Chapter 4 Book 3

***Please note I am sorry I have not been able to post on a regular basis. I have been very busy here lately and the blog is not something I have been able to keep up on. So once my work load slows down here, hopefully I will be able to post a blog once a week. I will do my best...***

Have you ever sat at the edge of a cliff in your mind? While the world continues on around you, things encourage you to jump, just jump to end the pain? Then somewhere out of nowhere someone comes along and pushes you back. Telling you, "You are too close to the edge and you might fall." In your head a voice is screaming, ‘I know I was getting too close to the edge, damnit, that was the point.’
These are points in life where you sit back and you feel like you cannot take any more, the pain is too much, and then something shiny is put in front of you and well, you go and chase the shiny thing for a bit until you get bored and you want to go back to the edge of the cliff.
I can’t tell you how many times I have stepped to the edge of insanity, knowing full well there is a room at Belleview waiting for me. It’s been there since the Government knew I moved to NYC, the room that is.
One of my favorite songs is “They are coming to take me away”. ( http://it.stlawu.edu/~x0tsing/takeaway.htm ) To the funny farm. In my life, the walk that I have taken, I have seen some things. A lot of people have seen more than me definitely. I have never traveled outside the US, except for Alaska. I did drive through BC and the Yukon at 19. Surprise, surprise, I rode/drove it again at 24 or 25. Canada is a beautiful world, just to let you know. So are Glaciers. Yep, I have seen those too. Touched one called Exit Glacier. ( http://www.nps.gov/kefj/planyourvisit/exit-glacier.htm )
My life has been riddled with me moving from one place to the next, each one more challenging than the one before it. Lamar High was a cake walk compared to Maine and Boston. In NYC the people are not rude; they just know how precious time is. They run on a dime here. In order to understand a culture, you must immerse yourself into it. Become part of the world around you. Experiment and enjoy the taste of the culture and what it has to offer. I often wonder why it took me this long to actually sit down and write the journey of my life.
I know in the back of my mind it is my strength of faith that draws me nigh. I am a single woman in NYC and I like it. However, there is a point here, just hold on; I do like mixing with people now and then. I try to find people that I can get along with, but my relationships always end up with issues.
My issues, issues of things I will not tolerate. Like being with someone who believes in Ethnic Cleansing. I have a small issue with that, it is called Hitler. I have issues with people who cannot keep their words or lie to me. I prefer the truth. I also have a sense of journalistic morals. Research, research, research. This is all I can say. Don’t talk about something and then have to get called out to support your words, because if you do and you can’t back your words up, the words will allow others to know you lied. My whole career lies on my truth in my words when you think about it.
I don’t just write books of surviving PTSD, I write many other things too. In this case, I am writing because I have chosen not to take some FDA drug to ‘fix me’. I choose old-fashioned things like writing, sharing, and therapy.
Also, if you remember, the State of New York says I am unfixable. That means even if I take their drugs, I am not fixable. So I will be on addicting drugs and missing my friends that no one else can see. Why would I want to do that? At least I will go crazy with my invisible friends sober rather than drugged and my mind destroyed waiting for 1984 to come around the corner so I can tell Big Brother I love them. Hell will freeze over first in my world.
Why is it that when I see dead people I am crazy, yet millions of people tune into supernatural shows or turn to psychics on a regular basis in today’s world? That is why more and more shows are being made. It is what the public demands. Is it because I have not sold my code of ethics; that my soul is not for sale? Gasp, someone quick, call I.C.E. ( http://www.ice.gov/ ) Wait, that is immigration. Let me think, yes the FBI. I don’t think they have changed their name. ( http://www.fbi.gov/ ) I am sure one of those offices can help you with me. Just tell them I write about Abbie Hoffman and Hunter S Thompson on a regular basis and support education, oh and I have PTSD.
Everyone out there has unique gifts. We are told to have imaginations as children, yet as we get older, we must pack those thoughts away because that is not what big boys and girls do.
For me, that is a bit confusing. Imagine for the child who was allowed to create and have invisible friends, but now they must pack them away in a trunk because they are too old to play with those friends anymore.
At what age does this twist in thought occur? See, I refused to give up my Imagination. It’s mine. You can share it with me, but you cannot take it away from me. What happened to dreaming for something better? Being able to share our good and our bad sides? Why have we become this society that must be put on drugs to survive because we all have something wrong with us? Admit it. Tell me you don’t have issues. You probably are reading this saying in your mind, “I have volumes too.” So let’s open up a library together.
It is what we do with this imagination that defines us and our motives. I have a dream. No, I am not repeating Dr. King. I am saying I have a dream, a beautiful dream that we all one day will accept each other for all of our faults and frailties. To make up for past transgressions in a positive way rather than destroying everything in our wake. Imagination created the ability to have light, phones, and computers. People, who dared to dream, refused to give up their imagination; they gave us our world today.
