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I barely ever dream. Or rather I should say, I barely remember my dreams. When I do it tends to be random bits and pieces, like something that is probably irrelevant to the entire dream, like for instance my dream a couple nights ago that involved a purple hamster. That was the only part I remembered, though I did not remember what this hamster did, or if it was mine, or anything else of that sort.

That was not the case last night.

I got home drunk, posted the blog last night, and promptly passed out around four thirty, which is good for me considering I usually end up staying up straight through TNTs morning line up of back to back Angel and back to back Charmed.

The dream felt like I was asleep for hours, that's how much it consisted of. Of course I know dreaming changes every ninety minutes or so if your in a light sleep, and therefore cant last any longer than that, and hell it's even rare that they last over a half an hour. Or at least, that is what I've read in the past. I'm starting to actually think now that I had two different dreams, because I can't seem to remember the connection, though I was sure when I woke up that there was and it flowed into one another seamlessly.

The only thing I remember from the so called first dream would be this girl I used to work with, Cassie, was in it. Now, I had a huge crush on her when I first started working with her, back in say, April or so. I was never with her, because she was dating another woman, which I think she is still with right now. Anyway, to be honest I never figured out if I was drawn to her because of her sexual presence, or more for the fact that I wanted to be like her.

This woman was a lesbian goddess, and no, I don't use that title lightly. She was stunningly beautiful, the most amazing dancer you will ever see in your life, she was a great flirt even when she wasn't trying. She seemed to captivate or intimidate anyone around her just from her presence. Self professed straight women would gladly give up their lesbian virginities for her. She was just that fucking good. Women who never spoke to her in thier life wanted to get to know her more than anything.

I admire that, I want to be that... but I also want to tap that. It's confusing, honestly.

Damn, I'm gonna end up going into background here so the significance of her in my dream is understood. This damn entry is going to be much longer than previously anticipated, good thing I'm not intoxicated this time, it's much easier to write when sober. Surprise, surprise, I know. To be honest, I've always wanted to analyze my attraction to her, because it's something I've never expirenced before, and you'll find out why near the end. But I think that's another reason why I'm going to get very in depth with this.

Anyway, I swear the first time I ever spoke to her, I asked her out on a date. Laugh if you will, but hell I give myself huge props for having the balls to even ask. I had watched her on stage alot previously, since I find myself attracted to women that can dance well and have amazing stage presence, probably left over from when I was a hard core dancer. That dream has since faded with my will to pursue it.

Anyway, to get back on track, I asked a customer to buy me a lap dance from her. From my expirence, women that are great on stage suck at lap dances, and vise versa. She was not the case at all, and gave me the best lap dance anyone has ever given me, outside of the ones I'll get groped, made out with, or fucked during. She I guess gave me the best sensual dance, which to me deserves alot more props.

Afterwards I know I asked her out for something casual. I was intimidated by her, I'll admit that. But I knew if I didn't ask and get over it than nothing was ever gonna come out of anything. You can't start a car just by staring at it, after all.

"Whenever you have a day off, I'd like to take you out to lunch or something."

I said it, and she smiled, and said that would be nice. I breathed, and thanked all the alcohol in my system for allowing me to open my mouth instead of just gawking at her like some sort of idiot.

We never did go out, and for awhile I went back to the intimidated place where I couldn't talk to her. Then I remember one day I got shitty ass drunk, we had been talking off and on for a couple weeks, innocent flirting I guess, and I pinned her up against the wall by the DJ booth. I wish I could remember what I said, but I don't. All I remember is that my friend at the time, Crystal, later said in a sort of shocked awe that she looked intimidated, and that she's never seen her look intimidated by any woman in her life.

I didn't understand it, but it gave me an ego boost. But then again, what doesn't anymore? Point being, I intimidated her. Flirting went on for months, we started doing double dances together and I remember one day we had a customer in VIP give us both four hundred dollars each to just dance for each other. We did nothing explicitly sexual, no kissing, no touching outside the normal double dance ranges, but it was so fucking hot. We ended up having a stack of napkins on the table next to us, for clean up purposes.


I think that's why I liked her so much. She could make me so turned on that I could barely stand it, without even touching me sexually. But was even better, was that here was this lesbian goddess, and she was intimidated by ME. I remember asking her once why she was..

"I've just never had someone purse me like this before, it's usually the other way around."

"You don't like it?"

"I never said that." Smirk, of course.

Okay I'm going far too into this, anyway, I need to make my point, and quickly. Point is, she ended up getting a serious girlfriend and nothing happened. I moved on, started dating another woman there named Diana, though still obviously had an attraction to Cassie, and Diana knew it. No complications arose besides the occasional smart ass remark from Diana about me wanting her, and that was fine.

I got fired from that club, and didn't see Cassie for I guess about three or four months. I still thought about her on and off, and it weirded me out. Fuck, it still weirds me out, but we're not done with the story.

I come in to the club again with my friend Dani, we're just there as customers, getting drunk and getting rowdy. I got some dances from Diana, and we talked a little while, some of which included my newly acclaimed meth problem. Diana knew I did meth while I still worked at that club, but it had turned into doing it once every couple of weeks to two or three times a week, and therefor I started to refer to it as a problem rather than a recreational thing.

