There I sat, tears streaming down my cheeks in the barely lit room, reading and highlighting pill books and doing bio-chemistry conversions. The master plan, so to say.  He didn’t talk about what I was doing, or why I was in the state that I was in. The sheer urgency of needing a light at the end of the tunnel told him the bad parts of the story, so he didn’t have to ask. He convinced me to call a family member in Las Vegas, or that was their last known whereabouts eleven days ago or so. So I called. A familiar but unidentified voice was on the other end of the line. I asked for my family member and there was a pause then, “Oh, he’s already left. I’m sorry.” Before the “sorry” was ever there, I had fresh tears pooling in my eyes. The sure thing, the one who would care for me no matter what, was already gone on to who knows where. I had thrown out his number before hand, so I couldn’t call him.

Feeling trapped I said my thanks and was about to hang up with the man on the other end of the line offered to take a message. “Do you have [his] number?” I asked. “Of course. But I don’t know who you are, so I can’t give it to you. It’s not my place,” he replied. I felt somewhat relieved. While I was giving the info to him via a speaker phone, my friend James was telling me things through FB to ask. Under any other circumstances, it would have been pretty funny. The guy on the phone asked me who was there, and I said I was chatting with someone through a video, and he replied, “You’re not crazy love, I can hear him too.” I had a feeling of who I had on the line, but I had to ask, and I was right. I felt a little embarrassed about calling his room, upset and thinking horrible thoughts, but I wanted out so badly. We finished up the call, he wished me well, I thanked him, and returned to my video chat. James hit the nail on the head when he asked me who it was by name. I saw his eyes light up. “Why don’t you go live with him! And bring me with you?!” Another thing that would have been funny under different circumstances.

I came to many conclusions last night and tonight. One of them is that I know who I can count on. I know who really loved me. The sad part is that I am not as smart as I thought I was. I thought I would never be taken in my another Roxanna again, and it’s very clear that I have been. She used to promise me hope of deliverance from my domestic violence situations, and then never fully able to go through with it. I didn’t need food. I didn’t need money. I needed companionship, someone to tell me that I was not alone. Someone to tell me that everything was going to be alright and that they were going to be there for me through it all. Looking back at those messages, I have to wonder if I was conversing with Roxanna again. Did she change her voice again? Where is she getting those devices? They all sound like different women, but they use the same sentence structures, same words, same phrases and life stories that she presented to me eleven and a half years ago. How does she keep fooling me off of the computer? Will she ever give up? What is so important that I have that she wants? If she just tells me, I will gladly give it to her for her to leave me alone forever. I am no longer even interested in keeping a record of her lies online anymore because I want her to leave me alone. I won’t even white knight for her future victims anymore. Discover the bitch like I did. Carry on the torch as I tried to. Just. Leave. Me. Alone!

In the mail this afternoon, I received a plane ticket to New Jersey. Do I want to go? Not especially. I can bring along the little ones, but only one carry on luggage each. The tickets are one way. There’s no turning back once I do go. I have faith in James, though. I know if I go to him, he will really be waiting for me at the Newark airport. He will really take me to his place. I won’t end up lost and wandering around alone somewhere down Texas way, with no way to get to even an enemy that I know down there. Not that they would help me, but it would be a familiar face. Maybe there’s a lesson to be learned from all of this, but I have to say that I should have learned it a long time ago when  I first caught Janna in her lies and then caught Roxanna in similar lies. But I fell for it. Maybe it’s my weakness that every human has a heart and compassion for another human being in help, though I know many who have turned a blind eye to me since childhood.

James put a light at the end of the tunnel that I was in. I didn’t know if it was a train or the sunshine, but I could see a light and that was all I wanted to see. It was all I needed. I’m happy that he gave me that hope and didn’t just push me away when I reached out for help. Even if he had not sent me any tickets anywhere, and just conversed with me last night, not shooed me away because his mind and heart were on other things, I would have been just as grateful. I’m saddened a little that I did not marry James when I had the chance, but that’s just one of a thousand regrets that I am going to have to live with.

