Just when I wanted to give up all together, throw the whole thing in the trash, never look at it, or think about it again, just act like it none of that ever happened, something came along that relit a fire under my ass.
Okay where do I begin? At the beginning? No. That’s too long and exhausting. Maybe I will just start in the middle. I went to a very strange high school. One that had very different concepts and techniques on how to deliver an education and therapy to the ‘troubled teens’ left on that mountain in California. Some called the school a cult. Some called it pioneering. Whichever way you slice it, this was not a normal high school. This was not a normal private boarding school. I can’t even find the appropriate comparison to describe my high school to you. There was, and is, nothing else like it.
I had three pages written trying to explain that school, but then…I deleted it. If you didn’t go there it is almost impossible to explain, nor is it believable. After I tell someone about that school they usually sit there, in silence, stunned, complete with their jaw on the floor and a confused look on their faces.
[but…if you have a lot (I mean a lot) of time on your hands you can read these links which will give you the general idea, from which my school’s concepts were built upon]
A very long story cut short, someone who attended my high school wrote a book about it. A real book, that’s been published, and now for sale on Amazon. She attended the school after I did. Well after the school had lightened up a bit and loosened their tight reigns. Let’s just say she went to the decaffeinated version of the school from when I attended. Nonetheless, I am sure she had some of the very same experiences as I did.
I am sitting here writing this with a mass of emotions exploding through my body. My first impulse (of course) was to order the book as fast as I could. But, the second after I pressed the button for shipping, I started to feel strange. I am actually scared to read her words, to remember those days with that sort of clarity. To see where I went to high school, on paper, in print, in a book. Or, to see / hear about that school, from her point of view. At the same time I was wishing that book were already in my hands so I can gobble it up.
I still have all of my things from that time in my life. Every letter, every journal, every card, every story is all right here, under my nose, in my house. I just haven’t looked at it too closely for years. And I did not want to. Not really.
Just knowing that book is on its way to my house is bringing up all kinds of feelings. Some feelings I don’t recognize. Other’s …I know all too well.
Then I started thinking about my own book. The one I haven’t touched in six months. And why I haven’t touched it in six months. I am great at making excuses. I’m too busy, my job, my house, my son, my family, my friends, my stomach, blah blah.
In truth…and in all honesty, I stopped writing because it was too painful for me to ‘go there’. I like to tell myself that I am over it. I am. I like to tell myself that I have moved on. I have. I know that I am a different person now; I am not the same girl I was then.
But the only way to write my book; is to ‘go there’ mentally and emotionally. I have to go back to ‘that place’. That very dark, cold…place. It takes a lot out of me to go to that place, to be in her shoes again…to be Jasmine, in order to remember each and every detail, and spill it onto the pages.
If I am so “over” all of it, then why does it still hurt so much to ‘go there’?
When I was really focused on my book, writing every night; weird stuff started to happen. I started having really bad dreams. I never remember my dreams. I started reliving all those old feelings as if they were new. The pissed off sleeping teenager inside of me, was awakened. And she was still pissed off.
A.Very. Angry. Little. Girl.
I wasn’t rebuilding all of the walls I worked so hard to take down. But some of the familiar “I can’t be in my own skin” feelings came back. The memories that were once cloudy became extremely vivid. Things I thought I had forgotten; were becoming almost tangible.
I started sleepwalking. I would wake up in my own living room, re-arranging furniture and not know why or how I had gotten there. I started sleep-calling people. Yes. Sleep-Calling. I called my mother while I was sleeping. I thought she was my ex-drug dealer. I left scary voice mails on her cell phone, yelling at her to bring me cocaine. I didn’t even know I called my mother until she called me back, terrified, and played the voice mail back to me. I also called one of my girlfriends thinking I was in the dressing room of one of the clubs I worked. I sounded so distraught she drove all the way over to my house to check on me. I was sleeping and had no idea what she was talking about.
That’s when my mother suggested I might want to take a break, just for a few weeks to clear my head. That few weeks turned into a month, then two, and now here we are at six.
Another reason I stopped writing the book, was the sheer horror of being that exposed. I have written here about how I keep things right on the surface. Nothing too deep, or too real, because what if the wrong person reads it? I am supposed to be this professional woman. I couldn’t have colleague or co-worker read or know any of those things. Maybe they would loose respect for me? Label me? Look at me with different eyes? There have been friends, and family members of mine that have told me to delete certain posts, for the very reasons I mentioned above.
I had to do a lot of soul searching to find the courage and strength to post that chapter one, even though I am up to chapter 10.
