This decade was stupid. Bring it on 2010...I have learned things.

2000: I firmly believe that I'm the only woman that started her period two minutes before the ball dropped us into this year. There were boys there, okay? It was humiliating. Too much info? Don't read my blog then. 

Also the year I entered high school. Bad hair and bras that were too big (denial). Puberty is the worst, especially when you're the oldest child with no douchey, uncool older siblings to learn what not to do from. 

Cheers to you, 2000.

2001: I don't remember much about this year besides getting my driver's license and starting to date my first boyfriend, Mike. I had an '89 Bonneville/sex machine and was convinced that I'd be married with children by the age of 23. 

Awkward, pubescent cheers to you, 2001.

2002: Let's see. I would've entered my junior year of high school now. I was huge into choir and more into chamber choir because we danced. Um, I quit the basketball team in order to begin my waitressing career at Bob fucking Evan's. This is also the year I started going to weird "rock" concerts with my friends that haunt me to this day. (Nickelback)

Indifferent cheers to you, 2002.

2003: The beginning of senior year. Oooo doggy! I really don't remember much of 2003. I do remember that my dad died in April of this year and that it straight fucked me up for a solid three years after. I'm okay now, though. I love and miss him every day. RIP Papa.

Get fucked, 2003.

2004: This year began my 1,460 day drinking binge. Undergrad at OU. Hey, I had fun, I graduated, whatever. I also met a lot of fantastic people that are now all getting married and stuff. This is also the year that I heard The Shins' song "Caring is Creepy"which led me to seek out other new bands that led me to fall in love with a new boy who helped me realize that I wasn't dealing with certain issues appropriately which led me to become the strong-ish lady that I am today. 

This year I also discovered my affinity for shoulder bopping and just how many friends/lovers this single dance move can get a woman.

Appreciative cheers to you, 2004.

*It's at this time in my life I should've thanked my Mom, Grandma, Poppy, Brother, and Sister for putting up with my bullshit and loving me through it all. I am still a loser but a much more appreciative loser because of you all. All my love to the moon and back forever. XO.

2005: Drunk. Study. Exam. Work. Drunk. Home for holidays. Drunk. Study. Exam. 

Just cheers.

2006: Drunk. Study. Exam. Work. Drunk. Home for holidays. Drunk. Study. Exam.

Just cheers.

2007: Drunk. Study. Exam. Work. Drunk. Home for holidays. Drunk. Study. Exam.

Just cheers.

2008: Huzzah! Piece of paper stating my very expensive education actually happened retrieved. Move to Chicago accomplished. Reunited with best friend from high school in small garden apartment. More new friends. Many jobs. Very poor. Baby kitten, The Future, retrieved! Drunk. 

Feverish cheers to you, 2008.

2009: This year has been incredibly wonky. Up, down, bop around, twist, turn, scream, laugh, love. Lots of love, yes. New, improved living situation. Actual job as friend to insane people but still very poor. ROTHBURY. Uncle teabags, so many of them. San Francisco. Love. Laughs, hard ones. More new friends = super family love action party pants explosion. 

Wide-eyed, very absorbent cheers to you, 2009.

2010: Seriously, bring it. I've learned some stuff.

Q: How did the past decade feel? 

A: Pretty much like I was trying to hump a bear: see above.

avoiding paperwork

You know. I've been working with mentally ill people for almost a year now and I still can't decide whether they are more free or more trapped than the rest of the population.

The facility that I work in is by no means a "lock down" or anything close. Our residents, the ones that are mentally and physically capable of doing so safely, are free (and encouraged) to go out into the community as they please. Some of them go out for walks along the lake, some go pan handle at the Jewel Osco until they make enough money to buy a King Cobra, some frequent local coffee shops and do odd jobs like take trash out in order to earn a free cup 'o joe. So, aside from financial limitations and a curfew rule most of the residents here have total freedom.

Now I ask myself, "Okay, but how free can you be when your thoughts are clouded with voices?" 

It's not freedom in the sense that most people think of it but these people are the only people I've ever met who are 100% themselves all of the time and no one judges them for it. And if people do judge them as soon as they find out that they're schizophrenic or bipolar their actions are usually excused. They aren't putting on fronts for anybody because they can't. Symptoms of mental illness can certainly come and go but when I come to work and the first thing I see is a fifty year old man doing the dance that he has to do before getting on the elevator which often causes him to miss it when it comes, I always think to myself, "Holy shit, that is serious honesty." Imagine not being able to be anything other than what you are. 

I'm not saying that being mentally ill is super cool and us freedom seekers should strive to get diagnosed but I am saying that I love these people and admire their gusto. Not all have gusto, but just like the rest of the population the ones that do are pretty memorable. Already today I've gotten three high fives from different residents. Good, strong high fives, too.

Sidenote: There's currently a pretty big debate going on in the state of Illinois that directly affects the people that I work with. Some big-whig douche bags think it'd be great to make more money by closing residential facilities like the one I work in down and placing the people that live in them into group homes spread throughout Chicagoland where they would have little to no structured care. The bottom line is that these people are living here for a reason. They need a nursing staff to dispense their meds, they need their meals prepared for them, they need continuous support from social workers. So, if you feel that this is ridiculous and have a chance to vote or stand up for a lot of people who have trouble standing up for themselves then please be my guest.

