Let The Arguments Begin


There are two things I’m going to cover in this post very blatantly and very truthfully:

  1. Culture Biases in the two schools I plan on spending the next five years of my life. 
  2. Addiction.

So Beware.

I’ll start with the first topic because I can be witty and lighthearted but very, very sardonic about it and that’s what I enjoy.

Tomorrow I’m supposed to register for Spring semester and so far the only class I’ve got is math. If you all want to know, I’m planning on transferring to Santa Clara University. I’ve been there a few times and the first time I absolutely hated it. It was small and weird and since I wasn’t yet sold on the idea of going into psychology I completely disregarded it and set my eyes on Stanford. However, Santa Clara has a pretty well off Psychobiology program (for people who are going into Psychiatry in medical school)  and I really liked what they had to offer the more research I did.

So while a community college can save you money, it can sometimes be a pain in the ass trying to satisfy both the community college class standards and the university standards. Right now I’m one class away from my degree at my current college (that fucking psychology research class) and I have five more to complete for Santa Clara.

Two of the categories I need classes in are “Cultures and Ideas” 2 & 3, and “Diversity”.

So I figure, hey, cool, I love taking diverse classes and learning about new classes.

Well, my options?

“Chicano History” and other Chicano related things.


“American History” and other American related things.


Where is the cultural diversity in that? Do I look Mexican American?

And here’s where people start calling me racist. I’ll wait for all of you to get it out of your system.

You done?

Good, now shut up and listen to reason for one second. If you have the audacity to claim the only thing diverse between the two schools is Chicano things and American things, then . . . you blind? Someone throw acid in your eyes? Take a crowbar to your face? There are all sorts of Asian histories at my college and not to mentioned my NATIVE AMERICAN LITERATURE CLASS, WHICH COUNTS FOR ABSOLUTELY NOTHING AT SANTA CLARA, and yet the two major categories are Chicano and American? I get it. You’re catering towards the majority population without even knowing the numbers in the census.

You’re so smart.

Damn idiots.

I’m surprised the Middle eastern culture class counts. I’m really, really surprised.

Let me say something crystal clear. I fully understand how difficult it is for children in a home with parents who never had the chance to go to college, who had to risk their lives hauling ass into this dumb country over the Mexican-American border. BUT, here’s the thing: if you’re going to have separate graduations for those students in your fucking high schools, and you’re going to make programs in the college directed only at those students, you’re being a blind racist. You are.

I’ll just say there were an alright amount of black students in my high school. Not many, but enough. Were they ever encouraged to join the college prep class I was? No. In fact, they weren’t even encouraged to go to college or take AP classes. Why was I encouraged? No one knew what the hell I was! I was the only person out of twenty something students in that college prep class who was not of some kind of Latin descent. We watched Latin videos, we discussed Latin/Mexican programs and not once did I feel welcomed. We watched films in Spanish with horrible English subtitles. The Brown Berets came to speak with us to encourage their people. All our guest speakers? Latino/Latina/Mexican talking about hardships growing up as Latino/Latina/Mexican and the lack of education with their parents.

It’s not as if I haven’t felt disregarded as mixed race my entire life at all. No, no, it’s fine, really, ignore me. It’s cool.

I was so rare my English teacher for an honors class had to pull me into the BACK ROOM to make sure I WAS OKAY with READING BOOKS WITH BLACK PEOPLE IN IT.


At least she cared whether or not I was offended. But the rest of all my advanced class? White as fuck. White and wealthy, college graduate families.

I fucking get it. I do. I really do. But let me tell you something; my dad didn’t even graduate middle school. He was in poverty with seven other children and one mother. My mother didn’t grow up with a lot of money either (but is white and lived in a cheap city in the woods in Michigan) with five other children. My dad’s been drinking since he was 15. My mom dropped out of college and has been working all her life. Other races have issues to, and if you’re going to focus on only one, you’re being racist.

You want to have an ethnic graduation? Cool. Do it for every race in your high school. Want programs geared towards race? Cool, do it for every race in your school.  Or do the smart thing and have one graduation and respect everyone in front of everyone, and have a program that is geared towards everyone. It’s not rocket science. Didn’t these idiots go to college? Must not have been enough classes in DIVERSITY.

Now is the part where people really call me racist. Argue with me in the comment section below.


The point is, I’m sick of being disrespected. I’m sick of it at home and I’m sick of it in the public eye. Someone from the south wrote into PsychCentral and said her family thinks interracial relationships are a MENTAL DISORDER and asked IF THERE WAS ANY VALIDITY TO THAT STATEMENT.

How far in the pits is the south? Are you guys in the depths of hell? What the fuck?

It’s blatant disrespect. Fuck racism. It’s disrespect.

My dad’s been angry all day and drinking all day. He’s been playing his music and getting in my mom’s face and it pisses me off and I get in the middle of it, I don’t give a shit. That’s DISRESPECT. He was sitting there screaming at us like we’re “making him out to be the bad guy” when we didn’t say shit about him drinking; he’s the one bringing it up, it’s burning in his conscience not ours.

Thinking of commenting  “there’s no use arguing with a drunk”?

Save your comments for my racism, I’m not an idiot, I’ve lived with this since I was born. He comes to us. And we ignore him and he keeps looking for a fight.

I also have a short temper. And I was getting pissed off because my mother just takes it and she works two jobs and gets up early every morning and doesn’t need this. So I told him we weren’t saying anything about him, and he started yelling and so I yelled over him and screamed “You know how many times we’ve saved your life and this is what you do to us?” And it felt good as fuck. It felt so good. And he got really angry then and ran after me and chased me into the bathroom and kept shoving me and I shoved him and he tried to punch me but slipped and fell because he’s drunk as fuck. My mom held him back and I shoved him backwards but submitted. I said okay, I’m not going to touch you, just get out of my face.

And I hate myself for it. I hate submitting. I hate submitting in the job environment, I hate submitting to Comcast and paying $19.95 for decent WiFi for a week, I hate submitting to anxiety, I hate submitting to depression which has oddly eluded me the last month or so. It must be up to something.

There were no marks on me so calling the police was useless. He’s on the lease of the apartment and you know what they’d do? They’d make us leave for the night. Fuck that. That’s just going to fuel his fucking ego.






We’ve been looking at interventionists and we’re giving him two options: get residential treatment or leave. That’s it, that’s all.

It’s worth noting I’ve never hated or disliked my father. I hate his addiction, I hate his drinking. I’ll never forget all the horrible instances we’ve had but I’ll never forget the good ones either. We were always close.

