OK, here's how it goes:

There is no rational excuse for genocide.

When I hear someone say "Kill all the 'whatever' people", I will do my best to remove that damaged mind from a position of power - ANY power.


We are individuals. You cannot blame one man for a crime another man committed.

We are unity. All people are the same inside. You cannot kill a person for physical differences.

No. Really. I know there's at least ten people who read this journal, and I am asking ALL OF YOU to do this. Repost this. And the next time you hear any group being degraded and threatened - racial, religious, genetic, wealth-related, intelligence-related, ANYTHING that seeks to blame a group instead of individuals or the whole of humanity...


Say something. Hit them upside the head. Shoot them. Yes, SHOOT THEM. We as a species need to stop this horrifying, self-destructive path. Anyone who still thinks that it's ok to judge someone based on their birth, their religion, their color, their gender, their personal preferences or political leanings or what color their eyes happen to be that day IS NOT A RATIONAL HUMAN BEING.

I'm not going to be silent any more.

Because I am that shallow when stoned out of my gourd...

So I am on a LOT of pain medication, heavy antibiotics, and briefly being at my computer. I could write something meaningful and useful but it would seriously depress me (more on this at some point, I swear), so instead I'm doing a meme. Yay.

1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, IPod, etc.)
2. Put it on shuffle.
3. Press play.
4. For the first question, type the song that's playing.
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button twice.
6. Don't lie and try to pretend you're cool...just type it in.


Opening Credits:
"The Promise" - Enya
For those who haven't heard it, this song is more or less a fantasy filk. Not too bad for opening credits but really, sort of like giving away the entire plot of the movie in the course of doing so. Better for ending credits, definitely, but you can't win 'em all.

Waking Up:
"Stolen Child" - Loreena McKennet
Actually, this isn't a half-bad selection. It's kind of sad, kind of half-awake, kind of hopeful, and honestly does fit most of my mornings, particularly those when I was a kid.

First Day at School:
"Kyrie Christe Eleison" - Gregorian Chants
I'd rather have the version of this by Hans Zimmer (and in fact am going to play it briefly now), but since my first schooling was obsessively-christian home schooling? This is actually also pretty appropriate.

Falling In Love:
"Fools Like Me" - Lisa Loeb
Ouch. That's all I have to say. Ouch. To Alex's girlfriend: I sincerely apologize. To Angel: Heh. To Scott: Hi. Also, *poke* I want to hang out at some point, I could use your brand of demented comforting conversation. To everyone else I've fallen in love with/been loved by/stolen someone from: Also hi... my apologies, but I'm sooooo not going to write out that long a list.

Losing Virginity:
"Chase The Morning" - Soundtrack to Repo!
*snicker* Admittedly this is the second result, but only because the first was a repeat and way too depressing to think about right now. This one at least is funny. "I want I want to finally meet you, something real to hold to, cling to... we have both been kept in bondage but you can learn from all my failures... heed my warning, chase the morning..." For the sake of this, I'm going to pretend that I lost my virginity the first time I willingly had sex with someone I loved, k? Because yeah, funny then. Hi again, Scott. ^.^

Fight Song:
"Caroline" - MC Solaar
I really don't know what to think about this other than that my fight scene is likely more of a fight-dance or sniping someone from a distance, apparently. I have no idea what the lyrics of this song say, as they're all in French, but the sound is more seduction than violence, though it's got kind of a rap pace of course. Side note - MC Solaar is a very VERY good French rapper whose songs have melodies, grace, great sound and vibe, and are NOT traditional rap. Go listen.

Breaking Up:
"Anywhere Is" - Enya
Pretty much. I've found breaking up to more often be simply a matter of moving on, going to the next love and lover, rather than violent or upsetting. Painful briefly, sad sometimes in reflection, but usually the Right Thing and in the long run always for the best, as far as I can tell. There are only two exceptions to this, one where I regret my method and behavior during, and one where dammit, I still... no, not going there. But I miss him more than I like admitting. See, one weird thing about my breakups: as far as I can tell, I don't actually stop loving someone just because I stop dating/fucking/living with/owning/whatever them. No exceptions to this, that I know of. If I've ever told you in seriousness that I love you, I swear to you, I still do. I may not act on it, I may not say it, I may not even communicate with you, not in years... but I love you, and that never seems to change or fade.

"Sanctuary" - Utada Hikaru
The only prom I've ever gone to was Scott's, and that was... odd. I don't really know what to think about this as... oh, wait. *just caught one of the snatches of lyrics* Heh. Ok, appropriate, particularly considering the aftermath.

"Lady Midnight" - Leonard Cohen
*soft smile*

Mental Breakdown:
"Deora Ar Mo Chroi" - Enya
Strangely, yes. My mental breakdowns are... oddly peaceful, involving just wanting to rest, to lay down my burdens, end it all... fade out into quietness and soft music.

