~and, in the end...

7:26 PM - 3/31/06

---

2006
So, it's now 2006. We're one quarter of the way through it. ...and where am I? Aside from being in Massachusetts (in my own apartment, and not in a wheelchair), and not in Pennsylvania (or Montana), I mean.

Well, I'm better, and I'm worse. I'm worse because that's how my brand of MS works. That's how PRMS works. You just keep getting worse, despite the occasional plateau of "bad" you hit. I'm better, because I know that I have this disease now. They say that knowing is half the battle, and in my case, that seems to be true. It's much easier to control your actions, when you know what exactly is causing the intensity of the emotions which are motivating you to act.

I'm Cutter. I have MS. My words are sometimes hurtful, or scary, but your intestines are safe.

2/7/06 - MRI

~grrrrrr

1:17 PM - 3/31/06

I'm tired. My head hurts. I'm bitchy, and a lot of people can't access my blog.

I need to hide in bed.

~Welcome to Massachusetts

9:01 PM - 3/30/06

---

2005

Thurs. March 24, '05 1:50 AM

     Can't see well to write. Still in the hospital, went in Monday. Got a cane on Friday, but have just graduated to the wheelchair. Today, my legs just quit. Then my head went off further with eye problems and short term memory problems. I freaked out a bit. Shed a few tears... fear and embarrassment.
     Odd how I know how to use a wheelchair. I suppose it must've been all the training I got in my past dreams. Freaky indeed.
     My head is killing me. Pain killers don't work. I took 2 Ambien, that didn't work to get me to sleep either.
     From what they tell me about the MRI I had done Monday night, there are a lot of old scars... and quite a few new active areas. It hasn't hit the spine yet. I do look forward to viewing them myself.
     I hope my legs clear up some after this Solu Medrol treatment... I have 3 more days, already did 2. I can't use the chair at (RavensWings'). I don't know what the next step will be if that's the case. They keep mentioning a "home". This completely freaks me out. Not too surprising I can't sleep.

~speed demon

9:37 AM - 3/30/06

I'm feeling pretty crappy. Same as yesterday, I suppose. I guess that's the problem though... I almost always feel pretty crappy.

Wanting beer for breakfast. Want to feed the demon... screw the slow downward spiral, let's make this thing a roller coaster ride! If we go down fast enough, all the folks in the cars will scream their thrill seeking heads off!

Then, they can exit and puke all over themselves and each other.

I'll make a deal with myself... if I can do a load of wash, prepare a 2005 entry to post later, and walk to the store to get a bottle, I'm welcome to drink it.

See, I'm trying. Now back off.

~American Idiot

9:55 PM - 3/29/06

---

2004
10/29/04

     Welcome to Montana! First stop, Wolf Point. (Who knew?) So... here we are, my new home State. The land is flat, and the sky is grey. The clouds are so low, it looks like you could touch them if you jumped in the air. We're heading for the mountains. The mountains. Those snow capped ones I always used as desktop pictures. Those mountains that remind you of yourself, that give you perspective. Those mountains. Heading to the bears, the elk, the wolves, the ravens...

     All is as it should be.

~deja vu, all over again

6:49 PM - 3/29/06

Been really tired today. Haven't been able to sleep though. The weather is changing, and that always kicks my ass. ...or, more like, my brain. My guess is that I'll have to turn the a/c on soon. It's just too hot in here. It's about 78 degrees in here right now. Too hot.

I think that I'm depressed. The world moves on without me. I sit here, in my apartment, living vicariously through other people. Showering is an event.

The letters on the keys of my laptop disappear. The "e", the "s", the "n", the "c", the "d", the "g", the "l", and the "m". I use white out in an attempt to replace the letters.

Time passes. This thing is outdated. It's all I've got though, so I have to keep it running. It huffs and puffs, but it works.

This is my life.

~Yet, here I am.

(8:10 AM - 3/29/06)

I suppose that I don't really have to post anything from 2004 or 2005 or 2006. The archives are here. There's plenty to read. I said that I would though, so I'll somehow have to manage to find something that's not already archived here.

It was in 2004 that I was diagnosed with MS. I was in Bumfuck, Montana. I was completely blind in my right eye. My left eye was bad. My brain was on fire.

I don't really believe in God the way most others do. To me, everyone and everything is God. God is within and without. "They" say that things happen for a reason. Some say that God doesn't do things to you... that God does things for you.

Often, I want to strangle God with his own intestines.

God bitch-slapped me in 2004.

So, like a good Cutter, I picked up my diagnosis and turned the other cheek.

On a mountain in Montana, in the Winter time, blind in one eye, and in the most unhealthy relationship of my entire life...

I didn't kill anyone, and I didn't kill myself.

Bunny can attest to that.

~Can you feel the fever?

10:41 PM - 3/28/06

---

2003
I don't know why I post. I know that there are no magic answers... that no one in here is going to solve my problems... and that getting tired of hearing about them is probably about where people are at.

It's a daily battle... trying not to "give up"... trying not to do anything so insanely drastic that it makes my life even worse... and then I do things like try not to drink... try to work out... try to bathe and eat and take care of my teeth... try to remember to pay the bills...

try not to say too much or I'll make people worry too much

...and then there are days when I actually have to remind myself to do things like breathe, urinate in the toilet, and blink.

All that's what people seem to be able to do just fine. Me? I have such a tough time with it that I turn into a deer in headlights on a regular basis.


and then I beat myself up about it when I can't manage

and there's no end

there's no solution

there's just "survival"

What a fucking joke. I hate that shit. My therapist is always talking that crap... "You're a survivor". What the fuck? Survived what?!? Life?!? Everyone on the planet is doing that a whole fuck load better than I am! I'm supposed to take pride in the fact that I haven't blown my brains out yet?

I guess it all boils down to the fact that I need someone to help take care of me... and there is no one. No one is able, or no one is wanting to. It's just me and my fucking beer, which I'm not supposed to drink because, of course, that's the source of all my problems in life, waiting to drop dead from some other cause than suicide.

I fake it well. When I leave the house and interact with people, "You seem fine" is the opinion. Yes. Just fine. I'm about 3 seconds from choking you to death with your own intestines, but really, I'm fine. Sometimes people look at me funny when I start shaking like I do sometimes. They really don't understand that it stems from beating off the urge to kill them. We often want to kill what we fear. I happen to fear people. Kill or hurt it before it kills or hurts you.

but I seem fine

I just have a seizure disorder

no worries

~almost current

2:08 PM - 3/28/06

Tried to take a nap, but that didn't work out so well.

Looked through my 2003 writing earlier, I think that I found something to post later.

Just keep in mind that not only is this writing older, it's before I found out that the problem was MS. They told me that I was "mentally ill"... that enough therapy might make me better. Writing is what kept me alive. Writing is what kept me from completely snapping. Writing and ghosts. Denial and delusions. Hope and lottery tickets. You take what you can get and you do the best you can with it.

I do that every day.


98 01 04
(You can click on these, if you want. They're pictures from those years.)

~The Chamber of Secrets

8:32 AM - 3/28/06

---

2002
I just have to write. You don't have to read this. I'm just posting it... I don't know why... because I feel like talking to someone. I don't really feel like hearing anyone, just talking. Pretty selfish, huh.

I'm probably going to kill myself. I'm being honest here. I know... I finally got out of the hell hole... everything is supposed to be just wonderful now, right? Sometimes I wonder if anyone really understands that my head is fucked up. They expect trivial shit to all of a sudden make life perfect. No one really gets it. It's my head that's fucked up. My brain. It doesn't matter what happens in life. Nothing changes my head. The brain is an organ. I have a sickness that affects one of my vital organs. No one gets that.

People love the puppet. They love what I create to entertain them. They don't know anything about me. It's not because I don't try to explain myself. I often do. No one really wants to listen. I can't blame them. I don't like listening to other people's bullshit either.

One day... when I can get over the last bit of fear,

I'm out of here.

~For a friend

7:53 PM - 3/27/06

If anyone has any extra energy or prayers they can spare, please send them in the direction of RavensWings, and her family. Her brother just went into the hospital with a very severe head injury.

:(

~here comes the Spring

6:46 PM - 3/27/06

I'm not doing well. This I know. I'm trying really hard though. Trying not to let fear get in there and make things worse than they actually are.

I go back and forth between rage and delusion... keep questioning reality... keep second guessing myself.

My head races and races, and then I drink to try to slow it down, and then I feel guilty for drinking, and then I start hearing all those voices in the back of my head... the ones that, to this day, will fingerpoint the alcohol. I know that it's not the alcohol. The alcohol actually helps me sometimes, but that doesn't stop those voices in the back of my mind... the ones who will go to any lengths to prove themselves right. They want nothing more than for it to actually be the alcohol. That way they can forgive themselves for how they've treated me. More than anything, they want to have some sort of proof that I somehow did this to myself... that they were right all along.

In the end, the truth always comes out. I find it best to just stay honest. That way I never have to keep track of my lies. The reason why I can't sleep at night is because I have MS.

