My Sleeping Meds

I think my sleeping medication controlled my dream world. Ever since I stopped taking Trazodone or however it’s spelled, years of “storyline” and characters are gone, including Vegeta, Rick, and friends like Bulma, Goku, Rukia, a lot of my powers and weapons, and even places. I was briefly on a different medication that didn’t work for me before I went on Ambien, which I was on years ago, and I noticed that my dream world is controlled by the medication I’m on, and…. It kinda sucks. Some things carried over, but overall, the most important thing missing is my relationship with all of the people who seem to not be able to stick in my unconscious mind under the influence of this different drug. Both Vegeta and Rick were considered happy places, safe havens, and they made me stronger in the only place I was capable of getting stronger. Now I’m lucky if I see them at all, and they’re treated as throwaway projections instead of important ones.

On Ambien, the entire world has changed. Places, people, history, it’s like I was dropped into a different universe. Every now and then I have a dream that would seem more like an older dream, so I assume those are the dreams I’d have without medication and managed to get to sleep. I don’t expect the medication to completely overrun my brain, so natural dreams are bound to happen, which makes me wonder what my dream world would be like without medication. My insomnia is really bad, I would not get enough sleep to survive doing such an experiment. Actually, for the last two nights, I haven’t been able to get to sleep until the sun came up, so I don’t know what’s going on there.

I just miss the good aspects of the old dreams. I miss the characters and how it felt like a story that was writing itself. I actually wanted to make a series based on it. Maybe I still will just to keep it alive. I just never thought it would hurt so much to lose contact with two people who don’t even exist. I’m just glad it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it does to lose someone who is real.

Or… dreams are not in our heads, they are real, and they are parallel worlds we go to when we go to sleep, and both Vegeta and Rick are pissed at me for trying to kill myself, and this is them punishing me, because this also sort of started around that time, and I hadn’t gotten off the Trazodone yet. You know… Anything is possible when no one knows the answers. I do know one thing for certain, and knowing this fact obviously makes me smarter than everyone else, therefore proving I’m a narcissist, and that fact is….

My cat is cute. Meow.

Punishment is Not Severe Enough

I’ve been watching cold cases crime shows where the cases were eventually solved, and a lot of them involve sexual abuse. So trigger warning, I’m going to talk about it.

The punishment for rape is not severe enough. Some people get out in just a few years. I personally believe rapists should be killed, but apparently some people consider them human beings and think I’m a bad person for wishing death on them. Well, they’re not human beings, and they do deserve death, but for the sake of making the snowflakes happy, I’ve come up with two appropriate punishments that don’t involve death.

Life. Life in prison. They should not be allowed freedom. If you commit murder, you usually get life of death penalty, so all rapists should receive life in prison.

Alternatively, if we do continue to release them, we should publicly shame them. I think that, if you’re convicted of a sex crime, a tattoo should be placed on your face, something that brands you so that everyone who looks at you knows you did something. There could be three different symbols: one for non-rape sexual assault, one for rape, and one for any sex crime involving a minor. Public humiliation can really hurt people, and branding sex criminals would ensure that they can’t blend back into society, even if they never offend a second time. I mean, some of them get married! Have jobs! And the entire time, people don’t know! Imagine marrying someone and ten years later finding out they raped someone way before you met. I would probably throw up. It’s not fair that they get to go free and live a life like a person.

So either lock them up forever or brand them. If executing them isn’t an option, then take away the things that make them so smug and proud of what they do. Or we could castrate them. That would actually be hilarious. And yes, female castration is a thing, it’s just that most sex offenders are male. I wonder why that is. Then again, I also don’t understand why anyone would find a child sexually appealing, so I obviously am not going to understand other things about these creatures.