I’ll always be saddened by the fact that his temper has been worse since those Grand Mal seizures forced him to wake up with short term memory loss and I’ll always be saddened by the fact that he did that to himself (he’s not epileptic) and I’ll always be saddened that he’s so stubborn and under the impression he can “do this on his own”. But I think it’s good to be sad and grieve healthily over those things because that means there was at least a few instances of happiness with him. I’m not numb. I just act like it.

Tonight has been another instance in hell. Damn, I just passed by the south, I should have said Hi.

Oh wait, I’m an interracial child and in an interracial relationship, they’ll probably try to lynch me or put me on a cotton plantation.




The Racist And The Cynic

I think I have a weird obsession with photographing leaves and paths:

Colors (1 of 1)


Forgotten Love (1 of 1)


Shadows and Leaves


Withered  (1 of 1)


smalls of life (1 of 1)



Memories (1 of 1)


Pink Petal (1 of 1)


Another Withered (1 of 1)


contrast (1 of 1)
I seriously have a problem. It’s an obsession.

I took those about a week and a half ago and haven’t been out on a photography bender since.

It’s hard to get out sometimes. It’s like everyday is one of those weekend mornings that you lay on your back in bed knowing that you have to do laundry, go to the grocery store, run the kids to soccer practice, pick the kids up from soccer practice, clean the kitchen, scrub the bathroom, tidy up the living room, water the lawn, wash the windows, wash the car, sweep the porch, and pay the bills and you just don’t have the motivation to do any of it.

I don’t even have to do any of those things. If I did I probably wouldn’t; I’d sleep the days away, I know I would.

Because I’ve been at my college for two and a half years now, they give me priority status for choosing my classes. Tomorrow I’ve got to pick what I’m going to take for next semester and I’m worried the same thing is going to happen all over again. I’m going to get depressed and overwhelmed and stressed and drop a whole load of them and get stuck at this stupid college for another year.

Everything is going so fast.

That’s probably why I love photographing things that are still and peaceful. Some people are into that motion photography and giving a glimpse at busy city life and it makes them happy and that’s cool. But it’s not for me. I like to capture one single, still moment I can appreciate that is the exact opposite of how my brain works. Maybe it helps me slow down, I don’t know.

I’m probably analyzing something I don’t need to.

There’s one class, a psychological research class, I need to take in order to get my degree. I signed up for it this semester but dropped the second day because wholly fuck I was not prepared. I was not prepared at all. It was a small class, and I could have handled the group work. He said it wouldn’t happen every class period, but frequently. He said it would happen all the time in the lab. I’ve been in labs in other science classes and I get along fairly well with labs, especially in biology or chemistry.

I never told you all about the girl in my biology lab who thought she was hot shit and joined our group and started directing us all over the place and couldn’t do simple math, so I took over and basically told her to fuck off in the most polite way I could and then when it came to do the presentation I fell silent not because of my anxiety for once (although partly) but because she kept acting arrogant and didn’t want to participate so I made her do the presentation. It was funny. She struggled explaining her ideas mostly because they were dumb. At the very end I basically disregarded everything she said in front of the class and said the correct things. The next lab Friday she sat in the back of the class away from us.

I had won the battle and became queen of two Latina chicks who spoke alright English but sometimes struggled with the wording the textbook. My kingdom was small but mighty.


Anyway, we dissected hearts of sheep (two people nearly fainted for some reason) among other things and we teamed up with the anatomy lab to see four carcasses. A lot of people couldn’t handle it. So only a few of us went in the back and they taught us the anatomy of the heart by shoving a human heart in our face (thing is huge), and they showed us cirrhosis of the liver by shoving a diseased liver in our face, and they showed us all the intestines and all that yummy stuff by letting us lean over their work space and stare into the cavern of the four bodies. And I thought to myself: this, this room here full of these people with all their gloves stuffed inside the dead bodies and white lab coats that nearly touched the floor on short people, this is where serial killers are born.

I love labs. Something exciting always happens.  But the lab for that psychology class was a bitch. First of all it happened right after class ended, so you sat in that room with those people for four and a half hours every Tuesday and Thursday. You had to schedule in time to conduct six experiments of your own at some point during the semester with psych 1 students and he didn’t even give more information on it. The one thing about bad social anxiety is that by the time you build up the courage to ask a question to clarify things for you, you’re already lying in bed at home like shit, I should have asked.

But then you remember how stupid you might sound and then you curl up in your blankets and say fuck it, I’ll just drop the class.

One of my goals is to get my social anxiety under enough control that I can finish that class. I have no other option, honestly.

Checklist Paper And Pen.So that class is number one million on the list of classes my anxiety has interfered with. I need to take another Ethics class, which I’d love to do since I love Philosophy, but I remember peering in on their class to do my own personal socially anxious research ritual and saw that they did huge group presentations and projects. I can’t even think of a simple sentence to say in front of people; thinking analytically in front of them is near impossible.

Let me write my words out on the board and just have the class read it. Then i’ll do it.

I want to take the Eastern philosophy though. I’m sick of learning western ideas. It’s boring.

There’s no way I’m ready to take that psych class again. So the only class I know for sure that I’m taking is math. That’s stress enough right there.

I couldn’t handle taking a language class. A whole class devoted to oral repetition? Ha! Kill me first. Everyone, friends and classmates and such, always said I should take Spanish. Obviously I want to learn, I’m not so much of an idiot that I don’t see that I’m going to need to be Bilingual with the next most popular language in my area. But when I say “No” they take it as “No, I don’t want to learn because I’m racist and don’t like the language. I’m black and therefore sick of being around non-black people who I can’t relate to because I’m racist. I’M RACIST.”

No motherfucker, I’m not taking it because I can barely say a coherent sentence in English in front of people when my brain stops the words in my throat and sends them below and I end up standing there like an idiot. How do you think I’ll act in a class where the majority of the people already speak fucking Spanish and are just taking it because it’ll be easy as shit for them? I’ll sound even more stupid. I don’t feel like being laughed at.

I want to feel at least a tiny bit more comfortable speaking in my own Language before I try and learn a new one.

Problem is, I also can’t get into the University I want to without language. The school system is directed towards Extroverts. The whole world is.

But does anyone get that? Of course not. I’m just a racist and a cynic. You know, I’m African American and Native American in a family that’s always, always worked hard and still lives in poverty and is torn apart by addiction but I’m the racist and the cynic. Because that makes sense.


I just don’t know about anything anymore.

Ha, just kidding. I know I’m not taking physics again. These professors suck (it’s not just me who says that, ask anyone who takes physics as my college) and the Physics Learning Center makes me shudder. Too small, too many people, and they’re all arrogant.

I’m arrogant too, but at least I’m not so flamboyant about it.