"Leaving On A Jet Plane" - Bjork and Jewell
*snickers again* "All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go... I hate to wake you up to say goodbye, but the dawn is breaking... already I'm so lonesome I could die... so kiss me, and smile for me, tell me that you'll wait for me, hold me like you'll never let me go... don't know when I'll be back again..." And a soft rhythm, a song that I definitely could listen to while driving, relaxing, just... leaving, going, moving. "Every place I go I think of you, every song I sing I sing for you... so kiss me, and smile for me... don't know when I'll be back again..."

"hiphopaloorap" - Mc Solaar
Yeah, the pop of this brings me back to stalking the coast.

Getting Back Together:
"Now We Are Free" - Soundtrack to Gladiator, Enya/Hans Zimmer comment.

"Sunset on Ibiza" - DJ Tiesto
O.o ...title maybe. Tune, WTF. WAY too hardcore sharp techno.

Birth of a Child:
"Isobel" - Bjork, Portishead Remix
Possibly. Possibly. Also ow.

Final Battle:
"Close To You" - DJ Tiesto
Fuck yeah. That would make for a damn good last stand in a lot of ways.

Death Scene:
"Hallelujah" - Dresden Dolls
I approve of this ridiculously. It's an interesting version of the song, performed by amazing girls, and it rips out your soul. I want this played at my wake. This, and "Sing", and I'll be content. "...she broke your throne, and she cut your hair, and from your lips she drew the hallelujah... ...and I've seen your flag on the marble arch, but love is not a victory march... it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah... ...remember when I moved in you, and the holy dove was moving too, and every breath you drew was hallelujah..."

Remember me with music, remember me with smiles and tears both, remember that I was HERE, that I... ehh. Remember me, at all, and I'll be happy.

And now I'm going to go lie back down and wait for the next dose of vicodin to kick in.
  • Current Mood
    amused amused
  • Tags


...since leaving the hospital, I have had increased side pain, mild incontinence from massive bladder pressure, nausea (which started in the hospital), dizziness (which started in the hospital), incredible drowsiness (which started somewhat in the hospital and isn't surprising, considering how brief and nightmare-filled my sleep intervals were already due to pain). New twitch added to the collection too, my tendency to kind of huddle protectively around my left side. To be honest, if it were about three weeks ago, I hadn't been on an absolute buttload of antibiotics recently, I didn't know there was a fist-sized stone in my left kidney, and if I started craving peanut butter or raw fish, I'd just assume I was pregnant. As it is, they did test after test ofter test and here I stand... err, here I sit, very much not pregnant, very much in pain, queasy, diiiiiiiiiiiiiizzy, overheating, nervous, hands twitching, wishin that sleepiness would pwn my latest discomforts and send me the fuck back to bed. Even typing this... I've had to repeatedly catch myself from nodding off just before my head hit the keyboard, every few words I have to backspace and retype or worse, go back several words to get to the one that reads llliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiikkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkketthhhhhhhhhhhis s s s . I'm sure you can see my annoyance.

So tired. Grouchy. Mildly hallucinating, and when I, the person whocan wave a sugar cube at a bottle of absynth and get tipsy, but who can take eight vicodin with nothing more than slight queasiness and a general sense of well-being, when I can take something like that normally but now ON MEDS I WAS TAKING JUST FINE A WEEK AGO I've started having mild but very distinct hallucinations, auditory as well as visual, even.... aaaand I just forgot what I was going to say. WOst part about this. It's taken me nearly an hour tw wrireky scrw this gonna lay down

Long, long, long day...

I've got a new lover, and I can't get my mind off her. She's sweet and smooth, shy in company and a tiger when we're alone. She's not delicate, no fragile flower, but just feeling her move, you'd swear she was every bud, every blossom, every crooked twig and perfect flare of color on some strange primeval tree. She's got it all - that subtle power that some women wear like a cloak, the bittersweet feeling that she's only with you because she hasn't found someone better, the lustful scent clogging your nose whenever she's near, musk and smoke, copper blood, ice melting in pine needles. She's beautiful, this love of mine, beautiful beyond any words I could coax out of this keyboard, more beautiful than I'll ever find imagery enough to picture.

She stalks beside me some nights, when I'm prowling, cat-in-heat and hunting jaguar, the ancient grace she always brings to my soul only lending spring to my steps and a faster rush of heat, desire, lust, need, hunger... no matter how deep I go into that bloodsoaked half-dream, she keeps pace beside me, urges me to go further, always further. She makes me feel alive.

