Light Housework
I’m willing to feel pretty good.
And on that note, I'm going to put Dog on and paint David Icke, my fellow loony.
The Drivel Thread
- Thread starter Light Housework
- Start date
Light Housework
I’m willing to feel pretty good.
Listen to Plenty more.m4a by Sharon on #SoundCloud
Light Housework
I’m willing to feel pretty good.
Really? She wears her hair like me? I didn't know.
Light Housework
I’m willing to feel pretty good.
MORE ABOUT MY TIME WITH CHARLIE
Charlie invited me to move with him to Calgary, Alberta. He lent me about 500 dollars to settle in with, and he resented that I didn’t get a job. I couldn’t get welfare either, because I was living with him. So I ended up broke, without even money to eat. Charlie would tell me to make him toast, and I went hungry. He took to calling me ‘bitch' whenever he’d see me. It was seriously depressing to me. I wished for sleeping pills and solitude to kill myself.
When I got a job stripping in Calgary, Charlie stopped calling me ‘bitch', but he mouthed off to the mother of his daughter, Gail. Gail’s boyfriend hit Charlie and his bridge went flying out of his mouth. We then packed up and moved to Vancouver, British Columbia. We lived in a small apartment with Charlie’s friend Chris. Charlie asked Chris and I to have sex and let him watch. We did. It was no big deal to me, at the time. Goes to show you how badly I was brought up, that I didn’t care one way or the other.
Charlie left to go back to Montreal, and Chris had abandoned the apartment to live in Port Moody, so I now had the apartment to myself. I went to school (an employment orientation course for women), and got welfare. One day, I’d come home from school, having had a lousy day, and Chris called. He asked how I was, and I thought it would be to hard to explain. He said “Try me.”, so I blurted out something that to my ears sounded convoluted and incomprehensible, but Chris answered in such a way, that I knew he’d paid attention, and I fell in love with him suddenly, deeply, fully in love. All of a sudden, I saw Chris as a saint, a gentle and deep, compassionate one.
No longer did I feel he was just a human dildo. My world began to revolve around Chris. I would bike out to Port Moody all the time in any type of weather to be with him. He began to lose respect for me. The employment course ended, and I began attending an outpatient day program for people with mental health problems, after a welfare worker noticed that I had time management difficulty. The psychiatrist saw me for a couple of minutes, and diagnosed me with PTSD, borderline personality disorder, social stressors, and maybe depression. One morning, Chris held me down on his futon, and wouldn’t let me go to the outpatient program. He called it ‘daycare'. When I finally arrived, late, I was terminated. It was the last straw. Previously, we’d been on a field trip, to the downtown east side, and we’d been to a Chinese restaurant. There was some time to kill before our bus would be coming to take us back to the hospital. Everyone was told what time to come to the designated spot to board the bus.
Chris was also in the downtown east side, at his friend Bruce’s room on Carral street. I went there, and ended up missing the bus. My counselor at the day program was upset with me afterwards. So that was strike one against me. Then, in the gym, the men were playing floor hockey, and a petite guy I felt for, stormed off from the game. I yelled something to cheer him up, and the next thing I knew I was called into my counselor’s office. She was furious at me, because a French woman who had been sitting near me (when I’d tried to cheer that guy up), had complained that I’d said something disparaging to him! My counselor believed her over me. Strike two. So when I was late, because Chris had held me down on his bed, that was strike three, and I was kicked out of the program.
Chris would frequently tell me that I was a burden to him. A basket case Charlie had left him with. So when I met Alwyn, (after five years of being told that I’m not wanted) and told Chris that I’d met someone, I figured Chris would be elated. Nope. He felt threatened, and he threatened me that he’d hurt Alwyn if I left him for Alwyn. So I stupidly stayed with Chris until I deliberately bored him enough that he let me go. I wrote more about that above I think.
During the five years I was in love with Chris, Charlie came to visit Chris, with his new girlfriend Catherine. She stuck her tongue in my mouth at one point, I recall. I’d see her taking Chris’s change. She and Charlie would go around stealing from stores. I was disgusted. Charlie’s Rottweiler, Omen, jumped out of the van, slamming into my knees, when I first laid eyes on her. I remember her leaning against Charlie’s wheels at one point, and Charlie punching her in the stomach for it. Another time, I’d said something Charlie took offense to, and he chased me around a piece of furniture in Chris’s living room. When Charlie was my ‘boyfriend’, he chased me around the block we lived on. I was in my pajamas. It was surreal. His anger was really something.
