The Promise Of A New Year

Dear Hearts,

The last day of 2016. Our society puts up such expectations for this time of year: the Hallmark-Rockwell-Perfect Christmas; the great New Year’s Eve parties; and the promise of a new and better than ever New Year.

Last New Year’s Day, I was with T. and my parents. They had told me that he’d drank Gaia’s whiskey and replaced it with water. I thought he was sick. He was black-out, alcohol poisoning-ly drunk.

“I couldn't believe her story and go on living with [T]. A Streetcar Named Desire.

And I had to believe T. and the snake-oil he was selling, because I didn’t want to be alone. I wanted someone to make all of this fuck-uppery better. I NEEDED someone to make it better. I have always depended on the kindness of [men].

I don’t know where that statement came from. I would have told you no. I was not happy after the divorce—I was fucked up. But, I didn’t want a man. However, I had a dream of a man…someday.

I am lonely. I’ll admit it. I just want Prince Charming to make it all better and T. said he could do that. I was so numb to the verbal abuse from Asshole by that point—at least T. said he was sorry. And, being with T. I didn’t have to deal with my shit. I dealt with his shit.

Now I am dealing with my shit.

Good-mother-fucking-cock-sucking-bye to 2016.

Will 2017 be better? I don’t know. I really can’t see the light. I am down in that well and the cover is over the well. I am just treading water.

I did not go to Mass today—a double violation of my Holy Obligation, since tonight’s Mass would have counted for Sunday obligation and January 1, The Solemnity of Mary, the Mother of God Obligation. I was talking myself out of it anyway.

G-Pa has something wrong with his ear, neck—I don’t know. But he is in pain and the doctors can’t figure it out. So I went to the ER today with me—when I was supposed to be blogging, or so I’d planned.

G-Pa I love you.

BUT

I CAN PARK A FUCKING CAR! I CAN PULL THROUGH TO THE EMPTY SPACE IN FRONT OF ME. I CAN FUCKING DRIVE. I HAVE BEEN DOING IT FOR 23 YEARS AND I AM SO SICK AND FUCKING TIRED OF MEN TELLING ME THAT I DON’T DRIVE GOOD ENOUGH. YOU’RE LUCKY YOU FEED AND HOUSE ME. YOU’RE LUCKY YOUR OLD. YOU’RE LUCKY I LOVE YOU OR ELSE JERSEY-KATE WOULD BE ALL OVER THAT SHIT.

PS: I KNOW THERE’S A FUCKING CAR COMING. I CAN SEE IT!

Had to get that out. My Aunt Faerie is better with that stuff—I am better with the taking care of stuff and getting stuff done. Dr. ER got a little bit of Kate-Jersey. No, we are not just gonna put 96-year-oldold grandfather on narcotic without doing some diagnostics first. Asshole.

So I am blogging now and I am going to drive G-Pa to Aunt Faerie’s for dinner. Tomorrow we go to Steve’s. Or Aunt Faerie and G-Pa go to Steve’s for ham loaf. BLUCK! Seriously. Whatever goes on top of the ham loaf is a singularly moving jelly-like organism. And, what the fuck is ham loaf? Ew. I may sneak out of this one. Oh! The Christmas decorations have to be taken down!

I was gonna go out to see Gram and pray, smoke, and read out there for a while—instead of Mass. But, G-Pa took a painkiller and I’m not leaving him alone until I know he won’t have bad side effects.

Okay. I’m back. We can’t find his better pair of glasses. At that stuff I am good. I am good with the helpful stuff. I am just wearing thin on the drives. Seriously thin. I grew up and lived my adult life in the country. Going for rides is the country is not fun for me.

Fuck the Catholic Church (as an administrative whole—not God, Christ, Mother Mary, the Angels, Jed, the Saints, or Pope Francis). Just fuck this Holy Day Obligation shit. You have to go to church on those days—unless the days fall close to a weekend. Christ didn’t make that up. Peter didn’t institute that. Catholicism has a past, some if it quite dark, those jag-offs are the ones who put the HDO into effect.

Actually, my reason for staying home would be legitimate in the eyes of the Church.

