I did get to kiss the bare breasted & beaten girl one cold, rainy night. She put her t-shirt back on after again getting punched. She walked away in the dark away from all of us.
Opportunity!
She was just leaning against a car, shivering and soaking wet. I took off my ratty jacket and put in on her shoulders to warm her and comfort her. To make a long story short I put my fingers on her nipples (surprised she had let me) and since she did, I planted a big, long sexy, French kiss on her.
The bf saw me but he was so pissed at her by now, he didn't seem to care. The bf never let me outta his sight after that, not with her around. He knew we had a chemistry. I liked her, I loved her,I lost her (though I never really had her) She remained with him for years and every time I saw her I though of our kiss.
Opportunity#2 I got off the bus and spotted her walking down the street with a huge teddy bear & box of chocolates.I was heading for Boston until I'd seen her, then my plans disappeared.
It was Valentine's Day. I had no one to celebrate with.
The bear in her arm was for the bf. We stopped and talked. I gave some guy 10 bucks to get himself a pint and a quart for us. (I was underage) She had time for a few nips or more. We drank in the park and we poured it in soda cans to head into a restaurant for warmth. The more we drank the more my hands roamed and the more freely she allowed them to. I touched her everywhere I'd always wanted a good feel. I was in sexual bliss, my hands moving more slowly wanting to memorize everything.
If ever I could freeze time and go back for 1 hour in my life, that's where I'd chose to be. Cause this was much more than a kiss (at least to me)
My lust just grew from that night forward. I was 16 and it'd be a couple years before I really got a full grasp of being a man. I don't know how I managed to pass the time until then, but somehow I did
Then Bf shows up, we're by now stumbling drunk. Nothing made sense. In a flash he had her out the door. I never saw either one again, but longed to see her. Did it mean as much to her as it did to me??? I always wondered.
I did give her my addy in Boston and got one strange letter from her but written by 2 people. There were both sweet endearing words crossed out in bold pen and in a different script, snarly profanities telling me where to go and what to do.......
Friday, December 10
Thursday, December 9
riled up about love
I've gotten 4 recent emails. One was from a stranger and the other another poem from my ex.
I removed her name from above her photo to give some privacy, should she be reading this.
I loved her very much because she was 1 of the kindest people I ever met. I also understood her cause I've dealt with pain too. She was one of the most selfless people. She didn't own much and had no desire to. She was oh so gentle, oh so warm and oh so misunderstood.
She struggled. She had "fears". "What are you afraid of?", I'd say and she'd reply "of nothingness." Her hands were always warm, her eyes always dilated. Her pulse sped and her mind was always just short of complete breakdown.
She was opinionated. She could not have a boyfriend in dresses.Her mind couldn't accept or adjust to anything that seemed like a contradiction.
I remember her crying. In stores, anywhere, she'd pop on her sunglasses because so much Xanax over use caused her extreme photo-sensitivity. So badly, she began only going out at night. Without her sunglasses, the combination of dilated pupils and near sightedness made her vision distorted.
She liked dark, rainy days and really despised sunlight. She took less Xanax when days were dark and she felt more relaxed. She drank Coke all night and painted. In the day she became a very weak,helpless, hopeless and forlorn little thing.
Her emotional pain threshold was very low.
Anyway, she wrote me another poem filled with what seems like nostalgia for something she's lost. And I know she's still lost.
Honey, won't you pass the bottle,
you know we ain't talkin' perfume,
makes you think like Aristotle,
lets you fly up to the moon.
We could dance neath the thunder,
hear Mozart from the sea,
Do it without wonder,
with our ermine tea.
But no! You had to spill it,
It's spirit underground.
Spoilt the midnight rainbow,
the magic to be found.
If I could give this girl any gift in the world, it would be the feeling of safety in the sunlight.
I removed her name from above her photo to give some privacy, should she be reading this.
I loved her very much because she was 1 of the kindest people I ever met. I also understood her cause I've dealt with pain too. She was one of the most selfless people. She didn't own much and had no desire to. She was oh so gentle, oh so warm and oh so misunderstood.
She struggled. She had "fears". "What are you afraid of?", I'd say and she'd reply "of nothingness." Her hands were always warm, her eyes always dilated. Her pulse sped and her mind was always just short of complete breakdown.