What's your excuse?

~I wish

1:34 PM - 3/27/06

Have to be in bed for a bit. Can't settle my head enough to even write about what's going on right now.

Maybe, if I sleep, I can handle the rest of the day.

Maybe.

~Give it up.

9:55 PM - 3/26/06

---

2001

crucified for your sins

would you?
Would you love me like you do him?
would you?
Would you save me...
save yourself...
save the whole fucking world?
Would you cum afterwards?
Blasphemer.
it's just blood...
isn't it?

~No one's fault

6:46 PM - 3/26/06

I'm in a really bad fucking mood.

I HATE this shit. I get angry... angry at NOTHING.

I could go on and on and on about what is pissing me off... but you know what? IT'S A BUNCH OF BULLSHIT!!!

I'm angry at NOTHING, so I'm LOOKING for things to be angry AT.

I WANT MY EARS TO STOP RINGING!!!

It's been MONTHS.

It fucking HURTS.

I hate I Hate I HATE I HATE I HATE I HATE!!!

~The place where blind men see.

10:01 PM - 3/25/06

---

2000
     ...In my estimation - after 31 years of research - NO ONE gets me, most fear me and would love to hurt me, and as much as I attempt to escape my own head, I seem to be one of the few on the planet who has ever even seen what's in their own head... everyone else is too scared to even peek through the keyhole of the door that's up there. People want to stay wrapped in fantasy... they don't want to think, and more than anything, they fear aloneness. Why? Because when you're alone, you have to deal with yourself. Most people are scared shitless of themselves and of reality. The nature of intelligence is self-loathing... and ultimately the loathing of mankind and what it has become.
     Do I hate myself? I hate that which mankind has turned me into. I hate that I am dependent upon them. I hate that I have to either depend on those I despise or die. I hate what mankind has become. As a person, a spirit, no - I don't hate myself. The world is full of what mankind has delusionally called good and evil. It's the true evil I despise. The true evil is mankind. My world... my good... is the darkness... the darkness which mankind fears, and so does not tread near. In the darkness I am safe from their fear... and so the darkness is the true light. It is their evilness... their fear... their inability to open their eyes and distinguish between sin, instinct, and love which drives me into the darkness. It is their "sin" which will, or can actually kill me. They like to think that Jesus committed suicide, but what they choose not to see is that they killed him. Ever since then they've changed it all around. What Jesus knew to be the "anti-Christ" has indeed flourished. If Jesus had the opportunity, he'd again be murdered. There is only one place to find Jesus... in the darkness... the darkness which is the true light.

~Don't flash me.

11:54 AM - 3/25/06

Out of all the things about MS and me I should discuss, my "extreme photosensitivity" is at the top of the list.

Before my diagnosis, I was left to figure out for myself why cameras made me go bonkers. Flashing lights in general make me go bonkers, but the unexpected flash of a camera goes above and beyond "bonkers", and the older I get, the worse it has gotten. I was very creative with what I came up with as reasons why I had problems with having my picture taken, and with flashing lights in general. No matter what the reason of the week was though, I always made it clear to people that they should never take my picture.

I think that it works the same way in many people with MS as it does with many people who have Epilepsy. The flash or flashing of light does something really screwy with the brain. The result is, basically, a seizure.

Seizures are not just like you see on tv and in the movies. Seizures can look like the person is just staring off into space, just as often as they can look like the person might be infested with Mexican Jumping Beans. There are all types of seizures. Sometimes it just looks like the person is freaking out. They can last for a few minutes, or a few seconds.

All I knew, before my diagnosis, was that taking my picture without warning me was a VERY VERY bad idea. Again, I always warned people. I guess that a lot of people didn't take me too seriously though. Perhaps they thought I just had to get over my "issues" or thought it was funny to see me get riled up. It's not funny, and it's not about issues. ...although I will have an issue if you take my picture, even without a flash, simply because I asked you not to, but that's just because I am who I am. Disrespecting me is not something I tolerate. I think too highly of myself, and with things like this, I don't fuck around.

If I know that the flash is about to go off, I can either prepare myself, or avoid the area. If I don't, it's dangerous, and it's not just dangerous to me.

There's at least one person who reads my blog who can attest to this... I can completely snap, if I don't know what's coming and a flash of light goes off in my eyes. I can get bad sometimes even if I do know it's coming, especially if it's repeated flashing. It's just not a good scene in the least, most times, so I try my hardest to avoid anything that might flash or flicker.

Dealing with Internet pop up ads, and flashing banners and graphics, is just a part of life. Even the cursor, flashing as I type this, is doing something funky with my head. I hate it. It fucks me up. I deal. ...alone, in the privacy of my own home. Cameras though, involve other people, and public places. It's dangerous.

Simply put, my messed up MS brain interprets a flash of light as someone or something attacking me. That's about as clearly as I can explain it.

I told you that I almost killed someone because of this disease. I meant it very literally.

I snapped out of it before he turned blue.

All he did was take my picture.

~In Dreams

10:00 PM - 3/24/06

---

1999

     I dreamt that I was dead. I'm still a little freaked out by the dream. I saw my body. Towards the end of the dream it was said that my body was dead, but that my brain was still firing. I was communicating with (my sister), and mom was there. It was agreed that I would not be reincarnated as her child again - agreed between me and her. People were gathering for my funeral. I wanted mom to tell me whether (birth certificate father) was my father or not. She mentioned that (her old boyfriend) had just called her. Some little guy was there. Mark from somewhere in South America I think. He kept talking to mom, patting my head - my spirit head or whatever. Said something about "Bela ears". I was trying to figure out where to go to be reincarnated. I thought of T. and C.'s boy, liked the fact that he was living near D. But by the end I realized that there really was nowhere, and that the generation was wrong.
     It was just so eerie to see my body there like that. I was naked except for my underwear. I forget what killed me. Something with my stomach or lungs... I don't remember. It just really freaked me out.

Re: Decisions (alcohol)

6:57 PM - 3/24/06

I've (to quote Mencia) Dee Dee Dee d my way through many nights. Especially lately, I seem to be a little more sensitive to it. Don't know why. I've actually cut back... well, sort of. I'm back to binge mode. Drink too much or not at all.

Really trying to lose some weight, and still dealing with Solu-Medrol moon face.

~This is annoying

4:33 PM - 3/24/06

None of the static links in my archives work. I'd like people to be able to comment on older stuff, if they want to.

Sorry folks. Hopefully it'll be fixed soon.

--- 5:36 pm ---

Thank you to everyone to has been commenting on my entries today. You've helped keep my smile going throughout the day.

I'm having trouble keeping up though, so I just wanted to say something. If I don't reply, please don't think that what you write isn't being read or appreciated.

:)

~Smiles can be good.

9:41 AM - 3/24/06

I'm really tired. This project is draining me, on a lot of levels. The MS is trying its best to kick my ass too.

I had a nice late night, last night. Spoke with an old friend, on the phone, for a couple of hours. Even after we hung up, I was still smiling. I'm still smiling now.

In my language, the word "friend" just doesn't even come close to defining what I feel, or once felt for certain people in my life. Not that I just toss the word around either. When I call someone my "friend", it means that they mean a whole hell of a lot to me. I even have friends that are like family to me.

I guess that's why they invented the term "soul mate". With soul mates, not even time matters. Whatever comes to pass, reconnecting always feels like coming home. Last night, for a couple of hours, I got to be home.

~Innocence Bleeding

9:45 PM - 3/23/06

---

1998

            So, I'm out... Cheap Art. I was hungry. I was also right. The people around me are nauseating. It's so hard to shut things out lately. I guess that's why I'm so fucked up. The more that gets to me, the more I lose it. I'm trying to stay calm... really I am, but even the music is nauseating. Booga booga booga music. Should've just gone to Wawa... avoided the nausea. But, I didn't, and here I am. Nauseated.
      What the fuck should I do? I really can't go on like this. I'll either kill someone... some people... because killing one is dumb... if you kill, you kill. - or just kill myself. Where's the out? DON'T KILL HIM. WANT TO. DON'T! Wonder what life in jail would be like. Wonder how soon I'd be killed. Wonder if I care.
      Drink more. Seems stupid to buy beer here when I have 7 left at home. Oh well.
      I'm tired of being insane. LOBOTOMY!
      The waiter asks what happened to my arm. "I got cut.", I say. True enough. What he doesn't know can't confuse him. Part of me yells "You cut me, you son of a bitch... you and the rest of your kind. Keep it up dumb ass!". But my lips stay still.
      Try to laugh, try to laugh. Smile, even though it feels like it'll kill you. I try. I try.
      Guess I'll eat now.

~Miss you, Richard.

6:11 PM - 3/23/06

Funny how even when everyone knew that Richard Pryor had MS, his behavior was still attributed to him being "bad" somehow. No one ever talks about why he might have been doing so much cocaine... or why he slept with his gun... etc. Even now, most people with MS don't even understand MS. The truth is, I don't think that they want to. It scares them. It's a lot easier for people with MS to point the finger at Richard Pryor, and see him as a bad person, because that way no one will be afraid of them... or because that way they can still not be "one of them".

