Category: My Life Story

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Charleston, West Virginia My Life Story Writings

help*

I don’t know what to do. I am so stressed out. I am trapped in a crevice with nowhere to go and I can’t endure the crevice any longer. I can’t talk about the crevice either because there is an upcoming trial in which I am a witness. I could write in my journal or talk to the nice shrink the government gave me but at the end of the day telling her my thoughts and feelings doesn’t change anything. I already know what I think and feel. I just don’t know what to do or how to endure. I don’t see any practical solutions. And I’m too anxious to pray cause when you are anxious and try to send out your thoughts they just spiral back down onto you. And to be real about it, it was my faith in God that got me into this trouble in the first place. So I don’t know what to do. If I stay in my current position, I will lose my mind. Imagine if every time you spoke the people around you started shrieking like chickens then swirled around in circles collapsing on the floor where they shook and screamed “Why did you do this to me? Why did you do this to me?” over and over. And you don’t know what you’ve done. How long can a person live like that and not go insane? I feel like I’m trapped in the Queen of Heart’s court in Wonderland. And I can’t even talk about it. Except vaguely like this.

No matter what I do I am always bad. There is always very complicated reasoning as to why I have done something wrong. So you just start recessing more and more. But no matter how recessed you become it doesn’t matter. Now your whispers count as screams and one wrong word makes you a murderer. So you try harder. You try different things. But every step you take is just one more crime you’re guilty of.

Somehow I ended up at a Wikipedia page about psychological manipulation and it had a list of traits that the recipients of manipulation generally share. It was like reading an exact description of my personality.

Naïveté or immaturityPeople who find it too hard to accept the idea that some people are cunning, devious and ruthless or are “in denial” if they are being taken advantage of.[17]
Over-agreeablenessPeople who are too willing to give another the benefit of the doubt and see their side of things.[17]
Low self-esteemPeople who struggle with self-doubting, lacking in confidence and assertiveness, and who are likely to go on the defensive too easily.[17]
Over-intellectualizationPeople who try too hard to understand and believe others have some understandable reason to be manipulative.[17]
Emotional dependencyPeople who have a submissive or dependent personality. The more emotionally dependent a person is, the more vulnerable they are to being exploited and manipulated.[17]

I’ve always had the hardest time accepting that someone could truly be lying or acting in a devious manner. I don’t know why. And if I am close to people I tend to believe anything they say without question. Even if I know for an absolute fact that it is untrue, something in me still believes. I’ve always struggled to have confidence in my own perceptions, instead I let other’s words override them. I will bend my mind into a pretzel trying to make sense of what people say, no matter how self-contradictory or flying in the face of reality their words may be, and I have always been emotionally & physically dependent on others to a humiliating degree.

So I guess this is a chance for me to learn how to trust in my own perceptions. Do I believe the person who says I am hurting them when I’m pretty sure I’m not or who says I am screaming when I’m pretty sure my voice is room temperature? Objectively I know what is true, I just don’t know how to have faith in my own mind. My faith automatically goes to believing what I am told. Unless you have this problem yourself, I fear it won’t make much sense.

Another big problem is my need to be good, which is used like a cattle prod to control me and force me into situations of increasing powerlessness. If you assert yourself, you are bad. You can get screamed at, but if you scream back you are bad. You must treat other people’s emotions like Golden Kings to be worshiped while ignoring your own or you are bad. You must swallow the words you are fed no matter how little sense they make or you are bad. You must accept that you are bad or you are bad. You must accept that other people weren’t hurting you, you were hurting them, or you are bad. You must believe what you are told or you are bad. Because if you don’t accept the words that are thrown at you you will see those around you crumple on the floor shrieking “LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE!!!! LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE!!!” Now you can see how bad you are with your own eyes.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to hold my mind together. When it gets bad I can hardly sing, clean or function at all. I can rarely think or plan. The thing that helps is complete detachment. But once again, this triggers my issues with being”bad” because it is bad not to care. You are supposed to care about other people.

