and told the officer the crime was bad around here. The officer heard me say how awful this place is and that I feel negative energy in and  around my apartment as if  someone died a violent death in here years ago. God,  you were there for  me that moment even when I was  guilty as he went away and I felt they were just going to attribute it to the crimes that happen here every night. Thank  God.

Why does the world give me gifts only to taste them for a moment and then take them away to push me deeper and deeper into the ground. It’s like teasing a child in Africa who is thirsty with a full glass of water and then letting it only sip a thumb nail size of liquid to snatch it back and say “just kidding.”

Why when I have done so much good in my life. Volunteering, giving my last dollar to homeless people, and supporting others in their pain, despite the torture i have endured, why did you take away the one gift I needed, a baby. You even told me in a prophetic dream two years ago the message delivered by someone  I love dearly, that I was  going to have another baby. What evil is  present here.  And if you the all encompassing did not do it? Then what force did. I want to leave this primitive planet and go to that butterfly dimension Dr. Alexander spoke of. However, his message was even though it does not seem like it , “all is well.” I can’t feel it. I can’t feel it. Help me please.

Why is it, I get more comfort from people I have never met on the internet than the dozen real people in this town who are my friends and family don’t come around when they KNOW I’m in pain. You know what they say to me…..they lecture bullshit positive thinking which I already have practiced, or like my mom, they ignore me, or like my friends I reach out too and don’t call back. I’m too much for them and it’s easier to leave people like me alone than to have to forget about your own self for awhile and be there for someone who feels like she wants to die. Who really cares. I do. I would drop anything for anyone who said, “I don’t want to live anymore.” Should I stop caring too. Or do I continue to give without ever expecting the same back? I know that answer. But sometimes I have such hate inside me for bullies and thoughtless people that I feel violent. I would never hurt a soul, but if i could, I would force them to wear a device that makes them feel what I feel and see the hurt their actions cause. I got that from Clockwork Orange.

Dear Thing,
If there are other dimensions and I don’t have to have a near death experience to see them, then bring them to me today. Don’t bring me the near death experience I had when i saw purgatory when I was restrained by evil doctors for doing nothing at all. I don’t want to remember that the whole world was frozen in their place, but completely aware that they will spend eternity sitting there in their places, listening to me scream for help knowing that even babies were frozen in time but conscious. Take this nightmare away from me and show me in this moment, in this day before night come that angels and guides are just next to me.

I meditate. I pray and for not. I sit alone now in this apartment which really just feels like a room in a psych ward and there is not one soul who is willing to even touch me. My back and shoulders are locking up and if I even touch my shoulder myself to relieve some pain, immediately tears come flooding from my eyes because I know I hold the weight of the world on my shoulders. If a man that ever loved me, touched and rubbed my back. I would most likely cry out poison for an hour. I have not been touched expect by this baby in three years.

I will try to forgive these wounded souls that wound me. I know this is the way. But right now, at the this hour before nightfall comes and I won’t be able to sleep, show me your listening. Show me my writing is all I need and that is my destiny and all this pain and wisdom I have gained won’t be in vain.

My only friend is a computer but then something evil comes out of it and bullies me. my only pet is a gerbil who only comes out at night because I let him roam free and when he comes up to get my attention, he bites my feet. How ironic.

I tried to google the 800 number for heavens or the next dimension over, but that information was not available.

I ask you as your humble open minded servant to bring me a miracle tonight. Even if it’s a tiny one. I will try to keep calm and carry on, but I’m aging backwards and I don’t know what do to do even after I stop writing this. Show me the way.

Thank you.
…and so it is.

Christmas Lights In Ken Nordine’s Ashtray

The night of the previous post, I was lamenting about old hurt and bad dreams. Before I went to bed I smoked a joint in the dark with the only light coming from Christmas lights I keep on all year long. Once that THC hit my brain, I began to settle down. Kinda just stared at the white ashtray and noticed five teeny tiny lights reflecting inside the ashtray. At first I thought, “oh God, here they come again” meaning those beings that are my friends that show up sometimes seasonally. Like their ship takes a year to get back around. Then I just thought, “this is good weed.”