Maybe the reason why I won't keep quiet about it is because I'm used to people being afraid of me... and I am "one of them".

~vice grip

10:23 AM - 3/23/06

I'm completely avoiding the task of reading through stuff from '98. '97 was painful enough.

I don't know if it's MS related, but one of the things my head does, is that it doesn't let things go. It could be that I'm just stubborn. It could be that I'm tenacious. It could be that I'm blindly loyal. It could be that my head is just fucked up. I don't really know. Time is just weird with me. Yesterday feels like 10 years ago, when I can remember yesterday. 10 years ago feels like yesterday. The emotions are still as intense, the events just as clear.

I guess that's why I'm so adamant about resolving things in my life. Some people don't even scar. My wounds don't heal unless I can stitch them up, and even then the scars are deep and visible.

I guess that I can be accused of being one to "hold a grudge", but although that's sort of true, I also forgive rather quickly, as long as the damage isn't still being done. Shoot, I'm even trying to work out my relationship with my mother, and I think that says something about me.

Yeah... so... anyway... that's why I'm avoiding '98. '98 was the year I suddenly thought that playing in traffic made complete sense. A lot was bad in '98. Myself included.

~I'm the King of the world! Really!

10:46 PM - 3/22/06

---

1997

     Anger. It's so pure and powerful... beautiful actually. I envision beating people with bats, bricks; see machines exploding. Anger. Why am I angry? I guess I'll never really know...
     A 4 or 5 inch razor slash graces my left upper arm. It felt good to cry...
     What the hell is this life all about? I'm so fucking worn out...
     Wonder what tomorrow holds. More depression and anger? How much longer before I feel ok? Will I ever?
     ...People file in and I'm nauseated by them. Disgusted by life. How fun. Where are my answers? Why do I feel as if I'm talking in circles? Never any answers...

What year is it?

7:57 PM - 3/22/06

Mc has been reading for a while.

My guess is that he sent my "myspace" link to her, then she went a readin'.

After she called him or e-mailed him, and when my blog came back up, he went to my blog. (Maybe they were communicating via IM) They were both on for a while.

He's still reading.

How sweet.

~sorry

3:10 PM - 3/22/06

I guess that it's pretty obvious that I'm working through a lot of personal shit while dealing with this project.

I'm sorry that I'm being sort of vague in my entries, but I'm doing my best to keep this about myself, and the MS. There are plenty of stories I could tell, some of them funny, some of them horrifying, but I'd rather try to stay focused on just conveying what the MS was doing to my head.

I suppose that in the process, I'm making it clear what my head still does. Stress is very bad for MS. Reading things I wrote while at my worst is stressful. Thinking about my past is stressful. Acknowledging the damage done to people around me is stressful.

I really never meant to hurt those I cared for... but I know that I did. I never meant to hurt those who cared for me, but I know that I did.

That said though, a lot people treated me pretty horribly too. I guess it's just part of life.

MS or no, we all make mistakes.

Vinegar

9:35 AM - 3/22/06

Just the ones I jotted down...


Recipe to lower cholesterol:

2 cups of grape juice
1 cup of apple juice
1/4 cup of apple cider vinegar
Mix together and take 2 ounces before your largest meal everyday; only 2 ounces is needed for results.
******
Taking a little bit of vinegar with or just before meals isolates the fat in food and it passes through your system
******
Bring a small saucepan of water to a boil. Remove from heat and add 1/2 cup apple cider vinegar. Make a "tent" with a bathtowel over your head and breathe in the vapors, deeply and slowly. (If it makes you cough, cut back on the vinegar.) A few minutes of doing this will cure most headaches
******
a straight teaspoon of vinegar to stop Diarrhea after about 30 minutes.

Re: Decisions

9:34 AM - 3/22/06

I guess, the way I see it, Sativex is a drug... Pot is a plant.

I'm so anti drug companies right now.

~reflection

9:19 AM - 3/22/06

It's not so much about remembering, it's about gaining perspective.

If I think back twenty years, I remember what I did... and I remember why I thought I did what I did. What I have now is a better understanding of myself. The reasons why I did what I did were a whole hell of a lot deeper than I thought.

Back then, I saw it as being about simple po ssessiveness, and also because she told me that he had all but raped her. Now, I also realize that I hated him because he threatened my masculinity. Yes, she did tell me that he did that to her, but she was still dating him, and also sleeping with me.

I had some serious issues with guys in the past. Hated almost all of them. Too, every time I started having feelings for a guy, I'd flip out. Because I felt my own masculinity was threatened, I couldn't be too close to a guy.

I think that a lot of guys are like that though. It's at the root of "homophobia". "Am I less of a man because I want to fuck you?" "Am I less of a man because I want you to fuck me?"

We live in a very insecure society, us Americans. It's dangerous. Often, insecurity causes people to kill other people.

I think that most of the leaders in our society depend on that.



(sorry about the odd spaces between letters. I keep trying, but I can't get them to go away.)

~Allegro

10:34 PM - 3/21/06

---

1996

      Many thoughts - epiphanies - flying
through my being. Need to get them down.

learning gives one the ability to
love and create
Revelations - code left for self
Bible - book to teach truth
      Truth changes on each tongue
      All tongues speak the same truth
Paul's truth interpreted by by James is
James' version of Paul's truth - truth
is different to James (he has a different
version of it)
      Multiply = create
    fruitful = happy
  God's voice = sound of life, all people & beings
While creating, people are happy
      God = all
      God's voice = all's voice
      God's face = all faces
Bible is word of God because we're all
God       voice of man = God     if it is
your voice - follow it for it is your truth
     Judgement day is when we judge ourselves
      Forgiveness is triumph of "good"
Revelations is metaphor - All bible is metaphor
Metaphor allows us to convey our truth
more accurately. Metaphor must change
person to person in order to be accurately
understood.
      "Truth" is what creates the most
      happiness/love
Most important to be honest with one's self.
            LOVE
            CREATE
guidelines metaphors suggestions truth
      rules     path to happiness     Commandments
      All of it is inside you
      You have heard the voice of God

~lesions can't touch this

6:49 PM - 3/21/06

I can't stop my head... it's racing and racing and racing.

Sometimes there just isn't enough beer.

I can't even write about everything that's swirling around in there... it's old stuff... it's stuff from WAY back... it's stuff that I've carried around... stuff that just became part of me... stuff that time resolved into a permanent, yet painful space in my heart...

It's not the journals. No. This goes WAY back. This is stuff in my journals that I've read over so many times that... it may as well be a tattoo. Stuff that I don't need the journals to remember.

I remember his eyes. I remember looking into his eyes... that moment... when the whole entire world stopped, and I knew that there was an us and a them.

Then, I was locked up.

...and I lost him.

~nap first

1:03 PM - 3/21/06

I feel too tired to deal with any of this today.

I think that before I even attempt to deal with '96, bed time is in order.

Sleep would be nice.

~My power, my pleasure, my pain

8:12 PM - 3/20/06

---

1995

Wandering aimlessly
Up and down
The bleeding paths
Of my own mind
Getting lost
In my own
Self
Loathing
The feeling of emptiness
Within
Pain and despair
Akin to life
After death
Echo
Follow
Lead me
To you
Want to consume you
Use you
Abuse
Myself
Want to heal and fill
Myself
With your essence
Bleed you
Empty you
To satisfy
My tortured self
Instead
The cool metal blades mock me
Wandering aimlessly
Up and down
The bleeding arms
Of my body
Getting lost
In my own
Self
Dying

~prep

9:19 AM - 3/20/06

I should read back over my journals more often. I seem to forget a lot of things... good and bad. Too, I seem to confuse things. I'll remember something happening, but I'll switch the dates around in my head.

"And it came to pass, when he had made an end of speaking unto Saul, that the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul." ISamuel, 18:1

I don't know if my reading my old writing is making my head worse, or if because my head is getting worse, I'm having trouble reading over the old writing.

"Once you realize it's all about vanity - it's not."

Keep running across dreams I wrote down... and they frighten me... predictions... warnings... signs...

...one long path leading directly to this moment...

shoot.. forgot about that... that one started off as a threesome

Was that my life?