Then I started thinking how hard it must have been for this girl to write her book. How did she get through it? Not just the writing process, but also the emotional process that had to come with writing such a book.
That brings me to the feelings I am having right now. If she could do it, I can do it. If she is letting it all hangout, then so can I. That school we both attended was insane, that insanity has made us stronger. Since we survived, and managed to become rational, responsible, productive members of society, then what the fuck am I so scared of?
Maybe I am not as “over it” as I’d like to think I am. Maybe I have to write my book to get over it. Maybe I need that emotional process to really heal. Maybe I am the only one that needs to look at me through different eyes.
Poem lyrics of Ulysses by Alfred Lord Tennyson.
It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Matchd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoy’d
Greatly, have suffer’d greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Thro’ scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honour’d of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’
Gleams that untravell’d world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use!
As tho’ to breathe were life.
“To strive, to seek, to find and not to yield.”
… I am rededicating my efforts towards my book. As painful as it may be, and even if it never gets published, it has to be written….
believe me,, if anyone knows where you are coming from it is me… i am older than you,, so i have been hiding behind all the little fragments of me for a lot longer…
i woke up one day and found out the only person i ever really gave any part of myself to,, was dead…after that… none of the other assholes mattered anymore… it became all about me….
but i have been given what i am beginning to understand is a subconscious gift,, that i mistakenly perceived as a flaw all along… i have over a period of years,, slowly and methodically cut myself off from everything and everyone that tied me to life as i know it….
i have isolated myself physically as well as emotionally… so i really am…
“in my own little corner… in my own little chair”…and i can be what ever i want to be…..
i evidently knew all along the only person that matters to me… is me… as i was willing to sacrifice everything else.. to be given this one opportunity, be comfortable with in my own skin…
for many, the sacrifice is too great, it would have been for me,, had i been given the choice…it is only here,, after all the “damage ” is done, and i look back in hindsight,, that i am able to view it as a gift…
my mind says,, there has to be a happy medium out there for you,,, but my heart knows,, no such hiding place would have worked for me…..
You shouldn’t blame yourself for giving your book a rest for a while now that you are ready to begin you will.
I believe our body/mind is really good at self-preservation, at shutting off and when it does that, its not a bad thing, we’re not being lazy it’s something that the brain recognizes as essential to do in order to protect itself.
Then something comes along and it judges our reaction to it and when we are ready and able to handle our demons the process starts to flow automatically.
So I think its best to take that time out, get stronger, and when you’re ready you’ll know.
Your mind will let the clamps come loose.
Best of luck with your novel
Reliving and relaying are very separate, as you know. Taking a break is a good thing. It can be that moment(or moments) needed to fully examine where you want to go with the writing. Such a heavy subject, and filled such brutal truths. There is no serious time line of finishing, for even when the words are done being tped and the book is bound, all that lies underneath shall still remain.
You will get there. Just don’t lose yourself in the process…Keep gaining that strengtha nd whenit is right, it will come.
Meleah, I really do believe that if you write in increments. You know, a little at a time – the amount depending on the pain the process breathes life into – and allow yourself to let some light, healing light, in to those dark places as you go, you’ll be okay. What you are doing is very brave, and many people spend a lifetime doing everything they can to run in the opposite direction of these sorts of memories. Give yourself a ton of credit for doing this, and love yourself for it.
You’ll get there, and we’ll all be first in line at the book signing. 🙂
Maybe your perspective is a little off. You are thinking of your book as an old story from your past….Maybe that story isn’t done yet. This book, this story is still unfolding and affecting you and your perceptions of who you really are (as explained by how your memories made you relive old habits) Maybe that young, angry girl from your memories remains so because her story needs to be told. She’s still living THAT same life in your psyche…. let her out of your head and onto paper. Memories are on a continuous loop, they need a place to replay themselves. That’s why it’s so painful to “go there;” memories are in Technicolor, surround sound and sharp as sabers. Better to give them a home on a blank page than your mind. Easier said than done, I know.
These are your memories, but maybe leaving them rolling around in your mind is, perhaps giving them more weight than all your accomplishments since then.
And there is no “getting over it”– there is using ‘it’ so that ‘it’ stops using you.
I’ve rambled…..much love in your journey, I relate.
DON’T BE AFRAID SWEETY LOOK AT YOUR RESPONSES.
SOMEGIRL ROCKS. SHE CALLS IT WELL IN MY OPINION .