My therapist told me not to invalidate my experience just because it wasn’t as bad as other people’s. I kind of wish I could ask him why. I don’t remember his name, but I remember his little brother’s first and last name because he was one of my best friends. I was like eight, and the older brother was in high school. Why would he want to touch an eight year old? He was pretty good looking, he could have gotten with someone his own age. Was it spontaneous, or was he thinking about me for awhile? The thing I hope is that I was his only victim. God, I wish I had understood what happened to me, I would have sang like a canary. But I didn’t tell anyone because I didn’t know it was bad, and I didn’t know it was bad because of the covert sexual abuse I had already experienced from my mother and her boyfriends.

We as a society need to crack down hard on sex crimes. We are not harsh enough. But will it ever happen? Of course not. Because, as I learned on LoversLab, people like rape, and if you’re against it, you’re an internet troll. God, I fucking hate humans.

Talk to your kids about sexual assault. Tell them to tell someone if it happens to them, even if their assailant says, “don’t tell or I’ll kill you.” Always tell. Don’t stay silent, no matter how old you are. And fight back as hard as you can against your attacker. I know that being smaller and weaker is the sad truth, but try to fight with everything you’ve got. Don’t give up. You never know what might happen.

I hate this. I hate how I’ve grown to cope with this shit, and I hate how long it took me to understand that certain jokes and tropes were wrong. I wrote a DBZ fanfic called “Domination” that doesn’t sit well with me anymore because there wasn’t enough consent. I should rewrite it some day. It didn’t age well at all, and it makes me cringe.

Lonnie is my super hero of coping mechanisms. He is a result of my sexual abuse, and he’s exactly what I wish every victim could be; someone who could easily send their attacker to the hospital before they could even touch them. People have misunderstood Lonnie, and it’s because I made the mistake of revealing him before finishing his story. I am completely convinced, though, that the people who acted like they had the biggest problem with him are closet pedophiles because they sexualized a baby. I revealed his medical diagnosis and treatment, I didn’t think people would actually make it sexual. I don’t think that way. A baby to me is a chubby sack of human that is sometimes adorable, and sometimes annoying. If you sexualize baby Lonnie based on a crippling disorder that ruined his life, you might want to get counseling about being a pedophile.

If there’s a god, and I was on his design team for humans, I would have told him to make it so humans didn’t develop sex organs or genitals until sexual maturity. We’d all be smooth like dolls during childhood. And maybe we’d give off subtle odors that unaroused anyone who smelled them. Wait… I would have told God to just not make sexual predators! Then it wouldn’t matter if kids had genitals because no one would be interested in them! But I mean, they serve no purpose, so why don’t we develop them later? We’d be smooth with a small hole for the urethra. I haven’t come up with a solution for the anus though. Now my Ambien is working, so I’m getting all diddly doodly. I have to go.

Sex criminals are not people!

Health Update

I’ve been diagnosed with high cholesterol and non-alcoholic fatty liver disease, which I developed in the last year due to my depression eating. I am on the verge of becoming diabetic. I hope you’re happy.

I just got a CT scan to figure out why my sinuses are fucked up, but I won’t know the results until the sixteenth. Until then, my headaches are so bad, I have to lie in bed all day. That means I still can’t exercise to help my cholesterol or liver. I am in so much pain.

Someone remind me why life is worth living.

I Hate My Dreams

It seemed fine. It was like the future, and I lived in Smilesville in a big house. I guess Mike and I were going to host a huge party, so everyone was decorating, making food, and there was an outdoor stage where musical acts were practicing and testing sound. One guy was singing a song while I was on the top floor changing certain materials into other materials, like paper into satin ribbon and rubber into glass for decoration. I liked the song, which I had never heard before, and then he sang the chorus.

“I really love you,

And I always will,

Even when you were raped as a child

Just for the thrill.”

My jaw dropped , and I looked at another woman in the room, and she mirrored my expression. I went into a rage and jumped off of the top floor, using these fabric wings I always seem to have to glide down to the stage. I found the guy in front of the microphone, and I didn’t recognize him, but he was a middle aged white guy who wouldn’t look out of place at a Republican convention.

