who i am now   
06:06pm 03/08/2003
mood: accomplished
Smile, for we are all children of the great mother earth, Gaia. We all breath her air, smell her flowers, and see her children everywhere. We've kissed on of her pawed friends, and we've all seen her oceans lap and crash against the shore. We've walked upon her body, earth. The sun and moon and stars are there to help Gaia. the clouds roll in and water the garden of people, black, white, tan and red; we are all some sort of flower to her, growing more annually. we are simple amd carefree though most of us go astray. some have even stopped believing. i am here to heal those who have lost faith in Mother, the sun, moon and heavens above; born from the very depth of a single flame, i am here to heal the wounds inflicted upon my darling Gaia's children. I have informed and healed those who have wandered of the correct path. some choose not to listen yet others are enthralled. i've given hope to some while others have lost faith. through rituals i have bettered myself, Gaia, goddess, god, the one, and many others have helped me better myself; earthly beings and creatures have brought me to where i am today. a healer, a lover, a child of earth, and when i have fulfilled these tasks set before me i shall become a mother, a wife, and wise.
     Read 1 - Post
who i am   
08:11am 01/08/2003
mood: satisfied
music: evenesence - bring me to life
i think i figured out who i was when i was 9 years old... a healer, a witch and a human living vampire. this dream changed me

i woke up at around 10 pm in my room, the sun has set and the sky was a rich purple. there were these goth kids sitting on the roof outside my window. i opened my window and called to then, crawling out my window onto the roof. suddenly i was clad in black... as were the other kids my age. they smiled and a sparkle in the older leader like kids eye told me i was with family. my brotheren had come for me. i grabbed hold of the blonde leader and he took off into the night sky, and the others followed behind closely. i closed my eyes for the duration of the flight. we ended up in a dying corn field where the others waited, thebon fire rose high in the sky. i remember feeling very small. we danced and talked and drank wine. and we all took an oath, to remain faithful to our brothers and sisters, welcomed me and spilled a drop of blood onto the now smoldering fire.

then i woke up in my bed.
01:03am 29/07/2003
mood: loved
have you ever seen the sweet mother earth. the celestial being who watches over us and guides us through strong and vulnerable? i have, face so fare like the white beaches of bermuda and eyes like whirling orbs, with hints of greens and blues ive never seen before. drapped in torn silks of green, blue and brown. she is beauty and beauty is she. shes is good and great...
so little time   
11:24pm 27/07/2003
  i've been thinking. theres so much i want to do in life but it feels like there isnt enough time. should i give up or strive to further myself in the bustling world. should i just stay put, or gallantly pick up my lugage and move toward the plane. no matter how big i dream, it always seems to be so far away.  
meaning of life   
10:18pm 15/07/2003
mood: amused
sometimes i ponder the meaning of life, and several times i come to the conclusion that because we are all Gaia's children, everyones true hidden meaning is to be loved and coddled by her, from rich to poor and saint to criminal. we must love her and accept that we are loved by her. we are her flower garden, from roses to orchids to lotus'. she gives us sun and rain to help us grow and mature. she protects the seed, bud and blossom from conception untill death and our rebirth the next spring.

the cycles always begins again.
11:55pm 06/06/2003
  what more can i really say about my life that i want the world to know?

what more can i tell you about the pitiful beings who made my life a horrific experience? *sigh* i just dont know... maybe ill tell you about the sleep terrors.

At night, just before i fall asleep, my body falls asleep but not the mind, i become paralyzed. i cant move at all, not even to blink my eyes open. all i see is black, wide awake, i am blind and deaf, except. Except for the screams. the whole time a hear a battle field of death cries. after a moment passes i begin to panic, i begin feeling pain in the top of my head and the back of my armpits. it seems to eminate from the base of my spine. Its horrific. the pain, almost like a cattle prod, making me twitch and panic more. if any one who reads this has had a similar experience, please PM me on aim... i would love to see how many have this.
     Read 1 - Post
To my Ko Neko   
10:15am 29/05/2003
mood: loved
I'm off to sleep a waking dream of faceless names and nameless faces and in this state of void filled slumber I shall envision the eyes of my lover. a love so sweet and pure in heart, though often misconstrued for nothing at all, taken advantage of and misplaced upon a high shelf. I shall find you in the crowd of nothingness. I shall seek the love I long to find. I shall find the love of ages in your open arms. Hold me just a moment longer, for i pray this moment last a life time. I’m off to sleep a waking dream of faceless names and nameless faces.

