Mysterious Ways, REply

Re today's post: Maybe good things come in threes.

--Harry, one of my readers

Mysterious Ways

I doubt it seriously that the Universe will throw me another handsome, rich guy with an eight inch dick considering during my lifetime I've already had two (Mr. G-Force and Morpheus), but then again, it does work in mysterious ways.

Hold Down a Fucking JOb

In the beginning, I didn't deal with it because I was psychotic.

Now, I'm left with it, every day.

I don't know how people break up and hold down a fucking job.

Give

I promised myself that I would always forgive Morpheus for being the person he is.

That includes right now.

Not returning my email that is over a month old.

You can't make people be who they are not.

YOu can't make them give what they don't have inside.

Tears For Lies

I don't know why I've been feeling so alone lately. Nothing has changed.

Every now and again, I will conjure up the image of his smiling face in the kitchen of his home.

And I am reminded that I am being punished by God and his gods for being with a married man--not separated, not divorcing.

Just married.

And then I start to cry,

Good Grief

No one knows the pain. The people who do--they defy the statistics. They don't marry or they don't marry again.

They wander through life, closed off, cheated out of love, cheating others out of affection and closeness. Gifting cruelty.

I sense I'm about to enter a league of permanently fucked up people.

Maybe that was his present to me, a lesson of sorts, and now, I carry it on my back, this boulder of a burden.

Do you still love me?

No one gets it because I don't. Mourning isn't a practiced art usually. YOu don't walk into a room, wave your arms, and say, "Oh, pick me! Pick me!"

You, in the back, you're next.

No one knows when it's going to get better, when the pain will go away, and neither do I. We've never done this before.

It's the absolute alone-ness in the pain that drives in the insanity. No one can dig you out. Friends peer at you as you struggle down at the bottom. Some make comparisons to break up's that they've had, but no one has had voices of their ex-boyfriends, now have they?

Almost No ONe Cares, Part II

I've decided to pretend that I'm getting over him, at least to Morpheus himself.

That means, no more emails sent.

I will pretend until it's an actuality.

I'm trying to move forward with my life.

Almost No ONe Cares

Almost no one cares.

They've all heard it before--about Morpheus.

The fact that it's still living hell for you is no concern of anyone else. IT should be over by now.

I rarely talked about him with my therapist for a reason. She never understood.

I'm locked in a battle that I'm not sure I'm going to win half the time. Morpheus roams around my brain freely. He says what he wants to say, conning me, toying with me, teasing me.

"Love you, Lace," he just said.

The real person is conveniently absent for reasons that I pointed out in the email sent, called "On Cheating."

"I was, and I am low on your list of priorities..." I wrote to him.

ONly In Silence

You send out a letter baring your soul, you expect some reply.

"Fuck off."

"I love you more."

"I can't."

Instead, only silence.

IF I could learn to read silence, I would make millions in practice, books, TV shows and touring.

It's all very tragic, can't you tell?

In Saving You

All I ever wanted to do was to love you and to be loved by you. I was happy just being next to you. I had such high hopes for us.

Now I don't know how to even talk to you. I am blade you are healthy now. I wish I could be a part of that life I wanted you so much to get there.

I feel like I am left with nothing and it is hard to take, sometimes. In saving you I was hoping that you would breath life into me.

--Hades, in a comment

DEpression Crawling

Today, I feel the depression crawling back from whatever corner it was hiding in. Today, I feel it taking ahold.

I don't want to do anything, I don't want to move from this bed, even though I know I need to exercise, and ride Gizmo, and do some housework.

I try to think of positive things, but a part of me wants to die, and another part of me is afraid of death.

Time is precious, but the schizoaffective disorder is stealing it away from me.

On the Mirror, "No SEcond Troy"

WHY should I blame her that she filled my days
With misery, or that she would of late
Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,
Or hurled the little streets upon the great.
Had they but courage equal to desire?
What could have made her peaceful with a mind
That nobleness made simple as a fire,
With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind
That is not natural in an age like this,
Being high and solitary and most stern?
Why, what could she have done, being what she is?
Was there another Troy for her to burn? 

--W.B. YEATS "No SEcond Troy"

Madness Until Death

Remember when I told you that you were the greatest guy in the world?

There was no other guy then, just like now.

I don't know how I'll replace you, what I'll do without you. Sure, the mechanics are easy (it's called a Magic Wand). The loneliness is bearable.

But the idea--of something better--the magic of life filled with passion.

