Back to reality… I think.

Ohio was a no go. My daughter had the worst time with it, so bad she actually was placed in a pediatric psychiatric unit two hours from where we lived. She was diagnosed with SSAD (severe separation anxiety disorder). With that disorder came meds, a lot of them. As well as depression, mood swings, auditory hallucinations and more therapy then either of us could handle.

I made the decision to come home to Colorado where we both belong. We’ve been back since the beginning of April. I’m proud to say the hallucinations are gone, the depression is gone, as are the mood swings. She’s happy and care free again. She’s doing amazing in school and best of all? No meds! My little love is herself again.

I have a lot of issues with social anxiety but I’m working through them. Slowly, but I am trying.

Advertisements

Magic Vs. Magick

Living Boho

When curious people are researching wiccan practices they often find themselves reading about Magick, wondering why it’s spelled differently than they’ve known their whole lives. I know I had trouble adjusting to the extra letter at the end. Once I got further into my practices, I realized that the word “Magick” is a simple way to seperate definitions.

To be magical is to deceive for entertainment means (think magician). To be magickal is to recognize and accept the wiccan way and become one with the magick of nature. Put simply, Magick is the outcome of wiccan practices.

However, things can become more complicated because Magick can mean several different things to several different witches.

f2fd565b10df40696a6f2685ec48392e

As an eclectic witch, my idea of magick may seem off to some people; but that’s the point. Eclectic witchery is gathering beliefs and traditions you relate to and creating something that suits you. That’s what…

View original post 264 more words

Adrian Blevins: My Mother’s First Husband

Vox Populi

My mother’s first husband, who was the first mentally ill person I ever met, rents storage spaces all over D.C. He saves in crate after carton after crate: paper towel tubes, his son’s second grade science projects and college term papers, broken air conditioners, hammers, screwdrivers, curtain rods, weights, spatulas, pots and pans, old cans of paint, drills, sandwich bags, magazines and books and paper clips, window panes and big, long rolls of pink insulation and leather gloves and half-empty cans of shoe polish and arm chairs and tube tops and baby aspirin and vinyl records as well as the files of the court records (as well as their Xeroxes) of what was said before the judge between he and my mother more than forty years ago. When I saw him a couple of years ago, he was standing in my sister’s dining room organizing boxes of National Geographic, which…

View original post 1,369 more words

Stress devours all…

Thoughts are killing me.

Ideas… of what to do and where to go.

I’m beyond stressed. I feel I am failing my daughter. I’m an unfortunate mess of I don’t know’s  and what the fuck’s…

image

I face possible homelessness because I can’t find a job, and even if I do I doubt I will pass the credit check. What does this mean for me? I will lose EVERYTHING I hold near and dear to the shattered mess I call a heart. I’ve exhausted all resources…. I’ll lose my daughter. I’ll lose my family, both of them. I’ll lose the Girls Next Door, and the club… I’ll lose what dignity I have left. Eventually I’ll lose my sanity because I won’t have insurance, meaning… I won’t be able to afford my meds. I’m lost, so very lost….

image

I suppose I  could go live with old man in Ohio. But his wife hates me, bad enough that her hysterectomy was my fault… then I’d end up homeless in Waverly, OH. For the win, right?

Damnit….

#frustration #life

For Girls and Grief | Abigail Staub

I once stood in the same place. Her words moved me, I love this.

VAGABOND CITY

The first girl I ever kissed had a mouthful of luring words and veins full of Percocet.
I wore the potent perfume of pineapple vodka on my breath and wilted forward into her lap,
all curled up at the edges like a water-logged book.
We were perched on the end of a leather couch in someone’s basement and the television flickered and buzzed to mask the
piercing pounding of my heartbeat against the rib cage.
Her voice lilted softly in my ear, “Do you want to kiss me or not?” but my skinned, purple knees quivered as I questioned what people would think
when they saw me tangled up in the limbs of some Venus,
and not softly swallowing the saliva of a sweaty, calloused boy.
That was how it was supposed to be,
when you were sixteen with red lips and black stockings,
slurring empty proverbs to strangers.
Still, I…

View original post 588 more words

Can’t stop thinking…

We were happy, right?

What happened? Why did it come to you running to her? What did she have that I didn’t? You wanted to ask me to marry you not even 2 months before, I would’ve said yes because I wanted it too. Why can’t I stop thinking of you? Of us? Of the last two years?

Why can’t you leave my mind? Why do you still have the power to make me cry?

You haunt my dreams… my thoughts… my every breath. How do I make you disappear? How do I block the memory of you?

I gave my all. I tried so very hard to save you from your thoughts. I wanted a family with you Did I make you happy at all? Did you ever find solace in my arms? My embrace?

Why are you still on my mind? And why can’t I make you leave?

I am grateful, now fuck off.

This pretty much sums it up in a nut shell.

Mama Said

It was some time between midnight and 3am. I was dead asleep. I’d fed the littliest at midnight so it was after that, and it was before he woke up for a feed at 3am. This hardly matters, because that time of night is Hell unless you’re pashing, happy drunk, smoking in a bar, dancing, or on drugs – y’know, generally having a fulfilling life that doesn’t involve milk dripping out of your breasts or playing the fart or shit game. So, I’m asleep and I feel this tiny hand on my face and then there’s a kiss on my forehead. And for a second I’m confused like – did the tiny one do that? He’s only four-weeks-old? Is he a mutant? That would be amazing. And then I realise it’s my big baby and I pull him into my arms while still asleep and think “oh he’s delicious”. But…

View original post 1,061 more words