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Donna Mae DePola - Guest Speaker Chat ...May 25th 2013 ... for more information please read this!
There is still plenty of time and spaces if you'd like to sign up for the Guest Speaker Chat scheduled for this Saturday!
There is still plenty of time and spaces if you'd like to sign up for the Guest Speaker Chat scheduled for this Saturday!
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Let's go for two - two entries in a row: a charm. Yup, because two is three minus one. Ok, so I'm a cheat. But I'm allowed. It's my blog and my fucked up perceptions. I can have my cake and eat it too. My rules.
I can do three minus one. It's been what, over a year? And you know, I've got to talk. You can tell because I ain't saying much. Beating around the bush. I probably ain't gonna say much more till the end of this entry. What was that I was saying again? My rules.
I'm being assaulted by all sorts of ideas at all time of day. It's still early now. 9h45. I'll be up again at 2h30 needing to write to someone about something I find really important. Needing to write to someone about something I find really important because I sort of feel like I've only got months to live. Needing to write to someone about something I find really important because I need to say what I've lived, because I need to have it serve other people, because it sure didn't serve me but I'm an idealist and in my idealist world shit happens for a reason: to serve others. Well isn't that the definition of my shit! It's always served others.
So where was I? I'd graduated - that's where I left off. That was early fall. Since then, it's been free-fall. Looking for work, I mean. Let me tell you that looking for work is a full-time job you don't want to have. Where was that gun? Oh never mind. Got no gun. But got the dep (or corner store, for all you non-francophone American folk).
I hadn't smoked or drunk a drop in over a month. I was feeling balanced - code-talk for normal. Normal - code-talk for not feeling a need to go to the dep to put memories in isolation. To be numb. Nope, just tea for N.. All sorts of teas. Did you know red tea isn't actual tea? It's not, but no, I won't go into the details because that would be avoiding what I'm supposed to be sayin', wouldn't it?
Assault of ideas:
#1 how on earth am I still alive?
#2 how on earth am I still alive?
You can probably tell that 1 and 2 are related. Well, you see, were I a statistic - the statistics I've seen anyway - I'd be dead. My mind has trouble wrapping itself around that concept. So I've gotta say it twice. Maybe if I say it three times I'll be charming.
Third time: how on earth am I still alive? Nope, still the scum of earth.
So I was saying: I'm still alive. How do I live with that fact? I live by not living. I decide that I was predestined to suffer by either a) numbing myself out, or b) going into a sort of psychosis about how my goal in life is to ensure others don't suffer like me because in my little world 'by chance' doesn't exist. By chance meaning, it was just by chance, it was just a random event that I didn't die. Didn't die from an overdose. Didn't get killed by a client. Didn't get killed a boyfriend. Literally or figuratively. Doesn't matter. Or literally, didn't die like her.. Didn't die, damnit. Am the only one still around.
Assault of ideas:
#3 start your own organisation.
It's not like I have a job or anything, so it's not like I have something better to do with myself. And remember, #1 and #2 lead to thoughts of being predestined and shit. So start your own save-the-teen-prostitutes-of-the-world organisation. Because there ain't any such organisation in this city - in this city of over 1 million in population. Can you wrap your mind around that? You know what they call this city in the States? The Mecca. Yeah, with a capital, like the capital. The Mecca of sex. How many other Ns, you figure, are starting to go through the misery I've endured for years?
How is that fair?
It ain't fair.
And it ain't close to being over - the misery.
I should have joined the army. At least, I'd have gone to Afghanistan; I would have seen my best buddy blow up if I hadn't wound up limbless, and back home, they would have put me in a room with some dude that's had his own buddy blow up in front of him and now knew a thing or two about PTSD. That dude would have given me tid-bits of advice. So how are you feeling? Woulda put me on meds or something, but mostly woulda talked to me. Do you sleep ok? We'd have had a conversation. Even if just for 5 minutes, it would still have been a 5-minute conversation with one dude that would have a clue about what my experience was about. I understand. I can help - I've got pills that help.
That would be good. To be able to talk. To let it all out. I'd throw the prescription in the trash.
My best friend hung herself.
I am alive.
My best friend and I worked as prostitutes for many years. I'm being redundant, but that fact will fuck a person up and make them redundant.