~Black Hole Son

9:38 PM - 3/19/06

---

1994
     Should've brought my journal along. Try to stay calm, get through another night. My head spins and spins. Feel as if I could vomit. Disgusted with life, with people, with myself. Pour more beer down my throat expecting, as always, that my depression will be washed away. After so many years of depression you'd think I'd be used to it, but I'm not. I hate it. My head pounds. How long before this hell stops? Day after day, night after night, same shit. Sleep offers little real rest. All night I wake up. How do people do it? Keep going and going. I even write the same shit over and over. Bitch, bitch, bitch. Complain about how fucked up I am. All is blurred. Even the lines between sex and violence are blurred. So much anger, rage, violence. I feel like I'm ready to explode. In a way, I wish I would. Maybe it would eliminate some of the pressure. I can't stop my head. The thoughts just keep going around and around. Feel the pressure up my spine, in my neck and head. Like a cat ready to pounce. Pounce on what? My own brain? I feel like I must be insane. People say that if you think you're insane that you're not. So, how do I explain the state of my being? Feel so tired. Came out tonight to kill time, occupy my head. Still it spins. What the fuck is wrong with me? What's it gonna take to get "normal"? Have I ever been "normal"? Was I normal with L., or just shut down? So pissed at myself lately for blowing that stability. It's my own fault I lost her. Had I known what was in store... Will I value these last couple years some day? I just wish it would stop. Can't I get some sort of break? Wish I were sleeping. Wish I could rest my sore brain. Sleep sleep sleep.

~memory burp

10:39 AM - 3/19/06

It wasn't in '86-'87 that I was diagnosed with a B-12 deficiency, it was in '94, while I was in lock up.

Doesn't really matter. I was in the same Institution as I was in '86-'87.


That damn hospital. If it weren't already shut down, I'd...

I don't know what I'd do.

Probably nothing.

~another year, another beer

9:20 AM - 3/19/06

I don't look forward to today. Already, I want a beer.

It's not just that there's more per year to go through, as I get more current, it's that I'm really seeing that things did indeed get progressively worse.

I don't even know what was going on with me yesterday... maybe I was just feeling sorry for myself, but I actually had tears about to spill out of my eyes while putting together the 1993 entry.

That was a rough year... 1993. Too rough.

1994 was even rougher.

The worst part of it though, was that I didn't know what was wrong. I interpreted my delusions as complete sense, and my pain as completely delusional.

The most important thing to surviving with MS, is actually knowing that you have it.

~The killer in me is the killer in you

10:47 PM - 3/18/06

---

1993

      Need to write about this dream. Another one of those that stays with you all day. Why such an intense impression? Wolf dreams are like that. I always remember. The fear, the freedom, the hunger. Makes me not want to wake up because of the happiness. Gone is the tiredness and stress of the human form. Yes, there's still fear, but it's different, somehow more tolerable. Last night's dream wasn't total regression, only partial. I still had my body, but I was the wolf. Some around me thought me insane, some were scared. I trusted only one. Where that trust stems from, I don't know. That's a part of my human existence I don't understand. I suppose that trust extends into reality with her. But even people I know I can trust in life I didn't last night in the dream. It was a solid fear of humanity. Perhaps only animals can understand that type of fear. It was so totally ingrained in my spirit that it felt natural. It all felt natural. That's what was so confusing and painful. Why did all these people fear me if I was only being myself? Running. Was it a mall? Was it a house? It was somebody's father's house that was as big as a shopping mall. I kept running for the freezer. Meat meat meat. That's all I wanted. I felt ok around her. I didn't run from her when she was near, but even then I was wary, not quite scared, but cautious. Maybe I do need to be locked away somewhere. Maybe then I can be free.


            Understanding a howl
            Every fiber of being
            Contained in one sound
            Sound of pain
                      of freedom
                      of hunger
                      of life

~You look fine to me!

3:48 PM - 3/18/06

To give this project a bit of a face, just click.

Maybe I'm Peter Pan!
Time for lock up.
Screw Ralph Macchio.
I'm too sexy for my cigarette.

~Almost half way here

10:16 AM - 3/18/06

On March 8th, I started a project in honor of "Multiple Sclerosis Awareness Week" . I decided to post one piece of writing from each of the 23 years since my first remembered "exacerbation", giving people an idea of just how MS can affect a person's life. I wanted people to get a better picture of this disease, and what it can do to people.

Although the official MS Awareness week is only March 13th through the 17th, it is still my plan to post the old writing, one piece of writing from each year, a day, until I get to the year 2006. I do hope that people will continue to read, even after that though.

In my life, and on this blog, every day is, at least in part, dedicated to MS Awareness.

It's purely selfish.

I have MS.

~Here they come to snuff the rooster

11:22 PM - 3/17/06

---

1992

     Writing comes easier to me than speaking sometimes,and so I'm writing. I feel dead locked. Maybe I'm at critical mass, the point in transition where the only step left is to decide your path. I have so many personal issues to work out. But then, who doesn't? I think that I'll always be "working on something" with myself, attempting to better myself, but this "transition" goes beyond simple self improvement.
     Places flood my waking and dream thoughts - quick flashes of houses or buildings that I've been in. The feel of the hospital waiting area I sat in while my mother took my newborn baby brother for a check up. The living room of an ex-lover. The barn on the farm in Kentucky where I lived and worked for a summer. - Quick flashes, but many of them, continuously flood my thoughts. I wonder why my brain is doing this sub-conscious rewind. Perhaps it's an attempt to drift back even further. Perhaps it's sleep deprivation. Or perhaps it's just simple boredom.
     "Magick" calls to me. The call is so loud that it drowns out the call of my music and art-work. Split second dream premonitions taunt me, saying, "You can develop and use this" Tarot cards hold blank images, saying, "You're passing through this" The pentagram on my wrist swells in the heat, reminding me of its presence. I cannot remember yesterday, yet I can remember years ago, lives ago. My perception is struggling to stay within "normal" boundaries.
     I am reminded of a conversation in which I was told to "enjoy" this phase of transition. However, at this moment in time, I am too numb to enjoy anything.
     LSD creates a spiral effect. First you're spiraling around reality, then reality spirals around you. This is a feeling quite similar, but it's more like reality spiraling around you and you spiraling around it at the same time.
     Did that happen, or was it a dream? I was given a name and a talisman. A very strong Native American gave this to me and then said, "You have the strength of the expression of the Great Bear." I am the wolf, so who or what is the bear? Perhaps it is merely the spirit of this land welcoming me, creating - or attempting to create a connection with my essence like the ones I have with Britain, Ireland, and Germany.
     "Lunch" is over. I have to get back to functioning or I will starve and freeze this coming winter.
     It was not "The strength of the Great Bear", but the "strength of the expression of..." What is the expression of the Great Bear? More so, what is the Great Bear, and why does its expression translate into strength for me? Is the bear another person, or a spirit? Somehow I know the answers. That Native American man put the answers within me somewhere.
     How is it that I question the bear but not the man? Perhaps the man is what I should be questioning. Doubt. A recent reading told me that I could use doubt to my advantage.
     It's hard to put any weight into my readings, because like I said, the cards appear blank.
     Much has been suggested by the face value about a woman coming into my life, and its been told to me also that someone will cause me to desire to travel this month.
     What is going on in my mind? Is someone testing me? Is someone testing their own power on me? I feel a pull, but cannot tell whether the pull is coming from without or within. Must I identify it before I give into it?

grrrrrr

9:59 PM - 3/17/06

Yeah, called Jk. Ranted and raved all about my life. Piss and moan. Piss and moan. Where did all of my friends go? Blah Blah Blah.

Before I hung up, I asked her where she was, because she kept saying something about being in the bathroom.


She was at L.'s work.

Tell me one more time that "I'm family"?


Whatever.

~ribbit

6:10 PM - 3/17/06

They say that your life flashes before your eyes before you croak.

I hope that purposely flashing my life before my eyes doesn't cause me to croak.

Decisions

7:29 AM - 3/17/06

I think that I've made my decision about this. I'll treat the MS the way I've always treated the MS, even before I had a name for it.

When I'm at my breaking point, I'll take drugs. The rest of the time, I'll just use my pain for creative motivation and inspiration.

At least that way, other people (aside from corporate America) can get something positive out of it.

~I need scars

6:32 AM - 3/17/06

The ~blog hit counter is not doing a good job of stroking my ego. According to it, in the last 22 hours or so, I've only had 9 hits.

True, my ego is already overblown, but still...

Hits with no proof?

How pointless.

~Losing My Religion

9:57 PM - 3/16/06

---

1991

      ...I guess that I'm expecting too much from her if I expect her to put up with my depression. I guess I don't get it. My depression, unfortunately, is a part of who I am, so am I really asking too much if I ask her to deal with me when I'm depressed? She's always made it clear to me that she "won't stand for" my slashing. That alone makes me nervous. I slash. It happens. It hurts, I slash, it helps. Smashing and slashing are the only two things that work. So what do I do when the pain hits? Do I self destruct because I must hold back? or do I let go and risk losing her. When the time comes I guess that I'll handle it then instead of worrying now. I just feel it coming on, so I'm trying to think it through.
      No one understands my slashing. Some relate to the smashing. I try and try to explain, but no one gets it. No one understands that the only reason I don't do it more often these days is because I'm scared of being locked up and scared of loved ones abandoning me. Not because I don't want to or because I think it's wrong...

~Responsibilities

8:46 AM - 3/16/06

I'm tired. I want nothing more than to just fall back to sleep. ...but as Dolly once said, "People in hell want ice water, that don't mean they get it."