And I WANT to care. It’s just that it becomes the rope that is used to strangle me.



* I just realized that titling this help sounds bad, like I am playing the victim. Anyway, don’t worry I will think of something.

** I was just walking and panicking cause my arms have started to shake probably due to nerves because I don’t see any light at the end of the tunnel…. it feels like the road leads off a cliff. And having the shakes is making it harder to perform basic tasks causing me to panic even more. Anyway, just when I was about to break down I saw this on the corner of a sidewalk.

It felt like a sign, because I see teddy bears as being one form that angels take. It’s like no matter how alone you feel there are always more beings watching and ready to help you than you could ever realize.

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Charleston, West Virginia My Life Story Uncategorized Writings

Lesbian Fragments

For some reason I have been having the hardest time expressing myself & now there are so many thoughts in my head I can’t get them all out

So please allow me to share fragments of my mind through pictures…

A ginger root which I planned to carry with me throughout January as part of the “30 Days to Ginger Your Swagger” challenge. The idea was to do dumb & risky things each day for thirty days & come out at the end of it an empowered lesbian warrior.

However, this didn’t happen because I started off the year sick, which gave me time to reflect and I decided that a series of random dumb actions would probably not lead to empowermint after all.

Me taking a package to the post office, as I do most days as part of my ebay swizzle. I look worried because I am. I was certain I would go through life as a housewife and never face the jungle myself.

I have taken to wearing a cross because a) protection & b) maybe if people think I’m religious they’ll treat me better. So far that does not seem to be the case. It’s almost like devils are attracted to crosses. But it still makes me feel safe.

That is my Megatron Powers coat btw. Megatron is the spiritual being formed when women unite to activate their lesbian powers. No sex required.

Putting butterflies & airplanes all over my house in preparation for Pluto’s entry into Aquarius this April. I should write a blog post about this, but once again there are too many thoughts to deal with.

At least in the beginning it should be a refreshing change since it will bring more air into our lives, making people more social, optimistic, active & future looking. Eventually though it will likely reach a critical mass causing people to become heartless and ungrounded, willing to sacrifice past & present for an idealized future that will never arrive.

Still I’m looking forward to it.

Four candles lit to the four winds- Boreas, Eurus, Notos & Zephyrus. I love these cuties.

Arm healing after I fell off a chair on Christmas & crashed onto the floor. Why did I fall? Because I was trying so hard to peer into the truth of something. It felt like the truth was above my head & I kept staring at it harder & harder until I lost my balance.

A miniature vase being sold on ebay. Selling my possessions on ebay can be pretty painful cause each one of them was part of a cherished dream. I remember the feelings of hope and excitement associated with each purchase.

Mostly they are part of the dream called “Stuffington’s Estate” which involved James & I living in the most stuffy & pompous house of all time, where we would sit in the library in our leather chairs each evening by a fire sipping creamed soups. Surrounded by dark paintings of scowling men. James and I loved antiquing together, cooking new dishes & collecting things. So Stuffington’s was the place where all this good would pool up. It was the life I was working towards. Now what am I working towards?

An endless sea of glass. Waiting to be sold like slaves.

Three glass leaves that grew up together. What happens now? They get sold to separate homes & never meet again?

Real life empowermints sent to me by lesbian friend MK Ultra (Man Killa Ultra.) My lesbian name is OJ, standing for Orange Julius.

True Hope Empowermints. Hope is an Aquarian thing. It can give you wings and lead to your fall as well.



Lesbian Extraordinaire. That’s me. But what does the future hold for this lesbian once her glass runs out?

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Charleston, West Virginia My Life Story Uncategorized Writings

My Problem

My biggest problem in life is the inability to make decisions. This stems from confusion and a lack of clarity which stems from always doubting my own perceptions. This is largely the result of paying too much attention to what I am told versus the evidence of my own eyes.

