We have nothing to fear but fear itself

 "So, first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself--nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance."

Franklin Delano Roosevelt; largely considered by many to be one of the greatest Presidents of modern American history. So great, in fact, that he served as POTUS for 4 terms; 1933 until his death in 1945. So great, in fact, the Constitution had to be amended to adjust Presidential term limits.

The above quote was taken from his inaugural address from March of 1933; he was speaking about the state of the nation at that time, as we were in the midst of the Great Depression. Little did he know that those words would go on to define, and catalyze, a myriad of demons untold.

Fear comes in many forms; our responses are even more varied as no two people react to the same way to the same set of stimuli. For some, fear can be crippling; for others, such as myself, fear is weapon we turn against others.

Phobias come in many forms; just like fear, our responses are even more varied as no two people react to the same set of stimuli nin the same way. However, that is where fear and phobia stop in their similarities. Fear can cripple; phobias will cripple.

The list of phobias that exist is...long; ludicrously long. Some seem just plain silly, like anatidaephobia and althaiophobia; others seem more terrifying, like trypanophobia and all-too-well-known arachnophobia.

I've had my phobias growing up; entomophobia (the fear of insects), arachnophobia (the fear of arachnids), aquaphobia (the fear of water), scopophobia (the fear of cameras); as a child, I pretty much suffered from pantophobia (the fear of everything). Most of my childhood phobias I have outgrown; some present as just a general "dislike", such as arachnophobia (in fact, while typing this, I had to kill a spider in my home; the idea of getting close enough to kill it set my teeth on edge) and scopophobia.

As adults, we can develop new phobias; it is neither uncommon nor unheard of. In fact, I just came to a realization that I suffer from a new phobia; medomalacuphobia. I tried last night to have intimacy with my partners; everything was going great...until the phobia struck. In the middle of intercourse, I lost my erection; needless to say, this had me quite...distraught.

Overcoming phobias and fears are the same; you must face them. Psychological science may have you believe otherwise, but I disagree most vociferously; humans are nothing more than highly-evolved beasts, and te common beasts of the land must face their own fears to overcome them.

Why should we be any different?

We evolve. We grow. We change. As the great FDR said, "...the only thing we have to fear is fear itself..."

Tine to face some fears; time to grow. Until the next time; be well, and may the moon light your travels.

How I Became a Time Lord

I speak a few languages; some are real, some are not. For example, I am legitimately bilingual; I speak English and Spanish. I also speak Gorean, Kassar (though not often), smartass, dumbass, and sarcasm.  However, I did not know that I spoke Gallifreyan...

Well, not really.

According to the Dr. Who canon, there are only a few ways to become a Time Lord; be conceived (and born) on a T.A.R.D.I.S., absorb regeneration energy given to you directly from The Doctor, or be "produced" from a Loom. With that being said, you may ask yourself why the title of this states I became a Time Lord when none of that applies to me; chances are you did not ask yourself that, but it sounded good in my head. Don't judge me.

Moving on.

Again, according to the canon Whoniverse, Time Lords are the upper crust of Gallifreyans; they can, and do, travel the universe in a T.A.R.D.I.S. (Time And Relative Dimension In Space. So, for the non-Whovians, Time Lords are exactly as the first word of their name implies; time travelers. They can travel to the past, the future, or anywhere in time they choose; be it the moment time started, or the moment time itself ceases to be. Now, back to the question you did not actually ask yourself; how did I become a Time Lord?

Yes, there are going to be a lot of Dr. Who references; get over it.

On with the show.

How am I a Time Lord?  Quite simple, actually; everyday, or so it seems, I travel from the past to the present to the future. And just when I think my journey is done? Wash, rinse, repeat. I never leave the lack of comfort of not being on my own couch; it all happens in my head.

I hear a bang, or someone shouting angrily, or something gets thrown in my general vicinity and suddenly I'm in the past; I could be there for moments, minutes, hours, even months. When my adventure finally ends, I am transported (rapidly) to the present again; which is unfortunately short-lived. Upon reminiscing my adventure into the past, I am rapidly transported to the future; and that adventure could last as short or as long as the adventure into the past.