I said , “excuse me?” And he questioned my reaction. I told him to recite the lyrics of that song. He started at the beginning, but I interrupted him and told him, “after ‘I really love you.'” He seemed reluctant, so Koda found the paper the lyrics were on and recited the chorus. I don’t remember what I said, but I was screaming at the man and kicking him as he tried to run from me. People who were there were jeering at him and shaking their fists, and I chased him off the property.

After that, I was just angry and almost cancelled the party, but tried to get back to work. A different guy started bugging me, this emo dude who wanted to challenge me to a “sing off,” and I had so much to do, and he was annoying, and I ended up cancelling the party out of stress.

Seriously. Brain. I hate you.

Changing My Name

At some point, I’m changing my full legal name. I won’t tell you when, and the only people who will know what it is will be trusted individuals I know well. This way, after we move, you can’t find me. After having my address publicly published for thousands of people to see, receiving unsolicited mail, and having to file police reports, I’m not letting you know who I am, not anymore. I have always been honest with all of you, always shown my humanity, never pretended to be better than you just because I had an audience. I was real with everyone. Not anymore. I refuse to be stalked and harassed by people who simply don’t like me for one reason or another. Most of you don’t like me based on things you believe about me that aren’t true. I want to ask anyone I tell my new name to to please not use it online for the safety of me and my husband. I’m just Reitanna online, and that’s it. Honestly, I wish I could just become a different person. I want a new body, one that works. I don’t want people to recognize me. I can’t believe you ruined my life over a fan fiction. A story. About ponies.

I recently read an article about gaslighting. I had to laugh when I was done. It’s something people online (and only online) accused me of doing. Welp, I was right, turns out I haven’t gaslighted anyone online or in person. But guess who has? You know who it is. Oh, did you know that gaslighters often do it to their significant other? That’s their main victim. I’ve never gaslighted Michael. No one who has ever known me in person has accused me of the horrible things people online have. Not a single one of my many therapists have, no friends, no lovers, not even enemies. The fucking DSM-5 says I’m not a narcissist. I have not exhibited a single symptom, and have, in fact, proven over ten years that I’m not. It doesn’t bother me that people think I’m these things, it bothers me that people believe untrue things. If you’re going to hate me, hate me for something that’s actually true! I can’t stand it when people believe lies, whether it’s me, or a boy in a fictional book.

People liked that I responded to YouTube comments because many YouTubers don’t do that. I took that away. I took Muffins away. Now I’m taking away the personal aspect. This is now a business. You took all of this away from good, innocent, honest people. You ruined something that helped so many. You even ruined it for yourself, because remember, you did this all because you didn’t get what you wanted, and you got told off for being an entitled jerk. You put my life and my husband’s life in danger. I tried to kill myself. I am permanently damaged, physically and mentally because you couldn’t accept that I needed to take a break from writing a fucking story for my already bad health. Then you couldn’t stand that you got caught stealing from me. Maybe you shouldn’t have stolen from anyone in the first place? HMMMMM? Maybe you shouldn’t be a bad person? HMMMMMMM?????? You’re a bad person. If there’s a hell, I’ll be so satisfied to see you there being tortured worse than me because your sins are worse than mine. I bet you’re a pedophile too, why else would baby Lonnie turn you on? No normal person would look at a baby with Lonnie’s condition and think it’s supposed to be kinky. Also, I know you’re faking. If you’re not, then you shouldn’t expect people to believe you because you’ve lied so much. You’re the boy who cried wolf, except you haven’t gotten what you deserve yet. Did you orgasm when you found out I overdosed? Because I know you get off on other people’s suffering. You only care about yourself. You’re a narcissist. You’re everything you made people believe about me, except in your case, there’s proof. I wonder what else you’ve done. I wonder what you’ve done offline that no one knows about. What dark secrets are you hiding? What have you done to people in person?