It looks to me like he is wearing a red shirt. Because it is the color of a bright red apple. But he says his shirt is blue. I ask him why it looks the same color as a fire engine then. He says that’s because I’m a cannibal and cannibals think everything is red. I start to spin. How could I be a cannibal? How many of the people I’ve known have even died? Sure my grandmother, but many were at her funeral to watch her being lowered into the earth. Are you saying I snuck back to the cemetery dug her up and ate her? How would I manage to pull the coffin up all by myself? Do you know how much those things weigh? Also wouldn’t a cannibal need a meat processing plant? Where would I be hiding this? How would I even get the money to afford one?

And so on it goes for days until all my energy is gone. I’m pretty sure I’m not a cannibal but darn it is hard to prove. Next time I look at his shirt, I avoid seeing it as red exactly. Maybe it doesn’t have a color. Maybe colors exist in other dimensions that humans can’t understand. Cause seeing it as red means a war and I lose. It means being at odds with people I love. Seeing it as red means I am a cannibal. I eat people. So I just try not to see it clearly at all.

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Charleston, West Virginia My Life Story Uncategorized Writings

For Whom Empowermint Tolls

I wrote this a few weeks back but only now got the nerve to publish it. Cause it references neighbors & I’m not sure if it’s cool to blog about neighbors or not.

I’ve been feeling kind of bummed, like I reached the end of empowermint. There may be no way of getting more powerful than I already am. My last empowermint was smoking illegal drugs. It blew my mind I was able to achieve this and now it kind of feels like I’ve peaked. What more can I do? Rob a bank? Dallas? These things require cars and I still don’t have one.

I also sang a couple songs on stage without dying of a heart attack. It wasn’t as scary as I thought it’d be. Felt like floating, like I wasn’t there at all. Still counts as a mint though.

I’ve now been to bars three times. They are scary but exciting. People do drugs. I received a pot gummy bear. But this was after I’d completed my illegal drugs empowermint, so I didn’t eat him. Instead he was flayed and quartered. I fed the meat to a friend each time he got angry in the hopes it would calm him.

At the bar a guy told me he was hard and asked what color panties I was wearing. I asked if I could see his jockstrap. Then he starts shouting how much he loves sucking cock. Then he smashes a bottle over a man’s head. They start punching and blood is dripping down their faces. One of them has black X’s painted on his cheeks. It felt like being in a dark wonderland. Nothing like the world I am used to.

Everyone in the bar was larger than life. Some wore diamonds despite being men. One had just escaped max security for murder. One said he would fuck me over a fireplace. One had only three fingers on his hand. One wore an earring of a butt and said he likes doing everyone up the butt regardless of gender. One had just gotten stabbed. If I could be certain of not getting murdered it would be quite exciting.

But I’ve been so cloistered I don’t totally get where excitement ends and danger begins. A friend told me I was on my way to getting my organs removed. So I tried returning to pre-empowermint days. But that isn’t safe either. Once I believed that being a good housekeeper would ensure my safety in life. Now I know that sooner or later God throws everyone out on the streets. So you gotta be ready.

And then you get addicted to the thrill. I kind of want to see more of this crazy world. How many men are out there with X’s on their face? How many want to see my underwear?* What is PCP? What signals do drug addicts use to find dealers? What sweet words and caresses will organ dealers use to win the trust of healthy people? Can you be fucked over a working fireplace? If a man offers to let you watch him jerk off is it yes or no? I want to know everything.

But those lesbians. They keep reminding me I’m courting disaster and I know they’re right. What I really need is to join a ladies book club and I promise I will. Ladies help you become smarter and more organized. They encourage you to make crafts and sell them at a fair. Around men you grow clear and gelatinous. You wait to see what they’ll do next. You try not to set them off. Men are a feast for the imagination yet a practibrain disaster. And we all know exciting choices rarely pay off in the end.

So I’m trying to be good. Today I had the opportunity to do something fun but instead stayed home and ate 12 slices of cheesecake. Cause that is what Mr Rogers would do. Virtue today is happiness tomorrow. Thrills lead to chills. Aids. And death.