And, much like the above gif, it seems to be a never ending loop.

So how did I become a Time Lord? I was abused and now suffer from PTSD; it just sounds way cooler to call myself a fuckin' Time Lord...

Now if only I could figure out regeneration; maybe being a woman would be fun. I mean, I'd play with my own boobs all day...

Dumb and Dumber...and Dumberer...and Dumberest, Part Deux; The Dumbererestest of All.

Well, apparently some people didn't read part one; if that's you then give it an optical listen, you'll need it for this to make any sense.

Okay. Now that we have gotten the "formalities" out of the way, let's check out the latest installment of my rantings about levels of stupid so...stupid...it requires two o's, a silent Q AND a silent Z.

There are two types of intelligence; smarts, if you will.  Street smart and book smart.

Book smart is the type of intelligence you get from...well, books; things like knowing that it actually was NOT John Smith that Pocahontas fell in love with, it was the first mate of the ship. Or knowing that Android is a better OS than iPhone. Oh, wait...that's just personal opinion (...though it is still 184% accurate).

Street smart is the type of intelligence you get from...well, the streets. Things like knowing that going after the biggest guy in a bar fight will get you one of 3 results; everybody else to back off, your ass beat into a coma by the rest of his boys, or arrested. Things like how to hide in plain sight when you are wanted by the police; by sitting in front of the 911 call center as they drive right by you.

There actually is a 3rd type of intelligence; pseudo-intelligence. That type of intelligence where you, and others, have convinced you that you are right no matter what anyone says; even Google and the law.

Oh, wait...that's not intelligence...that is conceited, vapid, self-righteous, arrogant STOOQPIZDITY (two O's, a silent Q, a silent Z).

Just because you say that your money gives the right to act however you want does NOT make it true.

Just because you say that something steeped in facts with empirical evidence is false does NOT make it false.

Just because you say that you are an Alpha does NOT make it true; in fact, if you have to announce that you are an "Alpha" then you are actually an omega...maybe even the mutt of the pack. That, however, is another post for another time.

Eventually, members of the human race will clean the fat from between their ears and actually LISTEN to people OTHER than Mommy Dearest for a change.

Oh, news flash, MOMMY DEAREST LIED TO YOU AND SHE STILL FUCKING DOES!

Every fucking time you are told that you are always right, THAT IS A FUCKING LIE.

Every fucking time someone validates that someone else is at fault for your IMMATURE behavior, THAT IS A FUCKING LIE.

Every fucking time someone tells you that the recipient(s) of your NARCISSISTIC, SOCIOPATHIC, ABUSIVE, DOMINEERING BULLSHIT ARE TO BLAME FOR YOU BEING A PIECE OF SHIT AND A WASTE OF SPERM AND EGG, THAT IS A FUCKING LIE!

Moving on.

As Joni Mitchell once said, "...you don't know what you've got til it's gone..."; and 9.5 times out of 10, by the time you do, it's too fucking late. The reason I say 9.5/10 and 10/10; I'm allowing .5 for those people who are still trapped in the fire-free hell of Sweden. If, after reading that link, you realize you are there, know that you are not alone; I, and others I know, have survived it...you can, and will, too.

Now, it is possible that one day little Chucky will grow up and be a real boy and act his fucking age; mind you, I said possible...not probable

That, however, would require that little Chucky understands that if you OFFER to purchase something for someone that does NOT mean you get to tell them they owe you the money back...THREE FUCKING DAYS LATER...

That would also require that little Chucky understands that it is NOT his place to give even ONE flying flaming rat's ass about what OTHER PEOPLE spend THEIR money on...

However, a leopard never changes it's stripes; and if you don't get that movie reference, you're a Communist.

Moving on, one last time.

I simply cannot fathom how some people manage to survive as long as they do; especially if they are too stupid to know how to breathe properly...

Sweden is Nothing Like Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory...

    Everybody thinks that Sweden is the land of chocolate; Swiss Miss Chocolate, Toblerone, etc.  Well, you're wrong. Their main exports are actually machinery, motor vehicles, paper products, pulp and wood, iron and steel products, chemicals, and military armaments; oh, and psychological phenomenon.