I live a life without motivation. I want for nothing, and therefore have no direction. At least psychosis, in its madness, is a compass, if only pointed to the wrong star. Every day passes the same.

I wanted you. Could you blame me?

I barely remember your face, your smell, it is as if every day, you are dying, slowly, bit by bit in my diseased brain--what day will you finally disappear forever from me? Slip through my firing fingers?

Could I make love to you one more time and remember you until death? Would God grant me that? OR would I dive deep into madness like so many times before as punishment for loving you?

"I thought I was meant to be with you..."

(ON Cheating, an email sent to Morpheus)

Make Me Sick

The truth is, I wish I was married to a man who just won’t give up on me. So, I admire him for that. And in the same stroke, it makes me a little sick.

--May 162012 file from private journal

Short Conversation

It would be a short conversation.

“Hello. So, you don’t love me and you won’t leave your wife. Is there really anything we need to talk about?” Perhaps there’s something I’m missing. 

--May 162012 file from private journal

Some of My Happiest Moments

"Some of my happiest moments on this earth, I was with you."

--ON Married with Children, email meant for MOrpheus


"And I know they will never happen again..."

I would write him a letter every day if I thought it would change anything, if he would think of me more often, if he would consider my heart, if he would make a decision.

WAiting

Eventually, I will have to move on, instead of thinking every stray call is him or anxiously hoping every time my phone dings that it's an email from him, etc. Eventually, I will have to stop waiting.

What I want, what I'm looking for--doesn't exist.

I'm waiting for a reality that will never be.

No SEcond Troy

The only thing I've learned like the song "I Grieve" says, in all the mourning I've done, and bearing the sadness, life does carry on, whether you choose to participate or not.

EArly this morning, I sat in the truck outside the hospital, and just waited and waited--for nothing, but I couldn't force myself to move. I was struck by the gravity of grief. Locked inside the body of a prisoner, who gave up all rights to hope and happiness.

Every day the same, you get up, you brush your teeth, you look at yourself in the mirror and brush your hair, the voices talk to you, your reflection gives speech, wants to be heard, you deal with the fatigue, you might drop the coffee cup again on your way to the coffee pot, you grab a blanket from the chair so you're not cold, and you do this every morning, and your life is predictable, and boring on a level--

Today you didn't cry, just like yesterday, and every day you read on the bedroom mirror,

Yeats

No Mood Lift

"Nothing yet has really sunk in."

--Peter Gabriel, "I Grieve"

I have socially isolated myself. I only have one friend in the area, and he and I are not getting along too well at the moment.

Some of this has to do with the fact that my car is not in working order. Other explanations are I've never had a lot of friends even from the time I was growing up. I usually gain friends when I'm manic, but I haven't had a mood lift in years thanks to the lithium and the Topamax.

So much of my time is absorbed in mourning Morpheus. I hardly feel like I have the energy for other people, either sex. 

My psychiatrist wants me to change this, and gain a circle of friends--but I can't see this. For one thing, you can't just join a group of friends like you join a yoga class--it takes time, months or years. For another, I usually don't get along with a harem of women.

Undone

In the hospital last year, when the voices were telling me that I was dying, I was gripped with a feeling of complete insignificance.

I had done nothing with my life. I had wasted years, never reaching my goals. Never even finished college.

I still feel that at times--it haunts me. I could die today or tomorrow, and leave so many things left unsaid, undone.

Few People Read This Blog

Few people read this blog, only a handful of readers who have known me for a long time, and one person who I don't know (the IP address bounces around, so the person travels). Even including my hits, the blog on average receives eight total visits per day. For the record, it is the most unsuccessful blog I've ever had.

I blame this on several things:

1) I was genuinely psychotic when I started the blog although the title was meant to be ironic, and to poke fun at the doctors who said I was delusional. REading the writing of someone who is losing his/her mind is only so entertaining.

2) Subject material. I no longer write about one of my favorite subjects--sex--because simply I don't have it anymore.

3) I haven't felt creative in probably about a year, and therefore my writing has suffered.

I have tried marketing the blog to mental illness websites and a few other like-minded blogs, but traffic never really increased.

I have considered closing the blog, which will probably happen regardless.

In the meantime, I will continue to write in here until I come up with a better plan.

"I bought all you were selling, the lies too."

--On Married with Children, email meant for Morpheus

Blinded, Truly, By Bliss

"Blinded, truly, by bliss."

--On Married with Children, email meant for Morpheus

NO one asked me what I wanted because--of course--what I wanted came exactly last. IF you were to ask me, I would demand for all parties to be content, and I can no longer naively assume that Morpheus would be happy with me.