Broken Earphones = Hell To Pay


You know the day will be stressful when you wake up to find one of your earbuds dead.

You all know how important music in my ear at every waking moment is to me. If you don’t know, now you know. I hurt people who yank the earphones out of my ear because they think it’s funny. I hurt them. I’m not kidding.

Alright, I’m kidding a little. But only a little.

So before I even got out of bed, before I brushed my teeth, before I got some orange juice or said good afternoon to my father, I got on Amazon and searched desperately for some decently priced ear buds.

What the fuck is this?

Screen Shot 1 for amazon

“I received a discount on this product in exchange for an honest review”.

Firstly, how do you do this?

Secondly, on half of the products I found the only positive reviews were those who were given this “discounted” price. I don’t think half of these people give their “honest review”.

If you’re one of those people who aren’t internet savvy or just don’t pay much attention to the comment section of products, only the “stars” like a yelp addict, I’ll give you a little tip. Read the comments. Don’t just read them to hear the good things or the bad things, read them like every single person is a sociopath with the intent on manipulating you. It sounds extreme but really, it’s the only way you’re going to increase your chances of getting the product that lives up to your standard.

I’m very picky about my products which is why I will spend hours upon hours searching through comment sections. It’s not as if I don’t take into account that every product will have a few defective ones, but there are patterns within the comments that you can find that can alert you to major defects. Like too much treble and little bass, the exact opposite of what I want.

It’s  like those psychology professionals who base their entire treatment off the fancy textbooks they read in college. They don’t read the hypothetical comments section. They don’t have insight to how people’s lives work who have to live with the disorders, they just know what symptoms you should have and what treatments are listed in the computer for them and they make sure you know it too. Then you start obsessing about what you could have think you’re a professional able to shout out a diagnosis to the world. Stop it. Stop.

For Website stopsign

Why would you want to diagnosis yourself with something anyway? I’m sorry, I always laugh at this. I’m not trying to be rude if you’re someone who does this, but it’s labeling yourself. Is it to rationalize the stuff you’ve been going through? To justify your behavior? What is it? What’s the point?

I could fit any number of diagnoses based on the basic criteria. Because that’s just it; the criteria is pretty basic. A lot of people experience symptoms of mental disorders in their lives, because holy shit we’re human. If you’re one of those overly sensitive people, you might just be labeling yourself with something you don’t even experience.

BestBuy CloudsIt’s like going into Best Buy and believing everything the little tech people tell you. You have to research the product before you go in their asking them. You might not even know what to ask. When I was browsing for my computer I didn’t know one thing about harddrives or intel cores or AMD cores or anything really. So I spent a good three weeks learning everything I could and when I went into Best Buy to browse the products. The little signs they put on the side of their computers didn’t have half the information I did. They rarely mentioned the core performance and only covered the things that made the computer look good: you know, whether or not it has beats audio or touch screen or social media apps or whatever people get sucked into.

It’s like the SDHC cards for cameras that say “super fast performance” and charge you $99 for a 64 GB card when the $20 64GB card right next to it literally does the same thing. I read the back of the packages. I read them three times. “Super fast performance”? On a card? How fast do you want your pictures transfer on your card? You want it to be on there at the speed of light? You want the picture on the card before you even fucking take the picture? You want the pictures transferred from the card onto the computer before you even put the card into the SD slot in your computer? Because that’s never going to happen. You’re paying $99 dollars for bullshit.

The moment I press the button on my camera is the moment the picture is on the $20 card, give or take a second. The moment I slip it into the slot is the moment my computer imports my picture. They’re crystal clear, perfect, and just the way I took them. I don’t know how much faster or “super performing” it can get.

You’ve got to be really anal to pay 70 more dollars for another seconds worth.

You’ve got to be really arrogant to base your entire treatment as a professional on textbooks only. That’s like purchasing something online based on the amount of stars it has without ever glancing at the comments.

*Disclaimer*: I did the review of these realities because I received them at a discounted price in exchange for my very, very honest and excruciatingly biased opinion.


P.S: You know that moment when you’re so excited about using Photoshop and Adobe Illustrator and all those other fancy products to create amazing things for yourself and for others to enjoy and then you realize you have so many amazing ideas but don’t know shit and you open the products and you spend four hours trying to do two things because the only thing you can remember how to do is cut and transfer an image into another image? Then you find out transferring a Illustrator image into Photoshop isn’t as easy as you thought? And you download bridge and it still doesn’t transfer right? And then you realize this is why people take classes for that shit? And then you have to shrug your shoulders because oh well, now you have to each yourself?

Don’t be like me.

My Shopping Senses Are Tingling


If there’s one thing sleep is good for, it’s repairing your rationality. If there’s one thing you lack when you don’t sleep, it’s rationality.

For the last few days I’ve been up until 6am and rather than sleeping the entire afternoon away, I wake up four or five hours later and toss and turn making attempts to fall back asleep. This is what I get for trying to regulate my sleeping schedule. My plan was that no matter how late I stayed up, I’d get my ass up early and stay awake throughout the day so I would be tired at night. It seemed foolproof.

Now I’m stuck in a cycle of staying up late, waking up early, and staying up late again. My plan must have had some holes in it.

When I get tired or I don’t sleep I start buying things. It’s like popping ecstasy in a club while you’re dancing. It just goes together. I bought and downloaded a few games which was only seven dollars because of sales on Steam, and then I opened a Yahoo browser on my phone and saw an article on Best Buy Black Friday sales.

That’s when my heart rate goes up and my face flushes and I think of money in my account and I know I need to save it to pay back my school–I know they’re going to conveniently charge me when I have no money, so I’m trying to save what I can besides basic necessities and a few Christmas presents. It’s a waiting game. Anyway, I saw a 32 inch television for a good deal, I saw some tablets for some good deals, and I laughed my ass off at the fact that people actually think fifty dollars off a MacBook Air is actually a deal.


I almost bought that television. Thank God my wallet was across the room and I was too damn lazy to get up and get it. When I get that urge and I haven’t slept well, it’s almost a guarantee that I’m going to buy something I don’t need. If they would have had a playstation four for a few hundred dollars off, I probably would have bought both it and the television.

See, this is dumb. Not because of how much I hate corporate America (blah, blah, regular twenty year old dissatisfaction with society phase here, just bare with me for a few more years) but because I don’t have cable. The fuck am I going to do with a brand new television? I game on my PC more than I do my console. What the fuck would I do with a new television?

That’s what I kept telling my brain to rationalize ignoring the damn good deal.

