Like most folks…

Like most folks, I have my own history and have been through several thought processes about suicide.
I remember for a long time thinking, about people’s suicide, how fkn dare you do this to yourself and put other people through it and then one day, that changed. I understood, you can really hurt that bad mentally.
Once I realized, in my own little bubble, the daily overwhelming despair I go though, can only be covered with a pharmaceutical band aid and I will never get better, I had to learn to redirect and not be around people and situations I hated.  Kind of impossible.
Took years to realize how greatly I am affected by things. It’s taking a bit of time too to figure out with a Dr I see, that on top of everything else, we are 95% sure I am also dealing with Premenstrual dysphoric disorder. Yay.
So, I take meds and when they stop working properly, it truly does feel like the end of the world and there is no hope and no reason to go on but luckily I had tried to kill myself when I was 16. My saving grace.
I took a crap ton of my mothers pills and as I started to fade out I forgot what I was doing and only knew I needed to use the latrine, I didn’t want to be found in a puddle of my own urine. Silly, Silly me.
I just had to quietly make it to the bathroom, it was only 10 feet away…I was sure I could do it but I was so pill’d up I was crawling across the wall making all kinds of noise lol….BUT my mother and Step dad figured it out really fast and they took me to the ER making me talk constantly on the way there with all the windows down.
They basically did a bunch of lying and fast talking to the ER folks because otherwise I’d have been admitted to the psyc ward. Ironically, my mother has tried to kill herself 4 or 5 times that I know of.
Anyways…I feel really lucky it happened because it has saved me a few times. Almost bit it again when I was a ballroom dance teacher back in my 20’s.
I was just trying to function like everybody else. You can’t but you learn to work around stuff. However quite often you have a nervous break down. If you don’t get help, everything falls apart, you are irreparably broken, a cracked shell of nothing good.
With any hope, you can tape and glue yourself back together again and carry on best you can…but then all I knew is I wanted to be dead, to not feel anymore.
Now my options are take meds forever and live the highs and lows or take an equalizer, where if it works you don’t feel such a deep low but you no longer will feel any joy.
I think for now, I will just ride the ride. I will just keep putting one foot in front of the other and fantasizing about what it is like to be in someone else’s head, someone –  supposedly normal.

-fm 2014



Tuesday, the body shop couldn’t take the truck, so I decide to go to the laundry mat. On the way there, the oil light comes on and although I know it goes down a quart, every 1000 miles or so, I didn’t want to be the chick that blew her engine. I pull over…sort of, pop the hood, fish through random vehicle fluids, locating the oil and proceeded to top her off. I pour half a quart in nice and neat without a funnel, no mess… and then it happens…the oil cap slips out of my fingers and falls into the engine compartment. Far enough in where I can’t reach it even after climbing into the engine compartment. fk.

Since the universe likes to screw with me, while I am in bike shorts, upside down, in an engine compartment –  I suddenly found myself surrounded by traffic. And even though I was putting on quite a show rotating from, laying on the ground, to being butt up and buried under the hood…that damn oil cap was only getting wedged further and farther, in.

 I decided to leave her there like a wounded manatee and walk home. A few rain drops in, I remembered that, said manatee’s, windows were down. fk.

Once I reached the house, I run up to the 3rd floor and look for this jacked up piece of 1960’s coat hanger (they don’t make them like they used to) told myself I’d remember to bring this squirrel cage harness back before the landlord comes looking for It, and raced down the stairs.

After some speed walking I made it back to the truck, apparently nobody wanted to steal her, and the short version ending is- I got the damn cap out slapped her hood down, slipped in a CD and was gone.

Let’s fast forward to the next day shall we…
I put the truck in again because they are trying to help me and so I am not top priority but it’s got to be done before a trip and so fingers crossed. Works for my pocket, anyways…they call me later and the message is, ‘we did this and this but can’t do that because we are not set up for it’…fk. So I call back and say ‘well, I have to throw something on and walk there…what do I owe? / Nothing? Really?..ok..and sure if you want to send Dan with the truck to get me..that’s great.’ So he shows and we drive back to the shop. For whatever reason he pulls up at the curb instead of into the lot and when I go to get out, in front of 5 people mind you, my keys, all 300 ounces of them, fall into the sewer. So….Now I’m tearing through everything in the back of the truck looking for that 1960’s coat hanger again. I was so lucky the drain was dry and there is a ledge…

 I manage to leave the body shop and head home to regroup, grab my ID..oops and go buy a beach chair. I then drive back home again, look for a spot and go to the apt and put my sitsuit on, because you will not see my ass swimming in the harbor…no sir..

So I am at the beach, maybe 120 seconds with my Walkman on, yah, I said Walkman, drink beside me, chillaxing and bam, a bird poops on my neck, right on my right side…getting the new chair, my suit, my towel and the sand. I then took my new beach towel and grabbed the glob of Seagull shit off of my shoulder, flapped it off of, my new beach towel, wondered if the 7ish?.. people behind me, facing me, just saw this and decide to casually slip on my flip-flops and walk back to the apt.

After using half a bottle of rubbing alcohol and wondering if that bird had eaten anything but sand, I headed back to the beach.

I get back to my chair, slip off my flops and sit into the most uncomfortable chair setting ever experienced by man. I remember thinking…did somebody reposition my chair?? I get up like a 2 minute old baby horse and survey the situation. After several runs, I have the chair back into a good position for me and I sit and the chair swallows me whole. It’s broken. Fk.

take your headphones off…


the yard sale part 1

  • MONEY TO MAKE CHANGE:  Somebody who want’s to pay three cents for your $10 item, will need change for a $50.

·         APRON OR VEST WITH POCKETS: People are crafty, keep all you hold dear,  close to your person (like your money and mace.)

·         MARKER: You may need to write your last will and testament.

·         PRICE GUN/LABELS/TAGS: What’s the point? They make up their own prices.

·         MUSIC: Sometimes, it soothes the beast.

·         OPTIONAL BEVERAGE: Vodka,  looks just like water.

·         OPTIONAL SNACK: Something has to float around in the vodka.

·         CALCULATOR: You can leave this wherever the hell you left the labels and tags …

·         PAPER TOWELS: Blood, Vodka, might have to clean up something.

·         CLEANING PRODUCTS: See above.

·         PAD: ..remember that marker..?…

·         PEN: Somebody, is going to borrow your marker,  for..’oh, just ah minute..’..and you will never see it again.

…what do I look like..? Best Buy!? Ebay?

·         EXTENSION CORD: sadly, no , it’s not to beat you’s so you can do stuff like plug the other extension cord in, you’re haggling for…

·        ELECTRICAL OUTLET: Because what I am really doing, in this driveway,  I borrowed by the road, is running a cyber cafe with a Rubbermaid container of tangled extension cords, a squashed sports bar  and apparently some vodka.

·         SIGNS: the ones that say ‘Look folks! I am going to lose my mind SATURDAY AT 8AM!’

And Lastly…

·         SOME FOLKS LIKE CASH BOXES: I like the above said aprons with grande pockets ( gives me room for my Taser….)

Spelling Bee

Way back in the day, during a traumatic time we’ll call middle school,  a young girl was in a spelling bee. As this grand affair started, she dragged her heavy ass chair all the way up onto the stage of the auditorium, looked out at a sea of people and waited with dread till she was called. Eventually it became her turn. She stood up, took a few steps forward and was told to spell the word ‘Reward.’ 

She said..’Reward, W….

They then told her to take her heavy ass chair and get off the stage…

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