I wrote him an email that he may never receive over a sore holiday for many reasons.

I will never have children. I wish there would have been a mistake when mistakes could have been made. Now I don't even ovulate. I have a disease that breathes too close to schizophrenia for my liking. Can I hold a daughter who is in the grasp of voices and delusions? Would I dare to play Russian Roulette and take the off chance that she is born perfect and wait until eighteen sets to see if depression rises? Neurotically peer over her shoulder as she goes to college, knowing the statistics on likelihood of developing a psychiatric disorder, hoping against odds she doesn't crumble or zoom into mania?

A mistake, I mean, with him. I dare write this not in an email for surely the man needs no more surprises, and it's not worth it. He cut his balls, and I don't cycle.

MOther's DAy is sad, a reminder of the events in life I will never go through for myself.

INside of Me

I don't remember what it was like to be with you--to have you inside of me.

Time has raped my memory.

Time has quieted my lust.

Trip to the ER

I woke up a few days ago in my bedroom in the middle of the night, naked from the waist down with no recollection of how or why I wasn't fully dressed. I must have at some point blacked out. I had to used the restroom, so as I moved off the bed, I fell down, almost to the floor, but I was able to grab onto the bed for support. My legs just gave out. I tried the same thing again--to walk--and my legs refused to move. I waited for a few minutes, and then I was able to walk to the bathroom.

I re-told the story to my psychiatrist's assistant because we were disagreeing over whether or not I should see the Neurologist. I have an appointment with her on May 30th.

The psychiatrist called me back personally, and told me that I was in "danger" and that I should go to the ER.

I went to the ER, and dealt with a condescending doctor. He just drew blood work, and that was it. My lithium levels came back high--1.5. He said this was my problem, and discharged me.

After speaking with my psychiatrist, we reduced my dose of lithium down to 600 mg from 900mg. 

 I've been trying to make it happen again, but I haven't been able because I don't believe it had anything to do with the lithium toxicity.

I also don't understand how or why I blacked out. I haven't discussed this with anyone.

You Get Smart, Buy It Now

You get smart, but the world keeps getting smarter. YOu push back, but they throw you down.

Tie you up, gag you all around.

Sometimes I think I'm never going to win.

I'll just sit there, quiet, don't move, and maybe I can sneak out the back, disappear into the night--forget getting ahead--forget the numbers--forget achievement--plaques on the walls--or smiles from the goons.

We're just out here trying to survive.

STay

"I'm high.
It eases the wearisomeness of all this. So belabored. I had told her before, I genuinely thought and felt it was over. All this rigamarole just delaying the inevitable, the obvious, and the trite.
I don't know why they expect me to ask them to stay.
There was only one girl I'd do that for. But then, we don't talk about that anymore."
--Life in the Age of Byrony

With Money

There's nothing in my heart to give away.

I'm now after a man with money.

Selling Beauty

Life taught me that you can sell being beautiful like you can sell anything else.

Sometimes when you're down, it's all you got to hang onto as you're climbing up.

The Day She Gave Up On Love

In my mind, there was a day that my mother gave up on love.

She always says that Richard shouldn't have been my father--biology being biology, Dad should been the boyfriend before she took her vows.

Your whole body can give up, bits and pieces at first, piling up, adding to dead weight. I feel it. Like your insides are being dragged to slaughter.You dig inside and hand over a chunk of liver.

She tells the story when there is no one around but us.

The day she gave up on love.

I want to name my baby girl "HOpe" so that every day and any time she's down she always remembers to believe in the idea.

I'll never have any children, but I dream about them. I don't want to find my daughter in the ER with cut up arms or struggling to breathe under a ventilator because she decided she couldn't live this life anymore.

Unrequited Love

My psychiatrist threw out the idea that this was unrequited love I had towards Morpheus, and that's why it was "obsessive."

It just made me angry.

No Matter How Unhappy

"But it's never going to happen because you've built a life with someone else, [The Wife]. And no matter how unhappy you are or how unhappy she is, it's not something easy to give up on--and cut in half."

--On Cheating, an email sent to Morpheus

Perhaps we all say this in the end and then somewhere go against our own words, but I promised myself I would never love another like I loved him.

Tour de Bars

"Who dares to love forever?"

--Queen and "Who Wants to Live Forever"

Last night, I went out downtown with my grandma. She hadn't been inside any of the bars.We ended up going into two--Firestone and a new wine bar called Luis.