She was opinionated. She could not have a boyfriend in dresses.Her mind couldn't accept or adjust to anything that seemed like a contradiction.
I remember her crying. In stores, anywhere, she'd pop on her sunglasses because so much Xanax over use caused her extreme photo-sensitivity. So badly, she began only going out at night. Without her sunglasses, the combination of dilated pupils and near sightedness made her vision distorted.
She liked dark, rainy days and really despised sunlight. She took less Xanax when days were dark and she felt more relaxed. She drank Coke all night and painted. In the day she became a very weak,helpless, hopeless and forlorn little thing.
Her emotional pain threshold was very low.
Anyway, she wrote me another poem filled with what seems like nostalgia for something she's lost. And I know she's still lost.
Honey, won't you pass the bottle,
you know we ain't talkin' perfume,
makes you think like Aristotle,
lets you fly up to the moon.
We could dance neath the thunder,
hear Mozart from the sea,
Do it without wonder,
with our ermine tea.
But no! You had to spill it,
It's spirit underground.
Spoilt the midnight rainbow,
the magic to be found.
If I could give this girl any gift in the world, it would be the feeling of safety in the sunlight.
Wednesday, December 8
My first impression of Anna
My first impression of Anna was that of a beautiful girl with a pretty badly distorted self image.
The reason being that her photos are right there, (obviously attractive) yet she writes about being "ugly."
She has exceptionally blue, fiery eyes. They have a spark in them and are expressive, intense and sweet.
I think she must be a very funny girl who does not take herself too seriously. A girl who is not uptight in the least. A fun one (not just sexually)but in all ways.
(most girls take themselves seriously and would not pose picking their noses)
I liked her immediately.
From her writing, she seems to hide nothing.
Reading very personal details of her life, I felt I'd known her for a long time, almost forever.
Her accounts are brazen, factual and intelligent.
She's still confuses me though.
She's very street smart and has put a lot of living in a short time span. She's fearless and yet sometimes naive and often vulnerable. (especially in matters of love) She's very congenial, though a complex individual.
She could be the girl next door who's just gotten herself off heroin. Though, of course, the typical girl next door is never an ex heroin addict.
It's hard for me to be serious with her for some reason, something I can't pin point.
I may be very wrong, she seems like a very happy-go-lucky personality.
A natural comedienne with a heart of gold.
I am still learning about her and heck yes, I'm fascinated.
(no relevance to the above, just an old watercolor & ink of Sid Vicious I felt like throwing in)
The reason being that her photos are right there, (obviously attractive) yet she writes about being "ugly."
She has exceptionally blue, fiery eyes. They have a spark in them and are expressive, intense and sweet.
I think she must be a very funny girl who does not take herself too seriously. A girl who is not uptight in the least. A fun one (not just sexually)but in all ways.
(most girls take themselves seriously and would not pose picking their noses)
I liked her immediately.
From her writing, she seems to hide nothing.
Reading very personal details of her life, I felt I'd known her for a long time, almost forever.
Her accounts are brazen, factual and intelligent.
She's still confuses me though.
She's very street smart and has put a lot of living in a short time span. She's fearless and yet sometimes naive and often vulnerable. (especially in matters of love) She's very congenial, though a complex individual.
She could be the girl next door who's just gotten herself off heroin. Though, of course, the typical girl next door is never an ex heroin addict.
It's hard for me to be serious with her for some reason, something I can't pin point.
I may be very wrong, she seems like a very happy-go-lucky personality.
A natural comedienne with a heart of gold.
I am still learning about her and heck yes, I'm fascinated.
(no relevance to the above, just an old watercolor & ink of Sid Vicious I felt like throwing in)
Thursday, December 2
My childhood (request by Anna)
This was requested by Anna and I thank you, Anna for giving me something to write about.
How about a couch to lye on? Hmm and maybe you could put on a white lab coat and eye glasses.?
Could you please take some notes down in my file? Because the request comes from Anna, I'm smiling and feeling giggly. She has this effect on me.
Okay, enough, my childhood...just promise me, no more MRI's of my brain afterwards. I had 3 in 1 year, that's enough for me. no EEGs of my brain either, It's tough washing that toothpaste outta my hair.
Anna, lol, ahem,
My Childhood,
My Gramps and Granny raised me from age 2 through 8. Gramps was aloof and tough, no messing around with him.
