Well I’ve had an eventful—three days apart from sleeping, because I did some illicit drugs just to get out of bed and not eat too much, then I felt like writing because I don’t usually. I’m too uneasy about what I have to say like my teeth would do the trick but that’s too barbaric to treat health care providers with that kind of spit—although the only way to get prevea off my back about taking medications is to physically harm (it says so in a pamphlet there) them and try and pass the test of talking to the judge about why you pushed or shoved—they wouldn’t listen to what I needed told me to keep trial and erroring my medication BUT then I can’t attend a full days work because I’m too scared to sleep throughout the day to keep up on the mental health for the fucking psychiatrist who thinks I lie about getting tired just to avoid work—it’s the opposite I lie about drugs that I use just to stay on top of shit.
I need a new therapist too, mine loves mother and stepdad more than me, or at least trusts them more since their lives have a stability—but their emotions rub off on me and then I get blamed for lack of responsibility.
I’d have to convince my current doctor Bantamoi (who hates me since my blood pressure were kinda high last I saw him and my heart rate was too quick 92 or something)—BUT SOCIETY NEVER SLEEPS and the BRAIN and PHYSIQUE are regenerative because neurons don’t circulate? No, that’s the blood that refuels not your brain cells, at least that’s what I’m told today…I wasn’t worried about losing the blood, I was worried about how often it was going to take me to nap just to regenerate energy needed to keep productive and positive and not piss people off with easier ways of doing things and honest ways of tellin’ professionals how I feel and that they don’t work me to the bone. How much is bone? We still lay bone don’t we?
How much is urine though, and shit? Because in jail, I was having y’all pay for me to shit and piss and eat and read and be happy without any need to ever see any of you ever again.
…as they gauge my metabolic elasticity with their stethoscope, bloodpressure heart rate and draw the 8 viles of blood that my SPECT doctors don’t really need—they just don’t get why patients do drugs/alcohol do they? HOW IGNORANT. we do it to not have bad days to keep up on the up and up,
to Behave. SICK and TIRED of sleeping just to see if I’m still constipated, etc. Breathing is a reflex too ya know, and the oxygen in the bloods’ natality has a natural mean, even if the heart rate beats 92 seconds per minute, dr bantamoi.
Productivity is that important to not just me but that damned Holy See. working on a book, a biography; researching to put more incitations coercively. Was she (he’s a he) jealous of me?! No that’s the psychiatrists’, the nurses’, and the doctors’ intolerance; not letting me breathe.
Like she got to be in 2014 when I was staying at Rachel Rhines, doing practically the same damned thing. I was productive in school Aceing my psychology class and was passing sociology until Dr Schnorr got word from Her; probably that I was snorting my meds on the bathroom floor in between hours, and wasted all the time mixing tequila with a lime ( I HAD ONE SHOT THAT NIGHT YOU FUCKING PRICK). He got word from her mind probably, her thoughts’ tone of voice….and then I was forced into submission at school-therapy…there one time in Dr Hamiltons class of psychology (so he felt obligated to agree) therein I spoke of religion clouding my judgement enough to want to jog through it, and that’s when I began working out at not just school but in the mournings before classes on Tuesdays, just to prove It to Mrs Wilke (teacher from months and years before) that I WAS WORKING OUT IN THAT FUCKING DIANE CARTIER SUIT I PAID FOR, and only fifteen minutes to a half an hour BUT IT WAS WORKING FOR ME YOU JEALOUS FUCKS
And Im supposed to see SPECT nurses today about 830AFTER DEATH (amino domino) Rick, but I dunno if I feel like going anymore, since I smoked the last of my METH, id rather stay here and work longer at perfecting my forte for language arts—whereas mrs wilke just wanted to know what time shed be able to go back home to tend to her kids and make sure they had enough money to never need diagnoses, ain’t that funny….the irony of when she saw me one time in the gym and metaphysically everyone’s worried about me cuz I’m doing so well for a fucking diagnosed bipolar with schizoeffecitve disorder!
LOL, as if “you’d have it any other way”
The Paradox is that I would rather emit Trust because I can empathize with all kinds of moods of discouragement; so, I’m learning to lie: YOURE THE ONE WHO’S NUTS.