You have permission to do me.

Is there anything about this picture that isn't the sexiest thing you've ever seen? 

The answer is no.

But also, I had sex with this man's man in my dreams last night and it was "The Notebook's" sex scene multiplied by more awesome. Holy crap. I would've been content never opening my eyes again after that. In my dream he told me that, "I don't have anyone sensual in my life. I need you to be that for me." Um, yes. Anything you want me to be, Mr. Gosling.

But also, this man's lips actually kissed my face a couple months back. Yea. It was cool. I am so pathetic. But he is so hot. And even more so in person. 

Okay, I'm going back to sleep where I will attempt to lucid dream him back into my bed.

baby friends and helpless humans

today I saved a caterpillar!

he was on the sidewalk

and I was afraid he'd get squished 

so to the amusement of some passersby

I put him on a leaf and then under a bush

where he'd be safe and free to fashion his cocoon 

and fly away someday, free!

I walked away thinking I made a difference

in the life of a helpless creature

but then I came back 

and the bugger was in the sidewalk again

so I thought, "why in the world?!"

but then I realized that it's not up to me

none of this is up to me!

so I put him back under the bush

and out of my mind

I'm not in control now but I was for a minute

touch bodies

living about in my reckless world is easy if you live without thinking of anything that has made me who I am compared to who I was I am the same but no one knows that and with good reason they bring me to pieces and I patch them together again and again to know that you love and that I once loved too why am I so happy without you I could never be happy once you take my hand I won't stop until my tears have dried I love that I still love you always keep my hand in your hand in my reckless world I'll keep you close let me feed your emotions with my love my love is with you now let me touch your hand please keep my hand 

people are just busy sometimes

she can run along the shore

giggling uncontrollably

and she can gesture that you join

but the sun will warm her skin

so she'll split herself apart

cut herself open wide

feel the salt in the water

become heavy in her hollowed heart

I wrote this for you. (lie)

I am sitting in a little cafe stealing internets and watching people and pondering my very existence. For some reason, when I'm hungover my mind either berates me all day or it doesn't stop asking questions. Today is a question hangover. The most frequent question I asked myself is why am I/are we here? What if I wasn't here? I always wonder who would be affected the most and in what ways by my untimely death (besides my mom obviously). Is that morbid? I don't WANT to die I just want to know what would happen if I did. It doesn't feel morbid but then again I'm pretty darn numb at the moment and I probably shouldn't post this because it all of a sudden became depressing and now I'm just making words and waiting to see where this sentence leads me but it seems to just keep going in no real direction so I guess I'll put a period right here>. 

Today at work I learned for the 80 thousandth time that none of us can function correctly without love in our lives. It is just so important. The amount of evidence that supports the absolute need we all have for love and acceptance is pretty heavy. If you have two babies and one of the babies is raised in isolation and the other baby is constantly hugged and kissed one of them will probably end up a sociopath. Guess which one. 

Did the guy who invented the tofu dog ever eat a real hot dog? 

How is it October?? I'm pretty sure it was June last week. That's the unfortunate thing about growing up, they take away our summers. I never thought about how different my summer would be if I were working a full-time job and it was A LOT different mainly because I didn't even notice it was here. This is the first summer in my little life that I didn't go swimming once. I didn't get ANY sun. I'm not a huge advocate for "laying out" or anything but still. My weeks go by so quickly and it freaks me out a bit. 

I'm going to be 24 in exactly 2 months but where did 23 go? This is different than when years have gone by in the past. It's always like, "well, that flew by", but this year has been non-existent to me. All I can hope is that 24 is less of the stupid. Much of 23 has been spent making terrible decisions that only hurt me in the end. I will always convince myself that I can do anything at any time and I should never regret my decisions because it's what I wanted at that moment and if I hadn't done it I would just regret not doing it. I guess the only things I've learned are that even the nicest people can be closet assholes and to never eat another tofu dog as long as I live. Not everyone cares about my well-being, that's for sure. 

Someone told me the other day that I need to be selfish and that person is right. He said I "deserve" to be selfish. Thanks.

We all have room for improvement. I know that we'll all be fine. Tomorrow morning I leave for San Francisco. "Oh, that does me good."

I like pigeons. So what?

I browse the craigslist personals when I feel like making fun of people and it usually makes me giggle. However, it is absolutely disgusting the number of legitimate ads in existence that are married people looking to start affairs. That's so much worse than like, I dunno, falling accidentally into one with a coworker or something. People that rush themselves into marriage are actual retards. Communicate with your spouse before you start diddling your neighbor. 

I recently got on Skype in order to talk to a dear friend of mine who happens to live in Austria. He's my only friend on it and I don't ever search for people on Skype. The other day, though, this guy sends me an instant message accidentally because he was looking for a different Shea. We talked for a couple of minutes and realized that we live pretty close to each other and have a lot in common, blah blah. He's 26, I'm 23. He didn't have a picture of himself so I just figured he was some creeper until he opened up the video chat window and just so happened to be incredibly attractive. So, he's acting all ridiculous like we're soul mates that accidentally skyped into each other or something and then he tells me that he's married. It really pissed me off and then he continued to say inappropriate things to me for a couple of weeks. He kept trying to get me to meet up with him and plan all these times for us to chat while his wife would be at work. I finally blocked him because I'm not about to get caught up in that crap but still. Why get married if you still have wandering eyes? If you had bad sex before you got married then you're going to have bad sex while you're married.  If you were uncertain about marriage before you got married then you're going to flip the fuck out once you are actually married. It's not hard.