Granny was sweet but too overly protective.
The youngest of three children, she favored me. She dressed me is sissy clothes, not dresses, but still pretty sissified. She got me white shoes and expected them to stay white but I was a boy, I liked to play rough. I got my ears chewed off for not keeping them white and pristine. So she got me another pair,these were to be my regular pair and the dirty ones, my "play shoes."
My memories of my parents during this time are fuzzy. I figured I was Gramp's and Granny's kid.
Granny bought me a coloring book. I didn't color beyond the lines but I did one catastrophic thing, I colored the oranges yellow cause I thought they were grapefruits. Ouch! Granny barked through my ears no end.
Anna.... where has she gone now????
She enticed me with more coloring books after that barking session, but I was DONE. No way could she ever get me into those coloring books again. She expected perfection in every facet of a young child's life.
Granny liked curly hair and began fussing and "training" mine into a wavier texture, again more sissification, but I loved my Granny despite the ridiculous do.
Grades K-7 were fun, fond years. I had many friends, boys & girls. I was pretty much a clown with a smart-alec attitude. I was very mischievous and curious. My grades were a mixed bag except in language, spelling and art where I got As and the usual (for me) F in math among the Cs & Ds.
When my parent moved before 8th grade, I felt misplaced. I was sent to parochial school and taught by nuns. My knowledge of Catholicism was extremely limited. I found the nuns in their black & white habits very intimidating. I didn't fit in, on the contrary, I became very withdrawn and sullen. During recess, I'd stay alone in the classroom, trying to teach myself arithmetic.
We moved again. I became even more introverted.
...Anna, wake up, please. You're falling asleep on me......Anna!
I was now a freshman and outcast in High School. I was in pain (emotional) during my attendance. I wanted to disappear. I fantasied a lot during school. I fantasied about utopia a lot, somewhere where I'd be happy and fit in.
My parents were worried in my shift in behavior. I was taken to a psyche doc who after several sessions found me so pitiable, he took it upon himself to release me from school for one year. I was tutored at home and finally learned math.
Anna..Anna, Wake up, Anna. After all you asked! lol.
Now I was a sophomore back at school. Unwilling to accept torment any longer, I carried a flask of whiskey with me to school and some Darvons I found. Between the 2 of them I got through the school day in a cloudy, happy, dazed kind of way. I learned nothing. I'd lost interest in learning and only looked forward to turning 16 and dropping out. I did make some friends with some very kind colored girls. Tracy, she had a certain walk, catlike..I looked up to her and she shared her cigarettes with me as we walked home together.
I didn't find my niche yet but was searching. I had high admiration for the homeless people sleeping in the park, all they possessed inside ratty bags beside them.
I liked their defiance of society. I liked their dignity. I admired their being dignified. I got to know them individually. I'd bring them pints of alcohol. They were always very happy to see me for that reason. They told me their life stories, the good the bad, everything. Now finally I was a disciplined student, studying LIFE, the realities of life on the streets. If they had graded me I'd probably be an A student. At this same time I met ..
Anna, you've fallen asleep on me,... Anna...ANNA!!!
Okay, that's better, try to stay awake, please.
I met Alf. Not the "alien life form" but a human life form. He was 4 yrs older than me, slept on a bench and ate from dumpsters. I got to know him, indeed a character. I taught him how to get free food from McDonalds and he educated me about a revolution in music.
He was so tall and reed thin and the way he dressed was a sight. He had huge, lifeless, sad blue orbs that were always sleep deprived.
He had friends who became my friends. We went to concerts, hung out,smoked pot. Pot made me laugh and then hallucinate with paranoia. I remember asking my friend Dave if he wasn't really a spy from outerspace getting information on Earthlings. I got suspicious. Passerbies too were spies. I'd be in outer space first level, then in middle ground somewhere if there was one and then back to reality and the park bench. I'd stall forever before going home because I didn't want my parent to see me so incoherent as I was.
No more pot for me. I bought The Plasmatics albums, The Ramones, Sex Pistols, Iggy Pop, Black Flag, Anti-Nowhere League. I loved music and my friends. They liked dressing outrageously but I was pretty conservative except for some chains and my ratty leather jacket. It was around this time I began a preoccupation with dresses. I hid it.