*FYI- I realize nobody wants to see my underwear. Men only feign sexual interest as a way of getting your money or something much worse.

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The Black Checker

Fuck me. Normally I’m somewhat average in terms of efficiency. Under crisis in August I rose up to become a top 10 performer. Mid September my balloon began deflating and now my life consists of staring at a mug until I finally get up and walk into a wall. Technically I still get a bit done but am nowhere near recommended levels of crispness for my weight range.

Is this a normal response to someone’s mind being overloaded by things they don’t want to think about? An early sign of AIDS? Right now I need to be calling the prosecutor’s office, visiting the courthouse, wrapping packages and taking them to the post office, doing some secretary work for a famous herbalist, cleaning the house since the front door is made of glass, stopping my plants from dying, cooking dinner so the meat doesn’t go bad, playing with the dogs to keep them from sliding into depression, plus I really need to buy a coat and some pants since the temperature keeps dropping and I gotta get these things and more done by six when the sun goes down.

Cause then I have my night time stuff to do.

But rather than performing the tasks essential to survival (in the end we all die anyway, right?) maybe I’ll just sit here drinking coffee and tell you how my empowermints are going.

The most important thing is that I completed my illegal drug empowermint. This was sort of the jewel in my empowermint crown to the extent that I kinda of feel I’ve peaked and have nowhere to go but down. Maybe that’s why I’ve been tailspinning. My whole life I’ve wondered how people obtain illegal drugs when there is no clear road to obtaining them. You can’t buy them in a store, you can’t ask people if they sell them, so how is everyone is high? Well it turns out the answer is friends.

I’d decided that friends were the next realm of empowermint anyway. You can know how to dig ditches and start a campfire but without any friends you gotta hard hoe to row. And I literally knew no one of flesh and blood. Now I know a few.

And I really, really want to write about them. But I don’t know if that’s rude. I’ve always avoided being friends with writers for this exact reason. Just like I’ve avoided being friends with musicians because they have no morals. And tall people because their heads are too far away from earth. And dark haired people because they are wusses. Thin people are harsh and intolerant. Fat people just chuckle when you want to talk about something serious. People with large heads are obsessed with conspiracies. Small heads look weird. Long necks lack commitment. Short neck means tiny brain. Men can be dangerous or break your heart. Women might assume you’re a lesbian and you end up having to eat their pussy just to be polite. There’s a reason to avoid everyone.

I almost feel I’ve gotten too many ideas about life stuck in my head and now I need to clear a few out. Men who eat pasta are gay. Men who avoid pasta are gayer. Drugs are bad because they’re illegal. Hot dogs are bad cause I once found a short thick hair in one. Bars are bad because ghosts live in them and they can get stuck in your hair then follow you home. Honey mustard dressing is bad cause if you eat it you’ll attract men who like to be done up the ass. Red attracts violence. Purple insanity. Black death. White can make you so spiritual that you attract dark sluts who give you aids. Orange can make you attract fun loving sluts who also give you aids. Gold will turn you into a man. Silver softens your brain. The world is full of things to be avoided.

More than ever I feel like a black checker all alone on a checker board. My player has decided he’ll use me to make his next move. He doesn’t have many checkers left. But whichever direction he moves me in I’m gonna get jumped. Maybe this is why I keep walking into walls.

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Charleston, West Virginia My Life Story Uncategorized Writings

The Merchant’s Taser

My practilife is going ok. An ongoing issue is transportation. I walk in the day (busses cost money without saving much time) but at night don’t know how to calculate the odds of danger. One friend sent me a taser which allows you to electrocute people if they get too close. Another said a crossbody bag keeps you safe from muggers so I bought one. I’ve never needed a purse before since I had no keys, phone or wallet. Now I mumble keys phone wallet… keys phone wallet….to myself one hundred times a day. You keep these three on you at all times.

I tried to select a crossbody bag that says Professional Crisp. The one that arrived looks more like Back to Preschool. This is a problem because people keep asking if I’m autistic. Pretty sure this is code for retarded. So Not Retarded is the main message I want my clothes to send.