I want to write about me, before anyone else does. Why, you may ask. Because I have my memories, people have theirs. I believe in free speech. I believe in the power of one voice becoming two. I have silly dreams that this is still the greatest Nation in the world today. This American Nation, even with our issues right now in the Government, the Governments of the past that still haunt the halls of the White House.
Right now if you look outside your window like I do, you see the world in this nonstop motion, falling to a pivotal point in history. As much as I go off on Generation X, I know we are also the start of a very Angry Generation. Look at our parents. They survived a time in life in which death was a part of not only their homes but every corner of the United States and other countries as well. Useless deaths that our young men and women were sent to die in a war we did not belong.
Is it necessary to have to parade Honourable men and women again from Dover as they come in by the masses flashed on our screen every night? Do we need the press to disregard and destroy what little honour is left in that person who has come home in a pine box covered with a flag? Do our children’s children deserve to continue to die because we can’t wake up and do what is right for our country?
What is it going to take before people put two and two together?
I am speaking to you, Generation X, because I grew up in that Generation. I know our anger, our passion. I know what it is like to have friends who were close to me die because of something the Government decided to do. Whether it be defending our country or a medicine that killed us. We are the Generation who should be saying, “Listen Asshole, we have a problem. We need to talk.”
Every Generation leaves its mark but what do we want to be remembered for? Being an Exponent or being an Exclamation?
I am an optimist. I see we can change. Things can change no matter who the king is on the hill. It is the people behind the king who determine if he falls. I talk a lot about questioning the powers that be. I believe in questioning. Why does it work this way? Is there a better way? What can I do to change the elements around me? How do I fix this?
I would love to sit down with someone like Hoffa or Malcolm X, Dr. King, Tennyson, Orwell. Why did they follow that voice inside? Did they know they would have such an impact on the world? What was their drug of choice, if they even had one? Did they see dead people like me too? Little things like that.
I would, just for one moment, like to feel what it was like in their shoes when they knew they were on the verge of being on the edge of a cliff of a revolution. I see this nation as a strong, proud nation, with great opportunity, with endless possibilities. I cannot be crazy; it is still there. That American dream. Yet when I envision it, why do people not hear what I am saying? Why can’t they see it? What will it take for the canvas to be painted?
I wonder if the experts who diagnosed me with the unfixable PTSD ever sit back and wonder where their sanity went? At what time did they sell out? Who is to say those of us with PTSD have not just been programmed to believe that there is something wrong with us? A lot of healing comes from within: setting goals, limits of what you will and will not tolerate, accepting your weaknesses and admitting them fully.
When this project of my life for full view started, it was over a bowl of French Onion Soup. With everything I have done in my life and all the food that I have tasted, French Onion Soup was one soup I had never had. After being interviewed for a job placement in New York City, while I was living in Boston at the time, the lady who interviewed me knew I had not eaten a good meal in a few days, so she bought me dinner. She said that whenever I was in doubt, French Onion Soup was usually a safe choice. I have found out you can learn a lot about a kitchen and the restaurant by ordering French Onion Soup. If the French Onion Soup sucks, put down the menu and walk away from the Restaurant. No harm, no foul. It is worth the 4 or 5 dollar fee you will pay to find out if the place is good to eat at. Well, at least here in NYC, that is the case.
As I was growing up, I always felt I was going to be an impact in my world to the people around me. That I could and would make a difference. Even with everything that stood in my way. At 12 years old, I stated I would make it to NYC. I did not know why or how, but I would, and I am here. I live in NYC. The Statue of Liberty is my Neighbor and if I walk over the bridge of the LIE, or Long Island Expressway for those of you who don’t live here, I can see the Empire State Building in living color.
I am also reminded every time when going to Manhattan, though I may not have been here, that there is a hole in the ground that is still there 8 years later, reminding every New Yorker of how precious life really is.
The world is an amazing place and we are amazing pieces in it, but we have to make that change.
No one has the right to say you are ‘unfixable’ unless you let them. No one can take away the imagination if you are truly meant to have it. I mean, don’t go overboard and see dead people like I do. Then we will all be in Belleview together. There might not be enough room. Remember, imagination is for the dream makers.
This concludes our bumpy ride on this chapter of our blogcast/bookcast day. I am still working on the ending of the chapters, as you can see. Nothing is really fitting yet. You are now free to move about the cabin space provided.

