Chapter 1 Book 3

Welcome back to the A train. Just to let you know, compare this chapter to a 'Men in Black' chapter. ( http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0119654/ ) I am going to welcome you into my world of New York City; here after known as NYC, where to go for decent French Onion Soup, PTSD, and a survivor. It is important for me to explain…We are all survivors of something. Weather it be our parent’s abuse, bullies, death, segregation, starvation, humiliation, neglect, the wars that may be around you right now. The list can go on and on and we all can be classified with PTSD in this, today’s day and age. Show me a child in the United States that does not have some sort of Disability or Dysfunction, I will show you a liar. Well maybe if you are Amish but they live usually fairly naturally unless they are selling wood stoves to heat your home on TV. It is not just the United States either. It is everywhere in today’s day and age. You just have to look and see. I mean really see.

I grew up in a home I barely remember. In recent months as my roomie and I have been discussing some of my history. I saw nothing of it as I was living it. I just lived it, moved forward, and well never really felt or dealt with it. Sometimes you just don’t have the time to absorb, if you know what I mean.

It was pointed out to me that, ‘Yes every 17 year old holds their mothers hand as they die’. That got me to thinking what a surreal world I had. I never had looked at it that way. I remember very little of my childhood before High School and even High School has dots that are missing. This frightens me. I am missing chunks of my life that I am not sure if I should let sleeping dogs lie or open that can of worms. I remember a few limited things in my life. If you were to count on your fingers what I remember from birth to the age of about 10 or 11 years old I have the grand total of about 15 hand picked memories my fucked up mind will let me remember. Each significant, each its own damaging and incriminating nightmare of memories, that is if you let them haunt you.

I have been debating how this chapter would go. I am rewriting on the computer the three other books at this time, but my journaling became a part of me when I could and did write on the A train. Right now the A train has landed on platform called home base. Right now spring is in the air. I am fasting; my roomie works outside the home about 40 hours a week. I stay home and write and research and do what I have to do to survive while holding on to a hope and a dream, a leap of faith. Until the next story comes along for me to report on to get out in the world of NYC, at least out of my room.

Faith is something I have held on to since the day my mom died. I am very lucky that my faith can sustain my being on several levels. It is my guiding force in this life. I know it well and faith has never failed me; big words to preach from one that you don’t even know. My weakness, vanity, my strength with out question, faith.

As we make a quick subject change to a point, at least I warned you.

I watch these shows and see what they want to show you. What they want you to believe. Let me ask you, haven’t you noticed in society if and when you do not need the TV to tell you what you already know, you get labeled as a freak an odd ball. Everyone has a TV right? So often you get questioned if you are not part of the machine and handle or do things differently than the “average” person.

I have been questioned every step of my life of why I have done what I have done. If I were sane do you think I would have moved to NYC on a leap of faith, a hope, and a dream, and not a dime to my name? No sane person does that. I did. Wait, maybe Madonna might. My life on the A train is not just about the medical issues I go through from my screwed up childhood, but what I have seen and experienced in the world. My reactions based on faith, my sight as an outsider becoming an insider to NYC, what I see from my rose colored glasses. Hey it will be a fun read and you can see your life is really not that messed up.

As I talk to my extremely understanding and patient roommate, when I go on my rants and rages of tyrannical talk. I see things that others don’t. I am at a point in my life where I feel the revolutionaries run through the veins of my feet to my heart and soul. Egging me on to the end, to stand and say Wait, stop. What is going on here? How do I stop this madness in the Alice in Wonderland world presented to us in this the Candy Coated United States situation.

As I research my stories I feel how certain journalists who were there before me, who wanted to tell the truth felt as the lies go deeper and deeper in the Government and I am uncovering. As I do this I put two and two together, certainly not as fast as I watch the Government steal from the children of the future right before our very eyes. Yet we are so medicated and pacified by what we are spoon feed from the grade of well honestly, birth. The guidance around our children, in this day of technology, are that of great influence. The propaganda spread on a daily basis that is, as long as freedom is duct taped and silenced.

Don’t tell the truth of what we are doing. Gasp, the people of the Free world might get upset and we can’t have that.

I have become jaded living in the City. It is like this downpour of every inhumanity known to man. Pimps sitting on Park Ave, heroin users on Madison with bruises so visible that unless you are inhuman you can not but feel. There is the Gods of Rockefeller, CNN to spread the lies, to allow the world to see what the government wants you to see on your TV and computer. Blocking of the free words spewed by the men while society should be crying out, saying, “Listen Asshole, we have a problem. We need to talk.”