The amount of writing I have to comb through is overwhelming. Reading through it, even just glancing over it, is emotional torture.

There's something very rewarding about it though. I can perceive it as "work"... pretend that I'm really doing something useful and important.

A lot of people bitch about paying into Social Security. They don't think that it's their responsibility to take care of disabled or elderly people who can't take care of themselves.

I try really hard to earn my whopping $33 a day... to be worthy of the fraction of a penny these people pay me out of their hard earned paychecks each year.

I understand the mentality. I used to think that way too. "Get a job!"

I remember walking home from work, after having worked a lot of overtime, having "pan handlers" ask me for my spare change. I was tired, and so I spewed my crap all over them. "Get a job!" I don't want to work either!

Social Security? Why the hell did I have to take care of other people? They weren't MY responsibility. I was in my twenties, what the hell did I care about "retirement"?

They say that "The Lord works in mysterious ways." Some speak of "Karma".

All I can say is, don't spit against the wind.

as if you care

10:33 PM - 3/15/06

More and more, I want to just come here... to hide. This whole "MS Awareness Week" thing is brutal... the task I've taken on is brutal. It's brutal reading back. It's brutal thinking.

and then... there's the silence. You expose your pain... and there's silence. That pain is even worse.

I used to think that no one really cared about me.

Now I know... no one really cares about me.

...not in the way I need them to.

Here is my heart and soul. Please shit on it.

~After I put my red laces away...

9:43 PM - 3/15/06

---

1990

David

Pale skin
Glowing green eyes
Black hair
Come to me brother
And forgive my ignorance
No longer lost
In time
In memory
Wrap your arms
Around me brother
And forgive my crimes
Timid
Weakness hiding behind true strength
Inherit me
As you'll soon
Inherit the earth
Show me
The power of meekness
Bless me brother
For I have sinned

~White Power, Mama!

4:33 PM - 3/15/06

When you're suffering from rage, and it seems to have no logical source, sometimes, you just lash out at whatever is there. Sometimes you start lashing out at things that you don't even know are there. Sometimes your own personal, deep rooted issues take over, and you hurl shit at those you incorrectly perceive to be your enemies.

My mother is German. Aryan. The man I was told was my was my father, whose name is on my birth certificate, is Jewish. My mother converted to Judaism, although by Orthodox standards, she didn't do it right, and so she was not really Jewish in their eyes. I'm pretty sure she converted after I was born, but I'm not 100% sure... but I am sure that her conversion was deemed "no good" by the orthodox Jews.

All that extra detail to say, that technically speaking, I'm not Jewish, but I was surrounded by the culture throughout my young life. My young life wasn't the best.

Currently, my mother is one step away from being a full fledged Christian bible thumper. The Church and "God" are her life. (Don't go there. I'm not stupid.) Anyway, long before being "born again" or whatever it was that happened to her (I have my theories.), she re-married another Jewish man. After that didn't really work out, she spent most of her time trying to hook up with men at her local synagogue. She eventually hooked up with another Jewish man, and stayed with him until she decided to try out the local "African American" community.


The first professional tattoo I ever got was of the Nazi Eagle.


It's all about growing up.

~B-12 and MS

11:04 AM - 3/15/06

Spent some time reading other people's writing this morning. My eyes are tired, but that's ok. Tired is ok. Blind is not.

A friend of mine, who was diagnosed with MS 13 years ago, just found out that he might not have MS after all. He might just have a Vitamin B-12 deficiency.

They're easy to confuse, even with an MRI. These days, it's one of the first things that they rule out before diagnosing someone with MS. I suppose that back when he was diagnosed, that wasn't the case.

They told me that I had a B-12 deficiency, back when I was in the hospital, in '86-'87. Well, apparently I had a magical B12 deficiency that vanished. After leaving the Institute, my B12 levels were fine, according to every doctor I went to.

Before seeing Neurodude, I was looking things up online... looking at my MRI, and searching for other MRIs to compare it to. Eventually, I came across an MRI that was of someone's brain who was suffering from a lack of B-12. I completely flipped. I didn't have MS! I had a B-12 deficiency, just like they told me I had when I was in lock up! All the doctors must have been wrong!!! I'm gonna sue!!!!!

Neurodude checked me for B-12 deficiency.

My levels were/are just fine.

I have MS.

~In your eyes

9:06 PM - 3/14/06

---

1989

      Son of a bitch place this is. Hands off sort of a world. I've run away so many times, I can't run anymore, I can't leave myself behind, because everywhere I go I still see my reflection in the eyes of strangers. My life has ceased to be a problem, now it's just a plain burden. Death is supposed to be the final chapter, the final release, but no one knows. I fear I may still live after I die. Still ache, still despair, only there may be no release from death. It may be quite final, but producing no release from pain. I was once flooded by love, now the waters have receded leaving only the filth clinging to me. Another rain may wash the filth away.

(Bed, again.) 2

8:39 AM - 3/14/06

I really do want to see you, and I really do need to go to the store, but I don't think that I can. I love Jb, but I think that in the state I'm in, it'd be a bad idea. :\

~Mistakes

7:12 AM - 3/14/06

I was going to add this to the comments on yesterday's Explosive rant entry, but I changed my mind. I want this as its own blog entry, not just as a comment.

A reader commented:

"As in your case, the medical profession often makes big mistakes that cause horrible results."

This morning's thoughts in response to that comment:

I'm not suing anyone. I've had a couple of years to think on this. What the Medical community did was listen to me, and before me, they listened to the people legally responsible for me.

To this day, if my doctor refuses to listen to me, I'll find another doctor who will. I have to take care of myself, it's no one else's job to do so. I learned that at a very young age.

This week is about MS AWARENESS. People need to understand that the signs and symptoms of MS include things that alter people's behavior and state of mind. This disease is not just about physical pain, blindness, loss of bowel function, and legs that don't work. MS is a disease which affects the central nervous system. That includes the brain. Everything that can go wrong with the brain can go wrong if MS is eating away at it. If someone is convicted of committing a crime, before they are locked in jail, it has to be determined that they are free of "mental disease or defect". MS affects the brain, that is where the "mental" lives. It's 2006. We have MRI machines in almost every hospital. There's no reason that a person should not be checked, either before trial, or at the least, before sentencing. MS is not, and should not be a "get out of jail free" card. If you kill someone, and it's because you have MS, you should be locked up. Apparently it's not safe to have you wandering around on the streets. Welcome to life in lock up, with the rest of the sick people, where you and your MS can stay the hell away from the rest of us who don't kill people.

but, I digress...

What the Medical community did was listen to me...

It's just a damn shame that those responsible for me could not do the same.

It's not simply that the medical profession made a big mistake that caused horrible results. It's that the people who were supposed to be taking care of me were too busy trying to cast me as "the bad guy", to alleviate their own guilt, to make sure that the medical community was actually doing their job with me.

~the adventure continues

6:31 AM - 3/14/06

Wonder what today will bring.

Whatever it brings, I hope it can wait until I can manage to get some beer.

The apartment's beer gauge is officially on "E".

Record this, asshole

6:15 AM - 3/14/06

Well, I'm glad that R. fixed the hit counter. I knew that it wasn't possible to be getting negative amounts of hits. In the last 24 hours or so, the ~blog hit counter counted about 900 hits. Given, some of them were mine, and it was a rather busy day, but shoot... even if my daily hit count is half that, I'm impressed.

/// pissed me off yesterday. It's just the wrong week to be playing Mr. Intellectual with me. Dude fucked up as a father, that's just the way it happened. I think that I'd prefer he just admit it and stop trying to justify it... especially on my blog. He made a complete ass of himself, and did nothing to convince anyone that he's even worthy of any respect. Jk.'s been wanting to rip him a new one for months now. I told her to go for it. I'm done tip-toeing around him. What an asshole. ...and that passive/aggressive thing he does? Completely fucked up.

I have a bitch of a headache. It was a drink every beer in the house sort of night. (to say nothing of the hard liquor.)

~it was a song

8:50 PM - 3/13/06

---

1988

The blood
On my knife
Tells me this
Isn't a dream
The blood
In my life
Tells me dreams
Aren't what they seem

~Explosive rant

1:21 PM - 3/13/06

I don't know if I'm getting my point across in my writings here.

I was first, and continuously, diagnosed as being "mentally ill" because no one ever gave me an MRI. Even after 4 times in a mental institution with an MRI machine, no one ever checked my actual BRAIN. They just judged me, labeled me, and DESTROYED MY LIFE.

MS will often present as "mental illness" because both can be about the brain.

From what I've read, one of the leading causes of death in people with MS is SUICIDE.

Even Richard Pryor was so PARANOID that he slept with a gun!

My being suicidal, depressed, paranoid, rageful, and dangerous is BECAUSE I HAVE MS.

I'm a GOOD PERSON, with a fucked up brain.

I have A LOT of self control, but even I screw up sometimes. I almost killed someone because of this disease!!!!!!