And when the hunt is over? When I simply want to curl in a tangle of sheets and pillows and night breezes or nap the day away beneath the shade of a tree? She's there too, just as glad to share the peaceful moments; hell, she makes it easier to rest, to calm, to free myself of the horrible interlocking nightmares that keep my mind so fractured and my self so hidden these days. She unlocks the rusted bars, unwinds the coils of rope and raw leather, releases me to simply exist, content, at peace.

When she's near, I can talk, I can write, I can cope with a thousand people or just a few, I can be myself again. I can actually feel alive, with her.

Oh, come on, I know most of you figured out where this was going from the first few lines.

walking down the streets at night
i see her stumbling through the rain
a skinny figure in the dark
her face a shade of grey

begging here and barking there
she's swearing all the time
her fingers fumbling with her hair
a dirty mess of grime

and she starts to cry and she's asking why
her life's always the same
but she does not see, that unfortunately
there's no one here to blame

"heroin" she said, "was the best i had...
no more mountains left to climb.
the world so slow... all my dreams just too high
to be fulfilled in time...!"

she grabs my arm... and i feel alarmed
her fingers gripping tight
i see her pleading eyes... so i start to disguise
and say, that everything's alright...

and the reason why i pretended and lied
is that i don't want to kill
the poor dream that's left in the deepest cleft
of the thing that she calls will...!

"heroin" she said...

No, don't worry. I'm not shooting up, I'm not even popping pills. I wish I was. I wish I could face the idea of leaving the house, walking, moving, talking to people, interacting, doing anything other than sitting motionless trying not to feel or think. I wish I could feel her touch again, that vicious perfect lover that makes me... normal. Alive. Happy.

Yeah. I'm addicted to opiates. I haven't had any in weeks, this isn't withdrawal talking, this isn't the physical addiction I'm speaking of. I'm addicted to the fucking things because without them I can't walk, can't dance, can't even sit up some days, sure as hell can't pretend to be happy about the fact that my body has fallen apart and taken my mind with it. I'm addicted to being able to walk up a flight of stairs without nearly blacking out. I'm addicted to being able to lift more than about three pounds without feeling like I got kicked in the back. I'm addicted to waking up and NOT being in pain. I'm addicted to falling asleep without enough drugs to knock out a racehorse. I'm addicted to feeling good about myself, because I'm not a useless miserable blob. I'm addicted to being able to have an actual LIFE. I'm addicted to being able to sit at the computer without being in constant pain. I'm addicted to looking over my shoulder and not wincing in the process. I'm addicted to being able to get myself a glass of fucking water if I want one, not having to ask someone else to get it for me.

I'm addicted. Incredibly addicted. Which is really funny, considering how rarely I actually HAVE the thing I'm hooked on.

I'm sitting here, typing because if I tried to say any of this aloud I'd already be in tears, and just typing this, just moving my hands, arms, shoulders, enough to write this entry is causing me a LOT of pain. It HURTS to write, to talk, to fucking BREATHE. Is it really all that surprising that I'm struggling with depression?

Like most addicts, I'm ashamed to admit that I AM addicted. I don't want to think about it. Unlike most addicts, I've got enough willpower to only get my fix in legal, sane ways... so far. What do you do when a black market fix can be found in a day but it takes literally YEARS to find a doctor willing to even TRY to help legally? What do you do when you know there are junkies out there having on a daily basis something I am lucky if I get once every four or five months?

You cope, that's what you do. You keep going. Keep telling yourself that this time, this doctor, this month, this week, this day, it's going to work out somehow. Someone will finally say 'oh hey, you seem pretty miserable there, let's figure out why, and fix it, and oh hey, while we're doing that, here's something so that you can finally STOP HURTING for a month or two'.

I keep hoping.

And yet I keep finding myself writing entries like these, trying to put what's gnawing at me into words because at least then I can lock a bit of it away, trap it in text, pretend that writing it, saying it, helps enough to make it through one more night.

Lorazipam... it helped, a lot, but going off the buspirone abruptly had me seriously suicidal when it left my system. I've been taking both, trying to climb back out of that hole, and now I'm out. Amatryptaline, propanalol, I hate them both but if I stop either one Bad Things Happen - I particularly want to get back off them because they seem to be pretty directly responsible for a large part of my weight gain. Tramidol? Heh. It's like giving someone an aspirin for a broken leg. Yeah, it's better than nothing, better than advil or aspirin or tylenol or alieve. It still doesn't actually WORK.

I haven't had a pain-free day that didn't involve opiates in over four years.

I haven't had a day where I could say from start to finish, waking to sleeping, that I was completely happy, that didn't involve opiates in over two years.

I haven't had an opiate-free day where the thought of just killing myself to make it STOP HURTING didn't show up at least once or twice at any point in the last year.

Want to know what's REALLY funny? When I left my parents and moved to Portland, I swore I would never take another pill even if it killed me, I was so sick of the things my mother insisted I ingest. I didn't smoke pot, didn't drink, didn't do any drugs, didn't even smoke cigarettes.