I'm not anti-marriage or anything but I wish people would think a lot harder about what it actually means to get married and stay married. It's about loving someone 100% and with all of your pieces forever and until always without hesitation and not putting that love at stake for anything or anyone. It's not easy and we're only human but I am a firm believer that true love exists but requires a decent amount of maintenance. Life is only an accumulation of experiences and our own individual experiences/how we interpret them are what define us so whatever you choose to do with your time is completely fine but if you choose to get married and produce baby humans then please be in it for the long haul. Thanks and happy Sunday!

My head hurts.

I present you with this.

Nothing could ever touch us. They can't touch what we have. What we had is still what we have and it will always be that. When we're together we will always be what we were because it's what we are until forever.

This hangover makes me want to die and this weekend FOR SURE killed a piece of my soul for reasons that I won't publicly address. Uncle Teabag gets me every time.

I can't eat. I can't sleep. My heart beat is heavy. My heart is heavy. I woke up with socks on. My apartment smells like beer and skittles. I smell like beer and skittles. Take me away from all of this. Don't let go of me for one god damned second. I'm just making words happen.

is there enough pizza?

no! there is not enough pizza! holy fucking hot sauce why is there never enough pizza?!

also, fuck popcorn. 

sorry.

if, then

if I'm a woman

and you're a man

and if we come together

so naturally, flawlessly

if I make you laugh

and you make me smile

and if we lift each other

so high, effortlessly

if I take care of your heart

and you play adoringly with mine

and if we are lost in each other

so real, honestly

if I ask you not to leave

and you say you cannot stay

and if this hurts us both

so broken, deeply

if all of life is left to chance

and by chance our paths have crossed

if we choose to walk in opposite directions

then by choice all of life is lost

it's all going to be fiiiiiine

“I’ll be looking at the moon, but I’ll be seeing you.”

That song, or I guess that lyric, is the only perfect way to describe what it feels like to know you’ll never see someone that you love in the flesh again. You have no choice but to see them figuratively in each of your days. The only times that I feel my dad’s presence are when I’m in front of something vast beyond my mind’s comprehension. For example: all of the hours I spend at Lake Michigan are for him and I feel him in the sky when I'm airborne. When I can’t understand how big something actually is, when I feel as small as I can possibly feel, is when I feel him and it’s when I know that everything in this world is out of my hands and it always has been. All we can do is keep going and allow ourselves to be happy. 

Hmm...I watched Revolutionary Road today. Drank Kombucha today. Listened to the entirety of THE EARTH IS NOT A COLD DEAD PLACE today. Thought a lot about this weekend today. Missed all of my Ohio guys and gals today. 

Hmm...I may be the most indecisive, wishy-washy, little twenty-something to hit Chicago in a long time. Two months ago I was so determined to blow out of this city as quickly as I flew into it but now I feel like I could live here forever. That’s going to change again. I promise! OR maybe it won’t. I feel like something good is closing in on me and I like it. I like who I am at this exact moment in my life. I love the people I’m surrounded by, even the schizophrenic ones, and I want to take the person I am now and make her even better. I love the fact that I’m blogging even if my blogs suck. I love the fact that I’m writing in general! It feels pretty alright.

I love and hate that December will be here in a minute and the next 3 months will be history. I’m looking at them right now but once they pass by I’ll never see them again. It’s beautiful and awkward and inspiring and annoying. Live and love: that’s all you have to do to feel fulfilled. I pinky swear.

Currently listening to: My Bloody Valentine: Loveless

Current mood: Lackadaisical :P

What's my cat doing? Laying directly behind me like a total creeper.

some rubbish

Salem, Ohio

We’re all lost creatures and we all punish ourselves for pleasure.

I kind of hate everyone, 

I pass judgement as soon as I can,

I try to love everyone.

There is no God? There has to be a God.

Where is my soul and how did it get there?

Oh! So just be myself and the rest will come?

How can we be individuals when we’re all technically the same?

Beings being beings of repetition.

Skinny jeans and flannel for you, 

dreads and tattoos for that guy. 

Nothing is original but you’re all so unique.

Who are we trying to impress?  

Doesn’t anyone understand that we’re only here for a certain number of seconds?

Stop bitching and start paying attention.

Yes, your life is moving. No, you can't take that back.

You can do a million “big things",

but how big do they have to be, 

for strangers to care when you die?

Big things don’t matter at all. 

Small things really make the difference. (Science told me that.)

Take care of your friends and your family but mostly your heart.

Quit trying to be cooler than you are. You’re cooler that way.

Maybe if I stop wanting it, it will actually come.

I don't really want to swim with you.

