marque

Life is...just...phew...

I have literally been through jungles of hell and oceans of brimstone. To the edge of sanity and back again. Hangin out with dark angels. And a tumultuous love affair - fuck fest - with Lucifer (amazing sex...pronged tongue and all).

It's been a ride like I never could have imagined. I have written about my 'wild' past and my deep intense emotions. Drama. Crisis. Woe is me. I am a Bitch. Whatever. True - but, I had NO idea. Dropping years and years worth of masks is no small undertaking. It's painful. Brutal.

After too much self-inflicted 'abuse' of my mind, soul and body - combined with a whole lotta other shit - I finally shut down. But, not after a HUGE combustion. A literal mental implosion.

Undiagnosed manic depression. Living to the extreme. Taking risks beyond just 'dares'...more like 'what-the-fucks'. Drugs. Stronger drugs. Alcohol. Sex. Stronger drugs. More alcohol. Kinkier sex. Addictions to speed - any kind.

Driving super fast on curvy roads - one wrong move and off a cliff into the ocean below.
 
Motorcycle - no helmet - leaning forward - going as fast as possible - everything around me is a blur.
 
ATV'ing on sand dunes - too fast on dunes too big - throwing me off the seat and white-knuckling the handle bars.
 
Horse back riding in Mexico - bareback - on the beach - as fast as that bitch could run. And that bitch was FAST.
 
4-wheeling in muddy marshes - sometimes turning my jeep on two wheels, left leg hanging out of the door-less door (like my leg could stop me from turning over).

Full speed in the twin engine inflatable (a boat that kicks major ass) - going about 70mph in rough seas - hanging on to the handles for dear life - salt water slapping me in the face as I swallow it (my mouth wide open from laughing hysterically - a mix of elation and fear).

Fast cars. Fast life. Not dangerous...not exciting...not even just intense...stoopid. I don't know how I lived through it all. Sometimes - like when I feel the way I do lately - I sorta wish I hadn't. Blech...cleaning up is a bitch.

Skip ahead a few years - misdiagnosed BP. Not good. Given an anti-depressant known to cause mania (which I found out years later...surprise...manic time).

The meds aren't 'working (no wonder) - misdiagnosed again. ADD ( I am beginning to think this is NOT even a real disorder). Given Adderall. Adderall - a proper/formal way of saying 'amphetamines'. Basically - meth. Speed. Only difference...it's legal. Score.

I was taking 90mg of amphetamines every single day for over a year. Sometimes more. You can imagine the toll this took on my already risk-ravaged mind and body - and the BP which was still brewing inside of me.

Take one manic depressive woman - add a manic inducing drug - stop drug after mania ensues - start her on straight speed - sit back and watch the show. Holy shit.

Two years of this - adding and taking away this drug and that. Malnutrition - not wanting to eat...ever. Sleep deprivation (speed will do that to ya) - and BPs don't sleep much as it is.

Add some drama. Homelessness. Ruthless marital issues. Stir in some new drugs to counteract the other drugs to counteract the other drugs...

Manic episodes become a daily routine. Constant mental - verbal 'seizures'. Agitation turns into violence. Rage turns into terrifying thoughts of murder and pain. Depression mixed with rage equals attempted suicides (not pretty). I only say 'attempted' cuz for some reason I just didn't die (thank GOD!!!).

Labeled. Branded. Manic. Abusive. Freak. Crazy. I was. I knew it. But, it spiraled. And spiraled. Until...

Full blown psychosis. Literally psychotic. Like psych-ward patient insane. Authentically insane. It was the most terrifying, surreal, confusing thing EVER. It's not even explainable. Even for me...and I am known to explain...a lot.

It was like my mind was a balloon that's a couple days old and the helium is still in it, so it just drifts in the middle of the room - sometimes clinging to the ceiling - sometimes hovering over the carpet. Moving dramatically with the slightest draft. Even a small breath can send it spiraling out of control.

I had to use ever fiber of my being - every cell - every ounce of any resilience or strength I had left - every single minute of every day - to stay 'here'. To stay sane. I would 'drift'.

It was sheer torture.

Panic attacks. I was like a small animal cowering in the corner, eyes wide open, dilated pupils, ears held back firmly on its head, trembling - and I would lose it and start to RUN. Where? Don't know. I just had to get out.

Involuntary body movements. Convulsions. Tremors. Swaying. Tunnel vision. Hallucinations. Slurred speech. Stuttering. Numbing. Tingling. Fainting spells. Tics. And the ever-constant psychosis.