Being a former laser light performer, I notice tiny specks of lights on things. The five multi-colored points of lights in the ashtray looked like a little galaxy. There was a Sun and then a few planets close, I heard a voice that said “That red light is our planet.” I put the joint down at that point since I figured I was already “out there.”

So, reluctantly I headed to bed with an aching brain and thoughts coming at me faster than the speed of light, which is what it’s like to be manic depressive sometimes. So after writing the horribleness I had written that night, I decided to change up my surroundings. I put on streaming surf waves on my computer.  A thought maybe my thoughts would dance with the waves while I slept and I would be somewhere else other than dreams of abandonment and not being heard.

Maybe the white noise generator I have been using lately is the problem with why I can’t astral project or get lucid during dreams.   I had been using it off and on, but I think it blocks my astral thoughts. Now, white noise reminds me too much of “Poltergeist”, “They’re Here!”

I have been sleeping with a fan on all my life. Can’t sleep without it. It’s a small fan that sleeps in the bed space where no one is. I lay facing it and the breeze blowing on my face helps me breath when I can’t. I can say a machine can be your best friend during drug withdrawal, but that’s another story. My panic goes away with Mr. Fanny Fan.  It also vibrates the bed so I kinda feel like I’m in a vehicle of some kind. It’s not loud, so it’s benign. But this night I added the sounds of surf on Songza. I wasn’t that broken to come up with that idea or maybe it was someone else’s.

Dream Recall:
June 20th, 2014

I was on a beach at night. My backyard was fenced in but on the sand. There seemed to be another house in front of our house blocking the waves from hitting us. I have no idea what that means. My mom was there and we were actually getting along.

I looked up and saw this piece of plastic that looked like it had once had a toy in the middle and the child built it, but left the packaging to blow away in the sky. The strange thing was that it was floating down in geometric patterns. I said to my Mom, “there here again.” Almost cynically. She seemed to know what I was talking about and believed me for once. Lord love a duck! What the hell was that about? 🙂

We both ran into the house to hide, but I didn’t really want to hide. This is where it gets kinda sketchy. My Mom went one way and I went another. I tried to go into this room and lock a sliding glass door but it didn’t really want to be locked and I was like..”frak it.” Whatever these beings were, they weren’t from this dimension and I knew that they could get in anyway. Then there was the feeling of two energies in the room. Two men whom I have loved and trusted. I was excited they were there, but they didn’t look, like anything.

I began hiding from a completely different set of beings. These were Earthly ones who didn’t want the others to take me. Even hid from Mom when she tried to find me. I never really saw the beings, more that I felt them think, and could smell their colors. I woke up for a bit and went right back into dream, which I love it when that happens. It hardly ever happens. So I knew it was a lucid clue.

These other dimensional beings were trying to save me. I went to another room and put a chair under the door knob so the human things could not get to me. (As if that ever works in movies!)  Then in my mind they said “you have powers to keep the ones who hurt you out.” Suddenly I was with the multi-colored nothing beings. They had invaded the house and I was happy they were there. Happy in my dream and happy in my sleep. I’m finally having a real good dream and something magnificent had mercy on me after writing down drama.

Then, my evil step-nothing father who I never speak to appeared. He tried running at me really fast to knock me down, but I ran at him instead of away and my body went  right through him and I just threw him aside with a thought. The beings cheered! I ask for the beings that seemed familiar. They came in, but just watched me and my power.

This is where it gets really weird. There was a big celebration of energy in the room and they appeared as humans for a moment. A horse entered the room and wanted to play too. They picked up this huge horse and was spinning it around on it’s back and it was laughing like Mr. Ed. I had to look away because the horse got a huge erection from all the excitement! wtf?

The dreamed morphed and I was suddenly with new people and they all looked at me. I could feel myself start to wake up, and that’s when I started crying in my dream because I knew they were about to leave me in this dimension I’m typing in now, or should I say in my bed in the morning. They looked at me with empathy in a public court and as I cried, one man telepathically said “this is what sadness is” as if they didn’t know it anymore and were amazed by it. They said “we wish we could still feel this sometimes.”