They were older than me. A couple had girlfriends. One guy's girl was very boyish and flat chested and somehow got away with being bare chested like the guys. She's get punched out by her bf and it drove me insane. I socked him right back sometimes. She was sad and troubled. Once I really wanted to kiss her, though the bf was right there. She was crying after being punched for taking off her shirt by her bullying bf. Looking at her bare chested and crying, she looked so beautiful to me, but at 16 I was sexually innocent, sexually shy.
At a club, I sat beside a girl who just sprang over to me and asked for a kiss. OOOOooweeeeee! Now I was nearly there. But what would she think of my dresses?
Pass the tissues please.LOL!
She whispered things in my ears I'd dreamt about. Wow! Still I was too awkward & shy to take her up on it.
I'd need a dozen more hands to count the number of times I passed out on the dance floor, I couldn't keep track of the number of drinks I had once I was drunk and no desire to count them. I was reckless.
Anna's gone to sleep again. I've bored her to sleep. That's the effect I have on girls.
This ones for you Anna, cause "She's the kind of girl who wants to know your deepest secret world."
How about a couch to lye on? Hmm and maybe you could put on a white lab coat and eye glasses.?
Could you please take some notes down in my file? Because the request comes from Anna, I'm smiling and feeling giggly. She has this effect on me.
Okay, enough, my childhood...just promise me, no more MRI's of my brain afterwards. I had 3 in 1 year, that's enough for me. no EEGs of my brain either, It's tough washing that toothpaste outta my hair.
Anna, lol, ahem,
My Childhood,
My Gramps and Granny raised me from age 2 through 8. Gramps was aloof and tough, no messing around with him.
Granny was sweet but too overly protective.
The youngest of three children, she favored me. She dressed me is sissy clothes, not dresses, but still pretty sissified. She got me white shoes and expected them to stay white but I was a boy, I liked to play rough. I got my ears chewed off for not keeping them white and pristine. So she got me another pair,these were to be my regular pair and the dirty ones, my "play shoes."
My memories of my parents during this time are fuzzy. I figured I was Gramp's and Granny's kid.
Granny bought me a coloring book. I didn't color beyond the lines but I did one catastrophic thing, I colored the oranges yellow cause I thought they were grapefruits. Ouch! Granny barked through my ears no end.
Anna.... where has she gone now????
She enticed me with more coloring books after that barking session, but I was DONE. No way could she ever get me into those coloring books again. She expected perfection in every facet of a young child's life.
Granny liked curly hair and began fussing and "training" mine into a wavier texture, again more sissification, but I loved my Granny despite the ridiculous do.
Grades K-7 were fun, fond years. I had many friends, boys & girls. I was pretty much a clown with a smart-alec attitude. I was very mischievous and curious. My grades were a mixed bag except in language, spelling and art where I got As and the usual (for me) F in math among the Cs & Ds.
When my parent moved before 8th grade, I felt misplaced. I was sent to parochial school and taught by nuns. My knowledge of Catholicism was extremely limited. I found the nuns in their black & white habits very intimidating. I didn't fit in, on the contrary, I became very withdrawn and sullen. During recess, I'd stay alone in the classroom, trying to teach myself arithmetic.
We moved again. I became even more introverted.
...Anna, wake up, please. You're falling asleep on me......Anna!
I was now a freshman and outcast in High School. I was in pain (emotional) during my attendance. I wanted to disappear. I fantasied a lot during school. I fantasied about utopia a lot, somewhere where I'd be happy and fit in.
My parents were worried in my shift in behavior. I was taken to a psyche doc who after several sessions found me so pitiable, he took it upon himself to release me from school for one year. I was tutored at home and finally learned math.
Anna..Anna, Wake up, Anna. After all you asked! lol.
Now I was a sophomore back at school. Unwilling to accept torment any longer, I carried a flask of whiskey with me to school and some Darvons I found. Between the 2 of them I got through the school day in a cloudy, happy, dazed kind of way. I learned nothing. I'd lost interest in learning and only looked forward to turning 16 and dropping out. I did make some friends with some very kind colored girls. Tracy, she had a certain walk, catlike..I looked up to her and she shared her cigarettes with me as we walked home together.
I didn't find my niche yet but was searching. I had high admiration for the homeless people sleeping in the park, all they possessed inside ratty bags beside them.
