The United States of Tara-Showtime-produced by Stephen Spielberg

A one-half hour series about a woman with multiple personalities. To put it lightly, I can identify with Tara. Oddly, my idiom is, E pluribus unum, Latin for "Out of Many, One,"  seen by one if close attention is paid to all the money forked over to live the American dream. I don't ( Read more... )

I'm tired. Bone-deep tired. Too tired to move, so I wait. Wait for the drifting. It doesn't come. I so miss the nod. A decade later and the craving is still my constant companion. I don't miss the drug, just the sleep that blocks all the pain. Puts to rest my mind. Silences my raging soul. Fighting my slide downhill, constantly walking up the ( Read more... )

I keep hoping that this life will not be effected by that life, but that never seems to be case. My body, my behavior, my thoughts--two steps forward 4 back.

My kidneys are seeping toxins into my body. They have tiny little holes in them. At first doctors thought it was cancer eating through, but it isn't, thank God. They don't know what has caused ( Read more... )

AS YOU ENTER THE HOUSE OF BRICKS,
YOU ENTER THE DOMAIN OF PAIN.
ESCAPE YOU TRY EACH TIME...
EACH TIME IT IS ONLY IN VAIN.
THEN YOU REMEMBER WHAT IT IS ALL ABOUT.
IRONICALLY, THE MORE YOU FIGHT,
THE LESS YOU FEEL.
THE MORE YOU CAUSE,
THE LESSER YOUR ORDEAL.

THE MARKS WILL NEVER SHOW,
AND SOON YOU WILL KNOW,
TO LAY THERE--STOIC AND STIFF.
BECAUSE IT IS THE PAIN ( Read more... )

I don't do it often, but when I do, I don't know when to quit. I open up, rarely. When I do, I feel there is a purpose for it. Most of the time I am wrong. My heart and soul end up aching so deeply, that it feels like someone has reached inside of me and twisted and pulled and ripped. At times, I think it hurts more than the torture. Learning ( Read more... )

                          STATEMENT OF PURPOSE

If you want happy, there are many journals on this site that deal with happy subjects. I encourage anyone to seek them out. I have enjoyed many communities here on LiveJournal that have encouraged, strengthened, and given me support.

This is my place to express my pain. Will I feel sorry for myself? ( Read more... )

Attention is once again, drawn toward the perpetrators. The victims...truly deserving of their retribution, but not all victims will be recognized. Some will never be mentioned. The secret will remain just that. We were just whores. No national group to come to our aid. No outraged citizens.  We don't even rank up there with convicted murderers. ( Read more... )

The Tired Call

The call came, again. Not an unexpected call, just a tired one. Oh, yeah, tired. I tell them, all of them. They give their standard reply. Depression. Lack of exercise. Habit. Medicine. No doc, it is different this time. I get a nice pat on the back. That's the end of it. Until the tired call comes. I'm bleeding somewhere. Somewhere? ( Read more... )

Oddly enough, I miss it. This place...this place of pure brutality. What do I miss about it? Why do I miss it? Maybe because, although many times, nearly dead, at least I felt alive,unlike now when I feel static and numb. Only the untouchable touches me. The unavailable, fills me with life. Human touch I cannot have. At The Warehouse, there wasn't ( Read more... )

It disappeared some years ago. The physical structure is gone. The memories, however, sometimes muddled and vague, remain.

Innocuous. Innocent. A party and a ride. Locked in. Locked out. One life here. Another there. Two lives. Many personalities. All blended now making the memories all mine. Puzzle pieces floating around the periphery, coming ( Read more... )