YOUR STORY WILL FOREVER UNFOLD AND UNRAVLE . INTERNALLY FOR SURE. PUTTING IT TO PAPER CAN DO AS MUCH GOOD AS IT CAN DO .THAT’S IT. YOU HAVE ALREADY PAYED A PRICE FOR ADDMISSION TO THE SHOW.IT’S AS SCARY AS IT IS THERAPUCIC. I TOO HAVE QUITE VIVID MEMORIES/DREAMS /FLASHBACKS/
AND SUDDEN MEMBENCES OF THINGS I NEVER WANTED TO REMEMBER IN THE FIRST PLACE. YOUR RECOGNITION OF YOUR OWN STATE OF NEUTRALITY IS GOING TO ,PERHAPS , BE YOUR BEST MOTIVATOR.
EVERYTHING IS EASIER SAID THAN DONE AND WHO WANTS TO REVISIT SORE-DID SPOTS FROM YESTERYEAR IF THEY CAUSE YOU PAIN. REMINDS ME OF THE NO PAIN NO GAIN CREDO. SUCKS GROWING UP DON’T IT?
YOU SEEM TO WANT TO MOVE PAST THIS PHASE AND PERHAPS GOING THROUGH IT INSTEAD OF SKIRTING AND SKATING AROUND IT ,OR AVOIDING IT IS THE ONLY WAY TO SHIFT INTO DRIVE ONCE MORE WITH THE BLINDERS ON THE REARVIEW FULL SPEED AHEAD . I DO HAVE MY CONCERNS FOR YOU WHEN IT COMES TO YOUR ALL AROUND HEALTH AND ALWAYS WILL SO THANKX FOR PUTTING THAT OUT THERE. YOU ARE NOT ALONE.
XOXOXO
OLLYWOOD
Firstly…thanks for stopping by my blog. I’ve been reading yours in the last few days. Secondly, you may have “done” high school in 3 years like me but wow, my little Catholic girls school experience doesn’t hold a candle to yours. And thirdly 🙂 The depth of your writing takes courage. So does going through your past. I wish you strength and peace and thank you for allowing us to be a part of the process. I too have a book untouched…for over a year. It’s almost finished too!
One more thing…simple breathing meditation has saved me from many things. I just sit, any old way, and as the world flows outside my body (cat stretches, horn honks, boyfriend answers the phone), and my inner world of thoughts bubble up and float by, I quietly sit in the center of it all and count my breaths. It’s at that moment that I realize that I am separate from all that flows in and around me and I am calm.
{{{BIG HUG}}} I hope that helps…
It is truly difficult to write about things that have happened which are less than pleasant. I’m struggling with the same thing. How do I write about something so personal, so damaging without it affecting the people I know and love. Do I fictionalize it? Do I just write it? Talking about “it” over the years has always helped, but there isn’t a day in my life that goes by that I don’t think about it. Do I really want to relive it all in descriptive detail?
I read the three reviews that are up on Amazon. The second one is interesting. Have you read them? Goodness.
You’ll write when you want to, when you’re ready, when it’s right for you. Hang in there.
Meleah, I like you, am not really anonymous on my blogs – my photos are there, as are those of my kids, and I have wondered often whether I would have been better off hiding behind a pseudonym. But I came to the conclusion that I have had enough of hiding. Sure there are still things I write and keep private, there always will be, but there has been this terrific cathartic release in revealing parts of me publicly that I had kept to myself. I’ve had the sleepless nights and the fear of discovery and ridcule or disdain from those who do know me, but you know what, I have realised that everything that has gone before has made us who we are now, warts and all, and I have been really grateful for the comfort of the community we have here. You do what you want or need to do and we will support you.
I agree with KellyPea….this is one of the most difficult things you will ever do. I admire you so much… I don’t think I could ever be this brave… too many people involved. Take your time. Take a break. Step back. And it will come.
xoxoxoxo
Hey chica. One of the good things about our “therapeutic reform school” school is us. 🙂 TG I was sent there by court order so I could meet you, my dear.
I don’t think we ever really get over anything. We just learn to adjust to the scars and live with them. But at the same time it’s like a festering wound. You can’t let it heal up with the poison still in it. You have to lance it now and then and squeeze the pus out. Otherwise it will poison you.
Sounds like post traumatic stress disorder. I’ve been through that over some stuff that happened a few years ago. I never could write about it, but I had to get it out of me sometimes. I bought a digital voice recorder with a USB post. When the memories and the flashbacks and the fury over what had been done to me got too close to the boiling point, I would drive around and speak it all into the recorder. I dumped the audio into a separate folder on my computer. I use the recorder for a lot of rough draft writing–I type it up later. But I never type up the stuff in that folder. Maybe someday I will.