Maybe it’s the deals I’m excited about. Maybe the fact that I’d save a hundred dollars is what gets my shopping senses tingling. Combine that with a brain numb from hours of lost sleep and it’s a disaster waiting to happen to your bank account.

Spiderman for post
This Took Me Longer Than I’d Like To Admit

Usually I don’t go for the big things. Usually I obsess over little things and the “80%” off signs on Amazon on little trinkets and shit I’ll never use in my entire life (well, maybe for a day or two)  and then wind up with a whole box of them sitting in my room.

I also get a rush from checking the mail and waiting. It’s just so exciting. New things don’t come along this household very often, neither do exciting things that aren’t horrible after further examination, so I think I have a right to toss and turn in my sleep with a smile on my face knowing some stupid box will be waiting for me when I wake up.

Whatever I do, I do it extremely. My writing can get harsh and extreme because my opinions often are; if I go for a walk it has to be the farthest I can make it. If I’m depressed, I better be on the brink of suicide to the extreme. If I’m happy I better be bouncing off the walls ready to cure Ebola. If I set my eyes on something I want to buy, I have to search everywhere humanly possible for the best price and if I can’t find a reasonable one I’ll lurk in the corner until I do.

And I have to do everything very quickly. Before I’m finished with one thing, I’m on to the next thing or at least planning the next thing. I’ve got a whole bunch of little projects and things to save the world or change the world stuffed on a little shelf in the back of my mind, waiting until I have the energy to deal with them.

Like the people on Ebay who sat there and watched the camera I had my eyes set on. They watched it for days. I found it within five minutes of searching, checked the guys profile, and bought the shit. What you gunna sit there for days and watch it for? Did they not realize it was one of the best deals on Ebay for that type of DSLR? Did they not realize he had a “buy now” option?


Whatever; more camera for me.

There’s a specific way to shop online. You learn to look for the accounts you can trust and once you mess up enough you’ll learn to trust your instincts. Obviously those people don’t know that yet. I only got screwed over once on a hundred and thirty dollar item that I didn’t spent enough time researching and I haven’t been fucked over since.

It doesn’t help that I’m one cocky mofo.

I don’t just shop fast, I think fast, I sleep fast, I walk fast, I eat fast, I have to be one step ahead of everyone, (perfection), or else I break down; I do everything fast. I try listening to Chopin (got to be one of my favorite pianists) and Walela to help calm myself down but I always end up switching the song to something like this:

And that, my friends, is why I scream and punch walls when my internet connection goes slower than your 99 year old grandmother with weights on her legs.



LOL Thanksgiving


It’s always baffled me that people need an actual day to relax with each other, have a good meal, and figure out what they’re thankful for.

I mean, obviously they don’t need that day, but because we’ve decided it exists, some people use it as an excuse to call the old relatives they never call, invite over the people they never see, and finally go through a list of things they’re thankful for.

I remember when I was a little kid in elementary school, they made us write out the things we were thankful for as thanksgiving tradition-which is weird, considering they never told us any of the truths behind thanksgiving. Don’t give me that “kids are too young to know about violence and killing and genocide”; if you’re that worried about it, say something like ” a bunch of people came over here, tricked the Indians into thinking they were friendly, and then killed them”. I’ve read accounts of German members of society who learned about the Holocaust in detail in grade three and four. They know how to mend their history and they know how to respect their past. America sucks in that respect.

Anyway I’m not going to list what I’m thankful for, because I list what I’m thankful for every day. I think about all the things I have and all the things others don’t have and I don’t need a day of the year that was never even about thankfulness to tell me to be thankful. I don’t need a day of the year to eat a lot of food (I do that daily, too) and I don’t need a day of the year to get together with family.

I guess the Europeans were thankful the Natives taught them how to eat and survive. That’s about as close to a “thankful” thanksgiving we’re going to get.

So I don’t celebrate this holiday. “Holiday”. Not since I was in elementary school.


I know, I know, I work too much off logic and reason and not as much off of emotion sometimes. Logically and reasonably thanksgiving is pointless and a disgrace. Emotionally people cling to it as an excuse to show the world they’re not heartless, to show their family they still care, and to take a day off work.

Until, you know, they go back to work and scam a few people out of some money and kick the homeless guy on the street begging for money because they think all homeless people are lazy drug addicts.

Would you rather have someone beg you for money or coerce you for money? In other words, would you rather have a bunch of homeless people on your lawn or a bunch of ads on your phone tracking what you type into Google so it can send some more direct ads at you?

In this world you get both; it’s not really a choice. That was a joke.

I can be funny too.


The problem with saying “the day doesn’t matter, it’s just a time to celebrate what you’re thankful for and be with family” is that you’re ignoring a vital part of American history. Not history according to the United States government, but history according to all the native people stuck on poverty-stricken reservations with cards of their “blood quantum” in their wallets and elders who sit around and mourn about the old days on this twenty sixth of November. That’s how they celebrate this “holiday”.

It’s fine to take a day off and be happy; you really do deserve it. Just don’t lose sight of what you’re relaxing in the name of.

We obviously already have lost sight of it if people feel comfortable saying things like “the day doesn’t matter, it’s the holiday spirit”.

It’s like Christmas. Now don’t get me wrong; I love Christmas. All the chocolate and candy canes and warmth of the heater. But we all know it was Pagan holiday celebrating the winter solstice, right? We all know a lot of religious holidays were stolen from Pagan celebrations right? Because Pagans were deemed “evil”, right? And yet we ignore it. People who aren’t even religious hear the word Pagan and associate it with something bad; we just celebrate holidays for the sake of the celebration.

Sounds Absolutely Satanistic

It’s like reading the bible. I’ve read it; we read portions for one of my advanced English classes and I read it as a child and I even went to a church for a while with one of my friends to explore her lifestyle, her traditions, and the youth group she wanted me to come to. The people were so nice; I love them to death still. The preacher often scheduled trips for us and we went to things like Jelly Bean factories and arcades and had a shit ton of fun. I felt kind of bribed, but hey; I signed up for it.

She wanted me to be saved. I had no idea what that meant, so they explained it to me. I hope I don’t offend anyone of the Christian religion by saying that I went for it because I wanted to experience everything. They say you need to give your heart to Jesus Christ without really explaining what that means, so I figured it didn’t matter whether I did it under true conviction or not.

I’m a spiritual person and I must say, with all those serious people in the room I did feel a shift in the air and I did feel warm and very emotional and it was odd. Did that make me a believer in the Bible and their teachers? Fuck no! (Obviously). But it did solidify my spirituality–there is something out there in the universe that’s a mystery that we’re never going to understand from a book or writings or even oral stories; it’s something you feel and that’s the closest you’ll ever get to it. It’s in that moment we’re connected to each other and to nature and that’s all we really need. I’m fine with that.