Last night I curled into a ball on the couch and felt as though I could not move. I could not keep going. I started drawing. I made myself. That helped. I don’t know why. I will let CD make me miserable, suicidal, cognitively impaired--

…Time to go. He said 5.10. But that really means 5…

I’m back. After driving to Aunt Faerie’s house. At least Bugsy is gonna make portabella mushrooms for my cream of mushroom soup.  But then I had to call the ER and then the pharmacist and then the other pharmacist with questions about the painkiller G-Pa got. People are fucking idiots! The berocracy and red tape is so fucked up. I digress. Then my computer acted wonky. It’s like I am having to work very hard to write this fucking blog tonight. But I am determined.

I will let CD make me miserable, suicidal, cognitively impaired—but I won’t let it make me immobile. It won’t put me to bed all day. Then the Demons would fully possess me and take over.

Last I was desperate. I sat on the couch after dinner. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t think. I just wanted to go away. I’d didn’t want to smoke or color or draw or cross stitch or watch TV—when that happens that is a sign I am really at a low point.

I MADE myself pick up a pencil and start drawing. I followed the YouTube video tutorial. I felt…less despairing. I pushed the Demons out of me.

Also I visited Gram yesterday. I greeted her and then put my hands on my head on the top of the stone and wailed. And screamed. And I do mean wailing and gnashing of teeth. I begged her forgiveness and begged her for help.

You can’t wail and gnash your teeth in a Church without drawing some unwanted attention. According to the Catechism, any one who reaches Heaven is a Saint and can therefore intercede with God on our behalf. I figure if anyone is in Heaven, my Gram and Pop are there. I said asked for her help.

“This too shall pass.” The last words I remember her saying to me.

Tonight my big party is me, Angel, Leo DiCaprio in The Departed, I think, chocolate peanut butter pie, a little of Bugsy’s mead, and watching the ball drop. The last party I went to was in high school in 1993. No alcohol. Totally legit. But, my first real boyfriend kissed me. He has all kinds of mental issues. I wonder if I were to go back to that night…I remember what I wearing. I remember I didn’t eat anything for fear my stomach would get upset. I remember dancing on the porch. If I could go back to 12/31/92, could I change the trajectory of my life?

I don’t have ravishing, sweeping hopes or plans for 2017. I guess I won’t be disappointed. I know I have so many blessings I don’t deserve.

So I can promise God that I won’t commit adultery. I can swear that I will not steal. I can promise I will never let another man treat me badly. I can swear lots of things. But I can’t swear to God that I won’t kill myself. I wish I could. I want to. In my heart, I just cant. I know I have so many blessings I don’t deserve. I am hoping that God’s timer is different than ours—that he’ll wait for me…If  I let my mind go to what could be, it takes my breath away and crushes my soul…I believe God wants me to make the Oath more for myself than Him…but, today I can promise to do my best, which probably isn’t good enough. Tomorrow, I swear God, I will…try.

I am hanging on.

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

PS: 100 legitmate posts since July. That's something...

Exorcizing The Demons

Dear Harts,

After getting the Demons out--I am less at their mercy. They are still talking--but they are vulnerable now, because they are not my Burden alone. They aren't locked up inside me...I've had enough of that.

Selfish? Maybe.

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO

Dear Hearts,

I am losing it. I’m having another panic attack here.

I want to die. Right now I do not want to be here.

God won’t punish me for not promising to permanently disarm The Nuclear Action. I will punish myself. How the fuck can I move on if I can’t commit myself to life?

What fucking broke?

CD here. I will write in italics so you know it’s Kate’s Good Friend: CD. For any of the disappointment I had over Christmas with her actually ‘enjoying’ herself as much as possible. I am being paid back in spades. She is freaking the fuck out!! I LOVE IT!

I mean come on—if I can make Jesus, The Son of God, doubt, then I sures the hell can break Kate.

Do it Kate. After G-Pa is asleep—take all the pills you have and swallow them. Oh, that’s right—you can’t even do that right! So find something sharp. Not a serrated knife like before—find something very sharp and cut the femoral artery in both your thighs. You can take all the pills you have for good measure too. You will bleed out before you can throw up the pills. Do it!

I do. I wish I had the courage to do that. I wish I could call someone and tell them that I want to do this—I wish I could call and talk to someone who wouldn’t lock me in a hospital for talking this way. No priests available at the moment.