Another time, he came home drunk one night, and said he was going to shove a broomstick up my vagina. I packed while he slept, and when he woke, he saw that my boxes were packed. He asked what was going on, and I told him I was leaving. He grabbed me, and slammed my head against the kitchen cupboard doors. I hoped he would stop, give his head a shake, and kiss me instead. Somehow I wound up outside on the sidewalk, and I reached up to touch my head. It was sticky with blood, so I went to the hospital to make sure I didn’t have a concussion.
The doctor who saw me didn’t believe the casual lie I told him, about how my head got hurt. He very calmly said “Your boyfriend did this to you, didn’t he?”. I relaxed and said yes. He sent me up to another floor to see a social worker, who arranged for me to go to a battered women’s shelter. The police escorted me to pick up my boxes from Charlie’s apartment on Decarie boulevard. He sat in his wheelchair saying “f***in' bitch!”, over and over.
At the shelter, the following morning, I had a shower and then blow dried my hair in front of a mirror. In the mirror reflection I saw a native chief in full head dress. I stared, for several minutes. I took a job stripping on the outskirts of Montreal. Whenever I’d be flush with cash, I’d feel generous, and the person I would gravitate to was of course Charlie, because I was that stupid.
Charlie invited me to move with him to Calgary, Alberta. He lent me about 500 dollars to settle in with, and he resented that I didn’t get a job. I couldn’t get welfare either, because I was living with him. So I ended up broke, without even money to eat. Charlie would tell me to make him toast, and I went hungry. He took to calling me ‘bitch' whenever he’d see me. It was seriously depressing to me. I wished for sleeping pills and solitude to kill myself.
When I got a job stripping in Calgary, Charlie stopped calling me ‘bitch', but he mouthed off to the mother of his daughter, Gail. Gail’s boyfriend hit Charlie and his bridge went flying out of his mouth. We then packed up and moved to Vancouver, British Columbia. We lived in a small apartment with Charlie’s friend Chris. Charlie asked Chris and I to have sex and let him watch. We did. It was no big deal to me, at the time. Goes to show you how badly I was brought up, that I didn’t care one way or the other.
Charlie left to go back to Montreal, and Chris had abandoned the apartment to live in Port Moody, so I now had the apartment to myself. I went to school (an employment orientation course for women), and got welfare. One day, I’d come home from school, having had a lousy day, and Chris called. He asked how I was, and I thought it would be to hard to explain. He said “Try me.”, so I blurted out something that to my ears sounded convoluted and incomprehensible, but Chris answered in such a way, that I knew he’d paid attention, and I fell in love with him suddenly, deeply, fully in love. All of a sudden, I saw Chris as a saint, a gentle and deep, compassionate one.
No longer did I feel he was just a human dildo. My world began to revolve around Chris. I would bike out to Port Moody all the time in any type of weather to be with him. He began to lose respect for me. The employment course ended, and I began attending an outpatient day program for people with mental health problems, after a welfare worker noticed that I had time management difficulty. The psychiatrist saw me for a couple of minutes, and diagnosed me with PTSD, borderline personality disorder, social stressors, and maybe depression. One morning, Chris held me down on his futon, and wouldn’t let me go to the outpatient program. He called it ‘daycare'. When I finally arrived, late, I was terminated. It was the last straw. Previously, we’d been on a field trip, to the downtown east side, and we’d been to a Chinese restaurant. There was some time to kill before our bus would be coming to take us back to the hospital. Everyone was told what time to come to the designated spot to board the bus.
Chris was also in the downtown east side, at his friend Bruce’s room on Carral street. I went there, and ended up missing the bus. My counselor at the day program was upset with me afterwards. So that was strike one against me. Then, in the gym, the men were playing floor hockey, and a petite guy I felt for, stormed off from the game. I yelled something to cheer him up, and the next thing I knew I was called into my counselor’s office. She was furious at me, because a French woman who had been sitting near me (when I’d tried to cheer that guy up), had complained that I’d said something disparaging to him! My counselor believed her over me. Strike two. So when I was late, because Chris had held me down on his bed, that was strike three, and I was kicked out of the program.