No, I didn’t steal this from BSG, seriously, that’s too conscious, but they said I was some kind of hybrid. They comforted me and said it was going to be ok. Of course, ironically I still woke up crying! Typical but funny. I cried not from a bad dream, but waking up from one and I was aware I was traveling back to a dimension with much more gravity and back pain. While I was waking up I was crying out loud “Come back, come back!” (No reference to the Pearl Jam song of the same name.)

So I got up immediately and had to write this down. I never miss a beat on lucid extraordinary dreams. I chained smoked, which I stopped for ten years in Seattle, and let my pen fly fast but I was really groggy and had to pee from such a long trip.

I ended the journal entry:

“I’m not happy I’m back here in my stupid, stupid living room, in this stupid, stupid dimension smoking a stupid cigarette. This was NOT just a dream, it was as real as my Grandson is and I thank you for visiting me, but please don’t leave me here.

I went to the bathroom. Washed my face and throw myself back onto my bed, hoping to get back there. And as dreams do, someone I never expected appeared. It was Jamie Bamber from Battlestar Galactica. He was going around a corner and I said to him in my mind, “hey look back” he peaked around the corner and came over to me. I was surprised. Like what the hell are you doing here but I  was laughing. I was  standing on a tree root and I looked much taller than him. So he stood on another root and we were the same height. We were laughing for some reason. Then I kissed him on the neck! What the hell. He is a married man and that was NOT Gaius Baltar who I was expecting. ???

This time I woke up laughing. I didn’t write that dream down. One should not  covet someone else’s husband. 🙂 Plus it kinda felt like Ken Nordine has narrated this whole post.

(sound of snapping)

 

 

“That’s Too Many Flowers!”

A  Lovely Flower Is In Heaven Now

While living in Seattle, I met an affluent elderly couple who was referred by a friend. They hired me to help tend their garden and do errands. I knew them for eight years.  I sometime would pick weeds for fifteen minutes and then she would ask me in and we would talk and then she would pay for for almost nothing.

She and her artist husband, had a story to tell: They ran 4 weeks through Europe escaping the Russian occupation of Czechoslovakia in 1948 while newly married. They had a map of the route they took. It was a movie story. His artwork is a movie story. They were old world but with a funky Seattle side.

You could tell she always liked the finer things in life, but in old age, she stopped entertaining and the house felt like it had many years of celebrations. We looked at many photos of their life. It was sad, the bedrooms and the studio and sewing room were frozen in time. Her older daughter who has her own child now, her room was still the same it was in the sixties, but with many things she could never give away. It was poignant. She was never able to go upstairs at one point. Her husband was more mobile. He would sleep upstairs near his studio. Her sewing room still had fabric under the machine needle. Like at one point, life in there stopped, but it was not sad. It was history.

She always over paid me. Gave my son money when he came to town. Was smart, brave, funny, obstinate in a funny way and always kind. The last couple of years in Seattle her health started to fail but she ran apartment rentals until the end. She would not leave her huge home and go into nursing facility. She was stubborn, The kind of stubborn that I like. Like one day at the hardware store, she could not find anyone to help so she took the paint mallet you use to bang a paint can lid shut and started banging on the counter for service. I walked away a bit because I was cracking up.

Also, one day driving her home from doctor’s appointment in Seattle, she said, Stop at the butcher and get me head cheese. I said, “i think they are closed and it’s rush hour and there is no where to park.” She taught me patience. She said ” just park here.” – which was restricted parking. I did what she asked. She said “just pound on the door and tell them it’s for me! They know me.” I parked thinking she could talk her way out of a ticket and ran around the corner and looked in. There were a couple of people in back, I knocked but they ignored me. I ended up telling her no one was in there. She said then “go to this bakery and get me strudel.” I loved serving her. She had a humble air of privilege because she knew all these family stores. Like Europeans often do. I wanted to be her daughter.