You could put your favorite movie in the computer and watch True Romance and smoke cigarettes in your bedroom—in bed with Angel. You can have pie and die! I can rhyme! Don’t forget a suicide note though first.

You know you love being this way. This is the way you were meant to be. Career? House? Husband? Fucking forget it, fucking retard.

Aunt Faerie reacted to strongly when I told her that in 2012 when I was hospitalized for colitis that I asked the docs to run a tox screen on me because I thought Asshole could poison me. I told her that I didn’t go off the pill—in case he raped me. That I stopped wearing my teeth-grinding device because I always left it in a cup filled with Efferdent in the medicine cabinet during the day. That’s how I always cleaned it. But, when Asshole went postal, I stopped—because I was afraid he’d do something to it.

Could that single event—well it wasn’t just that—there was so much more. And then T. My God. Oh, it’s okay for me to threaten to fucking kill me and call me a fucking bitch because he apologizes afterward. Could my divorce all the shit that’s happened since really break me?

Kate cracks me up. She has a rosary wrapped around her left wrist—the way she did in the second nut house and St. Michael’s Chaplet wrapped around her right wrist. Good fucking luck, sister! I’ll throw ya’ a rabbit’s foot. She won’t admit. But she is doubting God and feeling a distance from God and Mother Mary—now I’ve got her right where I want her. Ha!

What could I do to go back and change things? Not marry Asshole? Quit teaching earlier? Thrown T. over as soon as he threatened to kill me and not go to the MD about his “concussion?”

I can’t see the light. I talked to Mom in the grocery star parking lot tonight. She told me that she hasn’t given up hope. I can’t see the light—any light. 

And you ain’t never gonna see the light again, cunt. You fucked this up! You. You. You. Lots of people grow through worse shit than you and come out the other side. Too bad you are so weak and worthless. You will lose your house because you’re too lazy to do anything about it—like, hmmm, get a job. You don’t even want to go to Burning Bed tomorrow because of germs. Just give up the ghost already. Things can get worse. They will. No house—I know you can imagine the pain and gut-wrenching despair of losing that house. Ain’t I grand? But—it’s your fault. You coulda had a nice life there, after Asshole left—but you broke down like the fucking pussy you are. You are 39 and living off your parents.

You keep waiting for the WHEN. When I’m divorced…when you get the house…when the principal retires…when your unpaid leave of absence is up…when you find balance. When you leave T. When Burning Bed hires you…when your union benefits are up…when you grow balls enough to apply to a real job even online. God, you are one lazy bitch. You can’t even work in a gift shop! There is no “When,” baby. The “When” is now and you are fucked. Debt. No retirement. No hope. There is no hope! You tried it all—therapy, ECT, acupuncture, drugs, prayer—you even moved to a different fucking state.

There is no light. You lose. Someone has to. God gave you a good life you could have succeeded with and you fucked it up! You! And, you’re alive because…

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to turn. I don’t know if this is all in my head and I am being a Drama Queen--if these feelings, depression, and episodes are really out of my control. I don’t know where to turn anymore. I don’t know what to do. I am drowning in the bottom of the well.

Just fucking do it. You threw every good thing you had away because you’re fucking lazy. You aren’t doing anyone any good. Yeah, yeah, your parents and family would be sad—how much longer can you really go on like this? They think they couldn’t go on without you, but they would. They would just fine. So just fucking do it.

You won’t hurt anymore. I promise.

Not tonight. I will not take the Nuclear Option tonight. Not on G-Pa’s couch. Thoughts and actions are very different things. I just feel like I am losing my mind. I can’t get a grip on anything. I try to fill the holes with drawing, coloring, cross stitching, smoking, reading, TV, FAITH, but it’s not helping.

Tonight is so dark in the bottom of the well. I can’t see anything. What if I just slipped under the water?

You’re never gonna get out of this alive.

Okay. Fine. Fuck it all. But I will not die tonight. Not tonight. Not on G-Pa’s couch or in G-Pa’s house. Not tonight. I will get through tonight.

“Afterall, Tomorrow is another day.”

Reasons to live tonight: pie, cigarettes, Angel, family, God, TV…I’ve been here before…and I got out…I just don’t know what to do.

Mom and Aunt Faerie—I’m sorry. I just have to believe that putting this out there is better than keeping inside.