I went to go get a dance from Cassie before I left, but she refused to dance for me. I was drunk, high, and confused. She sat on my lap and refused to let me move, and slapped me in the face.

"What the fuck...?!"

"That's for being a fucking idiot, Mary."

I delivered a message to her earlier from a mutual friend we had, that she knew had a huge dope problem. I told her casually that's how we met. Hence why I got slapped. And not once mind you, it happened a lot during our conversation, aka her lecture.

She used my real name alot in the lecture, and it slightly weirded me out. I doubted she even remembered it, and I asked alot why the fuck she cared.. it was just... odd. The last thing I expected from her was to refuse to take my money and would rather sit there and tell me how much she's seen me decline since I left, and that I can do so much better in my life.

Diana slapped me later too, after I told her what happened in my confused state, and asked her why the fuck she didn't slap me, after all we used to be in a relationship and me and Cassie were barely scratching the friend line. She just slapped me and asked if that was better. No, of course not, but Diana was never really good at the emotional things, just physical.

Anyway the ENTIRE point of my long winded explination is that I still think about her. I still dream about her, rarely sexually though, she just seems to be there. Hell even earlier today I was talking to this hot ass dancer and when she spoke to me her voice sounded exactly like Cassie's. It's odd, and it makes me feel weird and slightly uncomfortable. I just don't understand how I woman I had no relationship nor sexual relations with, keeps popping up in my mind. It weirds me out because I feel like some kind of stalker... only like, mentally. I hate it, and don't know why it happens or how to fix it.

I seriously need a therapist.

Anyway, onto the dream, the first part consisted of Cassie being in it, and all I remember is that she was with a friend, whom I can't remember, and somehow paint dripped on my head, and she left her cell phone. Yes, pointless, but I still wanted to analyze the whole... thing, earlier.

My REAL point about the dream was this.

I was driving with a new friend I guess I met at a club, and we were going to work, but we got lost. I remember seeing a truck pull off to the side of the road, and then suddenly my friend did too. I asked why, but before she answered the passenger door was opened and two men started grabbing at me.

I screamed, I kicked one in the face as another groped me roughly, trying to tear off my clothes. I screamed for my friend to do something, but all she replied with was that she was sorry, and that she had to.

I got away, that I remember. I had grabbed my knife from my purse and ran as fast as I could. One caught up with me and I stabbed him in the gut. All I remember was thinking that I wasn't going to let anyone take me again like this. I stabbed him again, and again, and ran faster. Blood was all over my hands, but I didn't care. To me, these men were nothing more than animals, besides that, anyone that ever threatens my safety makes me have the automatic reaction to attack to make myself safe again.

The man stumbles, and I relize I have no where to go. I jump in the back of the car, and the other man was sitting in the drivers side. I put the knife to his throat.

"DRIVE MOTHER FUCKER OR I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU! NOW!"

He didn't oblige. The other man was getting closer. Getting desperate, I slit the man in the drivers seat's throat. The other man was at the window now, and opening the door. I have blood all over me, but I feel savage, and I knew this other man had to die...

And then I woke up. Scared as all holy fuck, I woke up at 7:30am. I grabbed my knife in my purse and just kind of huddled on the couch. After getting my wits about me, I went to the computer and looked up dream interpertation. I had never had a dream like this, and I wanted to know why I had it.

"To dream that you have been raped, indicates vengeful feelings toward the opposite sex. You are feeling violated in some way. Something or someone is jeopardizing your self-esteem and emotional well-being. You feel that someone or something is being forced upon you.

To dream that you stab someone, indicates your fear of betrayal and your untrusting nature."

I guess the past couple days events effected me more than I thought, and I guess I wasn't over my paranoia of betrayal. It's funny, you think your past thing, and it turns out you're not.

I had more to write about work today, but I think this is long enough for now. It wasn't that interesting, unless you count the fact that both me and Dani left work tonight, on a Friday no less, with seven dollars each. That has never happened to me. Well, it has, but not for probably about six months. Yeah everyone has their bad days, but today was just horrible.

I'll leave it at that.

Labels: confusion, crushes, dream interpertaion, dreams, fear, haunting, lesbian, paranoia, past, rape, stabbing, strippers

Before I retired to bed last night, I watched a couple episodes of Angel. I've recently have begun to feel quite lonely in regards to romantic relationships, as it's been pretty much over a year since I've had a real one, and not just a passing infatuation that was based more solely on my sexual needs than my emotional ones.

I was looking at the character Fred, who is a slightly socially awkward, even a little shy, but brilliant woman, though not to mention beautiful. That's when I finally realized what I really did want in a partner... basically her. I've always had an attraction to intelligent women, pretty much dating back to when I was a child and watched the cartoon Scooby Doo practically religiously, when Velma was my favorite character. While at the time I regarded it as just an admiration, and not a sexual attraction, I remember when the live action movie came out, and Linda Cardellini was the actress chosen to portray Velma, and I DID have a sexual attraction towards her. Then again, Linda Cardellini was a knockout, even when made to look dorky.