Yes, I said psychological phenomenon.

Stockholm, Sweden; it's a beautiful place.

How could such a beautiful place produce psychological phenomenon?  Well, they actually don't. They just have one named after them.

STOCKHOLM SYNDROME

If you've never experienced it, thank the gods; if you have...well...saying "I'm sorry" just doesn't seem adequate enough. It, as the above picture so perfectly explains, is hell without any fire; it is a nightmare unlike anything you've ever had, even in your worst wet nightmares...

Imagine this (no, we are not going to talk about Sicily...): An existence where you always find a way to take the blame for everything AND everyone; an existence where you fear, more than death itself, angering a person; an existence where you walk on eggshells...around yourself; an existence where the first, and last, thought of the day is "What will I do to make *said person* angry today?"; an existence where through all of that, you feel sorry for (and sometimes even love) your "captor"; an existence where you...well, where you do not actually exist...

Can't imagine that?  Be grateful; be very, VERY, grateful.  Living your life, and sacrificing your happiness, to make someone (or others) happy no matter the cost is...well...to put it bluntly, a pile of hot steaming emu shit. It is hell.

People talk about "hell" and it conjures up images like the one above; fire, lakes of sulfur, and a man in a red suit with a pointy tail/horns/pitchfork.

THAT. AIN'T. HELL.

Personally, I believe hell is here, on Earth; we live it, walk it, breathe it every single day. However, this is not about that. Hell is, for a fact, within; being trapped inside yourself, knowing that what you show on the outside is not what...or who...you are. And you cannot do a goddamn thing to stop it. Nothing. You're just...trapped.

That is Stockholm Syndrome. It is hell. And the worst part is that even after you've come through that fire, you still find yourself sometimes doing things that you did then; coping mechanisms you did not even realize you taught yourself to survive. And it could be the most obvious, or the most obscure, things; it could be a 5 pack a day smoking habit, it could be stress eating, it could be hiding in a tiny room, like a bathroom...

And these coping mechanisms? Well, they can persist for the rest of your life; and as a result, they can drag unwilling parties through your remnants of hell that may well always exist; and 90% of the time, you won't even be fully cognizant that you're doing it...until something hits you, like a freight train, in the back of the brain pan.

You may ask yourself how I know all of this (actually, you probably aren't, but just humor an old man).  Well, truth be told, I am a survivor of Stockholm Syndrome; medically diagnosed. And the coping mechanisms? Well, I have mine; and I drag two beautiful women through them, not even fully aware that a coping mechanism has been "activated".

To those two beautiful women, "I apologize" is not adequate enough; wind-blown promises of change are just that...wind-blown. I do not make promises I do not believe 110% that I have every intention of keeping, but I know I have no control over this; I would be a fool, and a liar, to say otherwise. Just know that I love you both, and I am forever "indebted" by the fact that you have put up with my "shit" (quite literally at times) for lo these many moons.

The long, and short, of it; I hope you never have to endure this. It is terrifying; worse than anything you can imagine.

Be well, all; may the moon light your travels.

~Cowboy

Dumb and Dumber...and Dumberer...and Dumberest...

Picture it...Sicily, 1942...

Oh, wait.  Wrong story.

People say money is king; I say bullshit.  People say knowledge is king; I half agree.  The truest statement would be that WISDOM is king.  Wisdom and intelligence are NOT the same, people!  And neither precludes common sense!

Intelligence:
Knowing that the Jewish Holocaust DID happen
Knowing that the dinosaurs were NOT mythological
Knowing what the Pythagorean Theorem  is

Common sense:
Knowing that just because you pay something does NOT mean you have the right to treat people like shit
Knowing that your child is more important that a fucking video game
Knowing that propositioning a MINOR for sex is ILLEGAL

Wisdom:
What you do with your common sense and intelligence


Yes, those examples seem oddly specific for a reason; the reason, however, is irrelevant.  What is relevant is if you are an "adult", then you need to ACT it.  Not just say it.  Wisdom, motherfucker!  Wisdom is knowing that words without action makes you a fool.  Without actions to back up your words, you are NOTHING.  You are just a pedantic, petulant piss ant.

