Letters to My Self *suicide, trigger*

Dear Heartlove,

Forgive me, if you will, my familiarity. I have known you for your whole life, although--like one in the deepest of comas-- you have consistently failed to recognize me. I am skin of your skin, blood of your blood, your breath, your everything. And you are mine.

You say you are endeavoring to fit your life together like a puzzle. Yet the puzzle has no pieces and nothing can be glued together. Stop that.

Here is something for you that you can do. Throw out those old puzzle boxes. Your life is an intricate weaving together of diverse elements into patterns. Patterns that defy the status quo. You are you.

You are not your labels, problems, disabilities. You are you and only you. There is no path for you to be on. You are a trailblazer who has been growing new legs. Get up now and walk on those legs, receiving the strength that is yours and yours alone. Then go out and share that strength. Only in the interconnection of all life will you ever find happiness.

Love Always,
All That Is




Dear "All That Is,"

What kind of stupid-ass name is that? I don't much like you. You and your talk about interconnections and weavings and patterns.

I have suicidal thoughts. They are my Plan B. Plan B is persistent and seductive in her constant whisperings. Plan B says,

"You won't find any jobs. Look, see there are no state jobs waiting for you in the wings. You are
scheduled to language away trying to catch up to the grindstone. There is poverty and degradation .
I'm a secret Plan B. You mustn't tell. Anyone."

You try living with Plan B, always there in the background with her twirly sheer skirts and flirty ways. It's not easy to be me and I may die. Still, it is a lot better than being you. You pompous assinine zipperhead. And by the way, I am no one's "heartlove."

In Total Apathy,
spike



Dear Heartlove,

"I always have options. I just don't always know what they are." Didn't you used to say that?

Love,
All That Is



Dear Pompous One,

Bugger off.

spike



Dear Plan B,

You are not a real Plan B. I name you Imposter. You are a collection of lies and old tapes. I repudiate you.

I may not know where I am going. I do know that I will make it through this.

You can bugger off too, along with that "All There Is" Pompous Asshole.

Basta,
spike

Excuses, excuses, excuses

Anthony O'Toole told the court that an old head injury [not several pints of alcohol] caused him to have seizure activity which necessitated the calling of an ambulance and himself being intubated in order to maintain airflow. The stupid judge bought that story. The cop who arrested him for public intoxication apparently knew better.

To those of us who have a traumatic brain injury or any other disability or belong to any minority group-- the way to acquire equal protection under the law is through taking equal responsibility [i.e. the same responsibility that everyone else takes] for our bad behavior. We have choices and we can choose to lie about what we do or to face the consequences just like everybody else. Until we learn to quit using our otherness as an excuse, we have virtually no recourse in the dialogue for equal rights, period. Get a clue. Anything worth having is worth working for. If we want equal rights, then let's start taking equal responsibility.

Dude was drunk in public. Dude claims his seizures were from a head injury. That is possible. However, folks with traumatic brain injuries [even those without an addiction problem] should not drink or use street drugs at all. For a doctor not to know enough to access someone with a brain injury is negligence in my book. For a doctor not to know enough to advise that we should not drink or use street drugs at all is criminal.

Here's the link.

sapphoq healing tbi

A.B.C. Memories Meme

A. "Does anyone here have an aardvark?..."
B. Batman bangs one summer, cut by my mother. I thought they rocked.
C. Celantano's, a store on Roosevelt Avenue.
D. I used to help Miss Davis in the school library. She had her left leg amputated cuz of cancer.
I was saddened by her death years later.
E. "Everything is beautiful in its' own way..."

F. I swam "like a fish" and I still do.
G. My friend Peggy H. took me to see the play "Grease" in New York City.
H. Life magazine did a spread on the play "Boys in the Band." It was my first exposure to
information on homosexual men and I was fascinated.
I. "i before e except after c."
J. Jesus-tripping. My friend Nancy T. and I drinking Moygan David wine and eating matzas
in a Bloomfield park.

K. I liked bat kites.
L. "L is for the way you look at me..."
M. The first time I saw a mouse in the kitchen, I stood on a chair.
N. The word 'nigger' was socially acceptable in the house I grew up with. I learned better in
seventh grade with the advent of two black classmates and I got to be close friends with
one of them. Thank-you Ann P!
O. I smoked oregano for a whole summer, thinking it was pot.

P. An aunt and uncle had a poodle named Pepe. He liked to do tricks.
Q. I was a founding member of the short-lived Queer Nation in Albany New York.
R. Rehabilitation assumes that I was habilitated in the first place. I wasn't.
S. "Wednesday is Prince Spaghetti Day." It was Ronzoni in our household though.
T. Another uncle was into model trains. He had a set-up in his basement with a miniature
village and everything.

U. From first through twelfth grade, I went to schools that required uniforms.
V. Nancy T. joined the Air Force and was stationed at Valdosta, Georgia.
W. My mother used to tell me, "The world doesn't revolve around you." Still, a modicum of
attention or interest from her directed my way would have been nice.
X. "X marks the spot." I was quite taken by the book "Treasure Island" and by all things pirate
when I was in grade school.
Y. I used to hate the color yellow.

Z. I remember watching zebras running in Africa on Mutual of Omaha's "Wild Kingdom."

spike: sapphoq healing t.b.i.