My entire day today consisted of watching Bones. I love the show, but have only seen seasons one and two, and a couple episodes of season four. I felt the need to catch up, so I started watching some online. My point in mentioning this is that while Dr. Brennen is brilliant, beautiful, and by far the entire definition of socially awkward, I'm not attracted to her like that. I think it may be because she's too literal, and doesn't understand jokes, and sees things as definitions, and barely ever feels in response to things. I'm not sure if I'm describing that right. Point being, I think maybe if she allowed herself to be a bit more human, I would be extremly attracted to her, but seeing as she'd rather observe life than live in it, I can't.

I was watching a couple episodes that had to do with serial killers, and it got me thinking. Most people who end up being the victims to these horrible crimes never once think that it'll be them. They always think, oh it could happen to Mr. Joe that I don't know, but never me or someone else I'm aquainted with. I seem to be the opposite. I'm always fearful that I'll be the victim. I'm overly cautious, and maybe slightly paranoid when it comes to it.

At night, I never go anywhere without someone else, or if I'm in dire need, I always have someone on the phone with me whenever I'm walking alone. I seem to have convinced myself that if someone is going to attack me, it's not going to be while I'm on the phone. But even when I'm home alone sometimes, I start feeling slightly paranoid and vulnerable, and have odd thoughts here and there of different scenarios of someone coming in and murdering me in my own home. Or rather now, my own motel room. I'll have these waves of fear and grab my knife and start to listen closely to things outside. Sometimes my brain makes it so I hear the door unlock, and my heart jumps in my throat and I turn around, only to see everything left untouched. I want to know if that's normal, or just another reason to believe I'm possibly paraniod schizophrenic.

I finally called my sister earlier this evening. She of course sudgested the thing I was expecting: me moving to Atlanta, her keeping all of my things at her house and her taking care of my cats while I checked myself into rehab. And while it's not an overall bad desision, and surprisingly I am concidering it when my first response all my life is to reject the unfamiliar and also to never admit defeat, the thought of being trapped in a rehab during the Holidays doesn't appeal to me much.

I've decided I will probably do this said plan after the Holidays. And yes maybe I might be locked up during my twenty second birthday as well, but to me that's better than being locked up during Christmas.

"You can come here to heal your body, mind, and spirit."

That's one thing about going there. My sister's all about spiritual healing and such, and that just doesn't appeal to me. Religion or spirituality to me isn't a requirement to fix a mental disorder or drug dependency. I'm sure it'll probably start to bug me. She rubbed off on my brother when he was sent to live with her for eight months or so, but I doubt she will do the same for me.

She's also all about talking our feelings out. I don't do that. I don't enjoy nor need to express my feelings verbally. It's just not what I do.

I texted my boss, I heard I was fired, and want to know if that's true. I have yet to hear back.

I keep eating everything in sight, and I don't like it. I think I've gained five pounds in the last two days. I feel fat, ugly, and dirty.

I don't like it.
I DON'T LIKE IT.

Labels: beautiful, cautious, intelligence, lesbian, paranoia, perfect woman, rehab, schizophrenia, serial killers, shy

I sat on the couch in my small, mismatched, tacky motel room that I was forced to call home. I had taken the comforter off my bed, and curled myself up into a ball as I watched mindlessly the TV that was on at three am. Roseanne, I believe that it was. They had won the lottery, like that was realistic. Fuck, I would love to win the lottery right now. I could at least pretend all my problems could go away with money, and fake happiness for a little while.

Rich people are always great at that, faking happiness. Hell, if I was rich I could just be on some permanent roll and then I'll never be unhappy. Then again, I'd probably never have the patience to ever do anything productive again, because the first bright shiny pretty thing that went past me would have my attention for six hours. Or I could be logical, and realize at some point I would probably OD and die, but then hey, then I'd be dead and dead people can't be unhappy.

Or can they?

My cat Nemesis was perched above my head, making small little whines to point out the fact that I haven't given her enough attention recently. I lift my hand up to her head, more to shut her up than to actually comfort her, and stoke her soft fur was I try not to think about the fact that I'm most likely going to be homeless come Monday at noon.

Some Christmas commercial comes on, and I start crying. I haven't cried this much since I was sixteen and thought life was hell because I was grounded and couldn't use the computer to do my role playing and escape from reality. Sometimes I wish I could still do that, but I think my brain lacks that kind of focus now.

I start thinking about last Christmas. I has my own apartment, I had money coming out the ass, so much I didn't know what to do with it. I bought everyone great gifts, I bought my own plane ticket home, I was happy.

Money does equal happiness, isn't that ridiculous?

How the hell did I get here? How did I get from having everything to being here, with nothing? Not even enough money to buy myself something from McDonalds dollar menu, and not even having the mindset to be able to work.

At least last year when I went through these phases I had thousands of dollars saved up and I could afford fucking off for long periods of time while my brain battled itself and I fought my way away from the razor blades and the pills trying to pretend I actually have something worth living for.

I'm crying harder now, I wish I could just get myself together and go to work and function like a normal human being. But this week had fucked with me, fucked with me more than I thought it would have. I was happy a week ago, wasn't I?