The trouble with those kind of experiences as that the anger is useless. There’s nothing you can do to those people that harmed you. And even if you could, it would destroy you. And if you hold the poison inside, it will infect every part of your life.
So squeeze a little out when you can to keep it from building up. And in the between times, think about all the good things in your life. Look around. Look at your life. YOU WON! Not them. Remember that.
joy, peace.
Mel – you can’t throw in the towel I’ve just given you both a Schmooze and Thinking Blogger awards over at midlife. Hope you don’t mind 🙂
WOW, I have alot of comments to respond to. After I wrote this I spent the day reflecting and time with my family. I was flabbergasted when I saw these comments, and received 2 emails, one from The Real Mother Hen, and the other from Dazd.
First… thank you all for being so supportive.
Now for the replies:
Paisley: You and I have so much in common. It is reassuring to see the growth you have made and the lady / woman you have become. I am hoping this book will help me through my transitional phase.
————–
Random: I think thats just what happened, it was too painful, so my body / mind did what it had to do to protect myself. I think the 6 month sabbatical was just what I needed.
—————
Jodi: Thanks for th advice
—————-
HollyGL: I think thats a great idea..working in increments….rather than full on submission. Might make things easier on me. and THANK YOU, I know when its done that you will be right there cheering me on.
—————-
SomeGirl: THANK YOU… You totally get what I am saying. Yes, that angry girl is still alive and kicking because she needs to tell her story. The longer I keep her quite the longer I will wrestle with her. I have to give her a voice in order to free her.
—————-
Olly: I love you back.
—————–
Lisa: Thanks for coming here. Welcome to my head. and Thanks even more for the words of encouragement.
—————–
Marsha: hugs to you too sweety
—————–
KellyPea: I have wrestled long and hard Fiction? Non-Fiction? all kinds of questions formatting, visualizing all the people my book will hurt, ect ect. Whats strange is that I can TALK about it detached. I can tell the story verbally like I am talking about the weather. But, WRITING it… is much different.
—————-
Loz: THANKS for the support, kind words, and AWARDS!! (yippee) I am not throwing in the towel. I think I am more motivated now then EVER to get through this.
—————–
Dawn: Thanks darling, yes it will be the hardest thing I ever do. I am glad I have people like you in my corner.
—————–
Leslie: I THANK GOD for that SCHOOL – Because it gave me YOU. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH. No one could ever understand the bond we have as a result of that school. XXXXOOOO 🙂
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Russell: Hi, nice to “meet” you. Yes I was in fact diagnosed with PTS. I like the idea of squeezing it out like puss a little at a time. Thanks for the support and advice!
you just don’t need me here anymore everything i wanted to say has already been covered.
i love you.
meleah, my sweet pea,
never, in my wildest longings, did i ever dare hope you would come this far so quickly and so well. There is no mother anywhere who is prouder than I am of their daughter’s accomplishments. you have exceeded every expectation a million times over.
You are an inspiration, Meleah.
Don’t forget who loves you!!!!
Love,
mommy
PS Thank you Cascade, for giving her the tools.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
Thanks Mom. You are the best.
Oh Meleah…
I have had the same cathartic experience with my own book.
It has dust on it’s unwritten pages, like yours…
It pains me to visit some of those places, yet I must, like you.
Go forth and write your story, darling.
I so want to read it.
xx
Writing can often be a very painful process and perhaps yyou needed the time off to regroup. Nothing wrong with it. It happens. But in facing these ugly painful things from the past, you’ll sort them out through your writing. It’s like therapy in a way and nothing is wrong with a little bit of that. And if I ever become a screenwriter that’s paid, I can turn your book into a movie and bring Meleah to the bigh screen!!!
I personally love the story from what I’ve seen.
It’s all been said, just know that I’m here.
My life is so chaotic lately, I thought that starting this blog would just add to the chaos, My mind is actually clearing up and giving me some time to think clearly, Hopefully in time your writing can be very theraputic for you..
Ok,
Here’s what I want to know… how did you end up at this school?
Goldy asks the million dollar question: and thankfully I don’t think too many people will travel back to this area of comments. I am going to lay it out. (the SHORT version)
QUICK LIFE STORY TOLD AS QUICKLY and AS DETACHED AS POSSIBLE:
(no details or it will take me 6 years to write this)………….
