(excerpt from Fairytale of a Felony Stalker)
And I could
complain and bitch about the injustice of what has happened, and how unfair it
is these things happen to me, for the rest of my life, I could. So what good would that do? I think it’s best if I just accept that I go
insane sometimes. And be glad it’s like
every three to five years and not every day.
And be thankful that I can take care of myself and my kids, even if I do
need to be on disability right now. I have a home and a car and many many
capabilities that a lot of mentally ill people do not have. Mainly because of the double edge sword which
is me, is that no one believes how ill I can be. Maybe because I carry myself well, and I have
always hidden it, I know how to hide hell, but If I go to heaven again there
may be an issue! I am hoping though for a healing, and that heaven was the
finish to my psychotic process, my spiritual emergence. At least the psychotic nightmares being gone
gives me some hope. I believe there is
something to be done with all of this business and I won’t sit around and
wallow in embarrassment because, hey sometimes I go insane…what gives? And you can learn so much from the
enlightenment of insanity!
My fourth step
story is interesting. Susan listened to
me, even though she knew I was nuts. It was 14 pages. She listened and then handed me a list of
character defects. I did not get relief, even though I did the sixth and
seventh step right after. For six days I psychotically processed my past. Everything made sense and it was painful. The
rape, the drugs, the cycle of abuse. I thought of my father and how he Hester
Prynn’ed my mother and me. Modern day Scarlett Letter, and I am Pearl. My mother with a screaming baby, 19 years old
on a bus in Seattle, someone gave her a dollar for a pacifier, to shut that
little girl up! Everybody wants to shut me up, I must have something to tell
the world that’s important! Oh the shame of a single mother…and now look at the
world and all the superhero single mothers.
We are sick! Father Wounds. Let’s make a baby! Then let’s make six more
and then fudge your secretary, and tell me your too good to know me! I hope I
don’t sound bitter dad! All my dads daughters were happy cheerleaders, only the
other three never got beat up by the world. They married their high school
sweethearts and have two kids, and white picket fences, and not the Schitzo
gene. Thank you for my daddy issues, and alcoholism, all betta now pappi! I got
two kids too! So I got a welfare poverty curse from my dad. Started there,
pushed and shoved to never be there…and right back there. So I didn’t get any
relief after my fourth step, whatsoever. For those six days I was processing
like a rapid computer, and not eating or sleeping. Nuts. So on sixth morning I
am sitting on the porch all psycho, just happened to be wearing your tshirt to
bed…how ironic I wore your tshirt to jail the first time…symbolic strength. My
hair was all sorts of crazy…as was I. Two cops come from behind the house. I
run in my house. Today is not a good day guys! I am hyperventilating. I fake
faint and hit my head on the fridge. I can’t do this, I am crazy right now!
They talked me down and said I couldn’t do that, and that they just needed to take
me to talk to a judge. So I jumped up and said, “I just got to talk to a
judge?” I can do that. I started playing with them, teasing them about which
one was the good cop, and which one was the bad cop. Telling them I don’t know
how to pick guys. I had them put a head band on me to fix my hair while I was
cuffed. I started telling them about my love story and all that had
happened…they laughed. So I got to jail and I thought it was like a maze that I
had to make it through, and there would be everyone cheering for me at the end.
That’s because in the sack lunch there was the commissary ad that said
“Homecoming.” What a fudging trip! If I just endure this, my party is on the
other side, and Adam would be there waiting for me! Yeah so not in reality in jail,
that’s way unsafe! So for two days I can’t sleep and kept psychotically
processing the pain of my past and choices, and why and how it happened to me.
I have never been in so much pain, and all the voices talking, were saying
things to me. Calling me names. I feel the hard bed and it represents my first
bed, which was my mother’s dresser drawer…there was a revelation in that about
poverty cycles, which I remember from sociology class. I think I will write a
book about that too. How I lived in jail the first two days I do not know.
Plumb loca. At least I processed my fourth step by recognizing I don’t want to
feel my own pain. I want to black out, knock me out, I said to the guard, give
me something to sleep I can’t be hearing this shit! I asked a Mexican Lesbian
to punch me in the face, because I couldn’t get pills or a shot…make it stop!
And then, that is when I realized that I didn’t know how to feel my own pain,
and that I never have. And then it all stopped. God relieved it. He gave me
peace, he said that is your addiction…to not feel pain. That was always why I
had been so sick. Never feel anyone touching me or hurting me…because I was too
drunk and blacked out to feel it. Hence never feeling chemistry before you. And
so I calmed down and rested…and stopped listening. And in that moment a wall
was built between me in my past. A wall that separated me from it, and the
pain. Then they put me with a chatty little methhead in another cell, and I was
just fine again. Well still psychotic, and off, on what the hell to do in jail,
but not so much that it was noticeable.
I will never forget the power of my Fourth Step! And I decided what I
have always had is MEN TELL ILLNESS. Chew on that for a minute. And surely I
will have ideas for a book about the degradation of our society through the
breakdown of the family unit. Welfare society where our men have lost their
roles as providers and protectors, gender confusion is rampid, and crime,
poverty and addiction are destroying America.
MEN TELL ILLNESS. I believe it is genetic and demonic, and part of the
devil’s plan. Thank God I got ran over and got fat when I was 20, I could have
been an amazing porn star or stripper! Keep those ladies coming, boys need
their entertainment! What a sick society we live in. Thank you God for my scars! Please come back
GOD! I think it is going to happen soon.
Beat that fourth step story, haha!!!