I’ve never liked “Kara” anyway. I don’t want any connection to my parents. I wish I could change who I am completely. New DNA. But with this new name, I’m leaving a lot behind. I want to leave it all behind, but that’s not possible. I’ll leave behind as much as I can. One way or another, Kara Reynolds will cease to exist. Reitanna Seishin isn’t going anywhere, because you wanted to get rid of her, and you can’t have what you want. I won’t let you have your way. I let you have too much because it’s out of my control, but now I’m taking the reins on what I have left, AND YOU CAN’T HAVE WHAT YOU WANT. YOU FAILED. YOU JUST MADE THINGS WORSE. Just wait until I get better. You’ll regret everything. When I get better, you’ll wish you had just been a nice, honest person. I’m not gonna find you. I’m not gonna torture you or kill you. I won’t even have to talk to you. I’m not going to hire someone to kill you. You’ll actually be physically safe as far as I’m concerned. I don’t have to do anything illegal or bad to make you regret messing with me. Quite the opposite.

You’ll regret messing with me the same way I grew my audience in the first place. Fuck you. I’m going to get better. I’ll have to live with the trauma you have me, but FUCK. YOU. I’m going to get better, and you’ll get NOTHING. Not unless you pay, but are you THAT desperate for my attention?

The truth always comes out. You can lie online, but the more we live on the internet, the easier it is to find out the truth. That’s why I won’t lie. Someone always finds out. It could take ten years, it doesn’t matter. Don’t lie. SOMEONE ALWAYS FINDS OUT.

If quoting my favorite songs to express how I feel makes me a criminal, take me to jail.

This is 10:30 at Night

The blue light to the left is my microphone, but outside it’s twilight. It’s enough to light up our room, though the camera doesn’t show it that well. We are going to bed right now because Michael has a morning shift. It’s hard enough for me to get to sleep regularly, but on nights we have to go to bed early, this makes it impossible. My circadian rhythm says it’s day time. I remember quite a few years ago when some stupid idiot on YouTube tried to tell me I was lying about listening to the Lavender Town theme for four hours because “the light didn’t change.” I was in California, and the sun sets earlier there than it does here, and it still stays light out late during the summer. I will never get over trying to tell that person that the sun sets later where I lived, and they said, “liar! The sun sets at the same time all over the world!” O RLY? And as I’ve finished typing this entry, the sun still hasn’t set all the way, and I type slow on my phone. Welcome to Earth, dumbass.

Off topic, something I wondered today… If I had a voodoo doll of one of my enemies, and voodoo dolls worked, what would seriously be more satisfying? Causing physical pain and torture, or forcing them to do embarrassing things endlessly? I honestly think the latter would be more satisfying for everyone I hate except for one. Like… Deliciously satisfying. I wish I could. I wish magic was real. We’ve been watching The Owl House. Disney is being really progressive nowadays, and it’s great. I’d love just some sort of fantasy in my life. I’ve also been watching Catch Teenieping, so now I want tiny, adorable, magical creatures.

“There’s got to be something better.”

I Think the Lithium is Working

I don’t feel like I’m on the brink of ending it all. I’m still depressed, but then again, a lot of my depression is being caused by real world things, and not chemicals in my head, but even with Jonnie’s passing, every time I feel like dying, it doesn’t feel as…. What’s the word? Urgent? I don’t know. Watch, with my luck, this is just a bubble of feeling and I’ll be just as suicidal as I was before after a few days. I mean, the only thing positive that has happened is confirmation that I don’t have cancer from the neck down. They need to scan my head. No doctor has ever scanned my head before, and I guarantee there’s something, if not cancer, something else. We made an appointment with the endocrinologist, but they can’t see me until August. That means I have to wait even longer to figure out a bunch of stuff that’s keeping me from doing anything but sitting on my butt all day. I mostly want to know why I’m so fucking hot. I am so sick of being hot. And then my nasal stuff isn’t making my sinus problem better, so we have to make another ENT appointment. I am so sick of forcing myself to gag every morning to get out a glob of solid mucus that settled at the back of my throat, I’m sick of the post nasal drip, the breathing problems… That’s not even factoring in that I had to stop my PT for my ankle because of all these other health problems. Yeah, Lithium decreases suicidal ideation, but it doesn’t magically get rid of the real life shit that would make me miserable with or without mental illness. It’d be nice is something could do that. I just want everyone in the world to have no problems to begin with. We should all just have peace and no pain, bad people should never have existed, no one should have hurt anyone, and we should’ve all felt like our best selves from the day we were born to the day we die. If I had known things were going to get as bad as they did, I would not have allowed anyone to talk me out of killing myself when I was about to at sixteen. That would have been my first attempt. The people who deserve to die don’t, and it hurts everyone. It’s funny, if I were actually a narcissist, I wouldn’t give a shit, and the problems of other people wouldn’t affect me. I wouldn’t feel guilty about hurting anyone, so that guilt wouldn’t keep me up at night. I wouldn’t consider anyone else’s feelings, so I could use anyone to get what I want. I wouldn’t care. The things that hurt me wouldn’t hurt me. I’d also think highly of myself. I need a What If machine like in Futurama so I could see what life would be like if I were a narcissist. I just think it’s ironic.