I know it is bad to use the word retarded. And cool- almost trendy at the moment- to be autistic. Just one more reason I don’t want to be seen that way. Not to mention that it *won’t* be cool anymore once the wheel of the gods turn a bit further. I’m trying to prepare for the future by building a competent Can Do persona. You should too.

But back to the purse- not only does its shape seem dimwitted, its color is too noticeable. I thought it was light colored when I bought it. My goal for now is to blend in. There are too many holes in my skill set to completely avoid a retarded feeling. But I can avoid becoming a Famous Retarded Person. I don’t want people pointing me out as they drive by in their cars.

Maybe I shouldn’t care though because the other weak spot in my practivitization is that I don’t know anyone where I live. I have learned though that long distance friendships are very real. Not only did facebook friends send me enough money to make it through the initial crisis, they also patiently explained how everything in the practiworld works & even called 911 for me when I couldn’t figure out how to do it.

I couldn’t breath & thought I was going to lose consciousness. But when the cops and ambulance arrived a few minutes later then I could breath and felt so bad for wasting their time even though they were really kind. They asked me if I wanted to get into the ambulance just in case. But being laid out horizontally & placed in the back of a mini van is actually one of my worst nightmares. I associate it with being retarded.

So anyway, I am not sure how to meat people where I live. Friends have suggested open mics. But can me and musicians be friends? I feel like we’re oil & water. It’s a bro culture. You aren’t supposed to care about things smelling bad and being covered in goo. Worse than a bro culture, though, cause it specifically revolves around young, lazy men with no moral compass. Still, I’m trying to be open minded. I might have bad ideas about musicians that it’s time to release.. I’ll try to meet some just in case we get along. Maybe I’d like doing drugs. My facebook friends are always high.

Or maybe astrology readings would be better. Then I’d be dealing mostly with women. And you really get to know people when you read for them. I like the feeling of becoming no one & focusing on someone else’s problems. People’s lives are so much messier than anyone lets on. Realizing this has made me more socially comfortable.

And if you’re wondering how I’m currently able to survive, it’s mostly through my new identity as Arabian Merchant. Selling on ebay. It’s a decent fit for me because shopping is my one true vice. And I’m finding most things in my bulging vault of possessions have gone up in value since I bought them. I’m able to make a profit while clearing space for future shopping. I’m like a fat person who finally got a tapeworm. Now mama eats what she wants.

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The Cops

One of my side hustles is offering legal advice and the question I get most is “Should I call the cops?”

Once I would have said yes. I like cops because they are protective. However, I’ve come to realize the answer is no.

Cops are not themselves. They are teeth in a giant mouth. The mouth of the legal system. You don’t want to end up in its belly. You don’t want to end up like me.

How I wish I could go back in time just a couple weeks and change my fate by refusing to speak to them.

But I am so used to speaking my mind in worlds where there are no consequences. It’s what I do. I didn’t know that if you flap your jaws in the presence of cops your whole life can change in an instant.

I wanted to talk to them. I was distraught, semi hysterical. I couldn’t stop crying. But I didn’t want anything to happen. I asked them if it was safe to talk to them. They said it was. Nothing would happen. I was so dumb back then. I didn’t know the role of cops is to move food from the mouth into the belly.

Next thing James is in jail. Not what I wanted. I pleaded with the cops, telling them they would be punishing me more than anyone. Without James I literally had zero access to money, phone, transportation etc (100% of his funds are in crypto which I don’t know how to access.) Do you have any friends or family? No. Well, don’t worry, there are plenty of resources to assist you. Don’t worry. There are so many resources out there. Just call this number and they’ll take care of you.

I called the number. They said they maybe I could have two bus passes if I promised to use them for something important and not to go gallivanting around town.

Every step along the way I am told not to worry- there are so many resources available. They are protecting me. I say being homeless doesn’t feel like protection. They say well maybe they can get me a discount on a counseling session. I say I don’t need mental help. They say well maybe we could get you into a pottery class at the helping hands center. Do you like crafts?