With PTSD you live in this constant spin of disorder in your mind. It is so hard to explain. You have debilitating situations depending upon where you are and at what stage you are at. It can create so many other things, migraines, pain, depression, chronic fatigue, night terrors. The list goes on and on. Each is debilitating in its own right but add them together and you become paralyzed in your own home and your own head. I call it the hermit stage, but that stage is coming to an end for me and I dread it. I dread dealing with people, the touches, and the stairs. I am not what you expect behind the computer screen. I am not the person you would expect to meet. An insane, beautiful woman. It is not the normal thing, they usually call them psychopaths.

My journals are my therapy and when I was told about live journal I thought it was a weird thing but the thing is now I get it. It is a way to reach people; you can reach them or they can reach you. Journaling is one of the most important things to therapy that you can have. It is a tangible way to touch your heart and mind; it is a way to heal. It is a way to get your words out with out them cutting you back. Journaling has saved my life more than once. Writing has saved my life more than I care to admit. My writing gave me solace, it still does. I am not sure how I am going to handle this, my mind races so fast some times. I have a friend who feels I have ADD. I feel like I am not doing enough. That my time is constantly running out. I am on this constant treadmill, running trying to catch up and begging for the break I am due.

At a very young age I knew that I was to do something in this world. I was going to make a difference. I am still wondering about that. I look at my age and who and what I am, what I have done in the world and to people. I scream inside of the words used to cut and destroy them in my wake of hate and anger. A part of me is tired of being silent of what happened in my life but because I am not a whiner I usually keep it in. There is another part of me screams inside saying no; this is to share, because someone out there needs to hear this. I feel like this crazy person inside my head, screaming, pulling my hair out stuck in the movie 1984 while big brother waits on me to tell them I love them only to be shot in the head when I do; when I submit to not having thoughts or questions. ( http://www.online-literature.com/orwell/1984/ ) Another part says do what comes natural. Write; it saved your life. It only has to reach one. See the other two books are not out yet, so if you are confused it is ok. I have 2 parts to this book that is still being put on the pc.

I just needed to release the pain inside. For cutters out there, this is my cutting tool. Showing the world how screwed up in the head I really am. I look back on my life and wonder why I did not become Manson or Hannibal Lector? What makes me tick different? I certainly grew up in that state of mind and could have easily slipped to that side. I will tell you I have no desire to go out and kill a bunch of people to get my word across. I would rather use what I am good at. Writing, I have become this stagnant mold in the water and I am tired of that. I know I am moving forward, fighting the good fight but I also feel time slipping though my hands as if time is running out and I will never make my mark in the world. I know I can not be the only one that feels this way in the world today. My life experiences have made me an expert in my life.

I have removed most of the people in my life who have caused me great harm. Harmed my Psyche. Part of that is admitting to them your wrongs, but also stating what you will not tolerate in your life. If they can not accept that they can not accept you. My sperm donor falls into that world. I have many personalities; each angry part of me has an angry child. I am a very angry child inside. Crying tears of blood that absorb into the skin before any see what is there. It becomes this pulsating inner organism that can destroy you if you let it. Like Carrie. I know I reference to the American stories but I don’t know enough foreign world films to compare there. So please forgive my ignorance to that fact.

I was going to bed last night and I saw myself as this rat caught in a trap seeking the exit and that cheese the scientist reward you with. Shiny things, food, reward, good girl. Patting my head and sending me on my merry way. I too often feel I am living in some psychedelic world as this curmudgeon whispers in under my breath about how the world is falling into corruption, that we have become a society so blind we can’t wake up enough to save ourselves. This can not be true.

There is a child inside me that whimpers at the tree of life, seeing what we are loosing so quickly. That my problems of my history given to me seem so small and insignificant, as I am an insignificant against this great Mother Nature. That we are throwing to the wayside because of our lack of trust and faith in ourselves and others around us.

With my medical conditions I go through on a daily basis, which I will get into further at another time, I still see the world and where it is at this moment and there are times the pain is so overwhelming all I can do is draw into myself and wish to sleep thousands of years instead of standing and saying wait, something is wrong with this system. The mechanical people pass by me on a daily basis here in NYC; they are headed to their own world, to their own problems. You can not blame them. NYC is a wonderful city, please do not get me wrong, but it also holds the apitomy of every apprehensible crime known to the human spirit. You can not live in NYC and not feel the despair that runs through its streets. Especially since 9-11.

When I look at the large scope of things my survival is nothing compared to what mans PTSD survival issue may be. This concludes our book cast day. And if this is your first trip on the A train, welcome aboard it is only fair to warn you to buckle your seatbelts, read the disclaimer, it is going to be a bumpy ride. Welcome aboard. All Aboard the ATA who are coming. You are free to move about the cabin space provided.