So I did a lot of searching about the Bible and you know there are a lot of stories the church excludes, a lot of words Jesus said that they refused to put in the teachings, and religion has just become a weird cult designed to keep people under control.


So I got the hell out of there. I said thank you, I respected them, and I got the fuck on. I prefer to respect nature and give thanks to what’s here on earth and give thanks to the mystery of the universe rather than live my life according to a bunch of men who wrote a bunch of words a couple thousand years ago.

Love the call for peace and harmony and respect, but the majority of their people don’t follow their own rules so that kind of invalidates a large portion of the religion. Anyone who uses religion to disregard gays from the community and ignores the fact that animals in nature engage in homosexual activities just proves me right. I mean . . . there was research a long time ago in the forties or fifties I believe on elephants who researchers saw performing unconventional sexual acts on each other (male/male, female/female) and these idiots condemned the elephants and said they were going against God. It’s the people that ruin the meaning of spirituality, it really is.

Everyone believes in something. Whether it’s God, gods, spiritual beings, science, math, whatever.

But it’ll always be warped and twisted. Soon Easter is going to be about the giant three headed bunny demi-god who’s half human half jackrabbit who burrows under your house and steals your shoes at night. You’re supposed to leave him carrots and chocolate so he doesn’t kill you. And soon math and science will actually build that giant three headed bunny demi-god and use it as police patrol on the streets as a solution to the racial violence of today’s officers.

A beautiful future lies on the horizon.

I’d also like to congratulate science and Epigentics for finally catching up with Native traditional beliefs: yes, trauma and pain are passed down from generation to generation and yes physics, we all are interconnected. I’m glad you all finally found the proof you need to prove the well known belief right.


You Ever Been Demon-Choked?


Has anyone noticed the amount of chocolate syrup Starbucks puts in their hot chocolate? It’s still sticking to the roof of my mouth.

Has anyone noticed I start out all my posts with random lines that usually have nothing to do with the actual post? Because I just sort of noticed.

I’ve always had trouble beginning pieces, alright?

Anyway, I think I’m a fairly strong person. I have my moments, as we all do, but I tend to learn to adapt and strive towards the best possible solution.

I don’t panic. Probably because I’m in that state of anxiety 24/7. So when a car swerves into my lane and comes right at me and my passenger screams, I swerve around it and tell them to shut up. When it’s 9 at night and my mom’s car won’t start and she’s flipping out trying to turn on the ignition and sighing those large, dramatic sighs and her face is turning red from frustration, I’m busy spewing out three or four options to get us out of the situation. She hates that; she has to have her time to panic and then calm down and then think. I skip all the middle bullshit and just think.

creepy_devil_baby_doll_postcard-ra8df4234441d4a8fb45912b9b20aeeaa_vgbaq_8byvr_324But there’s a difference between anxiety/panic and stress. She can handle stress (and pain) like a boss. She’s slammed her hand in the door of her truck when I was younger and barely flinched. It swelled about five times its size and turned dark, dark purple and probably throbbed all day and she drove me to school and went to work where she types all day. My birth? Psh, she doesn’t even remember pain. Not an ounce. I asked multiple times. She said she just remembers a couple pushes and boom I was born with little devil horns on my head (which they conveniently removed) ready to spit shit at the world.

The horns make that story even more miraculous that she didn’t feel any pain.

She got kidney stones when I was about ten or eleven. She got them lasered into smaller pieces and refused any medication to help her through the rest of the processes. She was bedridden for about a week or so and when I asked if any of it at any time had hurt, she stared at me like she didn’t understand and said eh.

When her newspaper job cut her commission and refused to pay her when she actually reached her monthly goals (all those workers could have easily went to the labor board, these people were completely unethical) she was stressed, yes, and when she quit she was even more stressed, but she didn’t break down and fall into some deep depression like I would have.

People are different. My dad and I are the same. When he gets a simple cold, all hell breaks loose. He’s whining like he’s dying and needs people to wait on him hand and foot. When I get a sore throat oh . . . my  . . . Gosh . . . I can’t handle it. I’m whining for hours and hours and resort to using cough medicine to get me through the night.

Although I found straight lemon helps alot. It burns my throat and sometimes I can get through the night without the medicine.

If you didn’t know, I don’t even take aspirin when I have bad headaches, so using cough medicine to me is a failure. Your body is capable of handling these things (headaches, colds, and yes, the fucking flu no matter what strand it is) on their own. We’re only making the viruses stronger.

teresaMy whole point in this rambling is I can’t take pain or stress. Stress makes me break down almost immediately and wreaks some crazy havoc on my body. For the last week my stomach has been aching like I’ve eaten nothing but rocks for dinner and I have no energy. Both my stomach and my mind keep me up all night now so I’ve got too sources working against me.

So I tried to get some sleep today. But because my father hasn’t seen his regular doctor yet (he just got out of the hospital yesterday), they haven’t been able to address the other weird temporal seizures or misfirings or whatever he has. He’s had two episodes today where he starts his little loud breathing tactic and says he gets dizzy and stares at you like the universe is expanding in his eyes and when you talk to him all he does is nod or smile like Jack Nickleson. He got up with his lighter and just started turning it off and on and wandering around aimlessly.

The second one he started his loud breathing tactic and said he was getting really dizzy. Usually once he says that, you know it’s going to be the last coherent sentence out of his mouth until it passes. But still, I continue to ask him if he’s okay to make sure he can hear me. And he does; he turns his head and stares with the universe yada, yada, and this time when I asked if he was still feeling dizzy his response was “We’re all dizzy all of the time so what does that matter? It doesn’t matter. Whenever I see you in the house you’re always dizzy. You’re always busy, busy, I mean dizzy not busy”.

It’s like loose association city over here.

It’s better than the sometimes “blahblehahbeloglogloglog” that you hear.

The trick to this shit is knowing when to call 911. At any moment it could burst into a full seizure (although all his grand mal’s have been alcohol related). But still, the threat is always there. And guess who’s had to monitor this shit for the last 6 years? This chick. So I know all the signs and all the symptoms and I can hear that breathing pattern in my sleep through the walls and know I need to go check on him.

Obviously, that causes a lot of anxiety.

So I went to sleep today when he took a nap. But it wasn’t really sleep. It was more like . . . my brain being half awake and making up sounds that weren’t there to keep me riding the surface waves of consciousness. I kept hearing him calling me into the living room and other random voices and I kept waking up in the middle of sleep paralysis. You know, you’re awake and aware of your surroundings but your muscles are rigid, your body is tight, your eyes can barely peek open, and although you feel your brain trying to move your limbs, they’re cemented to your bed.