Load up the dope and smoke the pipe. How did I end up at a crack house?

"You want a cap?"

"That would be lovely."

I had never done GHB before, why did I say yes? I was already high from the dope, but who's to turn down good hospitality?

Then suddenly we're all rollin' too... more hospitality I couldn't turn down. I feel lovely, and I want to breed with the pretty light thing I decided was my best friend in the world.

We were supposed to be there only a night, we were there for maybe two, three? I can't remember. It felt like forever, I never slept.

Then suddenly everyone's conspiring against me. Fear grips my chest and my heart is pouding and I think everyone's out to kill me. I don't know where I am, I don't have a way to get home, my cell phone is dead, I have no money, I'm so high....

"YOU LIAR! I HEARD YOU SAY IT!"

I'm freaking out. My knifes my my hand, I'm sweating, I'm trying to breath properly. I keep hearing all of them outside the room, talking to each other, deciding on a way to get rid of me properly. I realize I'm going to have to kill someone before someone kills me.

"That crack whore believes me, I'll take care of it."

I keep hearing things, they sound so real, they are real to me. I think my friends are trying to kill me, even though they keep telling me I'm being paranoid.

You can't be paranoid when you actually hear them.

I'm home finally, safe. But I hear the bounty hunters outside my door. My knife is my hand, my eye is gued to the peephole. I hear them, they're there. They're waiting for me.

I hear a woman's voice in my closet, they're already in my room.

I can't breathe, I'm not safe. I'm not safe anywhere.

Charlie keeps looking at me. At least, I think that's what his name is. He never speaks, he just sands there in my living room, a boy no more than eight, and just stares. He looks so sad. Go away Charlie, I can't help you right now.

"THERE'S BUGS! THERE'S BUGS EVERYWHERE!"

I'm on the phone with my best friend. She tells me I'm hallucinating, by this time I'm sure I am. I'm sure none of this is real, but that doesn't make it go away. I hadn't taken any drugs in over twenty-four hours, why am I going crazy?

Open google.
P-A-R-A-N-O-I-D.
S-C-H-I-Z-O-P-H-R-E-N-I-A.

I start crying, my life is over. I could deal with the doctors telling me I'm bipolar, I can't deal with skizophrenia.

I want to go get evaluated. I want to know if it's real, even though looking at it made more sense to me than bipolar ever did. But if I get evaluated, I get thrown in the loony bin, and where will my cats go? Where will all my things go? My cats are my children... Phoenix, Hades, Nemesis... they're the reason I have any sort of responsibility left in me. I get away from the crack houses because I have to feed my cats...

My mother's on my phone. Arguing with me, telling me my skizophrenia is drug induced, and it makes me angry.

"So basically my drug use before was in response to me being bipolar but now that I might be schizophrenic it's only because of the drugs?!"

So what came first... the psychosis or the drugs?

Mother doesn't understand... this fits much more than bipolar ever did. And while my first psychiatric episode might have been triggered by the drugs, it doesn't change the symptoms I had before I even got into drugs.

"You need to get off the drugs."

"NO THE MORE PRESSING MATTER IS WHERE THE FUCK I'M GONNA LIVE COME A DAY AND A HALF!!"

I hang up on her, she's stressing me out. She's not listening. Not helping.

My brother calls me. David, who will probably be the only one I can talk to about this without the need to freak out.

He's got some odd tone in his voice, I can't place it. He's worried, like I'm some breakable thing or something. I don't like it. He keeps telling me that I need to figure out something to do. He doesn't understand that I can't think, I can't make a decision, someone else needs to.

"Your sounding like Mom, only a tad less annoying."

"Thanks, I'm glad you just compared me to Mom, Mary."

No problem. Hang up the phone. Go to sleep. Gotta run away from everything. Again and again and again....

The TV keeps making me cry, it's five in the morning, no one's awake. I call Mom anyway, cry some more.

After awhile, she gets the I need stability first before I decide what to do with the drugs, and my craziness, and whatever else needs to be fixed.

Mother is sending me $300. Money she can't afford to send. I feel like a loser, I'm almost to pushing a grand that I owe her now. I don't like being on this end of things. I liked it better when I had money. Fuck this economy, it's ruining my life.

I keep realizing how messed up my brain is becoming. Sometimes I can think and analyze and go over everything with all the details, not missing a second.... and then other times I'm sparatic, only pointing out major details and having a hard time describing anything. I was fine at first, where did my brain go? I feel lost again, damnit.

How do I fix this problem? How do I even make it feel like life is worth living? Whether I stay here, go home, go to my sister in Atlanta... it all just seems like it's going to be the same.

The same bullshit over and over and over again.

I wish I had the desire to get high, maybe I could feel normal again. I feel so high right now... and I've been sober for a long time......

Labels: delusions, depression, dope, drugs, ghb, hallucinations, meth, paranoia, schizophrenia, x

I barely ever dream. Or rather I should say, I barely remember my dreams. When I do it tends to be random bits and pieces, like something that is probably irrelevant to the entire dream, like for instance my dream a couple nights ago that involved a purple hamster. That was the only part I remembered, though I did not remember what this hamster did, or if it was mine, or anything else of that sort.