After a hospital visit and a psych visit - the Adderall was stopped immediately (which has been hell on earth physically). I go back to the hospital this week since we are thinking the psychosis - Adderall - other shit - seems as though I had a stroke.

Not the stroke we think of like old people have - one side of the body and all that. It's a stroke in the central part of the brain - the nervous system - cognitive - 'bleeding in the brain'. It felt like it. Truly.

I still feel like shit. But, it's 90% physical - recovering from my days of insanity.

Bruises all over my body from slashing myself around the room - wrapping a vacuum plug around my neck - trying to smash a frame over my head - running myself into furniture - spasming onto the floor in fits of rage.

Exhaustion - physical and mental. Nausea...always. Still some body tremors. Aches and pains from the ceaseless convulsions and trembling.

Tired. Just. So. Tired.

But...

Wonderful. Renewed. Reborn.

Grounded. Solid. Stronger.

And psychosis is EXCELLENT fodder for my writing. Once I can write again. These are the first real 'words' I have written in what seems like ages. It is still hard - this took me over an hour.

My brain is still trying to catch up. My fingers are still sore. And I am still a little too close to the edge of sanity to safely tap into the treasure trove of my psychotic trip as of yet.

But...I will.

I will.

101 Ideas to get more freelance work and generate more leads

I thought of a few words and statements that annoy the shit outta me -
 

agape (beautiful word in Greek - means 'love')  -- here, it is just as stupid as it sounds. He stood, his mouth 'agape'. Dumb.

ajar - this haunted me through young adulthood. "Your door is ajar". WTF? It's a fucking DOOR not a JAR!! To this day I make the mistake of asking the kids to answer the damn 'jar'. I am easily confused - dammit.

bulbous - must I explain why I detest this word?? One word. Gross.

jumbo shrimp - ok. Which one is it? Jumbo. Or shrimp?  Dammit.

masticate - it means 'to chew' - are you kidding me? There are an endless amount of jokes about this...most of which are not appropriate for meeting a new guy's family for dinner. And, God forbid, you tell somebody you 'masticate' several times a day. True - but hard to grasp (grasp, get it?).

jobs - let me explain..not that I don't hate jobs - but, here I speak of sex. Me? Heh. Heh. Why is it when a man receives oral - it's a blow 'job' (and a what the hell does it have to do with blowing? And why is it a 'job'?) Maybe I'm doing it all wrong - although, per much feedback, I am not. So...

A woman has a Boob 'job'.  WTF??

His BJ is enjoyable and harmless (sans teeth). A woman's B(oob) Job is painful and not harmless. What gives??

"I could care less" - this makes my brain hurt to think about. You could care less? OK...then do. We say this when we are annoyed with somebody and don't care at all about what they are saying. So, we say...we could care less'? OK..My brain hurts again. Wouldn't it be a GOOD thing we could care less? Grrrr....

"bite me" - just...er...WHY? You piss me off tremendously - so....I ask you to BITE me? I think not. This is just stoopid on so many levels.

"I don't mean this in a bad way, but" - Um....Yes, you do. DON'T say it. Period.

contacts - I do NOT get why our contacts are called this. Why 'contacts'? Isn't anything that makes contact with something, a contact? What the hell? Please...make sense, people.

I could think of SO many more, if my brain didn't hurt and my butt wasn't asleep from sitting for so long today. Time to go eat dinner and masticate...er...masturb...never mind.

"bite me"

So, I was reading the other day about porn mags for blind men. Really.

Braille Porn.

There was Braille writing, which would most likely be the....um...story. Fantasy. Whatever. Pretty hard to set a visual with no vision..but...anyway.

On the other side of the page were Braille outlines of naked women.

Yes.

Really.

Outlines of  big boobies, coochies, the whole...um...She-bang (made that one up..heh).

So..here's where my twisted perverted (not-so-amusing-but-can't help but smile) mind got to workin.

I was thinking..if a blind guy had a room mate or two....OH...how they could fuck with him. (I know..I suck as a human being).

They could get his mags - and erase some dots....like a boob. Or add hair to...well, there. Or...Or....

Erase some dots in the story and write shit in there (or dot it in..whatever)...like...put his full NAME in the story.

Maybe they could write something in dots around the nipples like - squeeze here. Or...dot in...down there...sumpin like...dunno....insert here.

So, when he is with a woman he'll feel for the dots and she'll wonder what the hell he's doing. Or not. Sounds pretty good actually.

This got me thinking about a bar. A blind man's bar. Where they all hang out together and drink, ya know? This would be an ugly chick's paradise, right? She would have it made!

Well, as you can see....I am back. Yep. And..it feels (get it?..feels?..like...touch...er....never mind)   GOOD.

xxoo