I’ve met a lot of people who thought demons were choking them at night when really they described an instance of waking up during sleep paralysis.

Or maybe demons were choking them, I don’t fucking know what horrible things they’ve done in their life.

Demons like to have a little fun too sometimes.


Anyway, my nap today consisted of a bunch of unfamiliar and familiar voices telling me I had to go into the living room, conversations about random shit that ultimately ended with voices telling me I needed to go into the living room, and frustration over the fact that I couldn’t move my body.

I am not well rested.

I’m so glad when people who know me tell me how stressed out they are about their new car or new job and all the family planning holidays bring. I’m sure it’s so horrible.

I wonder if people ever give thanks for their health as much as they should.

You know, on every other day besides Thanksgiving.

CommonSensepam; Take Daily Dose With Food


I’m thoroughly disturbed.

I’m disturbed I’m addicted to the internet and just paid $8 for a full 24 hour of Wifi from Comcast while simultaneously saying “fuck you, Comcast” as it sucked the money from my account.

I’m disturbed  Nikki Minaj is in Barbor Shop Three. YouTube just shoved the Ad in my face. What the fuck Ice Cube?!?!?! I ain’t watchin’ that shit.

I’m disturbed at how upset my stomach has been these last few days. That YouTube Ad didn’t help.

I’m disturbed that hospital “steak and gravy” tastes like canned Catfood smells.

That’s a “Fancy Feast” if I ever had one.


Ha, I’m a fucking riot.

I’m disturbed that after four hours of being home, my dad went upstairs with the neighbor and had a beer.

That’s the heart of true addiction right there. You were in a medically induced coma for two days straight with a breathing tube down your throat and your blood pressure sky rocketing into the two hundreds, you stay in the hospital for five days straight and then get out and go right back to it.

I’m disturbed that because we can’t afford “high end” health insurance like Blue Cross that we’re not worthy of good health services.

3500 dollars for an interventionist for a fifty minute session and a couple days of planning? And you don’t take Medi-care? Or Medi-cal? Suck my dick.

It’s fucking stupid.

It’s not even about the money and corporate gains and insurance companies lying in bed with drug companies at this point. No, at this point, it’s plain human ignorance. Disrespect for others lives.

How does it make sense for the low income people to have to pay out of their pocket? Obviously we can’t afford a thirty five thousand dollar treatment program. It’s hard enough trying to get him to see that he needs help. A counselor is good and all but he’s been addicted to substances since he was 15; a counselor is not enough. He’s in strong denial. He says it’s between him and God and he’s not even religious. He can’t stand authority (which is probably where I get it from) so when doctors try and tell him he “needs to eat healthier” he’s like fuck you.

He needs a program to help him teach himself to say “I need to eat healthier” or else he’s never going to get it.

Convincing him to do residential treatment is going to be one of the hardest things. I’ve watched a lot of intervention episodes, I was there in front of the T.V for every new episode and I still catch up with it online without cable. But he’s water and I’m an alkali metal.



Besides, since I’m his daughter, he doesn’t take anything I say seriously. He’s never taken anything I say seriously because I’m “just a child”. A twenty year old child. So I tell my mom what to say. He’ll listen to her with more of an open mind.

But anyway, back to the financially inadequate in this country. Obviously none of that information is new. I’m not big on conspiracy theories but damn does this shit look like it’s done on purpose. Who’s more likely to be addicted to drugs? The Poor. Who’s more likely to act how you want, to be a zombie for money? The Poor. We need a poorer class in our society to feed off of or else capitalism doesn’t work.

I use the term capitalism very loosely. We’re more like a sixteenth democratic, 90% corporate capitalists, 5% socialist (welfare, e.t.c; it’s only five percent because it’s fucking horrible service) and the rest is just random shit that gets made up along the way.

So if you’re going to shove us in the dirt, keep us low, and laugh in our faces, at least let us get adequate health services. You need us healthy or else we’re all going to die off. Ya pricks.

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being rich. It’s not the average rich or wealthy or middle class person I’m going after here, it’s the people who design the systems who make the billions that I’m going after.

Doctors say “Get help for addiction”.


Well you dumb son of a bitch, why don’t you get over here on the other phone line and listen to these fuckers tell you over and over again that you need to pay three thousand dollars a day and that they don’t take your insurance provider and that there’s nothing else they can do and really, they should give them your condolences for your loved ones in the event of their likely demise.

Or their social workers come in and say “we’ll give you paper work for some places locally who can help” and they never give the paperwork.

Happens all the time.

They say “call me” and you call them and they don’t answer, they don’t call you back, and you never see that potentially life saving paperwork.


What the fuck are you doing? Are you understaffed? Too many poor people walking through the emergency room doors who need help with their addiction and/or mental health that you can’t keep up? What the fuck is the problem? Identify the problem! You know, third grade math skills! You know there are wireless printers, right? Put a printer or fax in all the rooms and fax the fucking papers from the social worker straight to the patient (if they’re competent enough for it; some patients are just downright combative). If you really want to get progressive, if you really make an attempt at helping someone, fucking put your brains together and come up with some very simple, very cost effective ways to be more efficient. Old ass fax machines are like ten bucks on Ebay bitch.

Or be a dick.

You have two choices, it’s very simple.

Got all that donation money and what do they do? Paint “Hello Humankindness” on the elevator doors and make their walls and pretty and give the receptionists nice new desks and update a few IV and medication machines. Their communication from department to department has the strength and effectiveness of a deer shot in the head.

It’s like having a kid who is a little bad ass and screams and punches you until you give him what he wants, but you dress him up like an angel and tell everyone how wonderful he is all the time.

It’s like thinking you’ll fill that hole inside of you if you get liposuction and Botox and butt injections and breast implants and thirty other cosmetic surgeries.

What I will say is that those hospital staff, most of them, work their asses off to do the best they can, especially the nurses. They’re doing the best they can with what they’re provided and that’s their job. It’s the people far, far above them fucking everything up.

I think this is a well known fact.

But what good has knowing a fact ever done unless you do something with that fact? Sure, you’ll sound intellectual and so in-tune with politics and badass and that hot kind of anti-establishment, but that’s not doing anyone but your ego any good.

This is part of my inspiration to become a psychiatrist. I’d like to see what goes on in the world the public doesn’t see.

I’d like to work with the financially insecure, the ethnics, the addicts, the people and youth in institutions, because they’re the ones who need the help.

Not like if you come to me with a family willing to pay $400 dollars a session (there’s a psychiatrist in my area who charges that, I saw her profile; new Stanford graduate) I’m going to turn you away–of course I’ll work with you. For one, I want to help, for two, those will be the people who make it possible for me to work with the people who can’t pay as much.