Chapter 2, Book 3

Welcome back. Sit back, relax and enjoy the flight. I live in a very surreal world. Have you ever felt like you are on the outside looking in to a reality that you are just witnessing? I often feel that way. I remember bits and pieces of my childhood. It is very strange when you think about it. How can someone misplace 3/4ths of their memory from birth to about the 8th grade? This for me was about 13 I think. Maybe 12 I am not sure. See when I started to journal I believe I was about 12 or 13 as well. It is as if writing it down helps you remember to a point. So does talking.

This, in my opinion, this is why we have friends that we know we can trust to the death with what ever secret it is. These are the friends that save your life and your sanity. It is a weird thing. My roommate or roomie is one of those. She is the one I call roomie, and well she is not really a she, but a remarkable person in her own way when you get past the porcelain face that is her mask. You just have to look to see the beauty inside, the support. There are many a time she has helped save my life even though she is not aware of it, however I suppose she is now.

At one time I thought I had a very good friend; one that I confided in as well. We all three lived together for a bit, this friend, my roomie, and I. Till one day a little ghost in the house told me to watch my back. It matters not who the ghost was; it opened my eyes to the ugly inside this other person, not my roomie with the mask. I feel very sad for those who lack faith. It must be a very hard situation to be placed in, especially when you grow up in a Christian home. It was not the girl’s looks, but her demeanor, the lack of faith. You must understand both of these individuals were impactive people in my life. A perfect example to always question what appears to be good or bad upon the surface. Sometimes what is inside shows the true heart.

I have tried my whole life to get away from the abuse that occurred through out my life. I don’t know too many people whose mother was a lady of the street, with some nose candy issues. I just happened to be the white trailer trash daughter that was a burden upon her plate. The thing is I am not alone. How many children are born for a welfare check in the United States? Think about it, it is a disease. Who teaches our girls this, our boys? The parents; they learned it from their parents. The Government? Ourselves? Is there an actual answer to that question?

My life is no worse than anyone else in a way. We are all given what we can handle. There is a good book that tells us that. I have been very blessed to be placed where I sit you see. I have seen the side of a trailer to many times. I have seen the farmer and the struggles. I have touched Glaciers. I have seen things people only dream about seeing. To see some of the greatest wonders of the United States is no small statement to make.

Back to where I was going. I am not a whiner, but see the things presented before me; I have found that we are desensitized by propaganda and lies on a daily basis. Don’t people deserve to know there is someone out there who is breaking the binds that hold you back? That there are survivors out there. Is that bragging, or self-incrimination? Is it crying out poor me? I don’t think so. It is allowing others to know that another has walked their shoes? We have been there. We are functioning and it is ok. We are ok. We are not crazy for questioning things. Isn’t this our right? Our right as thinking people.


The horrors of the few memories I have include gifts being burned in front of me in a wood stove because we did not have wood and they were gifts to me. Now if you ask my Bi-Polar egg donor I remember all this wrong. This is where my mind gets twisted. If it were not real, why would I remember it so vividly? Why would some one make this crap up? Who in their right mind wants to bear their life through the spectrum of the world's judgment? Someone who is a true Masochist I suppose. See my life’s walk has been a cake walk to some, and a surreal world to the others out there that just shake their heads. Yet perhaps they went through something worse than I did. I also was blessed with a Step Mother of a Saint who took in a confused, freighted little girl and hugged her. That was my worst punishment growing up that I remember; simply to be hugged. It was like a thousand knives piercing your very flesh. I got nailed with some fairly hard things, like belt buckles. I have the scars on my hands to prove it.