I am listening to the most ridiculous conversation between my office-mate and one of his residents. This resident has a problem being appropriate with women. He can’t look at anything but breasts if he’s talking to a woman and he always gets this shit-eating grin across his face while he’s doing it. He’s really old and it’s really gross and awkward. He also breathes heavily, especially on the exhale for some reason. I am trying not to pay any attention to him which is why I’ve buried my face in my computer for the time being. Literally, he’s staring at my chest right now from across the room and I feel incredibly weird. Sadly, though, he has zero control over this. He just said that he wishes he didn’t objectify women and that he could get along better with them AS he continues to stare me down. It’s interesting that we can feel people’s eyes so well. When someone is staring at you, you just know. 

Side note: I’m fascinated by all of the different people in the world. Making eye contact with total strangers ranks pretty high on the list of things I enjoy doing during my morning commute. Because some people just know how to make eye contact, ya know? This morning was all rainy and the train to Evanston was way more crowded than usual. I woke up late as always, cannon balled into the shower, brushed my teeth, and flew out the door with soaking wet hair. I always try to stand in the front of the train, in the private little nook so I don’t have to sit next to anyone that I don’t want to because it creeps me out. So, in my mind, I’m the only one on the train. “I’m Sorry I Sang On Your Hands That Have Been In The Grave” comes on and sounds perfect even in my shitty little ear buds that I greatly despise. I’m having the most intense love affair with Sunset Rubdown lately . I’ve always liked them but suddenly these sounds and these lyrics define everything that is my life. It’s all I can do. I’ve done similar things with other bands, yeah. This just seems more important for some reason. “I don’t really want to swim with you” is a small line of words and none of those words individually hold any momentum but the way he puts them in that order and the way his voice aches when he sings them makes it pretty hard for me to stand. They are coming to Chicago again soon. Yes!! Thank you, life.

Airport Amusement

There's a baby sitting across from me right now. A girl. She's super baby-ish, probably only a couple of months old. What was she doing before she got here? Just swimming in her dad's balls and kickin' it in her mom's ovary? I wouldn't want to have ever been inside either of those things from the looks of it. Yeck. I don't know why I'm judging these poor people. Guess they shouldn't have sat across from me.

And THIS guy. This guy, ha ha. He's definitely bad in bed. Cool beverage you're sipping through that straw. What is that, ginger ale? root beer?

NOM NOM NOM SANDWICH!! I bet it's a really lame sandwich. No hot peppers or anything. I bet he hates mustard but I guarantee there is a fuck ton of mayonnaise on that sub.

UPDATE: I feel bad for hating on the parents and baby. They're aight. She just breast fed and then he burped the 'lil one. That was nice of him. I like teamwork! Good job, guys.

The dude behind me is totally blasting No Doubt in his headphones. He's at least 50 years old. Definitely amusing/annoying.

There go a couple of douche-bags to stand in line like it means something. We all have a number, you ass patties! It doesn't matter how fucking early you arrive. Also, nice Tigger tee.

Dude finished his ginger ale and in an attempt to look even gayer is now sucking each ice cube and delicately spitting them back into his cup. This is making me angry. I need to look away now.

The overhead announcement is definitely still referring to swine flu as it keeps telling us how to wash our hands and cover our mouths. Really? Thanks.

Baby people: I don't think they'll be having much sex other than for reproductive purposes. I hope I'm wrong, but it's not likely.

There's a semi-attractive man sitting across the room. He's probably in his 30's. He kind of looks like Chuck Norris, though. Except tall and much smarter looking. I would consider him a 7 but I'm feeling generous all of a sudden. Please sit by me so that the sandwich dude doesn't. He smells of onions.

HOLY FUCK A PLANE JUST TAXIED BY WITH A FUCKING DINOSAUR ON THE TAIL WING! I want to go where that plane is going RIGHT NOW.

We got an all denim outfit at 3:00 and some khaki cargo shorts with a neon green polo at 9:00. Oh so sexy.

Welp! Time to put my life in the hands of a total stranger at 30,000 feet in the air. What anxiety?

When Muffins have BIRTHDAYS Sheatards come a knockin'!

Dear Katie Horning,

You are my life energy. You are the chicken to my ‘a la king’. You are a wonderful, lovely, beautiful person. If I didn’t have you I would want to leave this planet immediately. I rejoice in the happiness that is your life. I’m glad that Smaz loves you as much as I do. I want to bake things for you regularly. I hope that someday we can live in the same state again. Until then, I will carry you in my heart. You are the wind beneath my wings. I miss wincing the night away with you. Clarity. Black out. Bladders and duck farts. Rice is nice. SING IT! Run away with me? I would definitely consider being a surrogate mother for you and Smaz if you ever need one and if Smaz would let me. I’m glad you also get weirded out by nasty meat. I want to defrost perogis with you in the bathroom sink every night. I’d also give anything to see you walk out of Goodfellas with a giant stack of pizza every night. I miss everything about you but more importantly I LOVE everything about you. Please have the best birthday ever. I am begging you. 

Love for eons,

Sheatard

You should hear the wind in my window.