So you didn't beat level 4,277,112,387 of Bimbo Beach Babes and the Battle of Bora Bora; GROW UP.
So you didn't get to take your little nappy at 1432 exactly; GROW UP.

Wisdom is knowing that you are a GROWN ASS ADULT AND CANNOT HAVE YOUR FUCKING OREO COOKIE BEFORE DINNER, YOU OVERSTUFFED MANBABY..  Wisdom is knowing that just because you have a dick does NOT mean you GET TO BE ONE, YOU INFESTED BLACK HOLE OF CUNT.  Wisdom is knowing that just because you have the ability to fuck someone DOES NOT GIVE YOU THE RIGHT TO FUCK EVERY WOMAN YOU SEE, YOU IDIOTIC FUCKING BABY HUEY WANNABE BITCHTARD.

Step one to gaining wisdom; IF YOU ARE A GROWN ASS ADULT, FUCKING ACT IT.  Just because your mommy, grandmommy, or your granddaddy have wiped your ass and sucked your dick for you your entire life DOES NOT MEAN I WILL.  If you want to have your life catered to you, then go to the people that cater you; go live with mommy, grandmommy, or granddaddy.  Otherwise, STAND UP FOR YOURSELF TO THEM; YOU CAN DO IT TO EVERYONE ELSE, WHY NOT THEM?  AFRAID YOU WON'T GET YOUR LITTLE BENT DICK SUCKED ANYMORE?  Fucking idiots.

Step 2 to gaining wisdom: ACCEPT THE FACT THAT THE WORLD DOES NOT REVOLVE AROUND YOU.  Yes, you may be big enough have your own gravitational field, but you are NOT A GOD.

The long and the short of it all...want to be wise?  GROW THE FUCK UP FIRST, YOU BEHEMOTH BOX OF BUTT PLUGS.

*drops microphone, lights a cigarette*

50 Shades Of Grey

If you ask Sean Combs/Christopher Wallace/Kimberley Jones, it's all about the Benjamins; if you ask Alfred Yankovic, it's all about the Pentiums.  If you ask Dru Hill and Mya, it's all about me; if you ask Josh Turner, it's all about you.  If you ask Meghan Trainor, it's all about that bass; if you ask Blake Shelton, it's all about tonight.  If you ask Clifford Harris and Jeffery Williams, it's all about the money; if you ask Lesane Crooks, it's all about "U".

If you ask Me, they're all wrong.

However, that's just My opinion; that and 50 cents (the currency, not Curtis Jackson) will get you a senior coffee at McDonald's...assuming you're at least 55 years old.

I know, I know.  What a weird-ass opening, considering the title.  Expecting some E L James/Christian Grey bullshit?  Look elsewhere for that; the only thing grey about Me is My hair.  This has nothing to do with a wanna-be soccer mom and her midlife crisis fantasies, or a spoiled rich brat with a helicopter abusing women.  This has to do with life.

Anyway, on with the show...

Over the course of 43, soon to be 44 years of life, I have come to a realization; nothing is black and white.  Rather, little is black and white; most everything lies in the shades of grey in the middle, and there truly are 50 shades of grey.  From birth to death, and everything in between, nothing is simple; even the act of breathing is a complex one when you look at the science of how Our bodies convert oxygen and nitrogen into a life-sustaining substance.

I have met so many people that think in black and white just over the last almost 2 years in Tennessee; it astounds Me.  Perhaps that can be attributed to the fact that We live in the buckle of the Bible belt; *insert Gomer Pyle yelling at you about how being a closet butt-sex freak is going to send you to Hell*.  Not even the Bible is black-and-white; Gomer may be yelling at you about your "closet butt-sex" ways, but the Bible says nothing about anal sex.

Nothing is black and white.