My life is jumbled. See this is one of the side effects of PTSD I feel. Your mind is so jumbled. So messed up you are searching to put the pieces back together. You seek the answers as to why you react to smells, songs, and sights. It is a very weird thing. There is no controlling it. It is like you are full of the ADD label, but you are running in slow motion through a heavy weight of muck, holding you down into the ground. Like cement. For those of you who understand my words and how erratic I am. We may have the same history situation.

There are drugs, but here is the thing, the drugs come from the FDA. ( http://www.fda.gov/ ) The powers that be, therapist, wish to put me on these drugs to make me less erratic. Here is the thing about the FDA.

The thing is; I really dislike the FDA. I personally call them the Federal Death Association. Everyone I have loved has died or been harmed because of some reason of the FDA screw ups, well except my Gram, she died of old age as one should. She was the other person in my life who loved me, who held me, who paid attention to me. I was not a cast away with her, I was her little rebel; she knew me well. She knew my demeanor. She told me I would never be a writer because I could not spell. My answer was, "Gram that’s what spell check is for." I was in the 6th grade in Colorado Springs. I think then she knew if she did not weed me correctly I would not bloom, I would destroy. I am a late bloomer.

In my life there have been pivotal people who have kept me on the right line of things. I am very lucky person you see. I do not see me sharing my story for anyone to have a reason to think, “Wow, and I thought I had it bad.” I want to make it clear it is not about that.

It is about my journey of what I have survived, what I have experienced, what I have seen.

I call this book ‘My Life on the A Train’ for a reason. The A train in New York has several destinations you can end up and in several places if you do not know the lines. Subways run on lines. One of the A trains can drop you in several places such as Harlem, or Far Rockaway. You could also completely miss your connection and end up on the C or the E train as well. This will lead you to Jamaican Center in Queens to connect to the Long Island Railroad. Or you could just end up in Brooklyn. The A train is like our lives in a way. However on the A train, If you keep missing your stop just be thankful you have Airports along the way so you can at least fly somewhere to get away from the chaos. New Yorkers reading this right now are laughing and agreeing to my words, those who have not been here. You just have to experience it. I am not sure there is a way to describe how confusing the subway system to New York can be and is... I have posted a link for you to jump to in order to understand. http://www.mta.info/nyct/maps/submap.htm

As you can see this is something like my mind. I have massive chunks of my life missing in my head. With connection stops along the ride of the subway. What I do remember is extremely vivid. I perhaps imagined what I saw. My question to you is this, can you falsify what the Court records said on microfiche that to this day the court house that made you a ward of the state still has in their records? That is a very different trip, more like the trip on the boat in Willy Wanka and The Chocolate Factory. The original; the one with Gene Wilder. Here is a link to the site for Willy Wanka. http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0067992/

In the last few days of my life I have become the super hermit of the year. Hiding out in my room, with these nightmares of memories flooding back. I do mean nightmares. Discussions in of my head of my Step Mothers death, memories of some of the things I survived as a child. We are strong as children. Our spirits take a lot to be broken until we become these mechanical machines. Listening to those around us. Saying yes and no at the right time. Hiding feelings, and burying them so deep we don’t know where to begin to unravel the pain. We have all been there. Maybe yours was the school bully or maybe you were the school bully. No one is judging here. I am just sharing.

Since this is going to be on the internet before the first two books are going to be published I suppose this is shameless promotion. Shameless, self promotion of a book I only could dream will help someone out there.

I however have to explain the waters that one enters into in my life when they walk in. Right now I am an anonymous person in your life. Simply someone on the computer that is writing a tale that you may or may not subscribe to. I suppose I should explain myself so that people can understand from this point on why I am writing what I am writing and why I write as I do.