Half a pack of Orbit gum, a matchbook, 35 cents, and the teeny tiniest battery (a AAA KingKong) were all stuffed frantically into an envelope and thrown onto my desk with verbal orders to put it in the mail.  This is an example of mania. The resident’s diagnosis is Bipolar Disorder w/ Psychotic Features. He is literally flipping the fuck out. He’s always pretty manic but today it’s more than that. He’s got a shit-eating grin plastered across his face, he’s been talking an awful lot about pickles, and he’s been in and out of my office 700 times for the past hour because as soon as he leaves he comes right back with some new object and now he’s wanting to mail everyone he’s ever known something. So this particular envelope (there are many) is addressed to Steppenwolf  Theatre but there is no actual address, no stamp, and he’s writing with glitter pens. He just left and I locked my door for a moment because I had to know what’s inside the envelope since it’s all bulky. So, some old gum, old pack of matches, spare change, and a baby battery. Um, okay? But there’s also a note! Huzzah! This is what it says, keep in mind this is written with a glitter pen: 

Dear Sir I said 4 children Regards Lord Nordy! 

(wait4meandCharlene 4OCelciy 1+6+9 eons=4#7centigrage)

I man electrician enjoy the doors my friend the doors

Love, Steve PS: Stolen From Steve 

Love, Little Robby

BOOM BABY

.........new page.........

Dear Ms. July,

I am your biggest fan. Play piano w/me! I shall see you with clothes July 1st with a VERY special gift. FIVE FIVE! you HOT! 

Love, Not Stalker Little Robby

...........new page........

We count 1 and 2 and 3 and 4 land 

I ‘e’ and a 2 ‘e’ and ‘a’

cat-a-pil-ar

cat-apilar

cat-apillow

my bootsy your pal boobshead

DON’T LEAVE ME! I BEG YOU!

IGOR STRAVINSKY AKA LITTLE ROBBY!!!

........new page.......

my roommate who thinks he’s NASA says to me 

“Don’t be weird”

THE END

So, yeah, by the way, he’s my favorite. Not only is he totally nuts, he’s actually got a great sense of humor and he has been cracking me up all day. He always talks to me about his “girlfriend” but today he told me that she’d saw his balls off and put them in a paper shredder if she knew he was making me laugh. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t actually exist.  A lot of residents are totally manic this week for some reason?  It makes my job a lot more fun because they end up saying the most awesome shit and when they’re manic it’s a euphoric feeling for them so everyone’s happy! The down side is that a manic episode typically ends abruptly and leaves the person in severe depression so we have to monitor them closely. One of my residents that doesn’t live here any longer once told me that when she’s manic she feels like she’s having a constant orgasm and that when it’s over it feels like she just witnessed someone murder her son. Interesting.

You should hear the wind in my window.

online journal? wevs.

I don’t want to blog just for the sake of blogging and I know that what I have to say isn’t necessarily earth-shattering but I like to write and I appreciate your feedback. I also realize that there are maybe 5 people who read my blog but hey, got to start somewhere, right?

On the train to work today I realized a few things: 1.) My next pet will be named “Cankles”, even if it’s a fish, 2.) I really need to stop getting drunk and sending text messages, 3.) Sunset Rubdown exists perfectly, 4.) I’m only attracted to people and things that I can’t have, 5.) I miss being in love, and 6.) I need to understand that not everyone’s mind revolves around the things that mine does and that that is a good thing.

I’m 23 years old. I don’t know jack about anything! My days are split between work, the internet, and daydreaming along Lake Michigan. And blogging, I guess. My mind is constantly contemplating it’s existence and looking for new ways to drive me crazy. Right now I’m watching one of my residents walk up and down the hallway and he is cracking up laughing. That’s his life. He does this every day! Just walks and laughs, walks and laughs. It looks like he’s having fun but is he? I don’t know! He won’t tell me! He just LAUGHS! And here I am, sitting in my office wondering what the hell I’m doing here.  When I was 16 and looking at the next 10 years of my life I thought for sure that I would be married to some amazing man and probably even have my first kid around now.  A lot about that bothers me. It bothers me that I thought that was what I wanted and it also bothers me that I don’t have it. Do I even want that? I don’t know anymore. I mean, I want love and I’ve had small tastes of it but I want the kind of love that I see between people like my grandparents. There’s something to be said about that old couple you see holding hands and moving slowly together while the whole world zips and zooms around them. It’s okay for them to take their time. They fought for each other and they won! I want to win! I want to play with someone’s hair from dark to white. I’m impatient and when I find something I like I know that I get carried away easily but it’s because I don’t find that many people that I TRULY want to know more about. Why do we have to hold back? Everyone likes knowing that someone likes them. Everyone likes to be loved. I don’t know what I’m talking about anymore. Yes I do. I’m talking about love! Whatever, I’ve had a great time being single in Chicago and I’ve certainly learned a lot about myself. Being single isn’t as bad as I thought it would be but nothing is as good as opening your eyes in the morning and realizing that he/she is already awake and has been watching you adoringly in your final moments of rest before you re-enter the world for another day. 

I need to relax.

something old

remember that look

the one that’s for her now

and remember the way it stung 

to be pinched by someone’s eyes

it was uncomfortable at times

“you have such beautiful eyes”

is what he would say to her

not knowing they were no longer his

“I’ll love you forever with all of my pieces”

she said this as they laid, deaf to the fan and the city sirens

only hearing each other and believing what was said

she never thought herself a liar

but lies became life became lies

he doesn’t like cream or sugar 

but sometimes a little milk is okay

it means nothing to know this

but it used to mean something

it’s not fair to love these things

it’s not fair to love anything at all

he would kiss, “that’s my neck”

she would kiss, “those are my eyes”

he would kiss, “those are my lips”

she would kiss, “that’s my forehead”

is it bad to tremble when we remember?

when remembrance is all we’ve got?