How is it you can see into my eyes like open doors? i mean you see me skyclad and complete; you seem to look right through the shell to see someone who is very scared of the world, though the shell is rough and tough, you seem to look past it to the innocence that lies within. I stand before you bare and whole and i am accepted. How can this be when i have been scorned and pained all my life. I come to you harboring feelings of anger, rage and hate, but you leave me with so much more. I leave your presence with feelings of Love, Trust, Empathy, Compassion, Care, and most of all Security. You bring to me the basic human emotions i could never feel before. the ones that were ripped brutally away from me as a child by "them" i have grow to be a beautiful person because of you. i live everyday for the love of self, the love of you, and the hope that that love will be returned by you. i have never loved before you came into my life and tore down my shades and let some sun shine into the dreary world i lived in. i have never cared so much about some ones well being. i have loved one other, but the feelings for you are far more intense than any love i can come up with. what i feel for you is the love of ages. i found it in your open arms. Aishiteru, ko neko. You know who you are.
11:46pm 27/05/2003
mood: depressed
it has been three months and thirteen days since her passing, i guess the shock wore off, i broke down in tears the other night. i do miss her, i plead for to come back, but i know it wont happen. she came from every depth of beauty and purity. she was as perfect as the first spring rose blossom and as the last bloom in november. her eyes have haunted me. i believe she comes to see me, though i cant see her, i feel her presence. i often feel cold before she comes, i feel a small hand on my shoulder then my neck and running fingers through my hair. often i feel as if she had never left. often i dont want to admit that she is gone, but when people ask me how i am feeling, i spit at them her horrible demise. Hit by a drunk driver on february 14th. we never met in person, but i felt i had known her all my life. we would talk everynight for hours on end. she was supposed to come visit in august, but she cant now. on the other hand she can visit whenever she wants, but i cant acknowledge her, hug her, stroke her hair, kiss her cheek, talk to her, or see her smile. it must be torture for her to go on in the realm she is with no acknowledge ment from me or anyone else she cared for, anyone who cared for her.
emotional growth   
10:03pm 26/05/2003
  I personally think I stopped growing emotionally when I moved in with my father at the age of eleven. I felt abandoned by all parties involved in my well being. My dad neglected that I was even there most of the time, though, my mother was unable to car for me, and I felt abandoned by her as well. Mother's inability to care for me was the reason I went to live with my father. A very cruel and bigoted bitch raised me most of the years I was there. Most of the time, though I am eighteen, I still feel stunted at the impulsive age of eleven. It might explain the reason I act the way I do. Upbringing played a part, and being raised by a lunatic during very impressionable years did not help.
I am bipolar. I was born this way, well, born with the predisposition. Traumatic events, such as abuse, can bring out this particular illness. Much like many psychotic disorders, trauma can induce the illness.
So what, I was an abused child, I will get over it right? Do you know how many years it took me to write some of this stuff down? I moved out when I was thirteen years old. Moved back in with my mother and as I have said before, was so blinded by rage I did not realize I was with someone who cared. I was so fucked up when I left my step mothers house. I was a bigot, homophobic, hated my mother, and violent to the point of homicide. All these attitude attributes were forced into my head by my stepmother. She was doing the same thing to my little brother, Zachary. I remember my dad told me this story; Zachary and Janee were playing in the front yard and these kids of African decent were walking on the sidewalk. Now keep in mind Janee is half African American. Zachary got up, approaching them and told them, "Your kind is not allowed on our property." Now Janee ran and told my dad. I do not know what happened after that. That is what my stepmother is teaching him.
I remember from personal, my stepmothers bitter hatred towards my mother. Cause she was incapable of keeping me, because she was a lesbian, because she was poor, because she was my mother. She often wished her dead in front of me. My "step-Monster" was evil. That is all I really have to say at this point. She is the reason I have emotional problems why my emotional growth was stunted at the age of eleven. She is the traumatic event that triggered my illness.
