My Ass is on Fire

Sheeewt! It’s been a minute since I have had any kind of inspiration to write, and boy did I get a lot of it. There has been a stirring inside me for a long time, a few years. But I masked it hard. Antidepressants and anxiety medications numbed me and made me forget everything around me and everything I was doing. But it was so much easier to walk around medicated, even though I still felt terrible, than listen to my heart. I truly thought there would be no end to it- at least not an end like this.

I had heard, not audibly nor from my brain, “Wake up,” many times over the past year or so. It was almost like a chorus of ethereal voices getting louder and louder as it said the words. I noted it, but didn’t really know what to do with it.

A few days into this rebirth, I woke up thirty minutes before my alarm went off because Louise was calling, “Mommy… Mom,” from her room. She said it in that sleepy, slightly whiny voice that is definitely hers. I got up and went to her room, but she was still sleeping. I kind of knew, then, that I was *waking up*. The very next morning, as my alarm was going off on my phone, I turned over to see Louise standing by my bedside holding my phone. She said, “It’s time to wake up, Mommy.” And I opened my eyes to see my phone on my nightstand.

And then God said, SMACK!!!!! Getchyer ass back here. NOW! Maybe it was because I was about to try yet another cocktail of antidepressants and see a Psychiatrist just so I could adult better. I don’t know.

And at first I didn’t even know it was God at all. I thought it was Reason, actually. Or Bill Burr. But She, in her infinite Wisdom, let me fall for that moment because She needed to destroy everything in my tiny little mind. And destroy it She did; then my mind exploded as She whispered Truth through my bones and brought me back to life. Frantically, my ego-self spun around like a hamster in a wheel. It spun for two weeks and did not stop. Now it’s exhausted, yet rejuvenated.

It was a quick process, although I realize it’s not over, just slowed down (Thank U Jesus). But it happened out of literally nowhere! Yet of course it came from somewhere. I just don’t even know what happened. I was only going my terribly merry way of being sleepy and blind and anxious all the time when BAM! God said, “I remember one time when Irene was 13 and she prayed that I would never let her fall away from Me. But she is drowning now and We gotta throw her something to hold onto.”

And I have not felt such a Peace as this, ever. Ever, ever. I didn’t sleep anymore at bedtime because I was up reading, drinking it all in with a fervent passion I’ve never felt before. I allowed myself to experience different thoughts and perspectives and opinions I never would have allowed myself to, because Irene’s ego so values being well-behaved.  Of course, guilt and fear rode my brain like a mechanical bull, desperately trying to hold on to my identity and worldview. After a couple of days, it felt like my body was a pot of water over fire that was about to boil over and spill out onto everything. Beautiful, Truthful water. I felt like throwing up. Words I didn’t even know I had poured out of me onto pages of notebooks. It was -and is- scary.

I took a day to read and sleep, and I fell in and out of Dreamland, waking up and feeling waves of peace and relaxation spread through my body (physically!), falling back asleep and dreaming more. When I woke up again at 4 p.m, still feeling these sensations of Peace, I really thought I had lost it. That’s when I Googled schizophrenia and called my mom, crying, confessing to her that I was no longer Catholic but I’m something but I don’t even know but don’t worry, Mom, I still believe in Jesus. Later, I watched a documentary about the Spirit Molecule and it terrified me, but left me in awe.

I have found a sacred space and I believe know with all my heart this is where I am supposed to be. I still don’t know what happened. But something certainly did. And I’m just rolling with that shit.




Coming Out…of the Marriage Closet

Image result for name change meme

This is probably going to sound weird to most of you, but, today my husband showed me that he had put that we were married on FB. (We haven’t actually announced our marriage publicly, but we don’t deny it if asked. It’s just kind of a thing with us, or was.) Anyway, he didn’t change it where it gave a notification, it’s just subtly on the relationship section. Then, however, he said that he wanted me to change my name (to show I took his last name), but that I could do it without making a notification as well. I told him there’s no way that I could do that and people not notice. He argued that sure I could, how would they notice? BECAUSE IT’S A DIFFERENT FREAKING LAST NAME. DUH.

Image result for name change meme

……and here’s the deal: I’m not ashamed of my new last name, obviously, I chose to take it…..but….but I like seeing my real  original name up there. It’s important to me for reasons I can’t even truly express in words. I don’t want to “give up” my name. I mean, if when I change it, publicly, on social media, I’ll still leave my real original name up there as well, I’ll just add his my (new) last name to the end of it. I’m stalling though. I’m not ready to come out of the marriage closet. I don’t want all the attention that’s going to happen. I want to stay in here where 98% of the world doesn’t know I’m married (yet). I don’t know why. I don’t feel as though I’ve lost myself in my marriage, I feel like I’ve gained a lot of new joys in life through this process, but…..but there’s still a reticence in me in regards to providing society with the fodder of thinking I belong to someone.