Chris would frequently tell me that I was a burden to him. A basket case Charlie had left him with. So when I met Alwyn, (after five years of being told that I’m not wanted) and told Chris that I’d met someone, I figured Chris would be elated. Nope. He felt threatened, and he threatened me that he’d hurt Alwyn if I left him for Alwyn. So I stupidly stayed with Chris until I deliberately bored him enough that he let me go. I wrote more about that above I think.
During the five years I was in love with Chris, Charlie came to visit Chris, with his new girlfriend Catherine. She stuck her tongue in my mouth at one point, I recall. I’d see her taking Chris’s change. She and Charlie would go around stealing from stores. I was disgusted. Charlie’s Rottweiler, Omen, jumped out of the van, slamming into my knees, when I first laid eyes on her. I remember her leaning against Charlie’s wheels at one point, and Charlie punching her in the stomach for it. Another time, I’d said something Charlie took offense to, and he chased me around a piece of furniture in Chris’s living room. When Charlie was my ‘boyfriend’, he chased me around the block we lived on. I was in my pajamas. It was surreal. His anger was really something.
Another time, he came home drunk one night, and said he was going to shove a broomstick up my vagina. I packed while he slept, and when he woke, he saw that my boxes were packed. He asked what was going on, and I told him I was leaving. He grabbed me, and slammed my head against the kitchen cupboard doors. I hoped he would stop, give his head a shake, and kiss me instead. Somehow I wound up outside on the sidewalk, and I reached up to touch my head. It was sticky with blood, so I went to the hospital to make sure I didn’t have a concussion.
The doctor who saw me didn’t believe the casual lie I told him, about how my head got hurt. He very calmly said “Your boyfriend did this to you, didn’t he?”. I relaxed and said yes. He sent me up to another floor to see a social worker, who arranged for me to go to a battered women’s shelter. The police escorted me to pick up my boxes from Charlie’s apartment on Decarie boulevard. He sat in his wheelchair saying “f***in' bitch!”, over and over.
At the shelter, the following morning, I had a shower and then blow dried my hair in front of a mirror. In the mirror reflection I saw a native chief in full head dress. I stared, for several minutes. I took a job stripping on the outskirts of Montreal. Whenever I’d be flush with cash, I’d feel generous, and the person I would gravitate to was of course Charlie, because I was that stupid.
Light Housework
I’m willing to feel pretty good.
More Charlie
Light Housework
I’m willing to feel pretty good.
PURSE SNATCHING
Twice, I grabbed purses right out of their owners’ hands. I’m ashamed of it. I was around 12 or 13, and I only did it twice. It wasn’t for me. The first time, I was walking in Notre Dame de Grace with Danny, and I spied a woman ahead of us holding a tiny purse in her hand. I conspired with Danny that we would take it from her. I snatched it out of the woman's hand, and threw it to Danny. The woman called out a man’s name. Danny tried to climb a fence, fell, and lost a boot somehow.
There was only a few dollars in the small purse, not enough for a pair of boots. That’s why I ended up at Miracle Mart stealing boots for Danny, and why not a hat and boots for myself, I thought, while I was at it. I wrote about that theft above.
The second (and last) time I nabbed someone’s purse, I was with Mona, the girl who ran away with me from the St. Bruno Girls and Boys Cottage School. We were on Atwater street in Montreal, and three old ladies were standing at a bus stop. I’m ashamed to say, I asked one of the ladies for the time. As she gave it to me, I grabbed her purse. I know, it’s terrible. That’s why it was the last time.
We both ended up on our rear ends on the sidewalk facing each other, playing tug-of-war. She stared at me in astonishment I remember. I pulled the purse free from her hands and ran through a field into a residential area, where I disappeared from the ladies' view. I then went to a petite man's house who lived in that area (I think his name was Chris.). I opened up the purse in Chris’s living room, to find very little. I will never forget the woman’s look of astonishment. Not anger, not contempt. Just wonderment. She must have been wondering what would drive such a young kid to do such a thing. She looked like a nice person. So I never did that again.