Here's an MS awareness idea - maybe some people behave atrociously for a very legitimate reason, and maybe if they knew the reason they could avoid acting on things impulsively.

~Aware

6:17 AM - 3/13/06

I've been up for a few hours. Passed out, after spending the evening getting drunk and typing on ~blurt. It's a poor replacement for a "night out", but hey... at least I can "hear" the conversations I have.

Found out from R. that the ~blog hit counter had a bug in it. I was relieved to find that out. My paranoia was starting to really get to me. My hits were going backwards all the time. I just couldn't figure out how, in the course of 24 hours, I'd not only lose all the hits from that day, but hits from the previous day as well. From what he said, it's fixed now. I sure hope so. It was killing me on my low self esteem days.

Now, I just have to figure out who the hell "Deleted" is. It can't be a real ~blog user. Yesterday, "Deleted" hit me 41 times... in 2 minutes. I'm just WAY too paranoid for that user name. I keep checking my archives, hoping that my entries aren't somehow magically disappearing.

Out of all the MS crap I deal with, the paranoia has to be the most debilitating. Paranoia is pretty evil. If you think that everyone is "out to get you", who do you go to in order to ground yourself? "Everyone" is EVERYONE.

When my brain is really bad, the paranoia hooks up with the "everything is ugly and rotten", and then the rage comes along to ice the cake. Sometimes, megalomania becomes the "cherry on top", and then it all gets placed on a platter of hallucinations.

I think that if you gave everyone in jail an MRI, you'd be amazed at how many "criminals" actually have MS.

~Veil of Rot

9:35 PM - 3/12/06

---

1987

4:35AM 3/26/87
     This may be my last night home for a while. I'm drunk. I'm sad again. I'm lonely. I should just go to sleep, I have to get up early (10:00) to see my doctor. It feels like the end. It's scary, real scary. I don't like the way it feels at all. I'd better just go to sleep.
11:00AM
     About 45 minutes til I have to see my doctor. There's nothing to do but lay around, everything's packed. I'm listening to the Sex Pistols, enjoying the music, the violence of it, the harshness. I feel like thrashing.
11:52
     I'm on the 58, keeping calm as some ugly fat pregnant bitch stares at me. Life is so disgusting sometimes it makes me feel lucky, at least I'm not that ugly.
     My knife is packed, all of my knives are packed. I don't usually travel without a good quick knife. Anyway, I brought a good chain. So, if my doc tries anything stupid I'll whack him upside the head and split. Sounds sick right, who cares, I'm a sick person. What a life. I hate old people. Such assholes, rude assholes. I hope I aint this bad when I get older, if I am I hope someone will shoot me. At least I'll speak English. Disgusting -
12:17
     I'm now on the el. It's fucking cold in here. This is March isn't it? I thought it was supposed to be warm. Fucking crazy weather. The sun's out, but the only thing it's doing is blinding me. I'm ragging on everyting today aren't I? I guess I'm just in a bad mood. I didn't get enough sleep. I got up at 10 but only fell asleep at 6.
     Did I mention that I cut my hair? Well, if not, I did. It's crewed again. It feels great to have a decent do for a change. I also dyed it white/blonde. I guess I look like a Nazi. Who cares, this is America isn't it. I can look any way I please. My dad says I look like the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland when I smile. Cool enough. A Nazi Cheshire cat. I think that I look like me personally.
     This is bothersome. All the damn bumps, so I'll write later, it's ridiculous to keep this up.

~It's always something.

11:12 AM - 3/12/06

Before crawling into bed last night, I took my socks off and noticed an odd, circular, bruise on the top of my left foot. Fucked up MS thing with me, I guess. If I injure myself, I often don't feel anything for a day or two. Then, all of a sudden... ouch. Retracing my steps isn't the easiest thing either. With my memory, If I don't write it down, it's often gone forever. Too often, it's obvious that I've hurt myself, but I have no clue how I did it.

I've always had a rather high pain tolerance. It just sort of happens, I guess. If you experience enough pain, eventually, you just sort of get used to it. I'm not talking out of my ass here either. As I've said before, on the pain scale, being razor sliced all over my body rings in at about a "5", and there is a "10". I've experienced some pretty severe stuff, even aside from the MS. For example, I broke my leg once. Never knew it at the time though. Showed up on x-rays after it had healed. I think that's pretty severe. Pain is just weird with me... it doesn't register, or it's dulled, or for no apparent reason it's insanely intense when I haven't even done anything. Sometimes... pain is such a rush. I think that I taught myself that as a kid. Pain is ecstasy.

So, yeah... right... my foot. After thinking for a bit, I remembered. It was the monster. That was a part of the story I left out. In truth, I completely forgot about it while typing out the story. When it happened, I just sort of cursed, then kept going. What happened though, is that about half of the monster, edge side down, fell on my foot while I was attempting to get it attached to the B shelves. It was wrapped around, and I was behind it, holding it, attempting to get the holes to line up with the pegs... and then it just slid back. Like I said, it was like an accordion. Two heavy 12x72" pieces of press-board, connected by a sort of vertically perforated, 30x72" piece of thin, fake, wood-grain crap, which becomes the back of the shelf, once it's finished. The vertical perforations make it fit nicely in the narrow box, but serve to yank half of the monster back into "on the floor" position while attempting to wrap the whole mess around the B shelves.

I'm going to refrain from typing out the "Made in the USA" monologue my brain just performed.

Anyway... on top of my high pain tolerance, my warped perception of pain, and funky pain timing issues, for the last month or so, a good portion of the top of my left foot has been completely numb. (I assume it's MS related.) So, if it wasn't for the not so pretty colors, I don't think I would have had the opportunity to file that part of the story into the "memories that are useful" section of my brain. Have to be thankful for every opportunity, right?

There's now a "bruises" page in the "something to blog about" folder.

Apparently my "how not to be a dumb-ass" folder, with the "boots" page in it was missing on Friday.)

~Bloody Reality

10:37 PM - 3/11/06

---

1986

      Nobody understands. I guess that's cause I can't explain it. It's not depression, it's despair. It's not confusion, it's frustration. I like the physical pain of cutting myself. It's tangible. It's pain derived from an action that's supposed to cause pain, as opposed to life, which shouldn't be painful but is. I like the sight of my own blood. I like blood, period. Call it a fetish, call it what you will, but it's plain and simple - I just like it. It's so late, 4:00 in the morning. I have to get up early tomorrow, but I can't sleep. The urge to destroy is upon me, along with the urge to crawl into a hole. I'm feeling insane, or like I could go insane in an instant.

~slowing down

4:14 PM - 3/11/06

The walk didn't happen. Took the trash out though. The monster box was bugging me, and I figured that while I had some energy, I should do it. I'm starting to feel pretty drained. Maybe it's from yesterday's dose of pushing myself, or maybe it's just the Velveeta shells and cheese I had for lunch. MMMmmmmm.... Over a thousand calories of "no nutritional value"... my favorite! I ate that around noon, and then had to get into bed. Eventually, I'll learn not to push too hard. Eventually.

There is a big part of me that wants to go into all sorts of detail about my life, while doing this 23 years thing. The other part of me is putting its foot down about it though. If I get started, the whole thing will become much too BIG. Every year of my life could fill a book all by itself.

So, that said, the only task I'm committing to is posting the writing. I'll leave it up to the readers to think about what it means... what it says about my state of being at the time, and as well, how that might have affected the people around me. If I do it any other way, I dare say I won't make it past 1985. There's just too much to tell... too many events... people... details... feelings... It's all important, but just picking one excerpt per year is task enough. Posting the excerpt counts as more than enough.

Wow, am I ever achey-drowsy.

ugh.

~Cane addicted

7:44 AM - 3/11/06

On a scale of one to ten, one being "I'm going to live forever" and ten being "I'm going to die in half an hour", I'm at about a 4. That is to say that I'm actually feeling pretty good.

I'm not suffering too much from the Solu-Medrol fallout today. My hands are still cracked and raw and itchy, and there are a few other minor complaints, but generally, I feel as good as I did before the treatment.

I'm convinced that the medications are a good part of the problem. I get bad, I take meds, then I get worse. So, fuck the meds. I'll deal with bad, somehow. I have managed to, for a long time now.

Not that I don't love Nessie, but I didn't need her until I did the Solu-Medrol. With me, it's my brain that's screwed, not my spine (yet). There's nothing wrong with my legs, just the part of the brain which receives the signals from them. The calmer I am, the less I fall. The more worked up I get, the more I fall. I rarely have to use Nessie in the house.

I so want to go for a walk today. I'm scared to leave Nessie behind, but part of me wants to. It would just suck to go down and not have her there to help me home.

Step 1: We admitted we were powerless over Nessie--that our lives had become unmanageable.

~all the rage

10:38 PM - 3/10/06

---

1985

Shoud be sleeping
Instead I'm aching
Head is a mess
Life is a test
My heart is in pain
Is all this in vain?
If my soul is great
Then why do I hate?