Image result for name change meme

I don’t know, but, there you have it.

Image result for name change meme

  • S.L.

I like watching you

Earlier tonight, my Matchgirl came and sat on the couch while I was folding clothes. This is the small piece of dialogue that ensued and stole my heart:

Matchgirl: “I like watching. I like watching you. 

Me: “Mmmmhhmmmm…..”

Matchgirl: “Do you know why I like watching you?”

Me: “Why’s that?”

Matchgirl: “Because I love you, that’s why. That’s why I like watching you.”

Me: “Well, that’s why I like watching you, too.”


So awesome.

  • S.L.

I’m Fine.

Sometimes I feel lonely when I am surrounded by people; sometimes I’m literally alone and I hate being alone.

Although it’s not like I want to hang out with anyone, either. LOL 😉

I’ve been sleeping away my weekends to avoid that shit, which I suppose is better than drinking to avoid it. Going to sleep as soon as possible on Fridays after work, waking up early, then morning nap. Meander around the house, do something productive, sleep. Wash, rinse, repeat. Eat, sleep, poop.

Like today. I pushed myself to take a shower. Pushed myself to go to the store. And now I have five hours before Bruce gets home from work before it’s time to watch some TV and slip again into Dreamy McDreamland. I want to curl into bed so bad right now.

I feel something stirring, like something isn’t right. I’m not where I should be, and I know what I have wanted for a long time. It’s fear that’s stopping me.

I have always needed a partner, though. At my core, I am a follower. I want someone to save me. I want someone to push me. I want someone on my path with me. I want guidance about every decision that I make so that if I fuck it up, it’s not totally my fault. That gives me the okay to point the finger a bit. Just a bit. If I go down, you’ll go down with me. And I won’t end up a lonely failure.

It’s really awful to admit that. See why I hate being alone? I see the ugly in me.

I’m going to get these sweet tats:

If I could bleed emotions, it would be in all the colors imaginable.
I’m fine. Save me.


  • I.W.

Let me dedicate a song to you

Whilst driving Sweetpea Beelzebub around to get her to sleep, I passed the Shell gas station where my friend Margie was killed in 2003. A man robbed the store and shot her in the face, twice, when she asked him to please let her keep her “grandma” bracelet.

The night this happened, I drove by the Shell on my way home, and there were police cars and crime tape around it, and I remember thinking there must have been a robbery, I hope Margie wasn’t working, that would suck. I would normally stop in and grab something and chit chat with her if she was on shift, and I was planning to do it that night.

Selfishly, I’m glad someone else got there first. I’m glad it wasn’t me who found her.

The news played the security footage, up to the point right before the killer shoots her, over and over, asking for help in identifying the man. It was brutal. I felt sick. I felt angry. I couldn’t understand, and it hurt all the more because she always reminded me a little bit of my mom.

I hated that man. Hated him.

I moved out of the city less than a month later.

When I finally came back, I made myself walk into that Shell station, because I wasn’t going to let the past rule my life. I made my purchase and wondered if the clerk behind the counter even knew that they were standing where the blood of my friend once filled the floor. It was surreal.

I had never heard anything further about it, and tonight I searched to see if there were any answers. I found out her case was closed, and then I found out the name of the man who did it. Then I saw his face. Then I searched the state inmate system, and saw he was serving a sentence of life without parole.

This is a case where he should have gotten the death penalty. I’m not a big supporter of rushing to the death penalty, for other personal reasons, but I believe that when you have blatant, unarguable evidence, that a human being perpetrated an obvious act of evil against another human, then the death penalty should be an option. He shouldn’t still be allowed to be here. I don’t care about the argument that killing him won’t bring her back. That’s not the point, and it’s a stupid argument. Nothing can bring her back.

I’m glad he was caught, though. I’m glad her case was solved. I hope that son of a bitch has a hellacious time in prison, although, unfortunately, I think he’s more likely to be the cause of someone else’s hellacious time.

While I normally refrain from wishing direct ill on someone, as it is against my spiritual beliefs, I hope he dies, painfully, and aware that he’s about to die. I wish someone could make him feel everything Margie felt, staring down the barrel of that gun that night. I hope she felt no pain, but if she did, then I hope he feels something akin to that too.

Justice rarely exists, but one can hope.

I love you, Margie.


