lee_the_messed_up_punk

my #ucked up life
2006-11-02 02:24:49 (UTC)

a decision

7:45PM Wednesday

I was not going to publish this entry because I
thought at the time that my head wasn't clear enough to
write and that it was more venting rather then writing what
I hope to be a book some day, taking out days or paragraphs
that don't fit into what I want other people suffering with
the same disorder to relate too. After finally cleaning my
place, eating, relaxing after a very stressful day at the
disability office that me and Ter spent hours watching and
hearing the anger in many peoples voices and body
movements, then going to get everything we had pawned just
to survive over the past few months, waiting almost an hour
then giving up on a cab that never arrived, caring my DAT
and stereo system with my arm that's now held by twelve
screws, easing the pain with legal drugs I'm provided with,
I decided it was more important then what I normally write
about because when your manic or in mania, which for some
reason I wasn't, that I could best describe as hearing
muffled voices of people fighting in the distance. I
believe that I handled the day fine, worrying more about
Ter, who looked worn out, laying on the floor with her eyes
closed, waiting for my name to be called, saying that I
could do whatever I wanted to with the money as if I didn't
think she deserved any of it, which I had already in mind
decided to give much too, she was stressed and I understand
why.

My first experience going through this process was
terribly hard on my psyche, right now she's helping Mary
out by getting her some groceries and talking to Mika who
is my favorite out of Pablo's three girls, that fought with
her oldest sister, who is, I believe fifteen, in her
rebellions stage, Pablo, not being the real father but I
can tell that he only wishes for her love, Ter is an angel,
so this is what I wrote when the both of us got home...

4:38PM Wednesday

I can’t believe I got through another day in this
fucked up society full of angry racist time bombs waiting
to explode one by one, them not knowing that I already
have. No sir, I’m not drunk, I’m just happy to be alive,
slightly broken but loved for who knows what reasons…I
didn't think I had a reason to be in this pile of puke,
full of people surrounding me that I depend on and can’t
believe, I surprise myself everyday I try again, wake up,
kiss her and struggle to stand, let alone, I’m so far away
from time that there are no more clocks, just broken
mirrors and dead children, there’s fire outside but my god,
my mother, lives across the street and she’s dyeing like
myself and everyone else.

Where all apples falling from the tree of life, every
seed has it’s purpose, for once in my life I came so close
to realising that I did in fact die and was waiting for my
number to be called, looking outside at other what I
thought to be people, smoking, I asked all four of them one
by one, can you please spare a smoke, any of you. Not one
looked in my direction and that was it, if I was dead then
what was I waiting for and why the fuck is it so cold, I
thought hell was hot, my mind repeated. I wish I took my
meds before I left my safe haven, my homemade puzzle
factory where ghosts sing daily to me, unable to sleep, I
now need pills that make me feel like I’m dyeing from a
heart attack every night, eventually entering another
nightmare, tossing and turning next to either my love, my
now three cats, or by myself, curled in a fetus like
position on a hand me down couch that my brother gave me
along with a few other articles of furniture.

I remember looking at the screen that my case worker
turned so that me and Ter could see what he was writing,
him admitting that he fucked up, that’s why I was left in
the dark for weeks alone, with no money, nothing, just
knocks on my door, hearing voices of angry people, not mad
at me but mad at themselves for things that could have
worked out if everyone and everything didn't need more then
anyone else could give them. What I learned from that
experience is that living in Canada, even though it was
front page news here and second all over the rest of the
country, people do care, no matter who you are, as long as
you really do want to die. If I were just some strung out
junkie on a bad trip they would have never put so much
effort in saving my life. The sentence that I remember
most from the experience was when the head doctor asking
me, ‘did you really want to die?’

When I said, ‘yes, please kill me and help the people
who want to stay here, I don’t belong here’, he
said, ‘don’t worry, your in good hands, where here to help
you, sometimes people need to do what you did to realize
that they should be alive’.

That and many other words shrinks and doctors told me
while I was in there for those five days full of Tylenol
fours and morphine, no head drugs, just pain, I realized
that’s what drove me to death, was pain and confusion, what
I still fight every day but now I have someone who needs me
as she looks so sad some days, telling me that all she can
think of is death, the sad thing is that I understand, no
matter how much she thinks I don’t, even if she leaves me,
I’ll stay alive until they stab me to death, delusions,
voices, noises in the dark cant do shit until they learn
how to use sticks and stones.

I don’t know what else to write, I’m sure I’m not all here
today.

Take care
lee





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