My mom and biological father got a divorce when I was 4 / my brother was 2. We lived with my mom and we visited my dad on the weekends. Every weekend from the ages 4-7 my ‘dad’ brutally assaulted and raped me. (while my brother was stuck in the same room in the bed next to me).
The day it all came out my mother called a lawyer and I never saw my father again until I was 8 and had to testify against him in court.
By the time I was 8 I was already really fucked up. I was angry, I was violent and out of control. Lighting things on fire crazy. Even with all the court appointed therapy. I think all that therapy at that age made things worse because I was never allowed to let the issue die, or fade into memories. I had to TALK ABOUT IT all the time, in great detail.
All I had was my brother, who was my best friend to get me through my days.
By the time I was 11, I was drinking and smoking.
At 12, I was using drugs and having sex.
I didn’t have any “virginity” to give away, so there was nothing sacred about sex. I was taught to lay there and take it (age 6) so, by age 12, it was nothing to me. I felt nothing. (sometimes I still feel nothing).
My mother had remarried by this time and we moved to a whole new town/city/schools/ ect. But, I only got worse.
At age 12, I was smoking pot, drinking vodka on the back of the school bus at 7am, I was in fist fights, suspended, detentions, having sex with high school guys,….I HATED my mother, blamed her for EVERYTHING. I had fist fights with her, spit in her face… all because I was in so much pain, all the time. I ran away, I lied about everything. I was failing school, if I even went to school. I dressed like a whore; I was already the town slut.
I wanted to die.
Nothing filled the vacant emptiness in my soul.
After I stole a bunch of things, defaced property, and a slew of other insane things, my mother was desperate, and she sent me to Carrier Foundation (in belle meade NJ) to a mental institute. That’s when they put me on lithium. I refused to take my pills so they strapped me down with restraints, locked me in the white padded wall cell, and kept me sedated for 6 weeks.
When I got out of carrier, my step dad had a heart attack at the kitchen table in front of all of us, and I kept chanting: I HOPE YOU DIE! I HOPE YOU DIE.
My mother didn’t know what to do with me, or for me, I HATED HER. I HATED ME, I HATED WHERE WE MOVED …..My mother was scared of me, and scared for me.
So, at age 13 my mother found cascade, this “therapeutic school†for fucked up teenagers. She wanted to save her daughter; she thought that if she couldn’t help me, at least maybe someone else could.
I was there for three years (graduated HS early because I skipped a grade)
This part of my life is WAY too complicated to explain (here and now)
But, it wasn’t until AFTER cascade that I really went bat.shit.crazy.
Followed the grateful dead, hitch-hiked across county, I was a missing child on the side of a milk carton at age 16. I didn’t talk to my mom for a year. I lived in almost every state (I definitely at least drove thru every state -except Hawaii or Alaska)
After being on the road, losing a baby, and kicked out of my grandparents house, I found my way back to NJ… . (another LONG ASS STORY)
At 17-I ended up a stripper (10 years) of cocaine and all the alcohol one could stand. And bad shit happened every single day. (that’s what my “BOOK†is about)
When I was 18 my mother remarried again to the man I call MY DADDY. (Tony Bennett) and he is my DADY in every sense of the word. The father I never had, the father I always wanted, and needed. (still need him)
But I was NO PART of my family back then, I wasn’t even invited to my mom and dads wedding because I was too fucked up then, and they didn’t want me to ruin it.
The only GOOD thing that happened in my whole entire life was when I had my son at age 20 .
LONG STORY HERE (which I will tell some day) But, when I was 28 I was beaten down. Beaten the fuck down.
I wanted it all to stop. stop taking my clothes off for men, stop running, stop taking drugs, stop being so angry. I wanted the pain to go away.
I called my mother and told her I was done. I was DONE. she knew I was ready.
I moved back home with my mom and MY DADDY, and my then 5 year old son. My father got me a job here in his office and they put me through insurance school, where I received my license.
Unfortunately it wasn’t that easy for me to stop using drugs. I was addicted. for real.
My mom and dad kept my son and sent me away to yet another facility. New Hope (re-hab)
When I got out, my mom and dad kept my son for one year, while I lived in an all woman recovery house and got my life together.
The next year I moved into the same complex as my mom and dad, on the same golf course, and my son came back to live with me.
Its been 5 years of working/ paying my bills and /raising my son …..STRAIGHT as an ARROW.
