The Mom Who Wasn’t There

A couple days after I was released from my 5150, I picked up my phone and called my mom. She didn’t answer. She texted me right away and said she was waiting to get drug tested for a new job. I told her it was important. She said she would text me. Fine.

I told her, “I almost died on Friday.”

She said, “That’s terrible. How? And why wasn’t I made aware of this?”

I told her I was placed on a 5150 for a suicide attempt.

She said, “You need to appoint someone to contact me immediately when this happens. I am your mother and I need to know.”

Oh, are you? I’m sorry. I haven’t seen your fucking face since I was 2 months old. Mother? Do you know what that word means?

The shit hit the fan.

I finally laid in to her. I told her she has not earned the title of mother. I told her to prove to me that she wants me in her life. She fed me the same string of bullshit… “You don’t know how hard this is on me. I want to hold you. I love you. You’re my baby…”

I told her to prove it to me. If she wanted to contact me she would. I told her I’d be blocking her cell phone number.

It’s been two weeks. I haven’t heard from her. She hasn’t picked up a phone. She hasn’t sent a letter. Nothing.

Telling her how I felt was bittersweet. At least I let her go before she could let go of me- again. At least I took abandonment into my own control.

I could sit here and victimize myself… give myself reasons for why I’ll never be good enough, that finally I find my biological mom and she STILL chooses drugs over her daughter, I’m worthless…

But honestly, she is missing out on an amazing daughter.

Fuck it all, though, I’m still angry.


That’s a Wrap! Goodbye 2015!

2015 has been an emotional roller coaster with really awesome highs, and really fucked up lows. I was trying to think of a way to summarize it all up into one, comprehensive blog post, and came up with the idea to attach one word to the year. One word to encapsulate it all. One word…

Metanoia (noun) 1. (psychology) the process of experiencing a psychotic “breakdown” and subsequent, positive psychological re-building or “healing” 2. The journey of changing one’s mind, heart, self, or way of life.

Mental health, or lack thereof, at times. Thanks to a gentle push from a very good friend of mine, as well as my girlfriend, I found some refuge in a partial hospitalization program in February. Here I began the road to recovery from a psychotic playground swing-set and drug addiction.

Emergence from a heap of hopelessness and a seemingly-perpetual collapse. At more times than I care to admit, I sincerely felt that this would have been my last year here. I am able to recall a vivid moment in my old apartment: I had blacked out all of the windows, peeled all of my clothes off, and sank into a bathtub of warm water. I pulled myself out and curled up in the middle of my living room for literally hours. I cried silently as I held on to my knees, really thinking about how I could just run away from my life, or my body. Somehow, I have emerged from that very sad position and I am standing- still wobbly at times, but standing.


Therapy. Not only did I receive fucking amazing group therapy this year, but I also found the best therapist in the entire world. Seriously. The hospitalization program offered me a place to be open and unfiltered about my symptoms. I finally found a med combination to combat depression and flashbacks. I was given coping skills and tools to handle everything and anything that came my way. Through the program, I was prompted to find a therapist- and I’m so happy to have her! Therapy has opened a brand new door towards healing from my past. Even though it’s painful and difficult, it has been totally worth it.


Acceptance that I have actually lived through trauma, that I have other personalities, and that it’s going to be okay in the end. I’ve accepted the fact that I need to stick up for myself more often, and that I need to also give myself credit.

Not giving up. Yes, this pertains to me not giving up on life, but more than that, the people who love me did not give up on me- or for this I am eternally grateful. My friends were there for me, 24/7, despite the fact that I may have disappeared for weeks at a stretch, they were there to listen and help me back up. My family- my actual family who supports me- welcomed me back home. My therapist has proven to be a stable confidant in my life and integration process. And my girlfriend… from the very beginning… thank you to the moon and back. I would not be where I am now without you.

Opportunities to be who I am, speak up about mental health, seek therapy, fall in love, find happiness, and much more.

Integration. I’m not there yet, but I am thankful for the moments of cooperation from my system. I’m thankful for the communication that has grown stronger, and for their protection.


Appreciation. Every morning, no matter how shit-tastic I may be feeling, I manage to still offer my appreciation towards the people that I love and have in my life, towards getting better, towards my inner-system, towards the roof over my head and food on my table. I have grown to appreciate my family more this year. Especially through group therapy, I’ve developed a habit of gratitude lists everyday that really help ground me.

I am looking forward to 2016. I know there will most likely be some major speed bumps in the road, but I even look forward to tackling those as well.

I encourage you to find a word that suits your year!!

Solipsist Takes Kindle

Lights, lights, lights…

This weekend we went to Las Vegas- a very successful trip, if I may say so myself. My girlfriend was absolutely stunning- per usual. My legs are a bit sore from dancing and rocking heels. No complaints, though.