I also want to get my name out there before other books hit the street in hard back. See my Gram knew I was stubborn as the day is long on a midsummer’s day in the middle of a heat wave while you are putting up fence post and even the warm tea is refreshing because it is liquid. I am one of those people who if you tell them they can not achieve it, they will. No matter how long it takes. Another advantage is that I live in New York; I see things most don’t have the ability to. As people are watching around the world today, they see on TV what I see live, in living, breathing color. Also, I was given a mouth for a reason, but my fingers are very important too. So is living, breathing, growing, and not becoming stagnant.

Right now in my life I am in a very unique situation. My hopes and dreams are on the verge of becoming a reality. Tangible, lil ole me from the trailer park. Making everything I have survived though a worth while journey. An opportunity. A blessing in disguise. I am generally a positive person. I also know I did not survive everything for nothing. There is a reason. If I were to give you a short run down on some of the things I have been through you would be reading for about an hour.

As I told you, sometimes it is like I have ADD. I don’t, this is my everyday, normal life. This is why I have to write things down. I get started to talking about one thing then it leads to another and another and you forget why you even started writing in the first place. Much like the book 'Fear in loathing in Los Vegas', this is a very disjointed book but it has a point. ( http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2008/nov/08/fear-and-loathing-condensed )

This journal had a point when I started it over a bowl of French Onion Soup. I also feel it is important for people to understand me. Or at least try to. So many people of today go out there and they stew in their own juices until they are boiling over and can not stop. They are very angry people. I am a very angry person. I am angry at me, I am angry at the world, I am angry at the Government, I am fuming inside. This seething, angry monster waiting and waiting for a change but the thing is you can not sit back and be stagnant and think you are active.

I have these novels in me, these issues. Forget issues, I have a library you can check out the novels in, but I am not alone in this place. There are so many out there that get placed on the computer and they read and write. They cry out for help and no one listens, let alone really does anything. This is not the case completely you see. There are a few of us out there who do try to make a difference in someone’s life.

There are some who are healers, advisers, helpers. There are also those out there that the computer is their life line. Do you realize that in today’s world, more people are addicted to the computer than some other things in life? They will sit there and be on the computer for 10 to 20 hours a day with out even thinking about it. It becomes their link to the world, the outside. I understand. It’s ok. It’s a scary world out there.

As one who is there at times, this is my solace, but this solace does not pay the bills you see, nor does this solace achieve much but madness inside the mind. This is also a form of free therapy for me. When you think about it. Unless you know me, I am this anonymous New Yorker writing to you from a 13 by 12 padded room in Belleview on the Psych ward. Here is the link ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bellevue_Hospital ) This is just the time they take the straight jacket off for an hour and this is what I choose to do, to write.

Told you I could have ended up as a Manson or a Dahmer. I admit that fully. I am not however am not them. I have no desire to be them. I wish to help, to inspire, to surprise, and to make people laugh. I love laughter. See there I go again, loosing track of my thoughts. I suppose this is why most writers use an outline for a book. I am not so sure that is a permitable thing for today’s reader. (I do tend to make up my own words and grammar forms from time to time.) I think that the readers need a daily chapter to read. Like people used to read the newspapers.

I believe I was explaining why this was the 3rd book and not the 1st book. I believe as an artist, people need to see you as you are before you become somebody if you are destined to be so. So that when you are somebody that is in the tabloids world wide, you were a real person before the lies unfold. I also have experienced a great deal in my life. I can not cover my life in a book. It would be like reading a collection set of something to the lines of War and Peace. (http://www.online-literature.com/tolstoy/war_and_peace/ ) Not just one novel but a set.

I am also trying to put the pieces of my life together to understand why I am not functioning. I figure if I am going crazy shouldn’t the world go crazy with me? I think it is a logical statement. I also work at home and this leaves little time for blogging or journaling. It is not an easy task not to sell your honour thoughts in today’s world that believes in a lower buck and accepts lower work practices. I do not know if my writings will bother people or help them, but it is the way I think. I want people to see how I think as a person with PTSD. I am also going through some other things at this time. However, I need my journal to survive. Give it back; it’s mine I tell you, mine. There are times I am very selfish.