I don't want that to happen to other girls, so instead of living, I buy beer, or dream up ideas of starting organisations instead of accepting the life an MA predestines you for. You know, just a life. With a pay-check. With vacation. With 'benefits'.
I can't have benefits because I am alive.
I can do three minus one. It's been what, over a year? And you know, I've got to talk. You can tell because I ain't saying much. Beating around the bush. I probably ain't gonna say much more till the end of this entry. What was that I was saying again? My rules.
I'm being assaulted by all sorts of ideas at all time of day. It's still early now. 9h45. I'll be up again at 2h30 needing to write to someone about something I find really important. Needing to write to someone about something I find really important because I sort of feel like I've only got months to live. Needing to write to someone about something I find really important because I need to say what I've lived, because I need to have it serve other people, because it sure didn't serve me but I'm an idealist and in my idealist world shit happens for a reason: to serve others. Well isn't that the definition of my shit! It's always served others.
So where was I? I'd graduated - that's where I left off. That was early fall. Since then, it's been free-fall. Looking for work, I mean. Let me tell you that looking for work is a full-time job you don't want to have. Where was that gun? Oh never mind. Got no gun. But got the dep (or corner store, for all you non-francophone American folk).
I hadn't smoked or drunk a drop in over a month. I was feeling balanced - code-talk for normal. Normal - code-talk for not feeling a need to go to the dep to put memories in isolation. To be numb. Nope, just tea for N.. All sorts of teas. Did you know red tea isn't actual tea? It's not, but no, I won't go into the details because that would be avoiding what I'm supposed to be sayin', wouldn't it?
Assault of ideas:
#1 how on earth am I still alive?
#2 how on earth am I still alive?
You can probably tell that 1 and 2 are related. Well, you see, were I a statistic - the statistics I've seen anyway - I'd be dead. My mind has trouble wrapping itself around that concept. So I've gotta say it twice. Maybe if I say it three times I'll be charming.
Third time: how on earth am I still alive? Nope, still the scum of earth.
So I was saying: I'm still alive. How do I live with that fact? I live by not living. I decide that I was predestined to suffer by either a) numbing myself out, or b) going into a sort of psychosis about how my goal in life is to ensure others don't suffer like me because in my little world 'by chance' doesn't exist. By chance meaning, it was just by chance, it was just a random event that I didn't die. Didn't die from an overdose. Didn't get killed by a client. Didn't get killed a boyfriend. Literally or figuratively. Doesn't matter. Or literally, didn't die like her.. Didn't die, damnit. Am the only one still around.
Assault of ideas:
#3 start your own organisation.
It's not like I have a job or anything, so it's not like I have something better to do with myself. And remember, #1 and #2 lead to thoughts of being predestined and shit. So start your own save-the-teen-prostitutes-of-the-world organisation. Because there ain't any such organisation in this city - in this city of over 1 million in population. Can you wrap your mind around that? You know what they call this city in the States? The Mecca. Yeah, with a capital, like the capital. The Mecca of sex. How many other Ns, you figure, are starting to go through the misery I've endured for years?
How is that fair?
It ain't fair.
And it ain't close to being over - the misery.
I should have joined the army. At least, I'd have gone to Afghanistan; I would have seen my best buddy blow up if I hadn't wound up limbless, and back home, they would have put me in a room with some dude that's had his own buddy blow up in front of him and now knew a thing or two about PTSD. That dude would have given me tid-bits of advice. So how are you feeling? Woulda put me on meds or something, but mostly woulda talked to me. Do you sleep ok? We'd have had a conversation. Even if just for 5 minutes, it would still have been a 5-minute conversation with one dude that would have a clue about what my experience was about. I understand. I can help - I've got pills that help.
That would be good. To be able to talk. To let it all out. I'd throw the prescription in the trash.
My best friend hung herself.
I am alive.
My best friend and I worked as prostitutes for many years. I'm being redundant, but that fact will fuck a person up and make them redundant.
I don't want that to happen to other girls, so instead of living, I buy beer, or dream up ideas of starting organisations instead of accepting the life an MA predestines you for. You know, just a life. With a pay-check. With vacation. With 'benefits'.
I can't have benefits because I am alive.
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