I didn’t venture out, but stayed inside with the windows and doors open, letting the warm breeze sweep though the house, cleaning out the dirty air, and replacing it with fresh air. The zing zing made working on anything a little harder. I feel like my foot is swollen, but I don’t believe it is.

With all the good things that happened to me today, I am still dreading next week and the start of dialysis. Dialysis is what caused the septic infection that eventually led to Jess’ death. His body couldn’t fight off the infection, so the doctor did not supply any antibiotics. They went ahead with the transplant, though. Smooth move, doc! There’s that tiny thought in t he back of my mind that I may or may not end up like Jess. In so much pain from sepsis that I swallow too much codine or too many Percs and I don’t wake up. Champ offered to bring me over some barbs. No thanks. I have enough to worry about, with how I could fight off the pain, should I get an infection.

All that being said, I am excited to get the first dialysis over with, because that means I can board the plane to the Golden Coast and nothing will stop me from being with my man and family. It’s summer in Australia right now. Where I am is about to get covered with several feet of snow. I still have plenty of time off, and nothing to occupy my mind. I have read Chloe every book that is appropriate for her, played dolls and video games with her, read just as many books to the boys, and played hide and seek with them, letting them win a few times, of course, that the three kids are tired of playing. Ashe asked me if I was going to start dinner soon because he wanted his supper and to go to bed! How many other people have the luxury of their four year old asking them for bedtime?! Didn’t think so.

I myself am going stir crazy. I finished my spiral notebook that I started back in October, I started a new journal, and even ordered a new one from Amazon. I’ve done all I can do with this site and the design. I have looked through more layouts, chosen one for March, and then I actually turn off my computer. I have watched every single show on cable in HD several times over. I am bored with everything. Bored and brilliant is a really bad combination. When I get those two together, I usually end up having a seizure and wake up sucking some stranger’s cock in the men’s room of the Cherry pub, stoned off my ass on a narcotic or two, in the early stages of alcohol poisoning, only to stagger out and be informed by Champ that I had a fourth man who wanted to take a turn. Whoa. I have called all the friends I have numbers for. I brushed the dog. The kitchen is spotless. I have an open bottle of Jack Daniels here, and I have had several drinks from it. Oh downward spiral, take me on another magic carpet ride…

Nick finally called me last night. He said they weren’t going to take me out of the filming. I was secretly relieved. I really wanted to work on that with him. The director is just going to shoot some other scenes that do not include me. I really want to go back to the gardens there in Sydney. I want to relive the beautiful flowery trails, collect wildflowers and have them pressed and made into perfume. That’s always been a favourite thing for me to do in Australia. I want to make a bottle for my friend Mandy, too. I hope she likes it!

While I was going through my meds this morning, I noticed that my fentanyl was gone. A whole five patches. I found out that my loving mother gave them to her drug addicted sister because she “needed them more than I did”. What? Really? All that is wrong with my aunt is she’s a chronic drug abuser. I really have a broken back and tumors that are causing me horrible pain. After the argument, I locked my med box in the trunk in the closet. Double locked, I might add. Let’s see anyone break into that! She started to tell me that maybe I should move out and earn my own money for my medicine myself. What kind of a selfish bitch was I to totally rely on my husband to work and support me and my ‘drug habit’ I had because of my cancer diagnosis. Wow. I’m not allowed to rely on my husband to buy my meds and work to support the household? I should move out of my own home? What the hell is wrong with her family!

That trip cannot get here fast enough. Have a great rest of the weekend, everyone! I have some pictures to upload after a while from when I tore apart my TimeCapsule and old iMac and harvested their drives. Now if I can only get some USB cords and connect them, I can get my data back. I’ll be so glad to get it, too. Never ever rely on media that you cannot connect to your main computer. I learned that the hard way.

I’m off to finish the bottle of Jack Daniels!

Then comes the digital age of people putting all their pictures on  the internet to show and to keep their images safe. somewhat.