No, no Shamanism then, but we have plenty of ecclectic buildings of IRS funding your Labwork and swabing your mouth, and enough CVS to fill their lab coats–everytime I start, I’m stopped by others who want to tell me when I’m feeling fine, but ITS MY REAL PROPERTY, All mine.
And I regret for not suing Dr Tan for taking me off Vyvanse AND I NEVER ONCE COMPLAINED OF POSTURE, ILL-WILL-BLACKMAGIQUE, WEIGHT GAIN, FATIGUE, NOR A LACK OF CREATIVITY, LIKE I NOW SEE. I always resonate on these things because they add to my lacking-a-natality, and id rather just sleep than keep trying. Confidence isn’t important its eating to these Spealistfucks, or going out with friends who only wanna fuck. I don’t get horny anymore, I have stretch marks on my tits and ass/thighs. And I’ve quit Vyvanse on my own to try and self-motivate as well, but developed a larger cyst on the inside of my thigh, I was working at copps food center at the time; thank god I didn’t go into a gynecologist and get diagnosed, Again.
I cried were too long of hours to be away from my biography then yet that is seen a s grandiose and unnerving—even thought I was a genius in dissecting amendments from our united states constitution, and it was helping me strike up conversations with my coworkers who never heard a word outta me at all….but okay help the ones who play hurt in volleyball. Shortly, therein<<and Linda Rentmeester claimed I couldn’t eat of the fruit they threw out at the end of the night (20lbs remember?!), but You could Jody (did Missy lie about me?)—this was all happening so fast id probably repressed such memories from the passed!
So, although we are without tipis, dried meat, fruit, nuts, berries, and herbs to immunize and optimize our already healthy bodies; I will not speak a word of my intuitiveness that your broken wrist (bonnie) just healed right infront of me remember it wasn’t an avocado you were eating—remember it were sprained….only that time—so how often were the lucky ones dabbling through my begrudged-ancestry-line?
Did Kerry and Kevin EVER TELL ANYONE THEY WERE FINE?!!!! Cathy (mommy) does the same thing though, she isn’t raped either but I hear those tones’ of voice(s) and SHE WERE AN ANOREXIC AT ONE TIME, BUT DADDY AND I KNOW NNAUGHT OF ANY OF THIS OUTLOUD Or mommy will incarcerate us into Hospitals and group homes—but she were fucked I think by her dad, Poppi Grandma G’s machoistic Husband who wouldn’t let her drink wine! I dunno how many times, but I’ve touched lewie (my brother) as a kid, and so I’m guessing Kerry was never raped at age 8 that it were Catherine Hansen the whole time! But ill never know, Bonnie, just know that the Gossip is ALL MINE—an audience even if only for three: the patient, the doctor, and the psychologist licensed therapist who hated her life worse than I “hate” mine!
but I will probably just, scream to Fallacy—deaf dumb and blind…religion were all I ever knew, and Shamanism will heal me or Ill die by your ILL WILL, so help my father Dr. James Lloyd Edwards from GOD’S temple (that’s Court if ya didn’t know) for he were never baptized and treated me like an adult the whole time! I was a whore to the rest of them and an escapist at best who must lie about what she’s good at and just spend hours jotting down shit. I lose ALL my anger before I read you this, so I dunno if it will psychoanalyze—NO! I asked cathy today if she knew more about my father than I did, like if he had the papers to prove his heritage (were part native American) but she chose to let me never know. Know maybe its his place not hers and that’s right, but Daddy Im the freak who gets called an inbreed by Ricky D., no one else but me. I am part African American too ya know, and ill never know this out loud, I mean as long as their alive, but Daddys got a geneology book about a plantation family we had and two were James and Elijah wood; and we all know how much White Americans love diversity—that’s why Hollywood became famous you know, to show off these beautiful people—we just turned cold and sour to hate instead of letting it go…
I wanna tell my doctors how history is sooo bad you know…that The brain is regenerative and neurosis were the first disorder England lain us to sleep in, killing Arousal—that’s where all the calories are hiding, but Einstein didn’t tell us that matter is neither created nor destroyed BUT metabolized. See and I found out this on my own I must be doing just Fine.