I figured if I am writing anyway; why not place this on the net as a test run to see how well it does. If I have a readership. I suppose in some form this is a self-validation for my ego. I am an egocentric by the way, incase you have not figured this out. Lately my life has been a bit like a chicken running around with its head half cut off. I have been running in several directions at once while trying to hold onto the path before me.

It is a nerve wracking world out there and inside your mind when you are trapped there, you are in your own prison. You have the key to remove yourself; you just have to find it. I have a hard time working with people. The more I know them the less I like. I am becoming a jaded person who lives in a box. The box happens to be the computer. Most people would say well just get off and go out.

Ok again, honestly, people give me issues. I feel their negativity for the most part. It is like this disease of apathy out there sometimes. You can not tell me you do not feel it where you are. People are afraid. The economy is going to hell in a hand basket; we have a new leader of the Free World who got given a can of worms from several years of issues concerning our Country and the World. Right now the morals of America are that of a 3rd world Country. I am not bashing America, I love America, I do not want to live anywhere else, therefore if I am going to bitch. I must do my part to fix what I can. Read the disclaimer on this blog before you criticize me. I put it there for a reason.

I know I am here on this earth to make a difference. We all are. We are all parts of this crazy spectrum in our lives of a computer matrix. We are also part of that larger picture out there. The space you can not see but you know it is there. As I grew up all I heard was what I could not do. I am a very stubborn child and I do not believe in being told what to do. I believe we all have a destiny that we do not know why we do things but they are needed and we do them. Sometimes as I look outside of my padded cell I see life, in living color. The way things should be, but right now in this hermit state it is almost as if you can’t touch the color as of yet. It is not time. Almost like a caterpillar becoming the butterfly or a moth. A Metamorphosis of sorts.

I want to begin a new form of freedom, freedom of the mind. Realization that things are not always what one may think they are. I have lived some of the surreal things you hear about. Government testing, slipping through the cracks of Child Protective Services for years, living as an abuse survivor, not just an abuse survivor but a somewhat functioning one. People need to know. They need to see and hear. I will let them decide if it is the truth or a fabrication.

In my padded cell I have been forced to learn about my computer and money making ideas on here.

The struggle of the true American Writer. Do not sell your principals to the corporate world in any way, do not educate or teach or share in a negative way. We are Americans that should be building our country right now instead of tearing it down bit by bit. I also decided that the book 3 needed to go on the net before hand because of another very large point a friend of mine showed me. I am here to help people, not destroy myself in the process. I am helping no one behind the mask of the computer and trying to finish the other novels while my mind reels to write more. The words in my head become too much and I have to write. Exposing what I see of myself to the world before I step into the world.

Something keeps stopping me from finishing what I start. I am not sure why or what. It is like a shinny thing is placed in front of my eyes and I begin to play with it instead of continuing to play with the old shinny thing. Or perhaps there is a cosmic reason. Or maybe I am just lazy. I often feel it is the last one, myself but I am very hard on myself. I watch the world from my bubble. Afraid to move out of my comfort zone yet seeking the thrill of adrenalin. It is a sick, twisted, way of life. I also am waiting on our Government to start my SSI you see. They have stated my PTSD is unfixable. So in a sense I am unfixable.

I do not believe this. I know I am a worthy person with values and importance. I am just as important as that Dr or the Reporter on the TV. I am just as important as the teacher that has the next Einstein or Longfellow in their class. We are all important, not just me.

My words help my rage inside. They are like cutting the wounds out. Exposure heals. When you are ready to talk, you will and you will heal because of it. We are told in today’s society we should not feel. We are programmed this way. We are a dysfunctional earth if you look at it fully.

If we were not, how could the crash of Wall Street affect a country like Iceland? http://www.businessweek.com/the_thread/economicsunbound/archives/2008/10/iceland_goes_ba.html How many knew about that? I realize when this is in print, meaning you can hold the book, the links will not add up to a hill of beans. I will figure out what to do with that when the time comes.

For those of you who read, ‘Go ask Alice’, this book/journal is like that, except I don’t plan on dieing. Well not suddenly. I hope not anyway. I feel I must put this out there first so people will understand my writing in the other books. Plus I have a large project in the undertaking, so this is a stress relief. I do hope you are enjoying the ride. There will be more tomorrow, as for right now this concludes our blog/book cast day.