2 posts in one day? This bitch is crazy.

“I said to my soul be still, and wait without hope; for hope would be hope of the wrong thing; wait without love, for love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith. But the faith, and the love, and the hope are all in the waiting. Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought: so the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.”

One of my residents came to my office in a fit of desperation and basically demanded that I let him write the above quote on a piece of paper because he felt it's the only way to describe how he was feeling. This is a man who has lived in our facility for just over a year. He's an amazing writer but he keeps most of it to himself and only shows me tidbits here and there. He spent much of his adult life as one of the chaotic, a homeless person. Details are blurry and often hard for me to gather but he ended up marrying a woman and pulling his act together for 8 years. He talks about her every day and his eyes beg you to believe in the love that he has for her and it's actually heartbreaking. He doesn't know why he lost her or why he lives in this facility. What I know is that there is a restraining order that she put against him because apparently there was some domestic violence between them. He doesn't remember anything and I believe him 100% and you would too. His frustration these days is that he feels trapped in his own mind knowing that no matter what he does he will always have to deal with the anguish that can so rapidly take control and hurt the people that he cares for. He and I have a really great rapport but there have been moments that he will storm out of my office only to come back and tell me that he felt like he was going to lose control and I'm never quite sure what that would entail but the depth of his pain is always apparent and you can literally see it burning inside of him. There's nothing he can do and there's nothing I can do other than offer my ear and a few words of encouragement. I think he's spectacular and I always tell him so. I guess what prompted this blog is how beautiful that quote that he gave me is. It's by T.S. Eliot who I knew not much of until this point. Mental illness is one of the greatest tragedies of mankind because what do we have if we don't have our minds? I know! We have a life of cigarettes, coffee, and solitude.

Take care of your brain piece, people. It's literally all you've got.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cNKpLL6laoA (type this into your browser and enjoy)

ignorance is bliss

I prefer sitting on the floor to laying in a bed

I imagine if I were this planted all of the time

I would understand more and frustrate less

you would be the only one but for me

because if we can’t walk then we have to sit 

and if I’m going to be sitting, I’d like to sit with you

I felt you that day and I noticed your scent

you don’t scare me like they always will

I like the way your mind is as if it were put in your head for me to take care of

I like the way your mind works as if to let me breathe

because if we can’t walk then we have to sit

and if I’m going to be sitting then I have to sit with you

if it’s okay with you I don’t want you to talk 

I want to sit here and decide what you’re thinking

I want to make sure that I’m on your mind

if it’s okay, I’ll direct your thoughts so that they bounce between you and me

because if we can’t walk then we have to sit

and if I’m going to be sitting, love, then they have to let me sit with you

Go.

I have to go. It's been building up inside of each particle that makes me exist and I know that I just have to go. I don't know when but I don't have to know when and that's beautiful. I don't want to be on a schedule, I don't want to do what you do. I'm so young(!) and free and in love with the idea of what's ahead of me. I won't be here long. Longer, yes, but not long. I want truth and I want love and I want to see everything and I will. 

Sweet Land of Liberty?

I've decided that my blogs will not always be generated from my job although most probably will. Here is a piece of today:

Earlier I rode my bike to a semi-desolate area near Lake Michigan in order to stare at the clouds/read/write/contemplate the purpose of my existence/etc. in peace and as I was lying there I heard someone playing the harmonica. I like the harmonica so I was all cool with it and then I realized where it was coming from. Not too far from where I had set up camp was a hispanic family having a picnic and I’d noticed them when I first arrived but paid no more attention other than, “There’s those people.” So anyway, the husband is playing the harmonica and I can hear his wife’s voice, very delicately, singing along. Whatever, right? No. He was playing “Let Freedom Ring”...you know, “My country ‘tis of thee”....I don’t even know if that’s the actual title of that song and I was born and raised right here in the land of the free. 

For some reason it really struck me that as their children ran around the sometimes grassy, sometimes cementy (I don't care that it's not a word) shores of Lake Michigan they sat there and played/sang that song and more so that it was obvious it meant something to them. I can’t picture anyone I know doing that. It made me so fucking happy and I often times have to calm myself down because I get in these dreadful fits about how much America sucks. Today, though, I loved America and I was proud of it. It was only for about fifteen minutes but I was perfectly fine with being a citizen to a country that makes those people feel so lucky. 

PS- I have a rose petal bed and the sun on my shoes.

Sometimes nasty happens.