santa claus   
10:01pm 14/03/2003
  I was about twelve years old; wrapping presents for Christmas with my stepmother. I asked to whom I should address it from, since I was wrapping one for my little brother. She told me to write Santa. I was quite surprised and said, Wow! You help Santa? Then she looked at me with the most serious look I had ever seen and told me there was no Santa and if I told my little brother, I would get hurt. In shock, I addressed the present, walked into my room, and sobbed, completely alone. My world was falling apart. Everything I had ever put faith in was losing its sparkle. My religious faith escaped me. I saw God as spiteful. I still believe he turned him back on me. I believed that God had cursed me. I was Roman Catholic and felt like I was constantly being told no matter what I do, I was going to go to hell. I lay there crying, to myself, alone. Immediately I lost all hope of ever being normal, good, accepted. I lost faith in God and family. I lost respect for those who abandoned me. I lost my self-esteem and self-respect. I lost everything and to cope and comfort, I ate. I sneaked food, I ate until I wanted to puke, I ate sugar and sweet stuff mostly. I ate so much I got fatter and even more so. I was so depressed at the age of twelve, I used to write poems about suicide and hold scissors to my arm and contemplate ending it. Maybe if I had started cutting, my stepmother would not be such a cunt to me. Maybe if I had cut and stayed alive, just maybe she would have apologized. Maybe she would have been nicer to me and not given my dad the ultimatum that it was either she leaves or I leave. That is not how it happened though. She gave the ultimatum and he chose her over his own flesh and blood. He chose an ignorant woman over his own daughter whom he had loved from first sight. At least he tried to love me. I left and went the only place I could, back with mom. I was too raging, depressed, and hate filled to see that I was with someone who truly cared, and I am sorry.  
what was their problem   
09:59pm 13/03/2003
  As you can tell from previous entries, my stepmother, along with my mothers partners were very psychologically abusive. I have tried on countless occasions to think about confronting them in such matters, but fail, being so afraid that I dream about someone rescuing me. It is always someone competent and understanding of how truly evil, these women were. My father would be no good in a situation in which I am getting my face rearranged. Now the only people I can think of that would understand the fear involved in said situation would be my boyfriend and Kevyn. However, these women probably do not know how to behave properly in a mother daughter or even mother son form of a relationship. At least two of these women possibly were raised in an abusive home, which alcohol intensifies this. One woman is in recovery and made amends for what she did to my mother and I; but I still have not forgiven her for it. I mean, how can she begin to comprehend the damage caused to one as young as I was, by her words? I was six years old when the abuse of my mother started. I was seven when it became directed towards me, also. I remember I was sitting at my mothers typewriter and I had asked to use it without Debbie present. Debbie did not know that I had gotten permission to pound away the keys on the new word processing typewriter. She started screaming at me once I sat down to loud for me to hear what she was saying clearly. Grabbing me by my right shoulder, she picked me up by my arm and threw me like a rag doll into a chair, my head hitting the wall. I then ran into my room and locked both doors until I heard my mother, my savior, walk into the house. I never told my mother what happened while she was gone; I just stuck so closely to her until Debbie sobered up a little; Debbie did not remember what she had done. I had a scratch on my face; I told her and mom that I fell out of my toy box. A place I often hid. It was small and secure, though it had no lid to it. I would bury myself in there with blankets and stuffed toys and no one could ever find me. I do not remember clearly but I think mom might have freaked out a few times while I did that.  
09:58pm 13/03/2003
  Onto less severe things but equally damaging for a young child. For about two years, the only quality time I spent with my father was a half an hour ever weekday morning at around 5:30 am. He always had a beer in his hand, claiming he had stayed up all night drinking. He was neglectful, I mean the conversations that early in the morning consisted of did you sleep well? or have a good day at school. What can I say not only is my dad a drunk, hes a pot head, too. I once caught him smoking a joint on the porch at the old house, when I was about twelve years old. He choked on the smoke and told me he would explain it when I was older. When I was in a program for special students and I was writing several papers in my psychology class on the affects of drugs and alcohol on the mind and body. My current boyfriend made it clear to me that he is trying to be a good father to me, though failing miserably. It is sad really. Often it seems that the only thing he listens to is the sound of a telephone hanging up before I even say hello. Cutting him out of my life completely for months at a time has worked several times for me. I wonder if I should take such drastic measures again.  
stuffed toys   
09:57pm 13/03/2003
  I think I was about twelve years old when this happened. My stepmother was obviously pissed off at me, all because one dish had been dirty. She forced me to wash every single dish in the house; I sat and counted every dish I washed. There were about three hundred and twenty four dishes. I was not moving fast enough for the cunt and she pulled me roughly to the center of the room and got into my face. I proceeded to back away, I felt she was too close to me and I ended up in a corner. She then got so far into my face I was bending backwards over the kitchen counter. The whole time she had been screaming at me incoherently. I cared not to listen; it was a normal thing for that house. She then looked at me fiercely, her eyes meeting mine and in an eerily calm and condescending voice she said; You have been a very bad girl today. Your stuffed animals are going to come alive and kill you in your sleep; I hope they do. She spat it out with so much hatred as quickly as a young child spits out a pickle.  