Twice, I grabbed purses right out of their owners’ hands. I’m ashamed of it. I was around 12 or 13, and I only did it twice. It wasn’t for me. The first time, I was walking in Notre Dame de Grace with Danny, and I spied a woman ahead of us holding a tiny purse in her hand. I conspired with Danny that we would take it from her. I snatched it out of the woman's hand, and threw it to Danny. The woman called out a man’s name. Danny tried to climb a fence, fell, and lost a boot somehow.
There was only a few dollars in the small purse, not enough for a pair of boots. That’s why I ended up at Miracle Mart stealing boots for Danny, and why not a hat and boots for myself, I thought, while I was at it. I wrote about that theft above.
The second (and last) time I nabbed someone’s purse, I was with Mona, the girl who ran away with me from the St. Bruno Girls and Boys Cottage School. We were on Atwater street in Montreal, and three old ladies were standing at a bus stop. I’m ashamed to say, I asked one of the ladies for the time. As she gave it to me, I grabbed her purse. I know, it’s terrible. That’s why it was the last time.
We both ended up on our rear ends on the sidewalk facing each other, playing tug-of-war. She stared at me in astonishment I remember. I pulled the purse free from her hands and ran through a field into a residential area, where I disappeared from the ladies' view. I then went to a petite man's house who lived in that area (I think his name was Chris.). I opened up the purse in Chris’s living room, to find very little. I will never forget the woman’s look of astonishment. Not anger, not contempt. Just wonderment. She must have been wondering what would drive such a young kid to do such a thing. She looked like a nice person. So I never did that again.
Light Housework
I’m willing to feel pretty good.
Purse Snatching
The.Truth.
Every.Single.Time.
You should go out to lunch with rifke again and steal her purse. That would be a good story.
Light Housework
I’m willing to feel pretty good.
THE 11 DAY FAST
Once when I was living in a room in Toronto, I had no money for food. I slept on a coffee table, and worked out to Billy Idol’s Rebel Yell, and Steve something’s Fly Like an Eagle album, on cassette. I didn’t want to go to the food bank, because I’d get lots of processed food there, and I figured I’d be healthier if I went on a water fast. So I fasted for 11 days, working out all the time.
At the end of my fast, Charlie wired me some money for a plane ticket to Montreal, two months rent, and some food. He’d hired me to work for him selling hashish. I broke the fast with a huge sweet juicy grapefruit. The plane ride took about an hour, and I spent the whole time enjoying that fruit. The steak and potatoes businessman sitting next to me was disgusted.
I rented a cold apartment near Parc Mont Royal, and bought vegetables and fruit, plus raw almonds. For two months, that was all I ate, raw, and I ate very little at that. I worked at Charlie’s apartment, selling hash, and cleaning his place when there were no customers. Charlie didn’t pay me to clean, but I just felt like it. I would take his dog Peugeot to the park in the snow sometimes.
I remember looking in the small bathroom mirror at my apartment and noticing that I looked gaunt, but I felt great. I didn’t sleep for those two months. I would lie down, and my mind would become a kaleidoscope of symmetrical colors. I had no confusion about anything. I made decisions easily. It’s like I was in touch with a universal logic. There was one crucial mistake I made though. An assumption I had, that tripped me up.
I had thought that Charlie was planning on getting clean from drugs and adopting children with me (He couldn’t have kids.), and being like The Waltons. He never said any such thing. I just believed what I wanted to. So one day, he comes over, and sitting beside me, he says “I just met this chick. She’s my dreamboat! I was in a record store, and she was working there. A few days later I was rolling (He was paralyzed, in a wheelchair.) down Park Avenue and she was coming up it, and she blocked my way. We went to Chalet BBQ and had chicken.”
I thought to myself. “Oh! We’re just friends to his mind.”. He left, and I immediately called Mike’s Submarine restaurant for a delivery of a meat submarine and a pizza. For months I just pursued processed food, and so much for being vegan. I was disgusted with myself, but I couldn’t help it. I had lost my bearings. I’d thought my future was spoken for, and then I find out it’s just a pipe dream.