We need the rich people just as much in a capitalist society sometimes.


This Floor Shall Be My Laughing Space





Tonight is another cold, cold night. I’ve taken up driving with a blanket around my shoulders. Don’t think I’ve mentioned the fact that my car heater only works when I push on the gas pedal. The AC doesn’t even work at all.

My father’s blood pressure was 190/108 tonight, again, so we got to the bottom of their medication bullshit. Turns out they were giving him the blood pressure medication combination he also takes at home, but they didn’t read the prescription instructions because they gave him both medications in the morning. After he received them, his blood pressure was 135/90 or something like that. As the afternoon went on it started climbing, and climbing and climbing because the doctors didn’t order more medication for the evening.

At home he’s instructed to take one in the morning and one in the evening and his blood pressure stays relatively even; the last time he had a doctor’s appointment his blood pressure was back down to the 130’s. It’s all about even dosage; every twelve hours, you know?

I felt like it was common sense; if one thing hasn’t been working for two days straight, obviously you need to try something else.


I’ll just say this hospital doesn’t have the best reputation but I’ve noticed some changes since they’ve remolded the emergency room and got updated equipment. The nurses are more informative, especially if you ask them questions, and the doctor we spoke to in the emergency room four days ago gave us all the information we could have asked for. Usually they say one or two things to us and tell us to get out. This time this woman actually seemed like she gave two shits.

Because they’re crowded and busy, I know it’s hard to keep tabs on every single patient, but it seems like the doctors and nurses don’t communicate very well. It doesn’t even seem like the nurses communicate with each other very well. One of the RN’s today said people don’t make eye contact with each other here, they just go on independently without speaking a word to each other. I don’t know if that’s typical for a hospital setting or not, but it doesn’t seem very productive.

The real test comes whenever he gets out. He’s already whined all night tonight about getting out; he started looking for his clothes and shoes tonight hoping he could put them on and walk out–he’s done it several times. They can’t stop him but they could at least give us a fucking ring and tell us “yo, he just left man someone should go find him”.

I’ve said this before, but I wrote about it months ago so I’ll reiterate: He has some pretty odd reactions to the drug ativan (one of the reason i was so scared when they gave it to me for my panic attack in the hospital) where he started hallucinating things were climbing up the walls and people were invading his “house” (the hospital ICU). They had him in restraints. We told them he wasn’t acting right and that it might be the Ativan (I knew a bit about the drug from the books I read) and they told us it wasn’t the medication.



Anyway, we figured they’d get it through their thick skulls sooner or later. When he got transferred out of the ICU into transitional care, he was still on the Ativan and still combative and hallucinating and tipping towards some kind of psychotic state. He was highly suspicious of everyone and always trying to escape the restraints and break the bed and get away from the intruders better known as the nurses.  He rolled around on the floor laughing his ass off at night and somehow got to roaming up and down the halls. He wandered out of the hospital.

Three hours later we came to visit. The head nurse looked at us and said he hadn’t been in his room for quite some time. He told us everything that happened that day, including the laughter and paranoia and such and said they didn’t know where he went but they suspected he left the hospital.

Turns out some hospital security saw him outside (thank fucking God) and called the police (I take back my compliment) and he was sent to jail for the night. We picked him up at three in the morning and he was still a little loopy but much better. He had a few laughing fits but he was easily controllable and feeling much better.

They’ve given him Ativan three times and each time he has a weird reaction to it. Now we just tell them he’s allergic because they don’t listen to what we say if we just say he has a bad reaction. The EMT’s and the nurses just look at us like we don’t know what we’re talking about.

Little do they know, I speak some (very little) of their language. I’ve schooled some of them some times because they think they’re talking to incompetent public citizens.

common-senseWould he have been sent to the jail if he wasn’t African American? I couldn’t say. But it seems like if you have a hospital patient who is not in his right mind and is wandering around saying random shit and rolling around the floor laughing and hallucinating after you gave him some bullshit medication, they would bring him back up to the room or transfer him to the behavioral health unit, not call the police.

The three police officers, by the way, tackled him to the floor and bruised half of his body.

Slowly but surely, the more changes I see the more respect they earn. They’ve been helpful and even showed us how to tell where valves are in your veins by looking at them.

But you can understand my hesitation when they said they were giving me Ativan. I was halfway-passed out and I couldn’t breathe and I didn’t even feel them stick the IV in my vein but all I could think about was my dad hallucinating and laughing on the floor and being tackled. I didn’t want them to do that shit to me because of what they gave me. They did that to the poor guy who thought people were stealing his ribs.

Actually, a nurse ran by and said give him Haldol. So I felt worse for him than I did for me; I’d take a quick dose of Ativan over Haldol any day.

Anyway, I had the opposite reaction. My heart rate calmed and I was singin’ “Everybody wit me drunk as fuck, break it down then roll it up” like it was my theme song. Then they gave me a CT scan and put contrast in my blood and I threw up twice. At home I passed out and woke up fully two days later like what the fuck happened.

Different medications do drastically different things. Expect the unexpected and don’t get mad because a few medications don’t work for you. Maybe there’s a better option.

All Threats Are Guaranteed Possible


It’s an interesting experience sitting and talking to people who have never experienced drug addiction in their family or for themselves. They have such a blank stare in their eyes when you talk about he emaciation and the depression and the havoc. I used to blame them for it, the ones I share my secrets with. Why couldn’t they just be more helpful? What the fuck is wrong with them?

Then I realized if their parent or family member or they themselves had Cancer, I’d never truly understand how it felt. All the medical procedures, the wary doctors, the chemotherapy.

But we could find some common ground there; both of us would have seen the sight of someone withering away on the brink of death and (hopefully) bouncing back to life.

I’ve seen and been through a lot more in my life than I thought. I don’t think my closest acquaintances understand that. They managed a childhood, they grew up with family around and holiday parties (shout-out to Thanksgiving, the stupidest holiday in American history besides “Columbus Day”) and they took trips and they did fun things and they never hovered in corners because of an angry drunk or slept in a tent and fried hot dogs on a grill for breakfast or slept in the basement of a house on a concrete floor where convicts who just got out of jail came and banged on the door like they had a fight to pick.

So when they see I have trouble enjoying things sometimes, they don’t understand it. They grew up with relatively happy (with ups and downs like everyone else) but stable and well nourished and they interacted with their peers in Kindergarten instead of being that one tall girl who went off in the corner with a box of blocks and made a flat, five foot wide symmetrical pattern on the floor that the teacher took a picture of. They don’t understand how I can be happy with being introverted and yet simultaneously feel lonely.