I liked their defiance of society. I liked their dignity. I admired their being dignified. I got to know them individually. I'd bring them pints of alcohol. They were always very happy to see me for that reason. They told me their life stories, the good the bad, everything. Now finally I was a disciplined student, studying LIFE, the realities of life on the streets. If they had graded me I'd probably be an A student. At this same time I met ..
Anna, you've fallen asleep on me,... Anna...ANNA!!!
Okay, that's better, try to stay awake, please.
I met Alf. Not the "alien life form" but a human life form. He was 4 yrs older than me, slept on a bench and ate from dumpsters. I got to know him, indeed a character. I taught him how to get free food from McDonalds and he educated me about a revolution in music.
He was so tall and reed thin and the way he dressed was a sight. He had huge, lifeless, sad blue orbs that were always sleep deprived.
He had friends who became my friends. We went to concerts, hung out,smoked pot. Pot made me laugh and then hallucinate with paranoia. I remember asking my friend Dave if he wasn't really a spy from outerspace getting information on Earthlings. I got suspicious. Passerbies too were spies. I'd be in outer space first level, then in middle ground somewhere if there was one and then back to reality and the park bench. I'd stall forever before going home because I didn't want my parent to see me so incoherent as I was.
No more pot for me. I bought The Plasmatics albums, The Ramones, Sex Pistols, Iggy Pop, Black Flag, Anti-Nowhere League. I loved music and my friends. They liked dressing outrageously but I was pretty conservative except for some chains and my ratty leather jacket. It was around this time I began a preoccupation with dresses. I hid it.
They were older than me. A couple had girlfriends. One guy's girl was very boyish and flat chested and somehow got away with being bare chested like the guys. She's get punched out by her bf and it drove me insane. I socked him right back sometimes. She was sad and troubled. Once I really wanted to kiss her, though the bf was right there. She was crying after being punched for taking off her shirt by her bullying bf. Looking at her bare chested and crying, she looked so beautiful to me, but at 16 I was sexually innocent, sexually shy.
At a club, I sat beside a girl who just sprang over to me and asked for a kiss. OOOOooweeeeee! Now I was nearly there. But what would she think of my dresses?
Pass the tissues please.LOL!
She whispered things in my ears I'd dreamt about. Wow! Still I was too awkward & shy to take her up on it.
I'd need a dozen more hands to count the number of times I passed out on the dance floor, I couldn't keep track of the number of drinks I had once I was drunk and no desire to count them. I was reckless.
Anna's gone to sleep again. I've bored her to sleep. That's the effect I have on girls.
This ones for you Anna, cause "She's the kind of girl who wants to know your deepest secret world."
Wednesday, December 1
What's lost is gained...
I thought my post below was missing something, but as boring as it is, I thought "Heck,just skip it" Losing my virginity was The Best thing I'd ever lost my whole life.
Much more fun than when I'd lost my mind during Xanax withdrawal. Plus when I'd lost my mind I had to go searching for it. I thought about putting an ad in the Lost & Found. No one on earth would have any use for it. It didn't even serve me very well.
I think losing one's mind is not as painful as losing their soul and I have that intact, at least.
I don't have much faith in the relatively new science of psychiatry. I was diagnosed with clinical depression after the death of a close family member. The loss was deep and agonizing to me.
I couldn't bare the pain. My frail way of dealing with it was to NOT deal with it at all. Not coping at all, with the assistance of 10-15 mgs of Xanax and 100 mg of Limbitrol. I existed without suffering.
In a constant blurred, catatonic state, I kept track of my pill taking in a small note book I carried with me at all times. Because it was easy to pass out at any time, I scribbled the time and number of pills in my notes, (very illegibly, in case someone found me passed out and retrieved my pill info) I was (before this loss) stable enough never to abuse my meds. I was considered a responsible and reliable person. Now I went from doc to doc acquiring as much pills possible. Docs like playing it Their way. Some would deny the Xanax in favor of Valium, or with Paxil and Ativan, etc.... For about a year, I stumbled through the grieving period in a dense fog.
Apparently my keeping record of the pills was also impaired. I woke up a year later with tubes connected to all places on my body with tape holding them in place. I was in a coma for 3 days and unfortunately the psych docs found me very interesting and kept me 3 weeks as they rushed me through withdrawal from Xanax, Limbitrol and various other sedatives.