Gravity isn’t really all that real, it was invented to help medicate and promote western science. It were established to keep the plants warm in the winter or something (on these small/ large plantations). Beneficiaries raped their mail order brides and husbandry were the Fad of All Time. Real property was the heads of children sitting around camping fires sharing culture with the Native Americans these pioneers of French and European origin were TAKEN by these Spirits (who were paid by the Popes in Rome to go find them (White Cargo) for experimentation).
How do we rid psychosis—STOP diagnosing people who hear other people thinking, and YES we all have ears even the fucking elderly! Dictionary definitions can be taught but arguments are only won with blood sweat and WROUGHT.
People are weird, no strange, and the estranged have patience in this. That’s why I like the internet, people aren’t as afraid to shine as themselves—Practicing big vocabularies is my dream, but my memorization skills are for shit which is why I keep bringing up the stimulants!!!!!!!!!!!! Retain, and repeat= the application of DEFINITIONS to WORDS…I love this life….but can’t niche my extrovert juxtapose my introvert, IMMPOSSIBLE, to me…but that kids crying about ADHD is getting help BEFORE ME? I’ve heard, I get too Neurotic.
Working a job is overrated—don’t have enough money to afford the drugs to keep me motivated (it isn’t lazy I suffer from its Hazy and a taxing feeling pulling You in…for another 8-15 hour a day (and that’s only two jobs)—my best bet is to shoot for patience, and conform a bit (to be noticed, not for prayer, nor praying), but so they get off my back about how addiction is misbehaving! At least I’m at the kitchen table and away from home close to home staying in Lockport IL, it isn’t Diversion, nor brown county community treatment center nor Bellin Health psych nor that willow creek.
I liked walking today. I enjoyed standing up for myself to the best of my ability (see positive thinking I hear them say) in front of Catherine who needed to follow through with the protocol of blood taking labs in order to properly SPECT my brain to see if I need any other MEDICATIONS to TRY and help me get out of my head?!
BUT what really irks me is that my own health care providers claim to listen to how I feel and what I need to motivate myself to plan to move out and have my own toilet seat to flush and piss in and poop in and clean…a place to call my own is all I need, but I cant make promises I don’t keep, since I’m weird and I like to go with my feelings (this is unstable to Many, but it makes me a good artist. I WANT to be able to do this so bad, especially before my family dies off and Lewis and I become the elderly alone, separate but equal holding all cordless phones–so many ways to stand on my own two feet and so little sunlight left in the day and keep my emotions tight usually, but today I needed an apology from my family, and daddy isn’t even sane enough to agree (says mommy), well I’ll keep trying because that’s all I’m obligated to do and I wish it wasn’t so complicated to hate hospitals’ needles and their ideas of what is GOOD for You.
At least I have a psychiatrist whom I can train to respect me and my feelings before I take on a lung cancer doctor for the same things. Happy Birthday, tea time to you, but if you hate tea I hope you resist eating and drinking all day unless of course that alcohol and beer and illicit drugs helps you too, do what you need to, to get by and have enough room to STILL hope at trying again, because that’s all red cross teaches other nations to do—naps are good, regains energy, food is good, builds energy, but don’t come to me when you need to double check yourselves about keeping the weight off, Just go ask Dr. Bantamoi for some diet pills—they work just as good as the Adderall, I was told (TOTALLY not true)! They say I need financial help because I’m only 30 and was taught how to write checks and save my tips up enough to pay off college debt, THEN I bought a credit card to help me live on my own with Amr but that didn’t work either because I was too sad for him as well, Travis probably wouldn’t bother (to argue) either. But at least we realized this before we got married to one another or different people and then find out we didn’t collaborate perfectly, or Id be like Cathy and Jim just wanting to see their children smile again before taking a shit and doing this whole fucking thing again. Goodnight, Rise and Shine and Give God you Glory Glory—GooooooOOooooooD NIIIiiiiiIIIIGggggGGGhhhhHHHT.
Free-Thought <3 ace 