Christmas is in 4 days. I doubt very much that I’ll see my brother and sister. Thanksgiving was enough for me. It doesn’t feel like holiday season at all.

In other news, I’m waiting for the final physical proof of my book to get delivered to me! It should be here by Wednesday. I’m too excited about it.

Here’s a link to the Kindle edition, if anyone is interested:

Solipsist- Kindle Edition

Short update today!


One Year Later

I was casually reading a biography on Sylvia Plath, and these quotes stood out to me this morning:

“While few critics dispute the power or the substance in Plath’s poetry, some have come to feel that its legacy is one of cynicism, ego-absorption, and a prurient fascination with suicide.

The very source of [Plath’s] creative energy was, it turned out, her self-destructiveness. But it was, precisely, a source of living energy, of her imaginative, creative power. So, though death itself may have been a side issue, it was also an unavoidable risk in writing her kind of poem. My own impression of the circumstances surrounding her eventual death is that she gambled, not much caring whether she won or lost; and she lost.”

It has been one year since beginning this blog.


What a YEAR it has been. I am so proud of myself for actually committing to writing and staying with it. Secondly, I’m proud of myself for the leaps I have made and accomplishments. I survived! I survived when I thought for sure that I would have taken my life by now.

But I didn’t! I’m here!

It’s very strange, reading back on my old blog posts. I often forget where I used to be, how I felt, how my life was. I’ve made giant strides since then. On some level, it is comforting looking back and realizing that when I do fall into depression, it’s nothing that I can’t get myself out of. Then on the other hand, it’s frightening because I don’t know how long I will deal with depression.

I am very appreciative of the community here and for the friendships I have made. All of you have been so incredibly helpful on my venture through the mental health system and my own mind. Thank you.

In other news, this past weekend was a busy one. The play is going very well. I have 4 more shows to go. My girlfriend has already made it to 3 because she’s fucking awesome. My grandma surprised me and came into town to watch the play, too!

A few days ago, I was having another dumpling date with my girlfriend and I received a few text messages from my mom’s cell phone. The texts became urgent. When I called her phone, however, it wasn’t her. It was her husband, Charlie.

Just in case you don’t follow my blog, here’s a little synopsis on my relationship with her: she lives in South Carolina. I’ve never met her. I only just “met” her (over the phone) 3 years ago. She was a drug addict for years and years, spent ample time in prison, moved back to the south where she married her ex-convict husband, Charlie (who by the way, I just learned, is 35-years-old while my mother is 50. Just saying), and HE is also addicted to opiates and pills, a whole slew of things. Anyways, I do have a relationship with her now. There was a good period where she was abusing drugs again, so was he. He’s been in the hospital lately with some blood infections after he had his kidney removed, so he’s clean off of drugs. Anyways, this is a very detailed summary, I just realized.

The point is- Charlie called me and asked me if I could help them out with the electricity bill.

When I first got back in contact with my mom, I swore to myself that I would never, ever help her out financially. I don’t own her anything. Moreover, she herself promised me that she would never ask me for money, either.

So here calls Charlie, asking me for some kind of donation because their electricity was going to be cut off the next day. I think I believe it because she has been telling me they’ve been hurting for money since Charlie’s intensive hospitalizations. The thing is, though, it SUCKS that I even have to think twice about it. Hmm… are they using this money to use the lights in their home, or are they going to buy some heroin needles and tar and shoot up?

It sucks that I’m the daughter yet here I am feeling slightly bad that I can’t help her out and also feeling worried. I hate the feeling of not being sure if she’s using drugs. I hate that she’s married to this guy and I still haven’t met her. I hate everything about the situation and I think it’s bullshit.

I didn’t give him money. He asked if it could stay between him and I, and I said fine. I haven’t talked to her since that day. At first, I was more irritated then anything. Then, once I was by myself in the car, I couldn’t help but cry at the situation.

Other than that, everything else is going well. I’m moving soon! I’m really excited about that. My girlfriend is moving out and I’ll snag her bedroom. Finally, a space of my own that I can call home. Being at my grandma’s was great for helping me get on my feet, but it is time for me to move out and have my own space.

That’s all for now, WordPress!