So, today got un-slow. I have a new resident, we’ll call her Cathy. Cathy is 69 years old and she is diagnosed with Bipolar D/O although her family seems to think she's schizophrenic. During the usual new resident tour/info-session, Cathy expressed her desire to go for a walk so that she could see where the lake, Starbucks, and Jewel-Osco are located. I like walks so I agreed to go with her because new residents are restricted from leaving the building without a staff member for the first 48 hours after arrival until we deem them stable enough to venture into the city on their own. Anyway- Cathy and I take off on our little adventure. The lake is about a 10 minute walk from our facility and half way there Cathy tells me that she has Crones disease and she has to use the bathroom. We are surrounded by nothing but residential homes. She tells me that she thinks she can hold it until Starbucks so we decide to forget the lake and b-line to Starbucks so that she can go. Crones disease apparently causes incontinence but Cathy told me she doesn’t have accidents, it’s just that when she has to go, SHE HAS TO GO. So we make it another 100 feet or so and she looks at me with a face that I knew meant, “Well, I’m going to shit myself now.”, but instead of going in her pants, Cathy slides behind the nearest dumpster, whips off her pants, has explosive diarrhea for at least a minute, takes her underwear off to wipe with, and then refuses to throw them away. So now, there I am, in utter disbelief because I just met this woman 20 minutes ago and this is some nursing shit that I’ve got myself into. I do my best to make her comfortable though because who likes blowing ass in front of strangers? Not me. So we walk to Starbucks where she gets a bag for her fecal undies, washes her hands, gets a grande coffee with extra cream, and then back to the facility we went. 

Wow.

Erotically

“I have lust for knowledge. It’s the only thing I lust for.” “Do you like erotica?” “What authors did you read in high school?” “Can I read you some of my erotic poetry?” “What’s your favorite Metallica album?” -Things Mark says on an almost daily basis.

Mark is paranoid schizophrenic. He was abused sexually his entire life by pretty much every person he was told to trust. His freaking mother sexually abused him and that shit is rare. His parents were druggies and rumored to also suffer from schizophrenia. Mark was finally taken from them and put into a series of foster homes; all sexually destroyed him. Think about this: when you’re born there are two, sometimes one, but usually two people that you can trust. If your parents abuse you then how are you supposed to trust any one else in the world? Then to have judges keep putting you in homes that are “safe” only to have more and more of what little dignity you had taken away from you. Mark finally ended up in the custody of his Aunt and Uncle who adopted him when he was about 8 years old. Mark didn’t start speaking until he was 12 years old; I assume because no one had ever been willing to listen to him. Mark now resides at the facility I work in and has lived here for 10 years; he is 33 years old. He recently fathered a child. The woman was a resident here and was discharged once she became pregnant because our facility isn’t staffed for that level of care. Paternity tests confirmed that Mark is the father. Mark also has sexual relationships with men around the facility and his Aunt once caught him fucking their dog. Mark has no idea if he is straight or gay but he also doesn’t realize that he should. He doesn’t understand that sex with a dog is wrong. He writes “erotic poetry” by making up his own words and writing them as big as he can on single sheets of paper and when he reads his poetry to you he throws each piece of paper once he’s read the word. His speech fluency is stunted although he’s incredibly intelligent. When you ask him a question you can visibly see him compute it. He’s well read and he’s one of those people who knows something about everything. He’s got really odd facial hair. If you can imagine this: it’s a mustache that is pin straight and sticks out over his top lip like an awning, a long straggly flavor savor, and a very fuzzy chinstrap. He has his good days and bad days. Good days involve greetings such as, “Hi Shea, it’s nice to see your beautiful face today”, and conversations about music and books. Bad days involve the blankest of stares; as if there is literally nothing behind his eyes. If you ask him a question he might answer you but it probably won’t make sense. He writes most of his “erotica” on bad days and reads it to me on good days. Mark is an amazing example of how important it is to have control over your sexuality. Sex is the one thing that is 100% our own. Each person is supposed to have complete control over when, where, and with whom they have sex. Mark has never had that luxury. People at the facility who are higher functioning often take advantage of him because they know he won’t put up a fight. Did you still want to complain about your day?

Body In a Box

"We celebrate the lives of the dead. It’s like a man’s best party only happens when he dies."

I’m sorry, I know it's lame but I love this song. Death is so fucking weird. One day I hugged my Dad and told him I loved him and the next day he was gone forever. No more prickly moustache kisses or watching thunderstorms together. It’s all okay, I guess. I guess the same thing basically happens with relationships. One day you’re telling someone you love them and the next thing you know 6 months have gone by and that love is a thing of the past. A painful little memory; if you will. I’m still alive and I feel like I’m doing more than just going through the motions these days. Somedays I sit at my desk and I have the most amazing conversations with schizophrenic or bipolar people and I feel like this is exactly where I should be but other days I want to sell everything I own and take off across the country and hide in various wooded areas for an undetermined amount of time. I’ve always been such a lover and I literally don’t know what else to do with myself. Too much of my time has been spent on people who don’t give two shits about me. Why? Because I suck. I don’t really think that I suck, though. I think I give the best hugs and I am a huge advocate for forehead kisses. I’ve often thought about my residents and the fact that they are never touched aside from a few of them who are sexually active around here but that’s not the kind of touching I’m talking about. I mean the way it feels when your mom hugs you. These people haven’t felt that, in some cases, ever. A lot of my residents ask for hugs or always reach out their hand to me when they’re in my office and it’s so heartbreaking. I mean, if someone asks me for a hug they’re going to get a hug but we as staff aren’t allowed to just go around hugging everyone. It’s really sad and I wish people could understand how far a simple smile or a kind word can actually go. Sometimes it’s the only thing that helps. Be nice to everyone. Give bums your spare change when you can. Hug each other when you feel like it. Reach out to someone! We all deserve a little more love. 