~160 lb. Dumbbell

6:28 PM - 3/10/06

(If I edit this thing one more time, I'm going to smack myself... but... onward...)

Today, thanks to RavensWings, I went to the WalMart. No, I'm not a big fan of WalMart, but us poor folk have to get our shtuff somewhere.

Today, I purchased a bookshelf. Now, this is no ordinary bookshelf. This is the all-you-could-never-want in a bookshelf, bookshelf ... for the low, low price of $29.88. Some assembly required.

The (not even bothering to fake being friendly) WalMart dude took the box up to the front of the store, while we finished our shopping. (YAY! I BOUGHT SOCKS!)

Aside from the delay at the deodorant aisle, where a family of three was (apparently) having a bonding moment over the Secret, we got finished fairly quickly.

We tried not to discuss the chore ahead.

We had to, somehow, get the beast of a shelf from the WalMart into my apartment.

Getting it to the car was easy. They had a nifty, flat-bed, cart-like thingee that they so generously let us borrow. (What? For $29.88, you want them to actually take it to your vehicle? Are you on crack?)

Between the two of us, we managed. Nessie kept an eye out while I risked maneuvering without her. She did a good job.

So, bookshelf wedged between the seats (did I mention that the box was about 6 feet long and weighed 86 lbs?), we rolled the carts back up to the WalMart, and then headed back here.

So.... there we were, parked outside of the back of the building (which is actually the front of my apartment. Don't ask.), and we had to get this beast of a bookshelf up 2 flights of stairs and into my living room.

I'll make this part of the story short.

We didn't die. The shelf got in. Nessie is still giving me an attitude about the whole experience.

So... right... RavensWings has to go, and I want nothing to do with the task of putting the shelf together. According to the box, you didn't even need any tools, but shoot... I didn't even feel like opening the box.

Attempting to avoid the task, I futzed around in the kitchen, wandered around online, debated beer... but it kept staring at me.

So... I opened the box. It was a long box. ...about 6 feet by one foot, an inch or two thick. I thought it was going to be a nice thin, sturdy bookshelf. oops.

Surprise!!!! One foot is the width of the sides. huh?

ok... I almost panicked.

In the box was this monstrosity that resembled a press-board accordion... and a bag of metal doohickies.

I didn't cry.

I don't even know how to explain this to you.

Three shelf Bs get inserted into one side of monster A. Edge C gets inserted into the bottom of one side of monster A. There is nothing holding edge C or shelves B upright. Apparently they're supposed to just levitate there with their 2 pegs each inserted into one side of monster A.

That didn't happen.

One after the next, the shelf Bs revolted.

Nessie was laughing.

I was not.

Finally, I dragged some stuff over to the monster and propped up the Bs, which were now wet because of my sweating all over them.

eew.

ok... so, the C and Bs are standing at attention, with a lot of help from from 4 boxes, two phone books, and a 20 lb. dumbbell. (No, not me, I weigh in at about 160.)

Then, the real fun began.

What they told you to do was to pick up the other side of monster A, and wrap the whole accordion-like mess around until the other holes on monster A lined up with the other peg thingees on the Bs and C.

Right.

An hour later, drenched in sweat, and ignoring the insane laughter coming from Harold and Nessie, I swore that it sort of looked like a bookshelf. I went to part 3 of the instructions.

I had to put the "tacks" into the back of the shelf and get them to line up with the back edges of the, now hugged by the monster, B shelves.

ok, so there are a few holes. It only took me 20 minutes.

Moving the bookshelf to where I wanted it would've been easy, if it had actually fit there.

I maneuvered it into the bedroom, and found a place where it fit, completely ignoring Bunny who was all but shitting himself laughing at me.

Very funny. We'll see who sleeps in the drool spot tonight.



Hey, at least it's made the fucking USA! Right?

- the bookshelf, not my drool... but then, I suppose my drool is made in the USA too.

USA! USA!

got tissues?

On deck

2:45 PM - 3/10/06

There's nothing quite like opening up about really painful shit and having no one say a damn word. They'll chat about cooking stuffing until their fingers fall off, but say anything in response to what I write that is really intense and painful to me?

All of a sudden there are tumbleweeds in my comments section.

I've always hated that about writing online. Seems that people are petrified to talk about anything real. It's much easier to discuss tv shows, politics, religion, and stuffing recipes. The worst that can happen is that people get into arguments. Dog forbid they should talk about what's really in there... what's really behind all their opinions and tastes and judgements.

I guess that's it though. People don't want to know what's behind all of that stuff. If they had to deal with it, they'd probably end up blowing their own heads off. It's a lot easier to ignore it all, and let it out by persecuting everyone else out of jealousy.

I guess I'm in a bad mood.

Thinking about life does that to me.

I'm jealous of people who can fool themselves into thinking that life doesn't suck.

~Welcome to the jungle.

7:32 AM - 3/10/06

1984 was the year I left home. It's not just that my mother and step-father were abusive, although if they weren't I don't know that I would have left. It was about the pain. Physical pain, mental pain, emotional pain, SPIRITUAL pain.

In their defense, it really isn't easy to work with a kid who can't even explain what's going on.

I got my reputation that year too, I guess. I got really (MS) sick while working on my High School's musical. It was a lot of stress. It was May. There were finals going on. I was in the band and on the Stage Crew. The commute to school took about an hour and a half. MS and stress don't mix. In the end, my peers and teachers thought I was doing drugs. So did my parents.

I wasn't.



I was flaring.

~The Power Of Suggestion

9:40 PM - 3/9/06

---

1984

Pain
Is
Ecstasy

~bonked

2:49 PM - 3/9/06

I'm not feeling too well today. Haven't had an easy time with sleeping. That's never good. The Solu-Medrol has a lot to do with it. It takes weeks before it's done messing with your system.

So far, I've yet to watch a movie on my new Cinemax pal. The past few nights I passed out even before The Daily Show started. Naps. Periods of being passed out. Not exactly refreshing sleep.

I think that what makes the old writing rather profound is simply how old I was when I wrote it. I don't know that most 13 or 14 year olds spend their time contemplating the nature of suicide, or feel as if they are already "dead". The way I felt, at the time, was a lot like what it feels to be "tripping" on acid. Not that I'd done acid, that didn't happen until a couple of years later, but in retrospect... that's what it felt like. My brain was just off. It would come and go, sometimes during the course of a day, sometimes it would just last for days.

That's how it started though. My brain just sort of went bonkers.

~and so it was

5:29am - 3/9/06

---

1983

Suicide is painless when you're dead.

~Multiple Sclerosis Awareness

So, it's coming up on "MS Awareness Week". Shoot, the way I see it, I think that my blog is doing a fine job of making people aware of MS.

That said though, I was thinking that I might do a little something extra. Although the effect that MS has on my life is apparent, if you've been reading, or if you read my archives, it doesn't exactly capture what MS did to me, my life, and the lives of those around me, up until I started this blog.

So, I had an idea. (Hey! Get back here! It's not that bad!) My idea is this...

The first time MS affected me profoundly, was in June of 1983. That's almost 23 years ago. Through all of it, I've been writing. Whether online or off, it was only the rare occasion that I didn't write, at least, a sentence or two, daily. So, I have lots and lots of writing. Even with having gotten rid of (yes, I'm still beating myself up for it) a lot of it, I still have volumes.

So, my plan is to post one piece of writing from each of the 23 years, giving people an idea of just how MS affected my life. It'll be a project, and (thanks to MS) it won't be the easiest thing for me to do, but I want to try.

There you have it. Stay tuned, I suppose. If you want, in honor of "MS Awareness Week", read some of my archives, if you haven't already. MS is not easy to live with, and it's brutal to die with. If nothing else, I hope that people who read my blog get a better picture of this disease, and what it can do to people. We're not all Terri Garr.

~Take this cheese and...

10:17 AM - 3/8/06

I suppose that there's a lot to write about. There's a lot in my head, anyway.

Didn't sleep all that much. Just a few hours. Got out of bed around 3 or 4, or something like that. Spent some time reading over my archives. Never really finished cleaning them up since the ~blog change-over. Just now, took out the trash, and ran into my next door neighbor. Apparently she's not "Lucy". I'm thinking that maybe "Murmur" was actually "Lucy", and she was changing her address from next door, before she and Coughy moved a few doors down. From what I gather, "June" (that's her name) used to live with (I don't know his name) her Henry, and Henry was in a wheelchair. I assume that Henry is no longer with us. June moved next door to me because Murmur was in a chair, and needed June's place, which is more conducive to that.

The first thing she asked me was whether or not her tv bothered me. I chuckled and told her that I worry about whether or not mine is bothering her. From what she says, she doesn't even know I'm here... doesn't hear a thing from my apartment. That made me happy, not just because I'm glad that I don't make too much noise, but that if she doesn't even know that I'm here, then my smoking must not bother her either. This makes me feel a lot better about things here.

In other news, I read something about Solu-Medrol, yesterday, which got me pretty riled up. M___B____ sent me a link, and I'll just say this... sometimes, it sucks to be right. Apparently, there's now evidence that there is "irreversible neurological worsening following high-dose corticosteroids in advanced progressive multiple sclerosis."