I hate what I've become.

One of the hellish bits is that I can tell if I could just get a few months where I could MOVE, could stop being horribly depressed (which tends to make me eat and self-harm, thanks for that lovely little set of trained responses, mom), at least half of the weight and a good 90% of the general misery would be gone. I've been trying for two years now to get a doctor to give me two months of the meds I actually REQUEST, just two months, so I can prove this. Give me two months of not hurting, and I will be exercising. Give me two months of not hurting, and I will have no new scars. Give me two months of not hurting, and you will see a transformation that will BLOW YOUR MIND. Hell, those who see me regularly can tell when someone's put me on decent painkillers for a few weeks, because I drop a good 10 pounds and actually smile without having to think about it.


It's getting late. I've got things I'm hoping to do - Saturday night, time for Rocky, time to hope I can cope long enough to earn a few bucks and stay part of the social circle. I'm terrified because my back is already hurting enough today that I'm having trouble breathing, and now I'm going to go sit out on concrete for 3-4 hours, the only back support a concrete wall, stifling my twitches and terror and pain long enough to make sure that next week, the week after that, if I can make it out I'll still have a place.

I'm terrified because every time I go there, I interact with at least three people who could get me any drug I asked for.

I won't ask.

I'll wish, and dream, and maybe even kick myself afterward for NOT asking.

But I won't ask.

I'm still strong enough to torture myself a little bit longer. *wry grin* And strong enough to write, to put this down in black and white, giving myself one more reason to keep that strength.

"heroin" she said, "was the best i had...
no more mountains left to climb.
the world so slow... all my dreams just too high
to be fulfilled in time...!"
  • Current Mood
    depressed In pain. Again.

Eek... uh yeah, random spanish/mexican likely-drunk guy on the front porch kicking the door and swearing at me/the door/the world/who knows. Not cool.

Particularly since when he started I was here alone.

Cate is home, he seems to be gone or at least not on OUR stairs any more, I have several weapons by the door and a functioning cell phone within reach, but yeah, that definitely took a good year or two off my life. *twitchmutter* For a while there I was convinced I was GOINGTODIEOMG as I had no way of reaching anyone and some crazy guy in front of the door. Then I remembered the internets, got Scott to call the cell phone I thought Cate had, discovered it was hidden here, called Dixon House, and by the time Cate got back there was relative peace. I guess hollering 'police' through the door a few times worked? *boggle*

So yeah, lots of adrenalin flowing now, insomnia whee... oh, and WoW is stealing my brain again. Only in tiny bits, as even being in WoW sets off my twitches after very long, but yeah. Erm. Nothing else of use to say, really. *sighs, goes back to hiding, and looking for more weapons to put near the doors*
  • Current Mood
    annoyed annoyed


So for those of you who have seen my desk, y'all know where the mousepad is, right? It's right beside the keyboard, nearly on the edge of the desk, in a spot where if you put ANYTHING in front of the mousepad (that is, between the mousepad and the person in the chair) you CANNOT REACH THE MOUSEPAD and even the keyboard becomes somewhat inaccessable.

A very few of you know that I've been looking for DAYS for the rest of the bottle of hydromet cough syrup.

I had been using the computer, including the mouse, about 15 minutes ago. I get up, go over to my box, get something out and bring it back to the computer, setting it down in front of the edge of the keyboard and the edge of the mousepad.

I turn around in my chair to talk to Cate, who is over by the hamster closet on the Not Actually A Chair, looking for something. I turn back to my desk. This is what I see:

FUCKING HOUSE GNOMES. I swear they do this to taunt us.

EDIT: Cate just found a bag containing money, garbage, and butane. WE DON'T KNOW. FUCKING HOUSE GNOMES.
  • Current Music
    Pitter patter of housegnome feet...
  • Tags


So I have meds sorta, and it'll be a while before they're really in my system, but they already stopped one panic attack and might or might not be the reason I didn't have a gran mal while becca was here - lost a big chunk of memory, apparently behaved like a drunken monkey, but no serious twitchout and no damage to self, sore and stiff back is all. Plus have written down several story ideas, am still writing 1k words a day if I can stand sitting at the computer/holding a pen at all, goddammit I want to be a writer and a writer is what I will BE even if it IS driving me crazy. >.< In other news, I miss and love quite a few people, please please email me, I will force myself to get back into the habit of checking email daily and I WILL respond to one email a day, dammit. I have MEDS, I can freaking BEAT this stupid panic-and-sickness thing, I refuse to spend the summer hiding in my bedroom! ...instead I intend to spend it sitting at the computer in front of the air conditioner, but hey.

Heh. No sheep smuggling.