That was not the case last night.

I got home drunk, posted the blog last night, and promptly passed out around four thirty, which is good for me considering I usually end up staying up straight through TNTs morning line up of back to back Angel and back to back Charmed.

The dream felt like I was asleep for hours, that's how much it consisted of. Of course I know dreaming changes every ninety minutes or so if your in a light sleep, and therefore cant last any longer than that, and hell it's even rare that they last over a half an hour. Or at least, that is what I've read in the past. I'm starting to actually think now that I had two different dreams, because I can't seem to remember the connection, though I was sure when I woke up that there was and it flowed into one another seamlessly.

The only thing I remember from the so called first dream would be this girl I used to work with, Cassie, was in it. Now, I had a huge crush on her when I first started working with her, back in say, April or so. I was never with her, because she was dating another woman, which I think she is still with right now. Anyway, to be honest I never figured out if I was drawn to her because of her sexual presence, or more for the fact that I wanted to be like her.

This woman was a lesbian goddess, and no, I don't use that title lightly. She was stunningly beautiful, the most amazing dancer you will ever see in your life, she was a great flirt even when she wasn't trying. She seemed to captivate or intimidate anyone around her just from her presence. Self professed straight women would gladly give up their lesbian virginities for her. She was just that fucking good. Women who never spoke to her in thier life wanted to get to know her more than anything.

I admire that, I want to be that... but I also want to tap that. It's confusing, honestly.

Damn, I'm gonna end up going into background here so the significance of her in my dream is understood. This damn entry is going to be much longer than previously anticipated, good thing I'm not intoxicated this time, it's much easier to write when sober. Surprise, surprise, I know. To be honest, I've always wanted to analyze my attraction to her, because it's something I've never expirenced before, and you'll find out why near the end. But I think that's another reason why I'm going to get very in depth with this.

Anyway, I swear the first time I ever spoke to her, I asked her out on a date. Laugh if you will, but hell I give myself huge props for having the balls to even ask. I had watched her on stage alot previously, since I find myself attracted to women that can dance well and have amazing stage presence, probably left over from when I was a hard core dancer. That dream has since faded with my will to pursue it.

Anyway, to get back on track, I asked a customer to buy me a lap dance from her. From my expirence, women that are great on stage suck at lap dances, and vise versa. She was not the case at all, and gave me the best lap dance anyone has ever given me, outside of the ones I'll get groped, made out with, or fucked during. She I guess gave me the best sensual dance, which to me deserves alot more props.

Afterwards I know I asked her out for something casual. I was intimidated by her, I'll admit that. But I knew if I didn't ask and get over it than nothing was ever gonna come out of anything. You can't start a car just by staring at it, after all.

"Whenever you have a day off, I'd like to take you out to lunch or something."

I said it, and she smiled, and said that would be nice. I breathed, and thanked all the alcohol in my system for allowing me to open my mouth instead of just gawking at her like some sort of idiot.

We never did go out, and for awhile I went back to the intimidated place where I couldn't talk to her. Then I remember one day I got shitty ass drunk, we had been talking off and on for a couple weeks, innocent flirting I guess, and I pinned her up against the wall by the DJ booth. I wish I could remember what I said, but I don't. All I remember is that my friend at the time, Crystal, later said in a sort of shocked awe that she looked intimidated, and that she's never seen her look intimidated by any woman in her life.

I didn't understand it, but it gave me an ego boost. But then again, what doesn't anymore? Point being, I intimidated her. Flirting went on for months, we started doing double dances together and I remember one day we had a customer in VIP give us both four hundred dollars each to just dance for each other. We did nothing explicitly sexual, no kissing, no touching outside the normal double dance ranges, but it was so fucking hot. We ended up having a stack of napkins on the table next to us, for clean up purposes.


I think that's why I liked her so much. She could make me so turned on that I could barely stand it, without even touching me sexually. But was even better, was that here was this lesbian goddess, and she was intimidated by ME. I remember asking her once why she was..

"I've just never had someone purse me like this before, it's usually the other way around."

"You don't like it?"

"I never said that." Smirk, of course.

Okay I'm going far too into this, anyway, I need to make my point, and quickly. Point is, she ended up getting a serious girlfriend and nothing happened. I moved on, started dating another woman there named Diana, though still obviously had an attraction to Cassie, and Diana knew it. No complications arose besides the occasional smart ass remark from Diana about me wanting her, and that was fine.

I got fired from that club, and didn't see Cassie for I guess about three or four months. I still thought about her on and off, and it weirded me out. Fuck, it still weirds me out, but we're not done with the story.

I come in to the club again with my friend Dani, we're just there as customers, getting drunk and getting rowdy. I got some dances from Diana, and we talked a little while, some of which included my newly acclaimed meth problem. Diana knew I did meth while I still worked at that club, but it had turned into doing it once every couple of weeks to two or three times a week, and therefor I started to refer to it as a problem rather than a recreational thing.

I went to go get a dance from Cassie before I left, but she refused to dance for me. I was drunk, high, and confused. She sat on my lap and refused to let me move, and slapped me in the face.