Its been one year since I started my blog.
the end. (for now)
Meleah,
I am not sure what to say after reading that. The pain and suffering you have endured for much of your life is truly nothing short of tragic. I am beyond sorry for what you had to go through and the trails it led you down. I think it’s incredibly brave that you chose to share it with us. I also think it’s fantastic how the last 5 years have gone… what you have done to turn your life around. Honestly I don’t know if I would be as strong as you obviously are.
As I write this it feels trite but I truly hope the next x years of your life are filled with happiness and love.
Thanks Goldy. Thats nice to hear it isn’t trite. I worked HARD to get where I am, and now I get to have FUN with you guys.
I read what you went through and part of me shakes my head in disgust that such terrible things happened to you and another part of me salutes you for making it out alive. What a tragic and uplifting story. You’re a survivor Meleah. Be proud of that.
🙂 thanks Ricardo.
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WOW , MY HEART BLEEDS FOR YOU . The more I read your blog the more I feel like an idiot . I knew somethings through patty but NOT AS MUCH AS I KNOW NOW . I knew you and pat did your time together and I seen patty,s destruction first hand . I PROMISE TO TREAD LIGHTLY . ME AND MY THINKING I KNOW HOW TO CURE ALL . But all things aside the saying is what does not kill you can make you stronger DAM YOU MUST BE PRETTY STRONG May you find a serenity in your life . May all days of your life have a place for happiness from the past. I am truly sorry for the pain in your life . I hold the uttermost respect for you. To find your way back and to be where you are now is truly amazing . I would not have a clue or did not have a clue when I first met you that there was so much turmoil in your life . In closing may love find you and wrap its arms around you and give you shelter from the storms . Finish book on your time, tread lightly back to those dayys of yesteryears gone by and I will wait patienly to see the outcome . For now I know this is the best therapy for you but you slill need to live beyond this realm so write write write PEACE EDDIE
Eddie:
Aw. You are sooo kind. Thank You.
What only one thank you . crtique this. on aug 01 2008 I wrote this in my journal. 13 DAYS IF I ONLY KNEW. 3 YEARS GONE BY NOW. AUG 11 . MY BIRTHDAY. 3 NIGHTS AWAY , WE CUOLD NOT ASK YOU TO STAY FOR YOU SUFFERED LONG ENOUGH. SITTING THERE HOLDING YOUR HAND SINGING AMAZING GRACE AND SIMPLE MAN, ONE LAST GASP , OPEN YOUR EYES YOU DID. I COULD NOT SAY A WORD FOR I KNEW YOU WERE LEAVING. SCREAM OUT!!! SCREAM OUT!!! FROM LIFE TO DEATH IN AN INSTANT, FROM WARM TO COLD WE ALL SHALL GO. 3 YEARS 13 DAYS AWAY, 3 VERY LONG YEARS. MY BATTLECRY SIMPLEMAN
Your breaking my heart over here.
SORRY, was not meant to break your heart. I now know how theraputic written words can be . My self not being much of a writer, i am just trying to find a voice for my pain . I like many try to keep it hidden away, hence the journal and hopefully a release of all the pent up emotions thanks for reading it with much love EDDIE
See why blogging RULES!!
xxoo
Just one more , you have created a monster , SLOWLY NOT SURELY I AM GETTING THE HANG OF WRITING DOWN. ALL THAT BOTHERS ME, ALLTHAT MAKES ME LAUGH, ALL THAT COMES FROM THIS GAME CALLED LIFE, FURTHERMORE WHO KEEPS THE SCORE, NO REFS NO UMPS JUST LIFES LITTLE BUMPS, BUMPS ALONG THE ROAD , BUMPS UPON MY HEAD, SO FAR NO BUMPS WHERE I WAKE UP DEAD. I PROMISE THATS IT FOR NOW I KNOW YOU ARE BUSY WITH REAL WRITERS. MY FINGERS ARE GETTING SORE ANYWAY (ha ha ha) PEEEEEAAAAACCCCCEEEEE
SORRY SAID THAT WAS IT , BLOGGING GOOD EDDIE BAD (ha ha) BUT SERIOUSLY I GIVE YOU A LOT OF CREDIT TO LET YOURSELF BECOME SO VULNERABLE TO SO MANY PEEPS I TEND TO KEEP MY EMOTIONS TO MY SELF WITHIN MYSELF PROTECT THYSELF . I HOPE YOU FIND SOME HELPFUL THINGS AT PEARTS SITE CLICK ON BUBBAS BOOKS LATER
Eddie:
Blogging is addicting. You just might end up with your OWN blog!