Step Mother   
09:56pm 18/12/2002
mood: scared
I have talked about that evil bitch before. What a sad and pathetic waste of flesh she is. She and others like are an infection in the wounds upon the earth. They all must be destroyed. They are filthy evil pigs. That wretched witch has done more things to me than you could ever imagine. A big reason for my anger is her and the others that were like her. She needs to die. I called this woman "Mom" when she did not even deserve the title. I felt very uncomfortable doing so. She was not nor ever could be my mother. She caused pain when she should have been comforting. I only called her this once, and never did I make that mistake again. She is a horrible person. She had a little boy. When I lived there, he was about five or six. She used to tell him that he was retarded and stupid. She would call him shit head, pecker head, pinhead, and those were the endearing names. She would punch walls and say he was dense. Of course, she did the same thing to me, but I was the evil little stepchild who did everything wrong. She saw her son and "do no wrong" because of me. I used to take the blame for his accidents and mishaps. The main reason I did so was to ensure that this five year old child was not smacked so hard in the mouth or otherwise that he would fall over and scream. When she did hit him and he screamed she would scream in his ear that if he did not "Shut the fuck up" she would hit him harder. Moreover, this little boy had asthma. He would wake up at night in a coughing fit because it was too muggy in his room or dust triggered an asthma attack. She would hear him coughing (I do not think she even got him his inhaler), she would storm into his room and scream in his ear "If you throw up, I'll rub your face in It." what an evil bitch. Finally I started to become a light sleeper, and if I heard him cry from a night terror or he needed his inhaler, I would wake up and run to his side. I would calm him down and get him to relax and give him his medicine. She eventually stopped getting up with him cause she never heard him cough or cry. I was there to rescue him. He eventually started sleep walking and he saw my room as somewhere safe. He would stand in my doorway and ask to come in very softly. First few times he did it, it scared the living shit out of me and I screamed so loud that he ran to his room. Eventually I started to get used to it and sleep even lighter. When I saw him in my doorway, I walked him back to his room. EVIL BITCH! I fucking hate her...
09:52pm 07/12/2002
mood: scared
music: Disturbed - Down with the sickness
I trained myself not to cry until the ultimate point of weakness; for example, being sick or being ripped and torn down to something smaller than a grain of sand. Then and only then could I cry, otherwise I do not think I am physically capable of crying. No one will ever see me cry neither. I will not shed a tear in front of someone unless I am sick. Tears of depression, sadness or otherwise shall never be shed in the presence of another. I will not care if people hear me cry, whether it is on the Telephone, through the walls, or through doors. I trained myself not to cry in front of people. My eyes could be throbbing and begging for the tears of relief but I will not succumb to it.
I think I was about seven when I trained myself not to cry. Instead of crying, I would force myself into pure hatred for that person. I would get so angry I would plot their murder, at seven years old! They said I had a rage problem, well take a look at what they had laid out for me to lie in, a bed thats been made for me, for my comfort. I dressed myself in that bitter hatred everyday, partially at mom for leaving me with her and partially at that woman for doing it to me. After laying witness to a wrestling match in the kitchen between that woman and my mother, she approached me and told me that it was my fault that she hit Mommy. I am glad that is all I remember from that relationship. I do not remember much after that night. I do not remember friends, family, or anything that happened to me from the age of seven up until about eleven. I guess I had many blackout rages.
From eleven to about thirteen, I have these memory clips from when I was not in a blackout rage. What I do remember is horrific. My stepmother the most horrible and twisted memory of them all. Just the very presence of her in the same room as me makes my physically ill. She was not the first to raise a hand to me and she certainly will not be the last. No one will ever hit me the way she had, I will make sure of it. The first memory that comes to mind when I think of that wretched witch is she has me backed into the space between the kitchen counter and the refrigerator, with cabinets above me. My head is resting against the cabinets and she is so close to my face I could gag on her foul breath. She gets so angry with me she starts punching the cabinet door behind my head, about an inch maybe an inch and a half away from my left eye. She would tell me I was as dense as the wood, as dense as the fucking door!