The most amazing thing was her husband’s hundreds of canvas’ of busts of beautiful woman draped in fabric he had known through the years…. and books and books of sketches he made on buses and trains. His studio was extraordinary. One day, he said he wanted to paint me! I was flabbergasted. Who gets to have their image painted these days? Ok so I’m a bit vain I guess to have wanted that so badly, but to be one of his collection is what I wanted. I saw he was not really able to paint and have me sit for him, so I gave him a photo of me and my son.  Sadly, soon his mind was gone and had anxiety. He could not make a start.  But, the offer to paint me was always there. He tried to give me a pencil drawing of treasured family member. I just couldn’t take it, because I’m sure his daughter would have wanted it. He often was overshadowed by his wife’s dominate personality, which happens when a couple is together for many years and start to get frail. I alway made sure I let him finish his sentence, even though she had other things she wanted to do…..but I loved them both for so many reasons. I hope his works of art end up in a gallery someday. It’s just extraordinary. I have a painting of a ferry he did, but it’s in a box in someones garage in Seattle, I hope to get these things back someday.

He moved to assisted living while I was in Seattle so she was left alone. She never minded. She never watched TV. She was up til three am often doing paperwork.  His mind went but his body was healthy. Her mind was sharp but her body gave up. She was sassy, classy and my surrogate Grandmother and he my Grandfather while in Seattle. After they hired a nurse and I no longer had a car, it was problematic for me to get to her.

It had been about seven months since I had seen her before I moved unexpectantly. The last time I called her I her to check in…I figured she would not answer…she could hardly hear on the phone but this time answered.  I said “IT’S DEBBIE!” who? she says? DEBBIE! IT’S DEBBIE. She says happily, “OH DEBBIE! COME SEE ME!” and just hangs up. She was funny that way. But sadly I never got there. I had been thinking of her since I move away and she didn’t know I moved away. I was afraid she thought I forgot about her. But I was sick myself. I loved the beautiful neighborhood she lived in called Queen Anne. Her house was on a tall hill right in line with the top space needle. I loved going there. It was spectacular. The cobblestone street, so steep my Subaru with high miles could hardly get up.

I wanted to write her today, but felt I better check the obituaries to see if she is ok.

I already knew what I was going to find. She was gone.

She had passed in Feb. I laid on the floor tonight and cried, but suddenly felt her presence and could hear her accent as she said my name. She also had a son who passed in his thirties. He was schizophrenic. I never met him. When I cleaned and organized his room that had not been touched for years I found some childhood drawings and I heard him say, “Please take these.” I felt him say it. Not heard it. I ask her if I could have them and she said, “he talks to her all the time too.” ! I didn’t even mention that I had heard his voice! Later she said he comes around all the time while she in the kitchen doing paperwork. She said with a laugh, “and sometimes I say, Danny, come back later, I’m busy.” 🙂 🙂

I took Danny’s drawings, a ship sailing on the sea, an art he got from his Father as a child and from his “gifts.” I hung drawings in the Baby Pantry at the West Seattle Food Bank. My clients and the children always commented on them for years. Sadly, I have left so many things in Seattle, I’m not sure where they are, but hopefully they are waiting in the boxes for me. I also had Danny’s antique suitcase where I kept treasures and felt him when I opened it because he said, “I like you. You understand me. You suffer with mental illness too.” Now they are together.

Her husband still lives, I must write him.

I write this because if you have an elderly friend or relative, cherish them as much as you can, or you may lose your chance.

I wish I had a photo of her, but flowers will do just fine.

“Hey Hedy! Look what I did to your garden!”

I laugh even now because she would say, “oh, that’s too many flowers! Take some out.” She was controlling but in the cutest way and I liked letting her get her way.

I do so miss you Hedy and Charles. Thanks for making my lonely life in Seattle bright as your adventures and as kind as flowers all dewy and happy…. and for giving me a safe place to remember in this town that can’t hold a candle to Seattle.

I think I will write Charles tomorrow. I hope to see his artwork hung in a gallery someday where it deserves to be. I’m so glad they came to America.