As My About Me says, I am a polyamorous Gorean Master; if you are a part of the BDSM lifestyle, then you know that even that is not black-and-white.  I give Orders, yes; I make Rules, yes.  They are to be followed, yes; if they are not, there are repercussions.  Sounds cut and dried, right?  WRONG.  I have 3 girls now; 2 that live with Me, one on the other side of the pond.  My Rules and Orders have a basic undertone to them, but that is never quite enough; I have to adjust them, sometimes daily and on the fly, to meet varying situations and needs.

Nothing is black and white.


The long and the short of it; life, generally speaking, is complicated.  There are no users manuals, no EULAs, no Cliff's Notes.  When you think that something can only be one way or the other, step back out of your box and think again; there is ALWAYS another perspective.  Nothing is black and white; everything lies in the 50 shades of grey in the middle.

The Gates of Hell

Many of you believe in Heaven and Hell.  For some it is metaphorical; others it is real.  For some it is in the mind; others it is in reality.  For Me, it has been all of them.  I have walked through the Gates of Hell more times than I care to remember, and have brought back a demon every time.

The idea of demons stirs up much imagery.  Stories of fallen angels, entities from a different realm. Some are angry, some are sad, some harmless and some malicious.  These "stories" are far more realistic than most give credit for.  Trust Me, I know first hand.  But demons aren't always fallen angels or the henchmen of Lucifer.  Sometimes, they are much worse...

My demons are vast and strong.  They come from the depths of Hades, they come from the depths of My mind, they assail Me daily from more directions than humanly imaginable.  Of late, they have been non-stop.  Hell, they've been beyond non-stop.  They've attacked Me in My sleep, in My waking hours, in the bathroom, in the kitchen, anywhere and everywhere they can.  I know them.  Personally.  They are real demons, sent from places the human mind cannot comprehend.  They are memories from times and places far gone.  The former I can deal with.  The latter on the other hand, well they've come to feel like another way to die.

As I said, I know them personally.  All of them.  Could I name the ones sent from the netherworld?  Absolutely.  However, this is not about them.  This is about My personal demons.  My personal journeys to, and through, the gates of Hell.  Get your popcorn, your Black Wine, whatever you need for this show, and strap in.  It's a bumpy ride.  I call this show "The Devil in I".

This show starts about 42 years ago.  When I was 9 months old.  I was put up for adoption.  As was My older sister.  This is where the demon of abandonment was borne. They went back for her, but not Me.  Am I thankful?  Yes.  They gave Me life, then gave Me a life.  But I am plagued by a question unanswered...what the fuck did I do so egregiously wrong at the age of 9 months that they didn't want Me back.  Why was I not good enough to be retrieved?  That question will likely never be answered fully, as the one I call My "incubator" can't seem to get her goddamned stories straight.  Either way, I spent 9 months in foster care.  I hate the fucking system.  Of late, memories of a time before memory have returned in My slumber.  Some call them nightmares, some call them flashbacks.  I call them demons born of Hell.  Memories of abuses suffered, horrors lived through.  Being shunned, beaten, left in soiled garments, given bottles to silence My cries for attention needed.  Made to sleep in a closet, on the floor, with a sparse blanket and pillow to cover Me.  Have I mentioned how much I hate the system?

Now, the show moves along to My childhood.  Two wonderful, loving parents and an older brother that would beat the ass of any picking on Me.  To quote him, "I'm the only one allowed to beat My little brother up".  From 18 months of age to 18 years old, I can say it was the best of times and the worst of times.  I had sparse friends, quickly nicknamed "Ricky the Nerd".  In My neighborhood, when I stepped outside, bully radars went off for a 5 mile radius.  I spent the vast majority of My time indoors, playing video games and reading the dictionary/encyclopedia.  Just to avoid having My ass, and My glasses, handed to Me in pieces.  Fast forward to the age of 10.  This is where the demon of self-loathing was borne.  When I was molested and anally raped.  Yes.  Am I a victim?  No.  I'm a fucking survivor.  I survived that shit.  And much more.