I’m a little stoned and tipsy as I’m writing this, so the words aren’t coming out as well as I would like them to, but keep in mind that I can dig out and scan these images and have them ready for my next post. In my condition I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to try to haul down a wooden box of pictures and stand in front of the furnace as I scan them. Even as wasted as I am, I can see that’s a bad idea.But I have a list of pictures to search for! Go me!

G’nite kiddies! See you in the morning!

I got a battery for my newer camera, and I was able to use the silly thing for more than a few seconds. It’s strange that the camera works better with a rechargeable battery than with brand-new, super-powerful batteries that work so great in my other toys. The zoom is wonderful. The “night scape” is awesome. It picked up my glowing isotopes perfectly in the dark with no flash.

Zoom example:

Poor dog didn’t really want her picture taken. She’s a really fairly reserved dog, who shies away from people. I caught her licking her nose, and snapped the picture a second too late, so she looked like she was sticking her tongue out at me. Good thing dogs can’t Google themselves and find these embarrassing photos of themselves online.

The isotopes’ photo. You can see them glowing and the glow radiating from them on the left-hand side of the photo.

Yes, it’s perfectly safe for me to have those sitting out on my dresser top. These particular isotopes are only dangerous if you eat them, and if you’re that ignorant, well, I can’t help you. They do make an erie glow late at night when I wake up.

I’m still getting used to the side effects and behavioural changes from the increased dose of Cymbalta. I’m also still puzzled as to why I really need that. Why I was prescribed it. I noticed that I do not eat as much as before, I almost never laugh or smile, and I don’t make an effort to catch my favourite TV shows anymore. I feel like … a zombie. A living corpse. It really is worrying me, especially since I’ve noticed these side effects more so than others. I’m also sleeping much more. I’ve slept for eighteen hours at a time, when given the chance. That cannot be good.

Oh, and yesterday I finally got the new iPhone, the 4S. I haven’t played around with it much, other than to put the anti-glare screen protector on and the new Speck Candy Shell case.

That’s it for me! To all my readers in the USA: Happy Thanksgiving! I’m going to catch some more sleep until dinner time.

Only two more days here, and then we’re heading back home on November 1st. I’m sad that the vacation is over, but glad to be getting back home where I can be sick in my own, familiar surroundings.

*Group hug anyone?*

Dennis says that I have an addiction. That I keep buying these scented candles to live in a fantasy world. *laughs* Do I? Am I? He’s been home four days and already we’re butting heads. Or are we?

I picked out the daisy scented candle because it really smells like a field of daisies. The green, plantish smell that you can only get from a real flower. I loved it. I bought it yesterday while I was out getting his father presents for his birthday today. I have been battling a deep depression. One where the world is closing in on me, and all that I want to do is lie in bed and sob. I cannot find rhymes or reasons to continue anything, and I am not even working on my Paper Project journal or my work. The scent of spring made me feel somewhat better. I think I need some deeper help. The toughest psychotropic drugs there are, and take a few to stop the emotional pain caused by my mother. I watched an old tape of my mum in London, at a time when I was still with her, and I felt increasingly upset that I was not with her.

Dennis didn’t seem to understand my sadness. “Your mom is in the other room,” he told me. Is she? Oh, you mean the monster who bullies me to spend outrageous amounts of money on her and then calls me vulgar, filthy names? Who lies about me to her relatives? Dennis doesn’t understand how or why my mother’s family members and friends hate me before they even know who I am. That’s easy: She tells them ridiculous lies about me, for weeks, months, sometimes years, before I ever get to know them, takes situations out of context, and I have enemies that I don’t even know exist.

Such is life.

Oh, and I’m back on a cancer treatment program. So much for bone marrow transplants, huh?

As you were.

Looks almost just like a bear that I bought and photographed 366 days ago! Oh wait. As per the words of the Godiva rep, there’s no date on the left foot of this year’s Halloween bear, and the bag is of mesh material instead of the silky orange with black embroidery that was on last year’s candy bag. That photo could have been taken today. Same computer. Same desk. Same small calendar. Same Halloween bear. Here’s hoping that Chloe doesn’t realise that until waaaaay after Halloween.