"What the fuck...?!"

"That's for being a fucking idiot, Mary."

I delivered a message to her earlier from a mutual friend we had, that she knew had a huge dope problem. I told her casually that's how we met. Hence why I got slapped. And not once mind you, it happened a lot during our conversation, aka her lecture.

She used my real name alot in the lecture, and it slightly weirded me out. I doubted she even remembered it, and I asked alot why the fuck she cared.. it was just... odd. The last thing I expected from her was to refuse to take my money and would rather sit there and tell me how much she's seen me decline since I left, and that I can do so much better in my life.

Diana slapped me later too, after I told her what happened in my confused state, and asked her why the fuck she didn't slap me, after all we used to be in a relationship and me and Cassie were barely scratching the friend line. She just slapped me and asked if that was better. No, of course not, but Diana was never really good at the emotional things, just physical.

Anyway the ENTIRE point of my long winded explination is that I still think about her. I still dream about her, rarely sexually though, she just seems to be there. Hell even earlier today I was talking to this hot ass dancer and when she spoke to me her voice sounded exactly like Cassie's. It's odd, and it makes me feel weird and slightly uncomfortable. I just don't understand how I woman I had no relationship nor sexual relations with, keeps popping up in my mind. It weirds me out because I feel like some kind of stalker... only like, mentally. I hate it, and don't know why it happens or how to fix it.

I seriously need a therapist.

Anyway, onto the dream, the first part consisted of Cassie being in it, and all I remember is that she was with a friend, whom I can't remember, and somehow paint dripped on my head, and she left her cell phone. Yes, pointless, but I still wanted to analyze the whole... thing, earlier.

My REAL point about the dream was this.

I was driving with a new friend I guess I met at a club, and we were going to work, but we got lost. I remember seeing a truck pull off to the side of the road, and then suddenly my friend did too. I asked why, but before she answered the passenger door was opened and two men started grabbing at me.

I screamed, I kicked one in the face as another groped me roughly, trying to tear off my clothes. I screamed for my friend to do something, but all she replied with was that she was sorry, and that she had to.

I got away, that I remember. I had grabbed my knife from my purse and ran as fast as I could. One caught up with me and I stabbed him in the gut. All I remember was thinking that I wasn't going to let anyone take me again like this. I stabbed him again, and again, and ran faster. Blood was all over my hands, but I didn't care. To me, these men were nothing more than animals, besides that, anyone that ever threatens my safety makes me have the automatic reaction to attack to make myself safe again.

The man stumbles, and I relize I have no where to go. I jump in the back of the car, and the other man was sitting in the drivers side. I put the knife to his throat.

"DRIVE MOTHER FUCKER OR I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU! NOW!"

He didn't oblige. The other man was getting closer. Getting desperate, I slit the man in the drivers seat's throat. The other man was at the window now, and opening the door. I have blood all over me, but I feel savage, and I knew this other man had to die...

And then I woke up. Scared as all holy fuck, I woke up at 7:30am. I grabbed my knife in my purse and just kind of huddled on the couch. After getting my wits about me, I went to the computer and looked up dream interpertation. I had never had a dream like this, and I wanted to know why I had it.

"To dream that you have been raped, indicates vengeful feelings toward the opposite sex. You are feeling violated in some way. Something or someone is jeopardizing your self-esteem and emotional well-being. You feel that someone or something is being forced upon you.

To dream that you stab someone, indicates your fear of betrayal and your untrusting nature."

I guess the past couple days events effected me more than I thought, and I guess I wasn't over my paranoia of betrayal. It's funny, you think your past thing, and it turns out you're not.

I had more to write about work today, but I think this is long enough for now. It wasn't that interesting, unless you count the fact that both me and Dani left work tonight, on a Friday no less, with seven dollars each. That has never happened to me. Well, it has, but not for probably about six months. Yeah everyone has their bad days, but today was just horrible.

I'll leave it at that.

Labels: confusion, crushes, dream interpertaion, dreams, fear, haunting, lesbian, paranoia, past, rape, stabbing, strippers

Before I retired to bed last night, I watched a couple episodes of Angel. I've recently have begun to feel quite lonely in regards to romantic relationships, as it's been pretty much over a year since I've had a real one, and not just a passing infatuation that was based more solely on my sexual needs than my emotional ones.

I was looking at the character Fred, who is a slightly socially awkward, even a little shy, but brilliant woman, though not to mention beautiful. That's when I finally realized what I really did want in a partner... basically her. I've always had an attraction to intelligent women, pretty much dating back to when I was a child and watched the cartoon Scooby Doo practically religiously, when Velma was my favorite character. While at the time I regarded it as just an admiration, and not a sexual attraction, I remember when the live action movie came out, and Linda Cardellini was the actress chosen to portray Velma, and I DID have a sexual attraction towards her. Then again, Linda Cardellini was a knockout, even when made to look dorky.