But wait, there's more!  I was raised in an upper-middle class Christian home.  I attended a private Baptist high school.  Religion abounds!  I should have turned into the good little Christian boy, right?  Well, I tried that schtick for a bit.  Choir boy, altar boy, the whole nine yards.  But, as religion was jammed down My throat, and up My ass sans lube, I started to run from it.  It was, as a child, forced upon Me.  Here is where the demons of confusion, and the real demons from Hell itself, were born.  I turned to Satanism.  I danced dark.  I danced strong.  It almost killed Me.  On more than one occasion.  While doing this, I also turned to marijuana and alcohol.  To try to numb, and escape, the overwhelming self-hatred growing within.  That's what happens when Worlds collide.  That was from 13 to 17.

Are you ready for the next part?  I hope so, because there are no intermissions here.  No 7th inning stretch, no half-time shows.  Here's hoping you've got a good gallon of Black Wine, Raktajino, or whatever you're drinking.  Now, let's tune into the part of the show where I'm 17 and in a psychiatric center for My demons and to detox.  Did I mention how much marijuana I actually smoked?  About 8 times a day, 7 days a week.  I smoked enough for you and half of your family.  And alcohol?  My liver isn't far behind Ozzy Osbourne.  When I was 19, I drank a half gallon of Jack Daniels.  Straight.  In one sitting.  I should be Ozzy, or Keith Richards, by now.  Regardless, back to the show.  I spent 30 days in a place called Taylor Manor (now Sheppard Pratt).  During My stay there, I tried to kill Myself.  I was placed on a suicide watch for a week straight.  To the point that they would not let Me flush the toilet after I shat.  They wanted to inspect it for signs of chemical inductions.  My first night in there, I punched an orderly in the dick.  This man was built like Odin!  I was told to take out the biggest one, then the others would back off.  That was wrong!!!  I took down Odin, then got manhandled by Thor, Balder and Freyr.  Quickly hogtied, thrown into a room with just a metal gurney for a bed wearing nothing, spent the night there.  That room was kept at a balmy 45 degrees year round.  I got to talk to Loki the next day.  Or should I say, Doctor Loki.  He asked why I punched "Odin".  My answer?  "He pissed Me off".  I call him "Loki" because he tried to tell Me what I was feeling.  My response to that?  "Fuck you.  you're not in My head, you don't know what the fuck I'm feeling".

Hold on to your hats, folks.  This ain't over yet.  Allowed to smoke once an hour, for 15 minutes at the top of every hour.  That was when I was allowed to make phone calls.  I decided to call My at-that-time-girlfriend.  We talked a bit, and ended the phone call by the 15 minute mark.  However, it ended with her saying "I do love you, but I can't be with someone who is crazy", and she hung up on Me.  Never spoke to her again.  I learned a few things in there.  I learned all about My demons of rage and anger.  I also learned that as long as you know what the truth is, it doesn't matter what other people think.  I also learned not to pick fights with Nordic Gods...

Buckle up, folks!  The ride will be moving much quicker now...

I got kicked out of high school.  Having a pound of marijuana in your pocket, calling a vice-principal racial slurs, almost starting a race riot and bringing a wood hatchet to school to attack someone?  That'll get you there real quick.  Got My GED, though.  So there's that.  Met a woman.  Fell in love, got married.  To a woman twice My age,  When I met her, I was 18 and she was 36.  Had a son.  He bears My Name, poor lad.  Suffered more horrors at her hands and words for 15 years.  You hear in the news about those of Us who abuse women, but not about the women who abuse Us.  I made what I call the "stupid parent decision".  I decided to stick around in a dying, abusive marriage for the sake of My son.  I made it until he was 14.  I couldn't take it any more.  It was either he lose his Father for a little while, or I take his mother's life and he lose Me forever.  So I ran away.  Again.  It wasn't cold, but I spent months afterward feeling like I was living in a cold November rain.

Before I continue, I must backtrack slightly.  While in this hell, I found a new level.  Another nervous breakdown.  This time, I spent 8 days in a state mental ward.  That was...fun.  I watched a woman eat aloe vera plants, and stayed with a black Jesus wearing a sombrero.  I also watched said woman get tasered and get "happy juice" injected into each ass cheek.  The screams still haunt My "dreams".  While there I did not bathe, sleep, or use the restroom.  I was too scared to do any of those.  Again, I was called crazy.  Maybe their right.  Maybe I am...