Charlie’s other employee got busted. There was a sting, and he happened to be on shift. So Charlie moved the business to an apartment near his, where I was to live. He had me package and send a parcel of hash to British Columbia, and I used the wrong courier. The package arrived empty. It was an incredibly bad batch anyway, but what surprised me, and does to this day is that Charlie let it go. He’d been violent with me in the past, but he didn’t even tell me off for having used the wrong courier.
I only lived in that apartment a few days. I asked the building manager to turn the stove on for me. The knobs were off. It needed to be set up. I thought he was going to come into my apartment and set it up. I went out shopping on Park Avenue, and when I returned, there were fire trucks outside the building. I learned it was my apartment that had burned. The concierge didn’t turn the stove on directly. He went to a remote circuit breaker, and switched the power to the stove on, and stuff I’d had sitting on the disused stove caught fire. The apartment was ruined. The concierge came to tell me something like I had to pay for the disaster, but Charlie faced him down with the threat that he would get a lawyer. The guy left us alone.
So Charlie rented another apartment, in a complex of high rises called La Cite, where I would be the sole employee and would live. After a month or two Charlie and I had a disagreement about how he was entering the building. I was concerned about drawing heat, and I thought he was being too bold. So Charlie fired me, and hired a friend of his, Darcy, who ended up ripping Charlie off to supply a cocaine habit.
I moved to an apartment in Point St. Charles, a slum. It was a huge place in a house that was owned by the young woman who lived on the top floor. I don’t remember her name. I’ll call her Pamela. It was incredibly cheap. I put my weight lifting machine in the basement, and would go down there to work out among the many spiders. I had Charlie’s dog Peugeot. She seemed pretty unhappy. I was still always going after processed food. That was my constant obsession.
I started stripping again, but wasn’t making into work often, so money was tight. I would scrounge up what I could and spend at the nearest corner store on junk food. That, in turn would leave me feeling out of shape for stripping. I was hyper aware of any fat or cellulite. I was eating sugary, fatty, and salty foods, if you’d even call it food. That’s all I would eat while I lived in Point St. Charles. It did in my self confidence, because ideally, I would have been eating a raw vegan diet. I’ve always felt best that way.
Charlie’s friend Eugene came over, with his belongings, as he was itinerant at the time. He would cook peanuts in a wok he carried around with him. He gave me some money to share the apartment I think. I’m not sure about that, but I think he gave me $60. One morning, he flung himself on top of me, on my air mattress on the floor. Another time, he was drinking beer and mouthing off at me, denigrating me. It made me feel really bad, and I told him to leave.
He refused, and I called the police. They made him leave, although he said that he’d given me money. I wish I could remember whether he just planted that idea in my head, or if he really did give it to me. Anyway, I saw him riding up the hill on his bicycle laden down with his belongings, and Peugeot trailing in his wake. I didn’t trust him with Peugeot, so I got on my own bicycle and caught up to him. I don’t remember if she came back home with me, or if she continued to follow Eugene, but she ended up moving back in with Charlie.
Suddenly I started getting bug bites that were very itchy. It was horrible, and I wound up at La Chainon shelter for women, where I was quarantined and treated for scabies. Today, I know what was biting me, and it wasn’t scabies, but fleas, that didn’t have Peugeot around to suck blood from anymore. Some people don’t get itchy bites from fleas. I’m not one of them. I ended up, years later, adopting a dog, and I know from experience that if fleas have a dog around, I don’t get the itchy bites, but given fleas without a dog, I get it bad.
At any rate, the rash cleared up, and after a few weeks, I must have taken a stripping gig and made some cash, because I rented another huge apartment, this time in St. Henri, another slum. The morning after I moved in, I noticed my alarm clock was gone. It turned out that the back door wasn’t secure. Probably some kid had gotten in.
I bumped into Danny downtown, a kid I ran away with from Reflection, a Waredale temporary home for kids. Back then, Danny was innocent. But now, downtown, he was hanging out at a condemned house, doing hard drugs. It was my buddy though, so I invited him to my new insecure apartment, because at least it was livable. He promptly borrowed my bike and never returned it. I went to find him at the condemned house. He apologized for losing my bike.
