I was reading a book about fetishes on the el today, and an older lady from outpatient saw it an laughed her ass off – she was particularly amused by the cage-like description of the male chastity belt.  "Lock that shit up," she said, in an amused, almost giddy voice.  Nothing new from Maria or Anna.  I suspect Anna in not coming back.  I have tried to reach out – that’s all I’ve got to give the situation.  I miss Maria like crazy.
  (I don’t know what’s going on with this font – all apologies if this blog is unreadable pc scribblings and such.) 
I need to get so much done today, but I feel so discouraged.  So discouraged…  all I want is to feel productive, and on top of things – the slightest sense of control would mean so much.  But, I feel like my wants and impulses have been at odds with my rational mind, lately, and while reason is winning the war, the impulses have won a few important battles (at least they feel important, now).

"I hear your winter
I hear your rain
I’ve failed your summer ways
And I feel no pain"

I hear what you want
And I feel that way
I hear what you want
And I feel that way"

In college, I used to get drunk and dance around on the ice shelf, that lines the shore of Lake Michigan, in the winter.  MY friends would freak out, but I was always drunk, and thought it was great.  I could have fallen through and died, of course.  The water isn’t too terribly deep in those spots, but it’s freezing, and I easily colud have wound up disoriented, under a wall of ice, unable to find my way out, and that’s assuming I could even move.  My winter coat would have water logged and pulled me down like an anchor.  But, it was fun.  At least it made me feel alive.

"I hear you fade away
And I hear you crawl
I gave my life away
And I feel no pain
And I feel no pain
And I feel no pain
And I feel your pain"

I used to climb cliffs (free climbing), and I am a certified rescue diver.  I fell off a cliff I was climbing, took a 40 foot header, and dislocated my hip, but nothing more.  I was an endurance athlete – I ran triathalons, and I did the Twin Cities AIDS Ride (500 mi in a bike, over 6 days to raise money for AIDS charities).  I used to do things that were worth doing, all the time.  Now, I barely have the will to pick up around my house.  I feel like a washed up ex-junkie.  I didn’t have anything to fight for, before, and now I feel like I do, but it’s all gotten so big and confusing.  Choices that I don’t know how to make… 

I feel ill equipped.  No matter what I do, something shitty is left in my wake.  I can’t make everyone happy, no matter how much I want that.  And, those feelings just kill me.

"And she was my lover so sweet
And she was my angel
And what I’ve recovered of me
I put into a box underneath my bed"

It’s nice outside today.  The seasons have a pretty profound effect on my moods, but I am not particulary lighter, or happier in the summer.  It’s an influence, and a factor, but the weather neither plunges me into the depths, nor pulls me out.  Maybe, it’s living in Chicago where there’s usually one week of nice weather, in the fall, and everything else is a series of extremes.  Of course I exaggerate, but you get the idea.  I mean, I love the city – bitching about the weather is sort of a past time for the people who live here.  It gives us something to talk about when there’s no common ground beyond "the weather sucks" or "this el train is so damn late, it’s fucking ridiculous."

"When you lie in your bed
And you lie to yourself
When you lie in your bed
And you lie to yourself

Some people saw me crying last night, and asked if I was okay.  What would theyhave done if I had said "no"?  They were both just sort of scooting through, and clearly didn’t really want to hear any tirade about my pain and/or confusion.  Someone else said I was pretty.  I like that compliment.  It’s simple, and sweet.  Sometimes, even a freak like me appreciates those little things.  Everyone wants to feel beautiful.  Our society reinforces it like mad, and there’s probably a natural drive to look good, because we are chemically predisposed to the pursuit of procreation.  Thusly, it would seem, even if one is living in the avoidance of children, the rest of it is still there – wanting sex, wanting to appeal to the opposite sex.  Some say physical attraction (chemistry, so to speak) is largely about a subconscious assessment of whether this person looks like suitable mating material – would their traits mesh well with mine, and all that?

Chicago isn’t the most friendly city – the people are a little hardened, and everyone has their guard up.  I guess, life in a major city can do that – especially one with so much violence and corruption (and Chicago’s got plenty of both).  I saw a lot of violence growing up.  Disturbing images that sneak up on me, and splice themselves into my immediate reality, like someone fucked with film reel of my movie.  It’s like some terrible joke my brain or the cosmos keep playing with me.

"Bang bang your dead hole in your head
Bang bang your dead hole in your head
Bang bang your dead hole in your head
Bang bang your dead hole in your head"

The PTSD was really bad last night, and someone had to talk my through it, over the phone – I was all alone in the apartment.  It was scary, but the episodes are not as severe or as frightening without heroin (and with Lamictal in the mix – obviously, I am still a mess, but I do think the Lamictal is helping me)

"I hear what you want
And I feel that way
I hear what you want
And I feel that way

(This take, don’t give a fuck)

– The Smashing Pumpkins, "Silverf@ck"


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