On a Diary Entry, June 06, 2009

I went to bed at like 8:00 last night. and im still tired. -__-
i LOVED the phone call i got last night. that was funny. i also love my family. they are so LOVING and SUPPORTIVE. and they stick by me no matter what . . . theyre just great.

lol i think its funny to a degree. and how my godfather goes on and on about how i “accused” him of this, and how im the ONLY one in the world that knows what happened…uhhhh…ask the actual guy that was at my house 4 nights a week.

boo. lame.

sorry if im venting, im just really upset about this right now. this is ridiculous. i shouldnt have to prove myself, you know? when someone – especially a 17 year old girl – comes out with this kind of thing, you usually believe her. but no. he COULDNT have done that. oh no. not michael. no no god forbid….

and the other funny thing is how my godfather doesnt want me there cuz HE’S gonna be there. but all this time i was forced to let HIM into my home. he ate at my table, he came into MY room. i had to treat him just like everyone else, and yet i cant go to a graduation? really? okay thanks

sigh. ive spent a long time keeping silent worrying that it would hurt the family, worrying that i would break their hearts, but it turns out they dont even believe me. that is ridiculous. i spent all that time going out of my mind for nothing. i should have said something the night after it happened. whatever. they still probably wouldnt have believed me.

i am officially disowning my family. i swear ill even change my last name. i do NOT want to be traced to them, associated, affiliated, even in the same vicinity . sorry if that sounds bad.

i want somebody to care about me for once in my life. to have MY back and to be by my side, you know?

Noose Ribbons

I am interested in the intimate
moments before the body
dives and sways, supported and
suspended by tragic threads.

How red and blue the face must go.
Doctor, coroner,
is there a lapse between the
jump and finis that our protagonist
regrets his boy scout knot-tying and
his mid-life wife pill-popping kick?

How curious is this?

I wish I could cut and collect
all of their ribbons.
I would sew a flag of their

A Eulogy to Two Forgotten Animals

I came across two dead animals sprawled on the road this morning while driving to work. Tires swerved and swiveled around the corpses in quick attempts to keep their tires free of wet fur. My body went on autopilot as I controlled the car. I began to imagine what had been going through their minds seconds before impact. Did their small bodies freeze in fear? Were they conscious after the rolling wheels had crushed their skeletons? Was it quick and painless, or slow and excruciating?

Here, I had several moments of silence. I couldn’t help but wonder if there was anyone on that road doing the same? Probably not. Leather suitcases, pencil skirts, scalding coffee in hand…all while paying mild attention to the radio’s reports of traffic jams and celebrity blunders. The whole world kept on spinning. Yet, here on this road were two lifeless bodies, repulsive and mephitic. How many hours would pass before someone would come and collect their carcasses from the roasting asphalt? Did anyone really even care?

And what of the hit-and-run murderer?

The world keeps going and moving and breathing and living. Sometimes, if we’re lucky, someone will notice that we are about to dart across the road before we see the big black truck barreling our way. If they love you, they’ll pull you by your scruff and hold onto until you calm the fuck down. If they pretend to love you, they’ll scream, “Watch out for that truck!” Then, there are the people who you trust with all your fibers who lead you blindly straight into the road.

But the world keeps going and moving and breathing and living.

Yes, these are the things I mull over in my head at 7AM.

My girlfriend and I went to San Francisco for the weekend. We had a great time. On Friday night, we participated in a pubcrawl to 3 different bars and 1 nightclub. We met a lot of fantastic people from around the world. Saturday we walked through the steep hills to visit Lombard Street, Fisherman’s Wharf, and other places. We had a lovely nap on Saturday night. Sunday we took it slow en route to the Golden Gate. We headed down the 101 and stayed in Paso Robles. The weekend holiday was concluded with wine tastings and deep conversations. Well, actually it was concluded with a lazy Tuesday, in our pajamas, watching TV and snuggling.

I returned back to my house yesterday. My aunt was at the dining room table and we almost immediately started an argument while my grandma slept in the other room. Long story short, tonight I am driving my dogs to my ex-boyfriend’s mother’s house. She will keep them there until I find my own place and move out. I’m sad, but I know that the dogs will have a much better time there with people they know and two other dogs to socialize with. Plus, I am not the best caretaker right now.

Last night I woke up repeatedly from night terrors. I would wake up drenched in my own sweat, unsure if I was actually awake or not. I had a recurring nightmare…I was laying in bed, I would “wake up” and Morris was standing above me, holding my arms down, laughing. I would try to scream, jolt myself awake, anything. Then, it would repeat. It wasn’t until Goldie came out in my dream. I remember looking down at “my” arms, and it was her. Finally, I actually woke up at 3AM. I spent the next hours staring at the ceiling, red-eyed and dead, as I listened to the voices whispering amongst each other.

My doctor is taking me off of Seroquel. I’m down to 50 mgs now. I can’t tell if this is completely due to my dosage cut, or if it’s situational depression. Perhaps it is an insidious mixture of both.

I have an appointment with my therapist tomorrow.

Support Groups and Cotton Sheets that I Wish Were Mine

I did something unexpected today; I was having a hard night at home alone  as I was staring into my glass of wine. I wanted so badly to get drunk, to sleep. Then, I remembered a referral to a Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance group. Within 40 minutes, I was sitting in Conference Room 8, apathetically discussing my triggers and Father’s Day.

I am proud of myself for going. I think it was a good decision.

Now, it is bedtime. I’m home alone, save my furry canines. The house is quiet. The neighborhood is asleep. 

