Happy New Year

Wishing everyone out there in cyberspace a Happy New Year. This has been a bad one for me, so I hope sincerely, that 08 is a better year. 

tooth problems

I am still here. I am having tooth problems and pain. Bear with me for a long post coming soon.

looking for understanding

An old friend of mine, once told me I was the only person who understood him. I guess I didn;t since we broke up, but I understood his bipolar.

Now I am home, doped up to the gillls on pills and no one seems to understand. I have anxiety, something I have never had before, and I cannot sleep. even with sleeping pills. I want someone to rub my back, to say they understand,

but I don't understand. What is going on with my body?

snow outside and in my head

We got snow last night, with sleet. the roads are solid ice.

I have been working a bit on the blog, trying to write about the hospital but it's too raw, too new., I need some time. 

I am amazed by all the kind comments. Thank you. I feel humbled and am blushing 

Something should be up soon. 

Thank you,

Susan and Holly

Back from hospital

Back this afternoon. Feeling fragile and lost 18 lbs in a fortnight. 

But I am glad to be home. 

Will have something up shortly., most likely by tomorrow. Baby steps! 

Going into the hospital again

crashed on meds. they aren't working, bad suicidal ideation and pychosis. 

Back soon

why I hate New Years

 New Years is a bad night for me. Part of me thinks of the old Barry Manilow song, "It's just another New Year's Eve/It's just a night like all the rest..."

Part of me is feeling sad. Depressed. Wanting to put a gun to my head and pull the trigger. I realized yesterday when I w as eating Chinese in the Village with a friend of mine, that I was conceived on New Years Eve by a 12 year old girl who had too much to drink. Could my earliest memory of consciousness be that of my conception between a drunk sperm and a drunk egg?

After all, drunken conception is nothing new, it has been happening as long as primal man slithered out of the the primal ooze that was the river Charybdis and became the genus Homo. John Lennon once made a comment about half the people in the world being conceived by too much alcohol on a Saturday night. I shouldn't be teasing these Saturday night specials, after all it made my father's side of the family multi multi millionaires. It is like the Bible says "the sins of the parents are passed down to their children?"

I am lonely. I feel lonely.  Thinking about conception has made me horny. But I don't want to get laid. I don't know what I want. I have an urge to fly; I want to have one of those flying dreams I use to have when I was a child, but don't anymore. But I do not know where I would fly to. There is no where I want to go other than my bed. I want to sleep. I never want to wake up again. This horrible thing is depression, and it has me in it's sharp talons, not letting me go. I am screaming, and no one is listening. No one can hear my soul in pain. 

I had my last drink on September 26, 1996. I can still recall it, sometimes I can still taste it. September 25, I had a bottle of red wine, adding grain (Everclear) to it so I could get buzzed faster. I passed out. I woke up the next day, no  cottonmouth, but thirsty. I went to an AA meeting where being so thirsty, I couldn't even hold my glass of water. Finally got some down, got drunk again, and went into the DT's. I have not had a drink since then. Every time I get an urge, I recall that drink, the DT's; being strapped down to a bed and shaking so badly that the bed was moving, and the feeling passes.  At the time I was drinking, I was hell bent on destroying myself. I was in pain, felt my life had not meaning, and it was easier to stay drunk than to actually live.

Now I have tonight. 

I want to drink tonight. I want to take a bottle of vodka and take a long hot bath in my pajamas. Drinik the bottle in the bath tub. And when the bottle is empty, crash it against the bathtub, shattering it.  Taking the shardsand slitting my wrists, my ankles, my throat. How long would it take to see the blood ebb out before going to sleep? I just want the pain to stop. I want the loneliness to stop. I feel all alone. I feel empty. I feel worthless. I feel like I should have been born dead. I don't know why I was conceived in the first place. 

I'm hollow. I don't even feel alive anymore. I feel like a Basilisk. Dead. Empty.

I am not afraid of dying. That is easy. It is living that is hard, and living , so much of it sucks. I feel the loneliness the despair and it chokes me. I do not know who to ask for help. Maybe I don't want it.  All I know when I feel like this, I want to curl up and never wake again.

Please God, grant me that one wish. Please. Because I am afraid of tomorrow. I feel as if I have been lied to, it does not get better. All the hard work I have done, that I am doing, back breaking work when I hit bottom to be where I am now, was it worth it?  I do not mind being alone. I cannot handle lonely anymore. I feel so lonely I really could die. 

All that hard work, and just now, when I feel the most vunerable, the most wounded, the one time I need someone I am alone.  Like Tennyson's Percival, if I was to see the Holy Grail, I would know that this quest is not for me. Like Percival, the purest of Arthur's knights, , but still not pure enough to touch the Grail.  I am not a knight in shining armor. The only dragons I have slain are of my own making. 

And I just can't see this fairy tale ending happily.  A long time ago I use to do tarot readings. They said I was psychic.  I can often see how people will die in this lifetime. I have seen my own death, and know it will be by my own hand, 2 years from now give or take. And this prophesy I want to change. I just want not to be alone right now. I just want someone to hold me until this feeling passes. I s that asking so much? But as always, I am alone. YOu come into this world alone , you die alone, but I never thought this middle part called life would find me alone as well. 

epicedium

A blood red rose

mere token of affection

mocks me 

from a silver vase

encompassing the stem.

Blindly, 

 it stretches towards light

from a bare bulb on a cluttered desk.

Blood flows

minute drops

on silky soft petals.

Bleeding fingers-

damn hemophiliac.

Will you put on a tourniquet

before my life ebbs out?

December 1982-November 2007.

recovery and healing

A friend asked me why I am so blue. the other day. Should he be concerned? I replied no, I am writing this blog with things from the book I am writing, with this name. It has been untitled so long, it's time to explain things. 

One of my dearest friends suggested the name. Maybe because he knows I am an anglophile. But maybe because it's Churchill. Churchill got me a job in a news room. I was the only Yank working for an organization who on the death of Princess Diana knew that she was related to the former  PM and his mother Jennie.  

So I started a novel about my struggles, half real half made up, back in 2000. I wrote copiously until December 2002, when I was put in the hospital for 30 days and  given ECT.  I had a bad experience with the ECT and stopped writing.

I started writing it again a few months ago, when my two muses each acting without the other;s knowledge, convinced me to write/blog again. 

This was followed up by two more bloggers, also hyper linked to my front page here.  Daring me to write again.  

So I am trying. I took the material from 5 years ago and re worked it, for this blog, for whomever might read it. But there will be a lot of new things, as I write about recovery and all that entails. The older stuff, I will mark by dates. 

But even the old stuff, its all new as one depression does mirror another, and one mania mimics another as well.

And this recovery, it's hard, damn hard. 

One more poem

Dust gathers

as a memory fades

lingering still in my mind.

     The stench of decay

      fills my nose

      with your scent

       I am dying.....

A memento once given falls to the floor

from an overstuffed book

broken and faded red petals on the carpet

Now a shadow of their former beauty.

The smell of death is everywhere

Worms destroy

what was not 

destroyed by a razor sharp knife

  The pain is all encompassing

I can stand it no more

Will you stop it, please

Stop it

Stop it.