God Bless you Hedy & Charles Gabanek. You were brave people and family to me. Danny just said, “you will see us again.”

This is Charles. Hedy would never let me photograph her. lol

This is Hedy’s photo!

Got cha!

xo

Writing With Someone’s Pen

Found this in a journal from January of 2012. I have been journaling for years. Since 93 in fact. The habit started off to record unusual and later prophetic dreams, later it became what it should have been, a place to not tell my secrets to anyone. Before the internet, that is the only place of confession.

Over the years I have observed my handwriting. You can tell my happy days or a happy dream recall. The penmanship was quite lovely and bright. Then there was the psychotic days, years later when I was cheated on and caught a man’s numerous lies or the scariest when I was withdrawaling from anti-psychotics and had no idea my brain was reconnecting but this time, strange things came out but not as strange as the sun. The writing looked like scribbled screaming. There was also a huge period of time when I wrote nothing, maybe something like nothing.

But one day I started having the pen move for me.  It would write for me and I would just go alone with it. And it was not my handwriting.

God my mind is dead. I have nothing to say. I didn’t say anything in these journals for years while lobotomized by medications and doctors. As my brain began to unshrink, the little synchronitices and other supernormal thoughts started to come out. That’s when I started automatic writing I guess. From what source it came, I did not know. I often just thought I was full of madness as I had been told, but what now I think was happening was I was getting in touch with another dimension. A place where something or someone spoke to me. I let my pen do as it pleased, for it was not my pen at that point. I could tell because the writing was so weird. Small. I mean tiny writing. I never write this way. I’m a loudmouth and my hand usually gives me away. This was channeled to me.

I have not edited it, nor does punctuation need to waste your time when words are flowing into your mind and hand. I still don’t know what it means, but the saddest part is sometimes it just goes away. Do I block it because I’m frightened and I’m trying to stay sane. Does it abandon me as per usual. I can blow my mind, but I would rather have my ind blown than to write about what I ate for dinner that day, which was probably something supplied by a food bank, for which I was grateful.

and so it went like this……and didn’t look this neat in Times New Roman. I would have called the font, “thought control.”

March, 2006 –

For open and still I have got. I’m pure Rumi spirit and romantic haze, you have shown me love in the past I whisper to you now I figured out the play and epic tale of lovers playing

For what have gloriously arrived without fee a stillness and knowing that he is here. For what way he came I can be sure. Its the key to life and all around a tiny shy voice is finally found. My own true love, entered on wheels the cosmic dance is all I feel A loving detachment of casting my net for I was a fisherman no more I was the catch to enter my loves door In his silence that night our spoken words took flight, and left only light. My head Lord you overwhelm my heart and dressed me in green because an angel I’ve seen

There in that ether he did not say…..

Deborah it’s the boy who dared to steal a kiss from me thinking around affecting gravity. While out this thought became clear, a tiny bell in my head did hear. What’s that? His dreams are dressing me here to a hallowed out tree, new you are I’m near awakened one I did hear.

The many seconds in time his message to me was love is kind. He planted the evergreen in my mind Glory to God. I think I got what I prayed for this time but I’m not sure what it is. Not since he has taken away my innocence Turned over time…..and space……….
A great fine wine no more hiding you we swear in each other’s company is there a star so massive with immense circumference it seemed like the tiniest chance.

Look! Look! There in his glance! Did you see it?

The silence is telling me now above and below it’s all the same space with you…there is no pain, but my sunshine has now gone.

I have no fraking idea what I just said.

This Could Be The Day, Not…..

March 2012:

Bhagavadgita’s Ponderings:

I really must be completely out of my mind to be writing these thoughts down on the message pit. I’m going to be slaughtered..I know it every time…I let go on here…this is what happens…

I’m no groupie..i’m just a woman with hysteria. Ever heard of it? I bet you have….if you are a woman you already know..why his raw sexual energy fucking forces us into revealing our hearts on this sometimes cold forum…of course I find that men who love women also know how hysterical we get if we don’t have a good orgasm once in a while. I’m not talking just good..I’m talking ethereal.