Once when I was living in a room in Toronto, I had no money for food. I slept on a coffee table, and worked out to Billy Idol’s Rebel Yell, and Steve something’s Fly Like an Eagle album, on cassette. I didn’t want to go to the food bank, because I’d get lots of processed food there, and I figured I’d be healthier if I went on a water fast. So I fasted for 11 days, working out all the time.
At the end of my fast, Charlie wired me some money for a plane ticket to Montreal, two months rent, and some food. He’d hired me to work for him selling hashish. I broke the fast with a huge sweet juicy grapefruit. The plane ride took about an hour, and I spent the whole time enjoying that fruit. The steak and potatoes businessman sitting next to me was disgusted.
I rented a cold apartment near Parc Mont Royal, and bought vegetables and fruit, plus raw almonds. For two months, that was all I ate, raw, and I ate very little at that. I worked at Charlie’s apartment, selling hash, and cleaning his place when there were no customers. Charlie didn’t pay me to clean, but I just felt like it. I would take his dog Peugeot to the park in the snow sometimes.
I remember looking in the small bathroom mirror at my apartment and noticing that I looked gaunt, but I felt great. I didn’t sleep for those two months. I would lie down, and my mind would become a kaleidoscope of symmetrical colors. I had no confusion about anything. I made decisions easily. It’s like I was in touch with a universal logic. There was one crucial mistake I made though. An assumption I had, that tripped me up.
I had thought that Charlie was planning on getting clean from drugs and adopting children with me (He couldn’t have kids.), and being like The Waltons. He never said any such thing. I just believed what I wanted to. So one day, he comes over, and sitting beside me, he says “I just met this chick. She’s my dreamboat! I was in a record store, and she was working there. A few days later I was rolling (He was paralyzed, in a wheelchair.) down Park Avenue and she was coming up it, and she blocked my way. We went to Chalet BBQ and had chicken.”
I thought to myself. “Oh! We’re just friends to his mind.”. He left, and I immediately called Mike’s Submarine restaurant for a delivery of a meat submarine and a pizza. For months I just pursued processed food, and so much for being vegan. I was disgusted with myself, but I couldn’t help it. I had lost my bearings. I’d thought my future was spoken for, and then I find out it’s just a pipe dream.
Charlie’s other employee got busted. There was a sting, and he happened to be on shift. So Charlie moved the business to an apartment near his, where I was to live. He had me package and send a parcel of hash to British Columbia, and I used the wrong courier. The package arrived empty. It was an incredibly bad batch anyway, but what surprised me, and does to this day is that Charlie let it go. He’d been violent with me in the past, but he didn’t even tell me off for having used the wrong courier.
I only lived in that apartment a few days. I asked the building manager to turn the stove on for me. The knobs were off. It needed to be set up. I thought he was going to come into my apartment and set it up. I went out shopping on Park Avenue, and when I returned, there were fire trucks outside the building. I learned it was my apartment that had burned. The concierge didn’t turn the stove on directly. He went to a remote circuit breaker, and switched the power to the stove on, and stuff I’d had sitting on the disused stove caught fire. The apartment was ruined. The concierge came to tell me something like I had to pay for the disaster, but Charlie faced him down with the threat that he would get a lawyer. The guy left us alone.
So Charlie rented another apartment, in a complex of high rises called La Cite, where I would be the sole employee and would live. After a month or two Charlie and I had a disagreement about how he was entering the building. I was concerned about drawing heat, and I thought he was being too bold. So Charlie fired me, and hired a friend of his, Darcy, who ended up ripping Charlie off to supply a cocaine habit.
I moved to an apartment in Point St. Charles, a slum. It was a huge place in a house that was owned by the young woman who lived on the top floor. I don’t remember her name. I’ll call her Pamela. It was incredibly cheap. I put my weight lifting machine in the basement, and would go down there to work out among the many spiders. I had Charlie’s dog Peugeot. She seemed pretty unhappy. I was still always going after processed food. That was my constant obsession.