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

PS: You are also failing your grandfather Big Leauge. Yeah, he deserves that.

PPS: Not tonight and not on my Dad's birthday.

The Promise and The Pit Bull

Dear hearts

No caps or grammar. Bad episode. Spelling suckjs too.

Full on panic attack. My mind isn’t always affected by my shdaking but it is now. Maybe if I get this out.

Gripped by panic like an anachonda. Great j-lo movie. But it –no a pit bull. A mean not properly trained pitbull has its jaws around med and won’t let go. I can’tt tell you what im worried about—my mind just races. I am in crisis. Its like I’m in the middle of a crisis. I’ m not. All is calm. But not in my head. Flee flee fleee flee fleee getout get out get out dan ger danger help help fear fear fear terror terror terror. I really am feeling those things right now.

Maybe this is CD getting back at me for have a ‘good’ Christmas. I didn’t write last night because I new the pitbull was crouching waiting for me. I can sense him. I drew and drew and drew.  Im determined to draw a shity human female figure to use as a template for an angel, MOTHER MARY, or kate middletone. I know one of those doesn’t belong. I am capping because it requires my spasming hands to  hit only one key. Gotta capitalize MOTHER MARY.

I’m, failing gpa. He was boared today. I shoulda taken him for a ride I didn’t. I drew instead. Even took a walk with mom.

Last ngiht the pitbull was on a chain. He got off the chain and has me good tonight. Damn CD. Pitbulls are only violent if trained to be. Well CD trained him to be mean. I just I just I just don’t even cant tell you what I want except away. Away. Away.

Gpa looked at me yesterday and said

Did your man send you a present or card at least

I stood dumb. Literally with mouth open.

You mean T. the drunk I left/

Yeah, whatever the guy you were last with…dan…

No. he didn’t.

Oh well.

I a;lso think he hallucinated snow last night.

I am a bad judge. I wen t through this with pop who had alzheimers. Gpa doesn’t have alzheimers

He just asked how I was feellijng and said it looked like a severe one was I okay to stay by himself and hijm to dinner. Now I fucking have him worried. Cause his out fo work crazy 39 year old granddaughter who is supposed to be his companion is on the couch in a fetal position.

Gpa doesn’t have alzheimers

Fuck it. another Xanax—that’s a milligram and a half. No[e can’t get off couch to get Xanax… off csme the jeans and socks and tank top. G[pa gone. Im gonna rfecord this for posterity. For the record half klonopin this morning and another half just now followed by a milligram of Xanax.

I do this to myself.f my mind is fucked up and there is nothing phhuysically wrong with me. But my fucking brain causes this. I cause this. So I am choosing to throw away house life financial security love because I am a fucking pussy. I’m crazyu. People go thru divorces and come out. They don’t have a full fledged breakdown like this . 

I fucking hate myself. I want to die. I should go into the kitchen take a knife and just do it. but gpa can’t find me like that. This is what goes through my head in a panic attack boys and girls. Givwe me a gun. Under the chin is pretty fool proof I understand. This is whats in my head. Why. Why/ why/     /=?  

Tomporrow I get my last check from my union. Then I am totally dependent on ssd and mom and dad. Stupide fucking whore bitch cunt I should not have been spending money these last years. I should a been saving. I am choosing to throw it all away. But that’s not what I want.

I ddon’t fucking know what I want. I don’t

HAIL MARY FULL OF GRACE THE LORD IS WITH THEEE BLESSED ARE THOU AMONG WOMEN AND BLESSED IS THE FRUIT OF THY WOMB JESUS. HOLY MARY MOTHER OF GOD PRAYER FOR US SINNERS NOW AND AT THE HOUR OF  OUR DEATH.

See I had this cognitive dissonance—I’m catholic. I respect all life. Well no I don’t.  but I’m not hurting people who I think deserve it. I think I am against the death penalty and even abortion perhabps. A real change for me but I’ve done a lot of thinking obn it.  but with myt suicide there was never a conflict.GOD woul understand. I offered myself to HIM AND MOTHER MARY and they sent me back.