If you have not figured out what I’m talking about I’ll just be blunt. I want a Disney orgasm. I want to see the grown up version of what Cinderella’s wedding night was like. I’d like to see someone show what Tantra really is.

I have been pulled into Porch unplugged and my raw emotions are like Disney type love gone wild on acid…I’m trying to keep my thoughts pure and not covet someone else’s love. I know I”m not alone. I can’t seem to have a real relationship because of him. I’m in one, but nothing compares to you. Twenty years of dreams of you. Lucid. Prophetic. Friendly and never sexual. The energy of seeing that light show in the sky with a low frequency sound wave going through the milky way was like making love.  The very first dream of him came true for him. I saw it three days before it happened while on holiday in London. Three months later I read the dream happened during that British dream. Maybe the air had something more magical to make you appear like that. What a beautiful setting God.

My Mother, took my sister and I to a Disney film every Christmas morning in the 60’s. My sister was not bitten by it. She wears rainbows now. Those mornings, a tradition long gone. Of course I ended up this way. Are we still doing it to little girls and is it wise. Really thinking about that.

I know I”m an adult and I sound like a total obsessed fan, but we don’t choose who we fall in love with. I was raised on antique Disney. I’m  just a product of film, fantasy and childhood ideas of love. I was still profoundly affected the first time I went to Disney World. I knew it was fake at 10 but it didn’t matter..Cinderella’s castle was there in monument to what I stood for. Happy Endings…albeit, once inside I realized there were no real rooms in the castle and was totally pissed off! I should have seen that as a flag. Don’t dare take this seriously. Look at Princess Diana. I was 18 when that “fairy tale” came true. I was 34 when she left us. I watched the funeral without sound because I could not stand the sound of crowds of sobbing hysterically and calling her name. I went to do laser shows for children just after the live broadcast. The show of life must go on.

So ya you wonder what the fuck is this chick talking about? Well in the old days, doctors use to relieve women’s hysteria with an orgasm. Yes, a doctor would stimulate her to orgasm professionally to relieve depression and hysterical behavior. You have to wonder, where the hell their husbands were and what was happening or not happening in the marriage bed. I have been married. I have known many loves. I could say I have not spent my life craving unobtainable men, but that would be a lie. It started with Davy Jones actually. That sweet and funny petite Brit.

I don’t have a betterman. Every relationship runs a stale 3rd to a fantasy relationship with a man in my head who is out of my league. I feel sick typing this. I feel naked putting this out there.  Too bad he is not a polygamist. I’m up for being number 1101. I have a pretty good seniority in the Ten Club but I know that’s not what that’s for.

A hand holding discussion would be over the moon anyway. You know we have been in that place before, a  quantified thousand times if not those three times I know you remember. If you read this, I’m sure I’ll be banned for breaking some unspoken code. The stupid code I tried to use that first time we met that you could not or would not understand. I thought this could be the day, but how to explain this in someones yard, so I left you there and ran away because I don’t know what controlled my mind to go there in the first place. I heard you say “Come Back” but what for. I don’t want to be like the others. Wanting something from you and you can’t explain quantum entanglement while looking for directions to some made up “radio station.” 

God help me to continue to love unconditionally and know this is not the end of my hope for what I was given as a child. Maybe this exists only to tell the tale of unrequited love. Your kind of love. The truest type of love because it IS unconditional.

And thanks for that fucked up birthday present. This could be the day you shut me up forever. Sorry about the guy jumping off the bridge in blue. It was how I felt and that other obsessed fan hurt my heart. And how would you know I was withdrawaling from anti psychotics anyway. This is just word salad and I’m sure a piece of crap. Fuck that other over posting obsessed fan trying to be PC. Unless that was really you and then I think that was just fine. And in a sick way kinda funny. Point taken.

But you don’t go out of your way to get someone’s attention to turn around not want it.

“Censorship is never over for those who have experienced it. It is a brand on the imagination that affects the individual who has suffered it, forever.

Noam Chomsky