Who knew?

So, after ranting and pacing a bit, I just settled in with "NEVER AGAIN", and "Always trust your gut".

If I keep trusting the doctors, even a little, they'll either fry me or kill me. I don't think that there's a law that says I have to let, or help them do that. The way I see it, if I want to die, and need the help of a doctor, I'll ask for just that. Right now, I'm not wanting to die, and I'm not wanting to suffer any more than I already do.... so, the Docturds need to back off with pushing the crap that will cause it. "It might" or "It seems to" is just NOT good enough for me. I want "It will" and then I want whatever it is to actually work. I want whatever it is to make what life I have left better. If it won't do that, and I mean immediately, then they can choke on it.

I may be a Rat Bastard, but I'm not a fucking Lab Rat.

(deep breath)

rant over

NEVER AGAIN

From now on, I'll trust my gut.

---

2:11pm
From what I can tell, it's new info.

I want to bring a copy of it with me to my next appointment and paper-cut to death the entire Neurology "team" I've had to deal with.

---

Irreversible neurological worsening following high-dose corticosteroids in advanced progressive multiple sclerosis.
Koch M, De Keyser J.
Department of Neurology, University Medical Center Groningen, Groningen, The Netherlands. m.w.koch@neuro.umcg.nl

Abstract
BACKGROUND: A course of high-dose corticosteroids has been shown to hasten recovery from a relapse of multiple sclerosis (MS). Some patients with progressive MS ask for a course with corticosteroids outside a relapse, hoping to gain some functional improvement.

OBJECTIVE: To describe 4 patients with advanced progressive MS who experienced worsening of disability after treatment with high-dose corticosteroids.

RESULTS: All 4 patients had moderate to severe disability and asked for corticosteroid treatment because they were slowly progressing. None of them had a relapse. All experienced improvement by the end of the treatment course. One or 2 days after discontinuation of treatment, however, they deteriorated clinically and became more disabled than before treatment.

CONCLUSION: The use of high-dose corticosteroid therapy in progressive forms of MS outside relapses can be detrimental and worsen disability.

PMID: 16518129 [PubMed - indexed for MEDLINE]

~Sun of a...

9:28 AM - 3/7/06

ok, so... finally, I get to the point where I can't take what my cable company offers as entertainment anymore. I go online and look up the "packages". All I really want is Sundance. Why Sundance is a "pay channel" in this neck of the woods, I won't go into, but as ticked off as I've been with the programming, and variety of channels that come with my current subscription, I finally gave in. Fuck it. I'll PAY for Sundance. PLEASE!!! Just STOP the RIGHT WING ORGY that's going on, on my tv screen! IFC alone just isn't doing it for me anymore!!!

So, I decide, last night, that I'll pay the $13 a month or so, to get my Sundance... and hey, I'll get Showtime as a bonus. Look, if the majority of your time is spent stuck in bed staring, tv takes on a whole new meaning. I was pumped. I had decided. I actually MADE A DECISION.

I get up today, and quickly go to fantasy land. I turn on the tv, and play "I wonder what I'd be watching if I already had my new cable package."

Very quickly, my smile turned into a frown.

I couldn't find the Sundance channel listed on the menu.

I looked and looked. I checked the little card that I got when they hooked up the cable. It was there, on the card. It wasn't there on menu.

Where's Sundance?

I worried.

I made coffee and plopped my butt down in front of the computer.

I went to my cable company's website. It was listed there, in the Showtime package, right where I left it.

Only one thing could be the case. Although it existed in cyberspace, it no longer existed in the real world.

Angry, and full of "it's a Right Wing conspiracy" ideas, I was left to make yet another decision. Movies, uncut and slightly reflecting reality, or edited movies brought to me by Grace, the anatomically correct, life sized, talking "unborn child".

I called my cable company. They informed me that just within the last month, Sundance had cancelled with them. Yeah. Right. I believe you.

I went with the Cinemax package.

Well shit, I did tell you that I spend most of my life in bed.

Crappy, fake porn is better than no porn at all.

~Bloody Hell

7:36 AM - 3/6/06


It was a very rough night. Only made it about two hours into the Oscars. I passed out cold, headphones on. Woke up around midnight or so. Tried to find out who had won what by attempting to read the bottom of the MSNBC screen. Didn't see anything there. Went to the bathroom. Ouch. Really ouch.

Got back into bed, but couldn't get comfortable. Burn burn burn.

Went out to the living room and turned on the computer. Saw that Brokeback didn't win for Best Picture. Bummer. Oh well. I should care, but no, really, really ouch.

Stopped by the toilet. Drip. Burn. Sonofabitch OUCH.

Stared at the tv. ouch ouch ouch

OUCH

I took an Ibuprofen.

Went back into the bathroom, turned the hot water on, got a washcloth.

Drip into hot washcloth.

drip OUCH drip OUCH drip FUCK!!!!

This went on for almost an hour.

Then, I realized that there was blood on the washcloth, and in the toilet.

Dripped and burned and ouched until it stopped long enough for me to get back into bed.

I fell asleep around 4 or so.

I'm up now.

I peed.

I'm back down to a 6 on the pain scale. Six, I can do. Last night's 10? Ummmmm...

Got Bullets?

March 5, 2006

8:08 AM - 3/5/06
~Marlboro Men

I don't remember the last time I actually went to see a movie. I'm pretty sure that it was in 2002, but not positive. There are a million and one reasons why I haven't been able to, but none of those are because I don't enjoy movies.

That said, although I didn't see any of this year's bunch of films, I'm looking forward to watching the Oscars tonight. Why? I'm no fan of award shows. "Popular opinion" is crap to me. F.A.T. I'm watching it because Jon Stewart is hosting it, and Jon Stewart cracks me the fuck up.

Good call, Oscar people. You got one more viewer than you had last year.

I'll be rooting for Brokeback Mountain. I have no clue what the hell the movie was about, but from what I can gather it had to do with enlightening people. I'm still laughing at the fact that it never occured to people that there were Gay Cowboys. First, where the hell do you think Gay guys went to get the hell away from that which was repressing them back then? Second, what the hell do you think that men did out there on the range without women? Right, they were screwing the sheep. Yeah. That makes sense. Lastly, but most importantly, "Cowboys" were normal men. About 10% of normal men are Gay. It's simple math.

"Gay Man" doesn't mean "Feminine Man". It just means that you're a man who is happy to partner with other men, if you find the right one. For a lot of guys, the right one enjoys being just as disgustingly masculine as humanly possible, just the same as their prefered partners do.

---

6:09 PM - 3/5/06
~Burning

Yeah, I'm sick.

"Flaring" What an interesting word. I don't like it. It implies, when one says, "I'm flaring.", that there is a time when one is not. I'm always "active". There's always one lesion or another that's humping my brain.

Right now, things are really fucking bad.

I'm not nice.

Pain. Yeah... whatever. "On a scale of one to ten, how do you rate your pain?"

Well, I'd say it's about a FUCK YOU!!!

On a scale of one to ten, I often hit ten. Five is, "I just sliced my body to ribbons with razor blades." Any more questions, asshole?

My brain is burning.

I'm not nice.

March 4, 2006

1:18 AM - 3/4/06
~Fully Dosed

Wish I were sleeping. Can't sleep though. Stupid drug is busy beating me up.

Things went ok today. It's all done, aside from the letting it wear off part. Don't know how long that's going to take. Usually, it just seems like by the time it's probably worn off, my usual MS symptoms have gotten worse. One long road of "this sucks.", I suppose.

I have an appointment with Neurodude in about a month. I'll be interested to see what he'll have to say. If he can't prove to me that this crap is doing me any good, then he can't really justify asking me to do it again.

I suppose that the only way to prove it is to do yet another MRI. I guess that it's up to him. I'll know whether or not it did me any good without the MRI, but I can't expect him to take my word for it.

I need sleep.

---

12:45 PM - 3/4/06
~turn turn turn

I don't want to jinx myself or anything, but in truth, I've had worse days. I'm still feeling some of the negative effects of the chemical soup, but I'm actually not minding the little bit of energy I have. I got a few hours of sleep, and that seemed to help a little. Now I can use the steroid rush to wash my jeans.

A lot of this MS stuff is stuff I've been living with for so long, I just deal with it. I bitch about it more now, online anyway, but that's just because I know the source of it. It just works better than "life sucks and I don't know why!" does for me. The best expressive writing is full of temper tantrums, but if the temper tantrums don't vary, it gets old quick.

I think that the seasons are going to change soon. There's just that feel in the air... the cold will break soon... Spring will come... life will change. There's a feeling of excitement... of promise... of adventure...

I can't decide whether to smile or start digging a really, really deep hole to hide in.

---

6:21 PM - 3/4/06
~jinxed

Glad I made the most of the morning. Now, it's back to HELL. Son of a fucking BITCH this HURTS!