Max is such a lover.

Max. Oh, Max. Max lives in a room with 3 other men. Their room is diagonal from my office. Max is paranoid schizophrenic and he hears voices almost non-stop. One of his voices is “Cootie”. Cootie was a real person. She was his aunt. Their relationship was a tense one and she messed with his head the way big people mess with little people in a game of tetherball. Aunt Cootie passed away but lives on in Max’s mind causing him endless frustration and sometimes brings along “an army of black women” to sufficiently torture him. Max sits in his room for most hours of the day listening to loud music, mostly pop. It helps him ignore the voices. Sometimes, though, I hear him screaming, “Go away, Cootie!” and if he says it more than 3 or 4 times I will go to his door and talk to him for a minute. He’s always sitting on the edge of his bed and there is usually a large amount of drool coming from his mouth which is a side effect of his medication. The look on his face when he sees me is absolutely heart wrenching. He’s helpless and desperate and there is nothing anyone can do. He is a giant man and could easily end my life out of frustration with his own if he wanted to but he is the kindest soul you will ever meet. I’ll ask him if he’s okay and he’ll always say yes. Always. He is obviously not okay but he doesn’t want to burden anybody. Occasionally he’ll ask me to tell Cootie to leave him alone and I will and he says that it helps. I don’t know if it does. The thing about schizophrenia is that to the person who has it--the voices and the hallucinations are real. They’re actually hearing and/or seeing things that no one else can.  I can’t go into his room and tell him that Cootie isn’t there because she is. Society does not see mental illness this way, though. Max is intelligent and very easy to talk to and if you met him you'd probably wonder why he lives in a psych facility. He'd love to have a job and a family but his hallucinations increase with anxiety plus; no one will hire him once they read that he is mentally ill. Max has completely swept me off of my feet.

*Any names I use have been changed for privacy purposes.

You'd live in a halfway house too.

I’m an idiot. I have to pay rent. I forgot my phone at home. We have another couch surfer coming tonight and I have about zero desire to entertain. I have to go to the stupid doctor tomorrow morning probably to find out I have cervical cancer. Everything is lame and awkward today. I’m drinking skim milk and iced coffee separate and together. 

I watched Religulous the other night and it was snooty but bomb. I hate Catholicism with a vengeance. One of my residents was fucked by his Catholic priest for two years after his dad died, until he graduated, and about 10 years ago (he’s 59 now) men from his school started coming forward who had also been abused. Until that point he thought he was the only one and he suffered from guilt and depression and anger and then a year ago his son dropped dead on the baseball field because of some undiagnosed heart condition. My question: Why are some people given no chance to have a decent life? How can you be okay after something like that? One of my friends has two uncles who were diddled by their catholic priest IN THEIR OWN HOME multiple times while their parents sat downstairs watching TV and thinking about how nice it is that their boys are getting special time to worship God. These poor little boys had no idea that they should've been screaming or even that they were allowed to say no. Now one of them is dead and the other is a self destructing alcoholic. I mean, for fuck sake, celibacy is not human. We are sexual beings; some of us sexual monsters. We all need sex. We need it for reproduction purposes, self esteem purposes, pleasure purposes. Why do you think masturbation exists? I fucking hate sexual deviance. Sex is awesome. It feels amazing and I love experimenting with sex but regardless if you’ve had 100 sexual partners or zero, if someone violates your body you are fucked and please excuse these puns. The most terrifying part of it all is that people still practice and support this religion! The best way to shut people up is to keep them dumb. How do you keep them dumb? Scare them into thinking that if they don’t do A, B, and C, their asses are going to burn for eternity. I was raised Christian, I guess. I went to Sunday school when I was tyke-sized and I loved it because we got to sing, dance, and be crafty. I honestly can’t remember the last time I went to church on my own accord because I never have. Maybe I’m wrong and Jesus is going to come down from the heavens with the locusts and all that shit and in that case I’ll be pissed for having such a curious mind but then again I feel like I’d probably be happier in Hell because that’s where most of my friends will end up and I’m sure that’s where my Dad is. By the way; I’m hungover. I think the most undeniable evidence that God doesn’t exist is that these “holy” priests ruin the lives of young children. What the hell kind of supreme, super powerful, loving God would allow that? Let me guess; it’s the devil’s fault. Well, the whole thing is ludicrous and obnoxious. Why don’t we all start looking out for each other instead of pointing fingers and passing judgement? Cheers.

Jeffer-she.

On 2/9/09, I started my current job as a case manager at a psychiatric rehabilitation center in Evanston, IL and I will never be the same. It's a residential facility; a half way house if you will. Every person who lives there has a severe mental illness, mostly schizophrenia. My job is to plan treatment for my residents which boils down to hanging out with them all day. Therefore, I have lots of stories and I want to share them with you. A lot of it is funny and I hope that it's entertaining but I also hope that in some way, I can help diminish the stigma that is so often attached to people who suffer from mental illness.

blog? me?

This is an experiment. I have no intentions. No intentions that pertain to blogging, that is. We'll see where it goes. Huzzah!