This time, I ran to Texas.  And straight into another relationship.  Where I was, once again, abused.  Not physically this time, but abused nonetheless.  That lasted 5 years before I finally got fed up when she told Me, and I quote, "I'm jealous of Your son".

DAFUQ?!?!?!?!?!?!?

That became an 8 hour fight that ended with Me on an airplane back to Baltimore.  A one-way trip.  I said many things to her at that time.  Things that I have no intention of ever apologizing for.  I clearly remember saying "Excuse Me?!?  you be jealous of God, Satan and Jesus for all I give a fuck.  Don't you EVER be jealous of My son!  you have three children, whom I see 5 times a day some days.  I've seen My son one time in 5 years, and you're jealous of him?  That's unreal, you (insert extreme Hispanic slurs) bitch".  I proceeded to down a longneck of Bud Light, and smoke a cigarette, in about 3 minutes.  Got another of each, and went back into the bedroom where I lit her up for another 2 hours.  At one point, I truly thought she was My Texas angel, but she was just another demon in disguise.  So I went the only place I could think of from there.  Back Home.  At the age of 41, I was living on My parent's couch again, still recovering from shoulder surgery.  I went through a couple relationships, if you can call them that (they were short lived), before settling down yet again.  This time with some one more than half My age.  She was 19.  It was good...while it lasted.

During that last relationship mentioned, I decided to try My hand at polyamory again.  While things went phenomenally on My end, not so much on hers.  While I was not abused, per se, I was cheated on mentally and emotionally.  During that time though, I wound up in a relationship with two other wonderful young ladies.  they have been My rock, My everything.  They have been there through thick and thin with Me.  I will admit to My doing a dumb, however.  Things got hectic at Home.  That happens when you have 5 adults and 8 children in a 3 bedroom house.  I couldn't handle the stress, so I released one of them.  Then went radio silent on her for months.  While I can only imagine the Hell I put her through, I know the hell I put Me through.  I have her back now, but it is rocky at times.  And that is My stoopid fault.  Yes, that spelling error is intentional...

Are you ready for the last part of this show?  The closing act?  The grand finale?  I hope so.  While we had all those people living here, attachments formed.  3 of them moved out (one adult and her 2 children).  We still have contact with them.  Two of the kids went back Home to their Mom (they were only here for the summer).  We still talk to them.  Another adult moved back Home.  We still talk to him.  No problems there.  One of the adults left, leaving behind his two teenage daughters.  He no longer speaks to Us, and I don't give a flaming Bosk shit.  However, he made it that We are unable to the two teenage daughters.  Until they are 18.  They are now 16 and 17, respectively.  Thus was borne a new demon.

For the last 2ish months, I have apparently been suffering a slow nervous breakdown.  Again.  For the third time.  The stress of losing two people I had grown attached to has taken it's toll.  Add to that worries about finances, health and much more?  That is a perfect storm in the making.  I woke today, December 27th, and couldn't grasp reality.  I shook.  I couldn't focus on anything.  Mentally or physically.  I was scared of everything, and everyone.  I couldn't stop crying about anything and everything.  Yes, I cry.  Moving forward.  My girls helped Me realize something...love is what I need to help Me know My Name.  I have spent the majority of the day going up and down in My head.  However, the day has improved slowly.  I am returning to what I once was.  I am evolving, yet again.

At the end of the day, any day, We all have demons.  Be they Lucifer's henchmen, or Our own devices.  How We handle them, and what they bring, is what makes Us...well, Us.  You can let them win, let them destroy You, let them make You their bitch.  Or, You can stand Your ground, stand up to them, and make them Your bitch.

Am I crazy?  Yes.  Very.  But not in the way that most think of it.  We are all a little bit crazy.  And that is okay.  It makes Us unique.  Be crazy.  Be you.  But don't be a bitch to Your demons.  Personally, I'm nobody's bitch.  Personally, I am Indestructible.  After all, I've survived 2 strokes; 5 heart attacks; a TIA; Bell's Palsy; a broken back; and now 3 nervous breakdowns...