CHRISTMAS EVE was a very special service at church. Ain’t going to the 10 pm. Again if they ain’t having candles. But everything looked so beautiful. I prayed in front of the nativity. I honored ST THERESE. I lit 5 candles. Buffalo. Sister’s life. All those I love. Me. And all my blessings. I am supposed to pay 2 dollars a candle. Wel l I don/’t and being ocd I have to light one, three, or five—after that it would seven or 9. Never got beyond 5.

Do I want to live like this// really. I must since I am fucking doing this to myself. Subsconiously I must want to live this way.

I was bleseed and I threw it all away with my breakdown. School did cause ulcerative colitis. But I could work elsewhere. But I can’t or think I cant., the pitbull wont let me. CD won’t let me.

GOD PLEASE.

Half an hour. I should be okay or much beter in another half hour. Fuck this is a bad one. aall muscles contracting . toes curling fingers rigid body shaking. I cannot physically get off this couch. I am such a fucking loser.

SCRREEEEEEEEAAAAAM.

I just did. Don’t really feel better. Head jerks back and forth.  Thank GOD for e cigarettes.

I got to church early on CHRISTMAS EVE so I could pray and say the ROSARY.

GOD wants something from me I think. He wants me to swear to him to not kill myself in these coming months when the toughest decisions will have to be made. He wants me to promise him to not kill myself. I don’t break promised to GOD so I promise I won’t then I can’t…

You’d think it’s be a no brainer. Okay GOD I promise not to kill myself and destroy my family. Although why they care about me is beyond me. But they say that I would destroy them. That should be an easy promise to make.

GOD I PROMISE TO NOT KILL MYSELF.

I tried to make it that night. CHRISTMAS eve but I couldn’t. I’ve given myself to the new year to give GOD an answer. If I do promise not to kill myself will things get better. If I can’t promise GOD that will things get worse. But I gotta feel it in my heart. I have to have that exit plan. I have too.

I’m not living a life. I’m pretending. Going through habits. Putting on a face. Tomorrow I’m supposed to go to burning bed.  I am supposed too no I should get a fucking job. But I can’t even bag groceries or work in a gift shop. Good use of 7 years of education bitch.

I want to feel it in my heart—to be able to promise GOD in my heart with no reservations—but I can’t I want too but cant.

And I’m so fucking shellfish. Shellfish shelf selfish selfish selfish. Sellfish. Cant do it . acan’t spell the word.

I was supposed to come here to heal. But gpa is changing. I will not let him go into a nursting home. But can I be a full time caregiver. I know I over react. I remember pop. Gpa won’t necessarily be like pope. For a good five or six years Alzheimers progressed. Gpa—only in the last year. Even if gpa does have A he wouldn’t live to see the worst of it.

I’m scared. What if he gets worse/ he was my rock. The holy city was my holy place and now there is an earthquake coming. I’m sorry aunt faerie.

Shaking is subsiding some. I can uncurl my toes. Now I’m twitching. Still don’t’ know if I can get off the couch.

If gpa does decline more he deserves care and help and love and compassion.  I don’t’ know if I can do it.

I can’t even make the commitment to live.

No wonder I can’t see a tomorrow. Or fashion a future. A deep dark hidden part of me isn’t commiteed to life. How fucked up is that/  my thoughts are like tree lights all tangled up. Fuck me.

Mom dad gaia aunt faerie Martha—I am not gonna kill myself tonight or tomorrow night  I promised before that I wouldn’t kill myself in 2016. I wont. I swear to GOD. I ain’t going back to no fucking hospital. So that’s what I can do right now as the pitbull draws blood and CD sings with glee. I won’t kill myself in 2016.

But why am I even here/

This is what thoughts—uncensored thoughts come to my mind during a bad panic attack. Nope—still fucking shaking. Goddamnit.

I just want to dispear. There has to be something better than this…there has to be otherwise I’m done.

AND THE WORST FUCKING THING THAT EVOKES RAGE AND GUILT TOWARD MY OWN SELF IS THAT I AM FUCKING DO THIS TO MY OWN SELF. I AM FUCKING UP AGAIN AND AGAINA AND AGAIN.

I just want

Okay—it’s easing up now. Yup an hour. I don’t wanna think anymore.

I’m not here. I am in Nebraska on the Buffalo Hunt and in a little over an hour Mrs. Rancher is gonna make dinner. I am gonna shower, and have some of her AMAZING coffee with a  cigarette on the couch in the bunk house. Tomorrow I will run through the fields on the ranch. Just run and scream until I stop falling.