My entire day today consisted of watching Bones. I love the show, but have only seen seasons one and two, and a couple episodes of season four. I felt the need to catch up, so I started watching some online. My point in mentioning this is that while Dr. Brennen is brilliant, beautiful, and by far the entire definition of socially awkward, I'm not attracted to her like that. I think it may be because she's too literal, and doesn't understand jokes, and sees things as definitions, and barely ever feels in response to things. I'm not sure if I'm describing that right. Point being, I think maybe if she allowed herself to be a bit more human, I would be extremly attracted to her, but seeing as she'd rather observe life than live in it, I can't.

I was watching a couple episodes that had to do with serial killers, and it got me thinking. Most people who end up being the victims to these horrible crimes never once think that it'll be them. They always think, oh it could happen to Mr. Joe that I don't know, but never me or someone else I'm aquainted with. I seem to be the opposite. I'm always fearful that I'll be the victim. I'm overly cautious, and maybe slightly paranoid when it comes to it.

At night, I never go anywhere without someone else, or if I'm in dire need, I always have someone on the phone with me whenever I'm walking alone. I seem to have convinced myself that if someone is going to attack me, it's not going to be while I'm on the phone. But even when I'm home alone sometimes, I start feeling slightly paranoid and vulnerable, and have odd thoughts here and there of different scenarios of someone coming in and murdering me in my own home. Or rather now, my own motel room. I'll have these waves of fear and grab my knife and start to listen closely to things outside. Sometimes my brain makes it so I hear the door unlock, and my heart jumps in my throat and I turn around, only to see everything left untouched. I want to know if that's normal, or just another reason to believe I'm possibly paraniod schizophrenic.

I finally called my sister earlier this evening. She of course sudgested the thing I was expecting: me moving to Atlanta, her keeping all of my things at her house and her taking care of my cats while I checked myself into rehab. And while it's not an overall bad desision, and surprisingly I am concidering it when my first response all my life is to reject the unfamiliar and also to never admit defeat, the thought of being trapped in a rehab during the Holidays doesn't appeal to me much.

I've decided I will probably do this said plan after the Holidays. And yes maybe I might be locked up during my twenty second birthday as well, but to me that's better than being locked up during Christmas.

"You can come here to heal your body, mind, and spirit."

That's one thing about going there. My sister's all about spiritual healing and such, and that just doesn't appeal to me. Religion or spirituality to me isn't a requirement to fix a mental disorder or drug dependency. I'm sure it'll probably start to bug me. She rubbed off on my brother when he was sent to live with her for eight months or so, but I doubt she will do the same for me.

She's also all about talking our feelings out. I don't do that. I don't enjoy nor need to express my feelings verbally. It's just not what I do.

I texted my boss, I heard I was fired, and want to know if that's true. I have yet to hear back.

I keep eating everything in sight, and I don't like it. I think I've gained five pounds in the last two days. I feel fat, ugly, and dirty.

I don't like it.
I DON'T LIKE IT.

Labels: beautiful, cautious, intelligence, lesbian, paranoia, perfect woman, rehab, schizophrenia, serial killers, shy

I sat on the couch in my small, mismatched, tacky motel room that I was forced to call home. I had taken the comforter off my bed, and curled myself up into a ball as I watched mindlessly the TV that was on at three am. Roseanne, I believe that it was. They had won the lottery, like that was realistic. Fuck, I would love to win the lottery right now. I could at least pretend all my problems could go away with money, and fake happiness for a little while.

Rich people are always great at that, faking happiness. Hell, if I was rich I could just be on some permanent roll and then I'll never be unhappy. Then again, I'd probably never have the patience to ever do anything productive again, because the first bright shiny pretty thing that went past me would have my attention for six hours. Or I could be logical, and realize at some point I would probably OD and die, but then hey, then I'd be dead and dead people can't be unhappy.

Or can they?

My cat Nemesis was perched above my head, making small little whines to point out the fact that I haven't given her enough attention recently. I lift my hand up to her head, more to shut her up than to actually comfort her, and stoke her soft fur was I try not to think about the fact that I'm most likely going to be homeless come Monday at noon.

Some Christmas commercial comes on, and I start crying. I haven't cried this much since I was sixteen and thought life was hell because I was grounded and couldn't use the computer to do my role playing and escape from reality. Sometimes I wish I could still do that, but I think my brain lacks that kind of focus now.

I start thinking about last Christmas. I has my own apartment, I had money coming out the ass, so much I didn't know what to do with it. I bought everyone great gifts, I bought my own plane ticket home, I was happy.

Money does equal happiness, isn't that ridiculous?

How the hell did I get here? How did I get from having everything to being here, with nothing? Not even enough money to buy myself something from McDonalds dollar menu, and not even having the mindset to be able to work.

At least last year when I went through these phases I had thousands of dollars saved up and I could afford fucking off for long periods of time while my brain battled itself and I fought my way away from the razor blades and the pills trying to pretend I actually have something worth living for.

I'm crying harder now, I wish I could just get myself together and go to work and function like a normal human being. But this week had fucked with me, fucked with me more than I thought it would have. I was happy a week ago, wasn't I?

Load up the dope and smoke the pipe. How did I end up at a crack house?

"You want a cap?"

"That would be lovely."