I started stripping again, but wasn’t making into work often, so money was tight. I would scrounge up what I could and spend at the nearest corner store on junk food. That, in turn would leave me feeling out of shape for stripping. I was hyper aware of any fat or cellulite. I was eating sugary, fatty, and salty foods, if you’d even call it food. That’s all I would eat while I lived in Point St. Charles. It did in my self confidence, because ideally, I would have been eating a raw vegan diet. I’ve always felt best that way.
Charlie’s friend Eugene came over, with his belongings, as he was itinerant at the time. He would cook peanuts in a wok he carried around with him. He gave me some money to share the apartment I think. I’m not sure about that, but I think he gave me $60. One morning, he flung himself on top of me, on my air mattress on the floor. Another time, he was drinking beer and mouthing off at me, denigrating me. It made me feel really bad, and I told him to leave.
He refused, and I called the police. They made him leave, although he said that he’d given me money. I wish I could remember whether he just planted that idea in my head, or if he really did give it to me. Anyway, I saw him riding up the hill on his bicycle laden down with his belongings, and Peugeot trailing in his wake. I didn’t trust him with Peugeot, so I got on my own bicycle and caught up to him. I don’t remember if she came back home with me, or if she continued to follow Eugene, but she ended up moving back in with Charlie.
Suddenly I started getting bug bites that were very itchy. It was horrible, and I wound up at La Chainon shelter for women, where I was quarantined and treated for scabies. Today, I know what was biting me, and it wasn’t scabies, but fleas, that didn’t have Peugeot around to suck blood from anymore. Some people don’t get itchy bites from fleas. I’m not one of them. I ended up, years later, adopting a dog, and I know from experience that if fleas have a dog around, I don’t get the itchy bites, but given fleas without a dog, I get it bad.
At any rate, the rash cleared up, and after a few weeks, I must have taken a stripping gig and made some cash, because I rented another huge apartment, this time in St. Henri, another slum. The morning after I moved in, I noticed my alarm clock was gone. It turned out that the back door wasn’t secure. Probably some kid had gotten in.
I bumped into Danny downtown, a kid I ran away with from Reflection, a Waredale temporary home for kids. Back then, Danny was innocent. But now, downtown, he was hanging out at a condemned house, doing hard drugs. It was my buddy though, so I invited him to my new insecure apartment, because at least it was livable. He promptly borrowed my bike and never returned it. I went to find him at the condemned house. He apologized for losing my bike.
Light Housework
I’m willing to feel pretty good.
11 day fast
Light Housework
I’m willing to feel pretty good.
people like Danny. you just can't trust 'em
loan the kid a bike, you're gonna have to bust him
in the mouth but you'll never get it back
"surprise surprise, surprise" it got traded for crack
he used to be cool but now he's a junkie
got the kid some soap cos he smells so funky
let him take a shower and he stole my shampoo
now tell me what the f*** am I supposed to do?
I had a hand in corrupting Danny, when I had him help me rob a woman's purse years earlier.
The.Truth.
Every.Single.Time.
You were the Artful Dodger.
D
Deleted member 30524
Guest
Light Housework
I’m willing to feel pretty good.
Just schizophrenia now. Yes it was a hallucination in the mirror that lasted several minutes. He was beautiful.
D
Deleted member 30524
Guest
So were they mis -diagnosis then ?Just schizophrenia now. Yes it was a hallucination in the mirror that lasted several minutes. He was beautiful.
Light Housework
I’m willing to feel pretty good.
Well, they have to come up with at least one label to 'treat' you. Personally I think I've had schizophrenia twice but don't have it now. I believe I've got PTSD.
D
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PTSD would make sense from what you have posted and the information you have put forward.
I can remember from some MH training I had in 04 about schizophrenia.
Apparently one third of people may have just one episode during a life time,
One third will suffer several episodes during a life time
And one third of people can have it all their life.
A lot of people can get freaked out if they met someone with schizophrenia thinking they might get attacked or something, paranoid schizophrenia is when I would make sure I’ve got my Whitt’s about me as they have the potential to attack anyone at random.
It’s an awful illness as I’ve seen many residents back in the day really struggle on a daily basis just trying to have some normality in their life .
Light Housework
I’m willing to feel pretty good.
I'm hoping to never have another episode.
D
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Well I hope not...
hopefully you’ll be one of those people who may only have a small number of episodes...
if so , then you shouldn’t
D
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