At least the Christmas bear does not disappoint:

There’s even a dark chocolate and peppermint candy attached to the sweater! Awesome-ness!

I did some work on the site. I deleted some of the plugins that I didn’t use or need, I optimised the database and tables, and guess what came back? My archive page! Like anyone cares. Most people come here for that little yellow bar, click it and leave until the next day they have to come back to earn them self another point from that site, to pile up to how ever many they need to advertise on other’s sites so that their PR will climb. I doubt that anyone really reads my content anymore. The only comments I get are spammers and “Link backers”. Nothing really worth keeping the site open as a blog anymore.

I’m wondering what to do with this place. Nothing exciting happens on here anymore, not even comments. I guess that’s a sign that my blogging days are over. I’m going to be thinking on this more. Till next time.

I want to thank everyone who leaves personal support and love for me here. I appreciate it. As for those of you concerned about the personality stealer (which is all that I will refer to her as), I don’t care what she does. If she wants to claim that she and I have the same interests and likes, that’s fine with me. I know that she does not, and in doing so, she isn’t impressing me or anyone out there because I don’t like myself in the state that I am. I feel there is room for improvement and nothing that she says or does will make that any different. It scares me a little to think that she feels that she is a perfect person in mimicking me, and I feel bad for the next person that she pretends to be, but what can one say? I’m annoyed about it a little, and a bit amused, but that is all. Again, thanks for telling me. I appreciate it.

I haven’t been feeling well these past couple of days. I don’t know what it is. I am going to try to clean things up around here and see if I feel any better. I feel pretty bad tonight. Bad enough that I flushed my supper down the toilet rather than eat it. I wasn’t that hungry anyway, and spent a good part of the day trying to sleep. I still feel pretty bad. Back pain. Leg pain. Calf pain. Head aches. I was put on Coumadin a few days ago, and since then I have been a little dizzy. I am thinking of going off of it. I also want to get my act together and see a doctor, even if it is the asshole that I despise, because I need some of my old meds back. I need them to get my life back on track. Or maybe it’s the idea that my mother has been living with us for a year now with no signs of moving out or reconciling with dad? That has always made me feel exhausted because she harps on everything I do, and she can always do so much better than me. On top of that all, she hates Chloe. Yes, she hates her granddaughter for two reasons: One, the girl was born out of wedlock (as if my mother was even married before I was born, and even then, I belonged to another man) and two, I “baby” her too much by getting her a pristine education, won’t let her walk and run the streets at night, and on Halloween I (GASP!) won’t let her trick-or-treat at the registered sex offended (pedophile)’s house! What the hell kind of mom am I, not letting a child who hasn’t hit puberty get molested?!

Okay, I’m being sarcastic and witty. Time to publish my post, close my browser and get to bed!

Whether it’s money, merchandise, or “favors” to house her criminally insane friends for the weekend, she throws insults at me and berates me. That used to work, when I was about six years old. She got a kick out of it. She would threaten to throw me out in the elements, make me, a little child, beg her for mercy to let me stay there. There were times when she would push me out the front door, and because I would scream loud enough for the neighbors to hear and turn their heads, she would snatch me back inside the house, before they called child services. But I never had that luxury. I never had the privilege of being in a foster home, away from that physical, mental, and emotional torture and abuse. I constantly think about it when I am alone, on nights like this, when I am (still!) burning DVDs for her because she has lost her copy that I sent her months ago, and will most likely end up on her floor, being kicked around the garbage strewn around her bedroom floor, destined to be scratched beyond playable repair (even though I give her cases, sleeves and ziplock baggies to store the DVDs in), which will only cause her to wake me up again in the middle of the night to make her a new disc. Good thing I have archived copies of these movies. Or is it?

With that, I am going to get a small snack, a drink, and some more opioids. At least I can sleep through whatever demons come scratching on my door tonight. That’s the purpose of taking the medicine anymore. I have pain, but it’s not physical, and the psychologists, therapists, and psychoanalysis professionals can’t fix me. Failure is a good word to describe me, even if I was not the first to think it, I am certainly the first to admit to it.