“Fuck me, Freddy.”  Stephen King

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Blesss

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

PS: Not proof reading this one.

Fuck up Kate, out, 10-4 Rubber Ducky.

Christmas

Hope you guess my name.

I have a pretty good Christmas track record with My Good Friends. I even lost a few yesterday and today. I felt really good about that. That’s the nature of my game.

But, Goddamn Kate.

I was with her through the whole Holiday. Oh, don’t think I don’t have The Power, because fuck, yes, I do.

She had episodes—a couple of really bad ones too. Actually, it was around Friday that I felt her withdrawing from me a bit. She started listening to Christmas hymns as she fell asleep. She sought out Christmas movies. Egg nog. Cookies.

Last night, the celebration of Christmas with G-Pa, Aunt Faerie, and family—she actually had a moment or two of enjoyment.

Her stupid bitch cousin gave Kate a gift certificate to her favorite coffee place. Kate actually hugged the bitch and got teary when she whispered, “Thank you so much. I have no money. I’m sorry. You didn’t have to do this.” Her cousin said, “Yes, I did.” Dumb bitch. Kate can’t afford to buy coffee at her favorite coffee place and now she has a gift certificate that is all special to her.

Her fucking Aunt Faerie gave her chalk pastels so she can expand her drawing—which sucks by the way. Aunt Fuck-You was very generous with Kate.

Sitting in the living room, her dead Gram’s Spirit was there. I was not at all cool with that. But, I haven’t any power over Gram. Kate felt that “warmness” she talked about in her previous post.

Oh, I made sure to remind her that she sucks. That she is a fucking failure. Her cousin teaches college and Kate is on disability. Her cousin has a daughter. Not gonna happen for Kate. Her cousin even has herself a decent man. Don’t hold your breath, Kate.

I made sure to remind her that she was not at home with her precious Mommy and Daddy and Sister and Johnny too. They were nice enough to send texts throughout the day. I told Kate in no uncertain terms that she is a loser and is “exiled” in The Holy City for a reason. Kate, you haven’t even hit the worse suffering yet. When you do, I’ll be there, bitch. I reminded Kate that she will never be “happy” again—that she is always gonna be in the Well and The Darkness will always be there. 

I kept those past memories of Asshole and T. coming—all the worst ones. I whipped those demons in her head into gear like Ramsey with the Jews.

Then she went to fucking Church. I tried to convince her not too. I can’t actually go into the Church with her. But I can make sure she feels her worst before she gets there. And, I remind her that God hasn’t made this go away yet—so don’t be hoping, Kate…

She had time to say the Rosary and talk to God, Christ, Mother Mary, St. Therese, St. Jude, St. Peter, Archangel Michael, Saint Brigid, and Jed.

God has her on this verge of this big fucking promise he wants her to make. Goddamn, Kate. I think I can probably get her tomorrow. Now, that Christmas is over and she is closer to D-Day.

That bitch just kept shutting me down. She actually “enjoyed” Christmas thanks to Aunt Faerie. Oh, but I am persistent.

“Kate, I own you bitch. Don’t you forget that. Don’t go making promises to Them…What have they done for you? I am always here for you. See you soon, fucking retard. Ring any PTSD bells? That’s right—you’re a fucking retarded bitch, who is selfish, bad in bed, and a just fucked-up cunt who burdens your family.”

Don’t hate the playa’. This is the nature of my game.

                                                                                    CD

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

PS: “Joy to the world, the Lord has com, let Earth receive her Gift…Star of Wonder Star of Light, Star with Royal Beauty Light, Westward Leading, still proceeding, Guide us to Thy perfect Light…Let Us Adore him, Christ, the Lord…Glory to God in the Highest… Thank you Mommy, Daddy, Sister, Johnny, Aunt Faerie (you did it), G-Pa, Cousin, and God for a better Christmas than I…well, just thank you. I love you.

PPS: It’s not about gifts and stuff—it’s about Love, Family, Christ, the Best Things…Kate

PPPS: God, Christ, Mother Mary--thank you for saving Gaia's life.

PPPPS: This isn't the life I expected, but it's the life I have. I'm still holding on. I believe in the Light. God I will have an answer for you on that promise before the New Year.