I am The Victim. Everywhere I go there are Victim’s Advocates. They pull me into little chambers where there are crayons and coloring books. They give me hugs and stare into my eyes with caring looks. I try to explain that I’m neither retarded nor insane. My concerns are material. I don’t want to be homeless. They tell me my life is worth more than my home. Yeah, but I really don’t want to be sitting out on the sidewalk with no place to go. I have two dogs. Honey, I understand that but we need to keep you safe. There are so many resources.

Oh really. The night the cops arrested James they didn’t want to take me back home for safety reasons. So they tried to find a women’s shelter to put me in. Every shelter within a hundred mile radius was full. Finally they found a shelter where I was allowed to be locked in a little room next to a trash can. I was hyperventilating & screams would come out because I didn’t want James to be arrested. There was a woman on the other side of the glass. She was laughing with her friend because she had asked me if I wanted her to call a paramedic and I didn’t know what one was.

The shelter was basically a female prison. They said I couldn’t enter the main building unless I was showered & put in a new outfit. Hard pass. There was one room where 20 women slept on bunks. Some women high on drugs were banging on the door to the trash room trying to get in.

A magistrate has ruled I can have no contact with James until his trial. Not even through a third party. And no financial support either. For my own protection. Because there are so many resources out there.

I will survive though. Facebook friends sent me money to get me through the first round of utilities being turned off. Selling my possessions on ebay is working better than expected. I found an extra mini part time job. But what if I didn’t have these things? What if I had kids rather than dogs? What if I hadn’t known to open a bank account the week before due to being an astrologer? Without that one piece in place I’d have no water or power. It makes me feel weird that putting me in peril is happening in the name of making me safe.

A lawyer said it’s cause they are terrified of women getting killed by their husbands cause then everyone gets in trouble. The magistrates, the cops, the mayors. Whereas if the women die in other ways, not their problem. After all there were plenty of resources out there.

So anyway, my legal advice is this- the cops are not your girlfriends. Think twice before spilling your guts because your whole life can change in an instant.

James gets out of jail. I may have given the impression in previous posts that he left me for another woman (I also received condolences on his death.) That was me trying to keep up appearances. He is out now but I’m not allowed to see him until his trial on October 25th at which I am expected to be a witness. Apparently this is the exception to the rule that you can’t be compelled to testify against your spouse. I don’t know that it should be an exception however.

Also I must point out for legal reasons that this photo was not given to me by James. In truth it wasn’t.

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Under the Veil

Above all I feel disoriented and confused. Of course, this is my normal state. I wish there was some magical way of knowing truth. Then I could have clarity. But life is a collage of feelings, words, half-eaten evidence and none of it ever adds up. And so I become obsessed. Because there is no closure. What is real? What isn’t? How do I make good choices from a position of darkness?

My only comfort is this blog but even then it’s walking on ice cause one wrong step and I fall into bad wife zone. What is okay to express and what isn’t? I don’t know. From what I gather you aren’t supposed to speak of your husband at all unless you’re singing his praises. But then how can you talk about yourself? It’s like a person in a concentration camp writing about their life while trying to leave out the concentration camp part. Especially for females, I imagine, romantic partners take up so much space in our life that if we can’t talk about them what the fuck are we supposed to talk about?

Don’t get me wrong. I’m a Scorpio & I love having a secret life that is hidden beneath a veil. That’s where I thrive.

But I’ve learned something else. Secret worlds are prone to toxicity. They can’t help it. They are dark, stagnant pools of water. Unconditional love, loyalty and dependence give power to your partner. Power corrupts. And in a finite set one element corrodes the others, like that game rock, scissors, paper. And so a cycle begins. There are no outside elements to mitigate. What happens behind closed doors is nobody’s business.

Christians say marriage is a rope of three strings- man, woman, god. I don’t think this is the right model since God will certainly be defined by the partner with the most power. I believe the three strings are man woman & society.