  • S.L.

The Devil doesn’t care about your diet.

I overheard a coworker the other day say (summarized) that the devil was tempting her to go get fast food the night before, and she rolled over and said “not tonight devil”. I was flabbergasted. Think about it, really.

Say you’re the Devil, and you’re ruling over Hell and getting to torment all these souls and live surrounded by lakes of fire and you (allegedly) get to tempt people to misbehave.

Do you really think you’re going to waste your time worrying if Rhonda eats a twinkie or twenty? There are billions of people on this earth, and people think the devil has so little to do, that he hangs around their special selves all day, waiting to ruin their figure.

What this really is, is a way to circumvent self responsibility.

– S.L.

When the lights go out in the city

And then we being to mirror the manner

of two people passing in the night

bumping up against fate on their way

to their destinies.

I had my doctor upgrade me to 300mg of buproprion (wellbutrin), of which I took the first this morning. Similar to my speedy reaction to the first dose of 150mg, I felt markedly different today. Which is good, considering the events that have occurred, since that doctor visit.

I’m going to digress for a moment here, to say that, it’s almost as if clearing the nightmare clutter of intrusive thoughts (which is another blog post) out of the forefront of my mind, has led to me to a better self-awareness. With all the distraction gone, I can finally get back to me. Let me tell you, I’m tired. Seriously. Emotionally, mentally, physically tired. I wish I could stop time just so I could take a nap.

I’ve actually decided that I’m too tired to be writing this blog post right now, and my judgment may not be solid, in regards to topics of discussion, so I’m going to err on the side of caution and log off.

(P.S. Sean Seay has some excellent articles I found on Pure-O OCD here and here.)


  • S.L.

What do you drive during an apocalypse?

I saw this commercial for an electric car while watching Hulu today (Awkward). My immediate thought was “How would you power an electric car if there was an apocalypse?”. This is why I love the internet, because it lets me know my weird thoughts have company:

10 Vehicles for the Apocalypse

10 Best Vehicles to Survive the Apocalypse

10 Bet Ways to Maintain Your Car in an Apocalypse

10 Worst Vehicles During a Zombie Apocalypse

Then, I started wondering, with how electronically-driven things are these days, how would you get gas out of a gas pump during an apocalypse? Would our credit cards still work up to a point? How long would banking be effective without people at the helm? Would we have to break into gas pumps somehow? Again, the internet:

(I fell down a Google rabbit-hole of hypothetical apocalypse scenarios here.)

But none of that matters anymore, because of this:

5 Things Every Movie gets Wrong about Apocalypse


  • S.L.

You can lead a horse to water…

One of the aggravating things that I do to myself (involuntarily) is actively participate in dehydration. Basically, I become thirsty, but my brain doesn’t really want to acknowledge this is happening, so I don’t notice it. After a while, when I’m starting to become very thirsty, part of me gives a little poke and says “Hey, you know what the problem is? You’re thirsty!” and the other part of me kind of leans on the wall tiredly and says “You’re probably right.” but then refuses to do anything about it. Then, inevitably, I become EXTREMELY THIRSTY, almost to the point of wanting to attack someone. The logical part of me is basically screaming in the crazy part’s face “You’re thirsty, you idiot! Drink something! DRINK SOME DAMN WATER.” and the other part of me is all in a puddle on the floor (a la Sadness from Inside Out) moaning about how terrible I feel and why is it so difficult to drink something.

Which, of course, is not a difficult thing at all. I have multiple avenues of liquid refreshment at my fingertips; I just can’t get my damn brain to cooperate enough to actually make the drinking happen. So, I just sit around getting angry at myself (and the world) because I’m really thirsty but for some reason I can’t drink anything. When I finally, finally, manage to sludge through the barrier enough to actually get something to drink, I chug as much as possible, because I know, I know, that it might be a long time until I drink something again.

This has become a rather disturbing state of affairs, recently, which is one of the multitude of reasons I’m asking my doctor about upping my buproprion on Friday. I resisted for a while and now I’m pretty damn sure I need to get my butt in gear about it, because I am not right, again. When it gets to the point where I’m wandering around, squinting at things on store shelves and having an inner monologue that’s just repeating over and over “Something is wrong with me.“, I know it’s time to get some help with things. Plus, the OCD is encroaching again; I spent too much time this morning weeping on the couch about how terrible I would feel if I lost my 4 year old daughter. Why? Mainly because my brain decided to suggest that as the topic for a morning meditation. Why not, right?

Also, this is how I feel watching the numbers for how many states that cretin is currently winning in the primaries:

  • S.L.