I had never done GHB before, why did I say yes? I was already high from the dope, but who's to turn down good hospitality?

Then suddenly we're all rollin' too... more hospitality I couldn't turn down. I feel lovely, and I want to breed with the pretty light thing I decided was my best friend in the world.

We were supposed to be there only a night, we were there for maybe two, three? I can't remember. It felt like forever, I never slept.

Then suddenly everyone's conspiring against me. Fear grips my chest and my heart is pouding and I think everyone's out to kill me. I don't know where I am, I don't have a way to get home, my cell phone is dead, I have no money, I'm so high....

"YOU LIAR! I HEARD YOU SAY IT!"

I'm freaking out. My knifes my my hand, I'm sweating, I'm trying to breath properly. I keep hearing all of them outside the room, talking to each other, deciding on a way to get rid of me properly. I realize I'm going to have to kill someone before someone kills me.

"That crack whore believes me, I'll take care of it."

I keep hearing things, they sound so real, they are real to me. I think my friends are trying to kill me, even though they keep telling me I'm being paranoid.

You can't be paranoid when you actually hear them.

I'm home finally, safe. But I hear the bounty hunters outside my door. My knife is my hand, my eye is gued to the peephole. I hear them, they're there. They're waiting for me.

I hear a woman's voice in my closet, they're already in my room.

I can't breathe, I'm not safe. I'm not safe anywhere.

Charlie keeps looking at me. At least, I think that's what his name is. He never speaks, he just sands there in my living room, a boy no more than eight, and just stares. He looks so sad. Go away Charlie, I can't help you right now.

"THERE'S BUGS! THERE'S BUGS EVERYWHERE!"

I'm on the phone with my best friend. She tells me I'm hallucinating, by this time I'm sure I am. I'm sure none of this is real, but that doesn't make it go away. I hadn't taken any drugs in over twenty-four hours, why am I going crazy?

Open google.
P-A-R-A-N-O-I-D.
S-C-H-I-Z-O-P-H-R-E-N-I-A.

I start crying, my life is over. I could deal with the doctors telling me I'm bipolar, I can't deal with skizophrenia.

I want to go get evaluated. I want to know if it's real, even though looking at it made more sense to me than bipolar ever did. But if I get evaluated, I get thrown in the loony bin, and where will my cats go? Where will all my things go? My cats are my children... Phoenix, Hades, Nemesis... they're the reason I have any sort of responsibility left in me. I get away from the crack houses because I have to feed my cats...

My mother's on my phone. Arguing with me, telling me my skizophrenia is drug induced, and it makes me angry.

"So basically my drug use before was in response to me being bipolar but now that I might be schizophrenic it's only because of the drugs?!"

So what came first... the psychosis or the drugs?

Mother doesn't understand... this fits much more than bipolar ever did. And while my first psychiatric episode might have been triggered by the drugs, it doesn't change the symptoms I had before I even got into drugs.

"You need to get off the drugs."

"NO THE MORE PRESSING MATTER IS WHERE THE FUCK I'M GONNA LIVE COME A DAY AND A HALF!!"

I hang up on her, she's stressing me out. She's not listening. Not helping.

My brother calls me. David, who will probably be the only one I can talk to about this without the need to freak out.

He's got some odd tone in his voice, I can't place it. He's worried, like I'm some breakable thing or something. I don't like it. He keeps telling me that I need to figure out something to do. He doesn't understand that I can't think, I can't make a decision, someone else needs to.

"Your sounding like Mom, only a tad less annoying."

"Thanks, I'm glad you just compared me to Mom, Mary."

No problem. Hang up the phone. Go to sleep. Gotta run away from everything. Again and again and again....

The TV keeps making me cry, it's five in the morning, no one's awake. I call Mom anyway, cry some more.

After awhile, she gets the I need stability first before I decide what to do with the drugs, and my craziness, and whatever else needs to be fixed.

Mother is sending me $300. Money she can't afford to send. I feel like a loser, I'm almost to pushing a grand that I owe her now. I don't like being on this end of things. I liked it better when I had money. Fuck this economy, it's ruining my life.

I keep realizing how messed up my brain is becoming. Sometimes I can think and analyze and go over everything with all the details, not missing a second.... and then other times I'm sparatic, only pointing out major details and having a hard time describing anything. I was fine at first, where did my brain go? I feel lost again, damnit.

How do I fix this problem? How do I even make it feel like life is worth living? Whether I stay here, go home, go to my sister in Atlanta... it all just seems like it's going to be the same.

The same bullshit over and over and over again.

I wish I had the desire to get high, maybe I could feel normal again. I feel so high right now... and I've been sober for a long time......

Labels: delusions, depression, dope, drugs, ghb, hallucinations, meth, paranoia, schizophrenia, x

My name is Mary. I'm a 24 year old creative mess. I like to tell stories in anyway that I can, though mostly through visual artwork. I enjoy film editing, writing, modeling, photography, dancing, and website design. I'm a lesbian. I'm bipolar. I'm stronger than I usually give myself credit for. I'm a recovering drug addict. I'm passionate as all hell. I'm a beautiful disaster. I want to be free. I want to fly.

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