They seemed quite merciless, sadistic even as they watched people having seizures, biting their tongues and banging their heads on the floor. Watching someone having withdrawal seizures is just like watching a fish out of water. They flip and flop involuntarily at the same time getting themselves banged and bruised up.
It's a thing that's painful to watch and your first reaction is to put the fish back in the water. Such isn't the case by these psych docs. They prefer patients flopping on the floor and letting the cells of the brain weaken & wither away. I considered the entire process barbaric and cruel & unusual punishment. I've no respect whatsoever for such rushed means of taking chemically dependent people off their drugs. I was in a vegetative state, but can't forget the sight of people with the sides of their heads bruised and bleeding and the oral bleeding from tongue biting.
And yet, had I never experienced this game of "let's torture these guinea pigs" I'd never have gotten myself down to a dose of 2mg of Xanax a day! Something I'm very proud of having done.... and by myself too!
Slowly my brain's mechanism began restoring itself.
I would never again be at their mercy, I promised myself that much.
I'd accomplish this at my own pace.The prospect of going through that "professional," torturous ordeal again is way too threatening to me, even though I'm all too familiar with..pain.
I think, like the girl who couldn't keep her shirt on, that I really Needed to get this off my chest.
(no musical or visual accompaniment with this post, but I'd pick the song "Dirt" for this one after having been down so low)
Much more fun than when I'd lost my mind during Xanax withdrawal. Plus when I'd lost my mind I had to go searching for it. I thought about putting an ad in the Lost & Found. No one on earth would have any use for it. It didn't even serve me very well.
I think losing one's mind is not as painful as losing their soul and I have that intact, at least.
I don't have much faith in the relatively new science of psychiatry. I was diagnosed with clinical depression after the death of a close family member. The loss was deep and agonizing to me.
I couldn't bare the pain. My frail way of dealing with it was to NOT deal with it at all. Not coping at all, with the assistance of 10-15 mgs of Xanax and 100 mg of Limbitrol. I existed without suffering.
In a constant blurred, catatonic state, I kept track of my pill taking in a small note book I carried with me at all times. Because it was easy to pass out at any time, I scribbled the time and number of pills in my notes, (very illegibly, in case someone found me passed out and retrieved my pill info) I was (before this loss) stable enough never to abuse my meds. I was considered a responsible and reliable person. Now I went from doc to doc acquiring as much pills possible. Docs like playing it Their way. Some would deny the Xanax in favor of Valium, or with Paxil and Ativan, etc.... For about a year, I stumbled through the grieving period in a dense fog.
Apparently my keeping record of the pills was also impaired. I woke up a year later with tubes connected to all places on my body with tape holding them in place. I was in a coma for 3 days and unfortunately the psych docs found me very interesting and kept me 3 weeks as they rushed me through withdrawal from Xanax, Limbitrol and various other sedatives.
They seemed quite merciless, sadistic even as they watched people having seizures, biting their tongues and banging their heads on the floor. Watching someone having withdrawal seizures is just like watching a fish out of water. They flip and flop involuntarily at the same time getting themselves banged and bruised up.
It's a thing that's painful to watch and your first reaction is to put the fish back in the water. Such isn't the case by these psych docs. They prefer patients flopping on the floor and letting the cells of the brain weaken & wither away. I considered the entire process barbaric and cruel & unusual punishment. I've no respect whatsoever for such rushed means of taking chemically dependent people off their drugs. I was in a vegetative state, but can't forget the sight of people with the sides of their heads bruised and bleeding and the oral bleeding from tongue biting.
And yet, had I never experienced this game of "let's torture these guinea pigs" I'd never have gotten myself down to a dose of 2mg of Xanax a day! Something I'm very proud of having done.... and by myself too!
Slowly my brain's mechanism began restoring itself.
I would never again be at their mercy, I promised myself that much.
I'd accomplish this at my own pace.The prospect of going through that "professional," torturous ordeal again is way too threatening to me, even though I'm all too familiar with..pain.
I think, like the girl who couldn't keep her shirt on, that I really Needed to get this off my chest.
(no musical or visual accompaniment with this post, but I'd pick the song "Dirt" for this one after having been down so low)
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