But human society is not what we think. There is this tendency to de-mystify it because it seems so mundane to us. When in reality it is the color gold & an expression of virtues & idealism that come from a higher realm but demand embodiment THROUGH us. In this way, it is distinct from white spirituality in which higher powers act on our behalf. From what I can tell, gold is the one and only antidote to the toxicity of excessive blackness.

Being cut off from gold is the problem my husband is facing (Am I allowed to say this or crossing a wife-line?). These last 5 years he has been bombarded with Pluto transits which immerse a person’s mind in blackness. Power issues, paranoia. And he is Plutonic to begin with. He wears black. He isolates. He sleeps during the day and wakes when the sun sets. He spends all his time in the darkest room of our house, the one that gets no sunlight. He doesn’t laugh. He brews & stews in his own juices around the clock. And I like dark guys more than sunny ones. But the darkness has gone way too far even by Scorpio standards and begun to take on a life of its own. What I call a backwards black 8 spiral. If you want to see a tv series about this dynamic watch the show ‘The Affair.’ It’s really good. Undealt with childhood issues basically cause a happily married man to unravel until he ends up accidentally whacking off to his daughter & being imprisoned for murder.

James grew up a Jehovah’s Witness and was expected to embody moral perfection or being ‘beyond reproach.’ He wasn’t expected to do anything per se- in fact achievement was discouraged since it’s ‘of this world’- but not making mistakes was critical. A wrong thought, a mispelling, a crumb in your mustache…. all these little errors could potentially drive others away from the Good News the witnesses were trying to spread. This maybe created a dynamic where if he feels he can’t be absolute perfection, he just crawls into a hole and waits for Paradise to arrive. But in the hole the juices pile up, darkening mind & feelings. Men are solar powered.

But obviously it isn’t my choice how connected or disconnected James wishes to be from humanity. I just gotta reach for the gold myself. The last two weeks were desperately focused on learning to make money, pay bills, ride busses and use telephones. But ultimately my survival will depend equally on integrating into the golden arms of society.

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Terror


(I wrote this around couple weeks ago, I guess. Before the last astrological storm which led to James’s disappearance. I asked him how he would feel about me publishing it and he said it was fine, but that nothing I wrote was true.This made me feel a sense of relief so I went the dignified route of keeping feelings to myself. But in the end they were prescient, so may as well share them now.)

Now I’m scareder than ever. The last storm was as bad as I feared it would be- sluts, crime, violence, financial disasters- and I just realized that another one is upon me when Mars joins Uranus in James’s House of Sex & Death.

I really feel he’s going to leave me and somehow it will be my fault. It will be something I did. Maybe this blog post. But if not this then something else.

The other day I couldn’t take the pain of what was happening. I kicked a door so hard I can’t walk anymore. James says this was me using the threat of violence to control him.

The bad parts of him leaving are two-fold. One, he has been my whole life. When I fell in love with James I thought I had found True Love and that became my religion, my reason for existing. To accept that it wasn’t real would be the worst pain I’ve ever felt.

Secondly, I have no idea how to survive on my own. He always wanted to support me and encouraged me to rely on him for everything. This was fine because it allowed me to pursue my interests, which he supported. But also it makes it harder to set boundaries when you’ve never earned a living, don’t have a drivers license, a bank account, don’t know how to pay bills etc. I have no idea how the world works and doubt I would be able to cut it.

But I know it would be wrong to stay with someone who doesn’t want you. I guess I still believe in love.

Weird things are happening in James’s mind. More and more I seem to be associated with all the pain and frustration inside.. And other people who he could potentially have sexual relations with have come to be associated with relief from pain. And positive feelings.

More and more he sees bad in me. Devious intentions which I don’t believe are there. Nothing I do seems capable of shifting it. Meanwhile other females have become easy targets on which to project his positive feelings. They aren’t a part of his life. They are just blank screens onto which he can project his own needs and desires. How can I compete with that?