I could only think about how Morpheus and I had never been in any of those places together.

We never went anywhere except his place or mine---and talked for a little while--and had sex.

There's a hole in the middle of me, but I wake up anyway. Every day.

I'm Tired of Wanting YOu

"I'm tired of wanting you to give me something that you cannot or will not."

--On Cheating, an email sent to Morpheus

In the core of my being, of course, I never want it to end. I want him to call, and say he's filing for divorce, and that we can finally have that damn cup of coffee.

At some point, you promise yourself that you aren't going to wait anymore, but depression is all about time being stretched into miserable hours slowing. All you do is wait--staring at walls--staring at bowls of food you can't eat.

He never shows up, he never calls, he never TXT-messages. He's oblivious to the pain on the other end of the phone.

Perhaps that has always been what's angered me the most--the quiet disregard he has used as a wall. Life lives on between our meetings, and yet, he has no knowledge of me.

Long Time to Get Here

"I deserve someone who loves me. I can wait for that."

--ON Cheating, an email sent to Morpheus

I can let you go.

It has taken a long time to get to this place.

The Heart Loves On

"Which is why losing you...so painful...I can hardly bear it..."

--ON Cheating, an email sent to Morpheus

Some days are better than others, but the realization that he's gone, physically out of the area, has been hard to compute. Is he coming back? Will he show up on some street corner someday?

It is the heart's everlasting longing, always plodding along down some road to hell, refusing to remit to another path of least resistant. The heart loves on despite the turmoil.

Mourning You

"I still mourn you."

--ON Cheating, an email sent to MOrpheus

I wait for this grieving process to lessen, but so far, it's the same day after day. It brings forth the same questions, "Did I do the right thing? or "Did I just hurt people needlessly?"

Mostly I find myself battling the condition of being alone, a future without him. What does it look like?

 "Life carries on and on and on..." by Peter Gabriel, "I Grieve."

Mostly I just pay homage to the message that it's just one foot in front of the other.

Concern about MS

"Facebook is the devil's playground and Mark Zuckerburg is probably the Anti-christ.  Anyone who wants to control that many people in that many countries has got to be evil.  That is all I have to say on that."

--Hades

I've been twitching and dropping things from my hands. I went to see my GP, and he said to make an appointment with The Neurologist, which I really don't want to do since I googled "twitching" and nothing life threatening came up. I hate to waste her time.

I made a rule: if I fall from the twitching (or some other form of ataxia), I will make an appointment with The Neurologist then. 

For those of you who have been reading for a while, I've been concerned that I have MS, but I've never been diagnosed. In fact, my last brain MRI was just a few months ago, and it was clear of lesions.

From DearDiary.Net

One of the amazing things about blogs is the fact that our little group from DearDiary.net is still together--we don't always connect with each other, but we have remained friends throughout the years since 2002. This includes Brandon, Cali, Hasher, and Amara.

"Communication is down [between us]...[The Wife] said I have to give you up or else..." Morpheus said the last time we were on the phone together.

About Dying At Age Twenty-Eight

I have this little, teeny, tiny fear that the voices will be right, purely by coincidence that I'll die before my next birthday--I'll choke on a cherry tomato at a restaurant or I'll get into a car wreck on my way home from downtown or I'll have another accidental OD mixing my regular psych-meds with the pain meds for my back.

And then in the uber-creepy voice that I know so well, he will finally say, "Lace, you are dying."

And be right.

Maybe the Best Thing YOu EVer Had

"I'm telling you this because you'll wake up one morning, and you're fifty. And maybe the best thing you ever had was fifteen years ago. And you can't get it back again."

--"ON Cheating," an email sent to Morpheus

I've known Morpheus now for almost five years (it will be on August 25).

Over the years I've gotten use to a pattern of behavior. You call him, and he takes whatever amount to respond, usually months. It doesn't matter how important the calls are. I once called him when I was very ill (psychotic), and he just ignored me, and my ten phone calls (with messages). Obviously he's not available because he's married, but it's more than that. There's been "gross negligence" on his part where he's had time to respond, and never did.

Now, there are no phone calls, unless he makes them because I don't have his phone number. I just write my stupid emails.

EVentually as "The Other Woman," you get tired of being last on someone's to do list.

You do this because, supposedly, two people are in love. When he said he wasn't in love with me, it made me really think about why I go through the trouble of participating in an affair.

The sex, while incredible, is no longer worth it. And no, it can't be replaced with someone else. Every partner is unique.