I know I have a lot to work on to be where I want to be (not where everyone else thinks I should be).

I’m never going to be that person who talks up everyone and their mom on the street and in the grocery store lines; I’m never going to enjoy parties or prefer human company to a night of writing. I’m never going to not over-analyze everything around me (I find that shit crazy fun, who the hell is content with sitting in the dark their whole life? With accepting everything like “oh, uh, I should just let it be”?) and I’m never going to not feel a tiny, tiny bit of anxiousness. I’ve been anxious ever since I can remember and life experiences just intensified it.

I’m perfectly happy with never being like everyone else I’ve met.


Doesn’t mean I don’t struggle.

My goal is to get comfortable with all the social skills I never developed enough so people don’t think I’m some stuck up rude bitch for not talking to them or some freak for not talking to them, and enough so I can get through medical school. After that, I do what the fuck I want.

You tell me I should be happy? Fuck you, I’ll be sad when I want to be sad and if you’re uncomfortable around emotion than fuck off.

You say psychiatrists hardly ever offer talk-therapy? Well fuck you, I’m going to do it anyway.

You say I was that one weird girl in high school who some how managed all the advanced classes without saying a word? Well fuck you, I’ll drive past your house in a 100k dollar Tesla and egg your windows with 100 dollar eggs bitch.

I’m immature at heart, can you tell?

Just for the record, I was actually never made fun of in high school probably because I managed to keep myself as a competitor in those advanced classes.

I remember a few incidences where I felt judged though. I remember I had to recite a fucking poem in an honors class as a presentation (my worst nightmare since elementary school–that’s when the teachers thought there was something wrong with my brain because I could never remember anything) and I said the first two lines perfectly and fucked up the other fourteen.

When I say fucked up, I mean I completely blanked. The teacher had to walk me through the whole thing in front of the entire class. Mind you, I spent three weeks remembering that bullshit and I had it down until the moment I stepped in that class and felt that heart racing, face flushing, arms tingling/twitching, cold sweat bullshit. Then I looked incompetent.

Anyway, there was this one white girl (sorry, I don’t usually like to bring race into things but this chick was transparent as hell, like Casper the bitch-ass ghost who never learned an ounce of respect.) and she was always smirking in the background when I had to speak. She’d talk to me like I was a baby when we were in groups together and she always thought she was so smart.

She went up right after me and forgot her entire poem.


I grinned so large I thought my teeth were going to pop out my mouth. And because ya’ll have never seen me, I will tell you right now I have some chompers.

Can I just say this?

That’s right bitch!!!!! Fucking choke on your words and fucking get red cheeks and fucking feel the pain!!!! Karma’s a bitch!!!!!


I’ve been holding that in for so long.

One time she stepped on my shoes and stared at me like this: stare1

And then turned back around.

Fuck you too bitch, fuck you too. I ever see you on the street somewhere you’re going to hear my mouth. Right in your face. Because fuck you.

Yes, I have anger issues I need to work on.

But really ya’ll, I’ll see her again one day, I can feel it. We might be in the same class together. We might be in med school together, you never know. I hope to God we’re in chemistry together.

It’ll play out like: “Oops, uh, yo prof, this bitch on fire, I . . . I don’t know what happened I . . . I didn’t know gasoline was flammable, I swear.

Talk to me like I’m a baby? Bitch, my brain will run circles around you. Go sit in the sun and get some color to your skin so we don’t have to look at every single one of your veins anymore.

I hope she somehow finds this.

She’ll remember exactly who the fuck I am.

I started this post about drug addiction and somehow it ended on dumb bitches.  I don’t know what my brain does.

Rant: END.




Shoot Luke In The Face


You ever eat a burger with blue cheese and black mushrooms and lettuce and tomato and onion and the bun falls apart and the grease drips down your wrist and you lick your skin and then remember you were just in a hospital and might have Ebola now?

That’s how I felt eating Betty’s Burger tonight.

That was some delicious Ebola.

But seriously; there’s signs all over the hospital lobby room saying if you have been to parts of West Africa or been near parts of West Africa and have had a fever you need to tell the staff immediately or else you risk your guts spewing all over the place.

You also know that moment when your boyfriend acts like you hit him really hard and then says yeah keep talking shit while you’re typing on your blog and you just want to slap him in the face with a pillow and interrupt his star wars game?

I’m not an abuser I swear. Sometimes people just need a little extra discipline.


And then he thinks you weren’t actually typing that and then he looks over and sees that you were and then he starts laughing and says oh shit oops?

That’s my life right now. And I like it that way.

But Star Wars, really? It’s like Call Of Duty, but the Star Wars version in multiplayer. I understand the graphics are better on the PS4 than the previous generation but my PS3 works just fine. I can’t stand to go out and buy consoles until my console craps out; I just see no point. Or until all the companies stop making PS3 games. I know there will no longer be any Assassin’s Creed games made for the PS3. Bummer.

But that’s not enough to make me pay another $500 for a damn console. I don’t even have good internet connection. I don’t even have fifty dollars to pay for the PlayStation Plus Subscription.

Oh My God.

Guess what you guys?

He took down the fucking walker. He’s so happy right now.

Anyway. . .

The good news is my father’s off the ventilator and is awake but he’s not very stable–in terms of mental health. He’s extremely quick to anger and extremely prone to crying, but I’m assuming that’s from all the medication, the withdrawal, and the whole waking up in the hospital after two days of being in a medically induced coma.

He’s also very skinny. We never noticed it because of the clothes he wears and the way he acts but he’s very skinny. He’s not eating, probably on the account of the drinking and meth, so I’m curious to see how the hospital is going to get him to eat.

He was already violent with them. He’s prone to getting up and trying to walk out of the hospital or yelling at the staff in an attempt to get his way.

The funniest part was when one of the nurses walked in to turn off a beeping monitor (his blood pressure is stil 187/113 so the machine fucking had a hissy fit) and the sound of the nurses shoe on the tile scared the fuck out of my dad and he jumped a mile in the air. All of us started laughing, including him.

They gave him clear cups with a faint orange label on them. Those cups contained water. He thought it was apple juice and when I told him it was water and showed him the bottom of the cup was clear, he gave us this face:


All in all, he’s doing a little better.

I find it really funny the guy he’s been hanging out with hasn’t called or came over to the house like he usually does. Did he know this shit was going to happen? Usually he’s hitting up the phone and knocking on the door twice a day.

Anyway, I didn’t post early today, I was too tired, and my brain doesn’t really know how to think right now. So I’m going to end this short.

Life is crazy.