Suddenly, after eleven years of marriage, everything about me is wrong. I am too mentally fast. That is his biggest complaint. Also I never listen. But I listen all the time. He says ‘Yeah but you never understand.’ So I try harder to understand. And yet somehow I never succeed. I make him think too much. I don’t wear enough camouflage (I was literally wearing camouflage shorts when he said this.) I don’t like to get muddy. (I don’t know if this is true, because he has never asked me to do anything involving mud.)

He likes the way the online women communicate better. They mostly just say LOL all the time. But they say it with a depth of understanding someone like me can only dream of. I am mental. They hear with the soul.

So what can I do? I have to prepare to stand alone in this world. The upcoming astrological storm is likely to be more traumatic than the last one. But I don’t know how to make a living.

I get tens of thousands of downloads a month and over a thousand readers a day but probably make around 100 dollars a year. I do astrology readings but just on a donation basis. I haven’t had a job since I was a teenager. I don’t drive, so how will I get groceries? I am so scared.

But I can’t stay if he doesn’t love me. That’s what I was here for, not money or security. And I am trapped in this fun house where no matter what I do, no matter how good I try to be, I get a negative projection returned. I can do no right and online women can do no wrong. He calls them his fireflies. He calls me cuntface. I can only assume this means he wants to be rid of me.

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Charleston, West Virginia My Life Story Writings

No Words

Well, it has happened. My worst nightmare has come true. James is gone. I don’t know if he’s coming back but it’s not likely to be soon.

Let’s start with the practical. I’ll break it down for you.

No money. No access to his money. No knowledge of money. Never paid a bill. Don’t even know what bills exist. No phone. No car. No family. No friends.* Two big dogs both stronger than me.

Water gets turned off. I panic and start opening all mail. James didn’t let me open mail before. Realize internet and electricity are about to go. Facebook friends come to the rescue. They send me money. I get water back on and pay just enough of the other bills to prevent disaster. I’ve never dealt with these things before. Had facebook friends not shared money (and knowledge), I would be doomed. Who gives people money? They did.

Had no food but a facebook friend drove over with 5,000 pounds of raisins, pistachios, canned salmon, canned pears, macaroni & cheese and applesauce. She just dropped it off and vanished. Crates of food so heavy I couldn’t lift them. I won’t starve.

Another friend brought me elderberry juice, the only thing that relieves the weakness in my kidneys that can make it hard to move. I didn’t know how I was going to get by without it. So my body will survive for the next few weeks.

But house is in foreclosure. In two days, someone comes to appraise it. But how can they appraise it when Patton will try to bite them? I couldn’t lock him in a room even if I wanted to. If he hears a bunch of freaks roaming around he will bust a door to get at them. I used to feel ashamed of having the meanest dog in Charleston, but now he makes me feel safe. He is the reason I sleep at night.

And if the house does get foreclosed, what do I do? Move all my possessions onto the sidewalk and sit next to them?

Still, the immediate crisis has been cleared. That itself is a miracle. The amount of skills gained has been insane. I found a phone in the house and managed to activate it. I went to court. I learned about apps. I discovered porn of myself online. I picked up dog turds with a bag. I made decisions on my own without considering what James would do. I’ve even made a few decisions he would disapprove of. Because I thought they were the right thing. I wish I’d done that sooner.

But the future remains foggy. I can’t remain a charity case much longer. I’ve been listing everything I own on ebay, hoping to make money while reducing the number of items I’ll need to place on the sidewalk. I’ve ordered business cards for astrology readings and plan to start promoting myself.

People are cheering me on. Others are critical, as though I’m getting my just desserts. Was I a slacker before? I cooked, I cleaned, I tried to fulfill my purpose. Yeah I got screwed but so did Jesus. Is that always a sign you made the wrong choice?

And why do I sound so crisp and glib while facing utter ruin? I don’t know. I keep switching into practimode where I feel nothing at all. Then I can’t stop crying. An ambulance came cause I couldn’t breathe. Losing James is not something I can wrap my mind around.

But I don’t even know if I’ve lost him. I’m not allowed to talk with him for six weeks.