I feel a familiar depression looming over me. I want to jump in my car and race to my girlfriends apartment, but I would almost certainly fall asleep at the wheel.

I feel like crying, but I have nothing left to give.

On a happier note, my girlfriend decided we needed a night out after a BRUTAL workweek. So, she booked a hotel room at the beach, and we had a much needed relaxing night.

I awoke to the warm sun hitting my skin and hers. The way her hair stuck to her temples nearly killed me. I love the way she smells in her sleepy state, the warmth of her skin, softness… We went out to breakfast and walked down to the pier. Pure bliss.

Here is an abrupt ending since I am too exhausted to think of a sign off.

When My Mother Bailed Her Abusive Husband Out of Jail

I called my mom yesterday. Charlie, her husband, answered the phone to my surprise. Charlie has been in jail on a domestic abuse charge and possession of marijuana. It’s a miracle he didn’t have crack or meth on his person..

So, he answered the phone, I stumbled a bit, then I asked him if my mom was there. He told me to hang on. My mom came to phone and answered very monotonously, “Hello…who is this?”

She has never asked me who I am. She knows my voice. Not only that, but she always perks up when she hears my voice. 

I told her it was me. She said, “Oh…hi. What’s goin on?” As if I was bothering her, as if I didn’t matter. Her speech was slow and distracted. I could hear Charlie in the background. I asked her several times, “Why do you sound like that? Are you high?” No answer. We got off the phone.

A few hours later, I was driving home and she gave me a call. She apologized for earlier and she said she couldn’t talk because Charlie was breathing down her neck. She admitted to popping opiates, hence her grogginess. I asked her how and why Charlie has been out. “I helped with this bail,” she explained. 

My mom lives in the south. She is currently holding residence in a small Travel Lodge room. Her income is $2.70/hour. She lives off of an allotment of $40 worth of food stamps. How in Christ’s name could she afford a contribution towards his bail?

“This is our year, babe.” My mom has continually reassured me that this is the year we meet. Her soul cannot bare to be without having me another year. In the beginning of year, she created a secret stash of money dedicated to our reunion. 

My mother spent all of her savings to bail out her ex convict husband. This same husband that controls her communication, her money, her schedule, her transportation. This same husband that has supplied her with heroin and crack after she spent countless years in rehab. This same husband that calls her a fat bitch and slaps her across the face.

How can it be that this same monster of a man takes precedence over her daughter that DESPITE feeling abandoned for 23 years of her life STILL forgives her and accepts all of her??? 

I feel so goddamn stupid for having faith in her in the first place. I understand she has her own battles. She is a codependent addict with C-PTSD. I’ve been understanding. But what about me? I just want my mom. Even if she’s in the south and I can only call her and talk to her. Which in itself is a challenge not only because of the fact that she’s literally across the country, but because she doesn’t remember the majority of things that I tell her. Years of drug use has impaired her memory. I feel almost as if there is no point discussing the complex and convoluted parts of my life. God knows I’ve been doing it anyways.

I am hurt. I feel small. She is choosing drugs over me, her only child. If you have been reconnected with your child after 21 years, wouldn’t you do everything in your power to reunite? Am I thinking too irrationally? 

This also makes me ponder the idea of my own prognosis in terms of addiction. I hope to never become so torn down and tethered by drugs and alcohol. 

GOD I am so incredibly angry and hurt. 

Attempted Murder Next Door

I live next door to a survivalist TV celebrity, Michelle. Michelle is married to Hewson. If you follow my blog, Hewson is the shaman I’ve mentioned before.

Alright, keep that in mind.

I have a friend named Etch. He is a struggling artist. Etch is currently going through a nasty divorce with Heather, who just happens to be absolutely crazy. I actually mean CRAZY. She is trying to claim 50% of Etch’s profit from his artwork.

Etch’s uncle recently passed away and left him over $70,000. Heather is trying to claim half of this money. Are you following me?

Hewson, Michelle and Etch are all long time friends. Nobody likes Heather, with good reason. However, Michelle REALLY does not like Heather. She goes out of her way to make Heather’s life miserable whenever she possibly can. Note- Heather lives next door to our apartment complex.

Yesterday, Michelle saw Heather on the street outside of our complex and began screaming profanities at her. After this incident, Etch approached Hewson and asked him to talk to Michelle; the divorce was already difficult enough. He didn’t want to cause more problems with Heather.

Well, I suppose Hewson and Michelle got into a really heated argument (they have fights almost nightly, verbal and physical). Michelle broke a glass, mixed it into Hewson’s dinner, and fed it to him.

Michelle fed him GLASS.

Then, when he realized there was glass in it, he refused to eat it. Michelle grabbed the food and smeared it into Hewson’s face.

He is now in Urgent Care.

Never a dull day.