I had a dream a few nights ago that I stabbed a girl in public. I had saved money for a vacation and was at this bar or something. I was trying to order something with mango in it, and they were up selling this little gambling game, and I told them I didn’t have the money to gamble, and also explained how I knew how gambling games used psychological tricks to keep you playing. Some girl and her friends overheard and was like, “if you don’t have any money, why do you always have a Powerade in each hand?” I was like, “what are you talking about? I hate Powerade, and I’ve never even seen you before. I think you’re mistaking me for someone else.” She looked really pissed off at being wrong, so her friend quickly said, “yeah, but I saw her buying a little cake the other day.” So the girl said, “yeeeeeah, if you have no money, how could you buy the caaaaaake?” This was pissing me off way more than it would in real life, which is typical of dream me, and I said, “look, I saved up hard for this vacation, so I’m going to spend the money I saved specifically for spending on things I like.” She kept saying weird things about me buying something at the bar, about me being poor, about me lying about not having money, and it was confusing because I kept explaining everything logically, and it was like I was speaking a different language. This has happened to me in real life though, so that’s probably where this is coming from. Someone will say something to me, I’ll give them the explanation, and they’ll just act like a stupid shit head and pretend they didn’t hear me. But in this dream, I grabbed a knife from the bar and stabbed it into the countertop as I screamed at her to listen to me. She just laughed and called me poor, a liar, and fat, and I snapped, grabbing her and plunging the knife into her back. People started screaming, and her friends ran off. Other people were shouting things like, “oh my god, that girl just killed that other girl!” I kind of stood back, shocked, and I noticed the employees I had been talking to ran off. I hadn’t meant to do it, I was completely surprised. I stood for a few seconds, and then hung my head, gently sat in a chair, and held my hands in the air, listening to the reactions to what I did, and waited. A moment later, security cuffed me, and I had a false wake up. This is when it’ll seem like I’ve woken from my dream, but I’m actually still asleep. I “woke up” in my bed back in California and couldn’t move. I figured I was still dreaming, so I struggled and yelled until I woke up for real. It was really bizarre. I couldn’t believe the feeling of losing it like that, and then just accepting the consequences without any kind of freak out. I didn’t exclaim, “I didn’t mean to!” or anything, I just felt the shock and horror silently to myself. Normally when I kill someone in my dreams, I run, fight, or try to frame someone. I’ve never just “welped” and surrendered. When I woke up for real, I got up and said, “stupid nightmares.” There was no reason for that dream to have turned bad, everything was fine until that stupid girl. Why did I stab her? I could have just punched her. It’s all these true crime shows. They keep making me wonder what I’d do if I were in the shoes of the killer…

The answer is usually, “don’t kill my fucking husband.” XD

Why Aren’t People Afraid?

I have a few reasons why I choose not to lie. The main one is that, since I don’t like the feeling of being lied to, other people must not like it either, so I don’t want to make them feel like that. My logical brain says that, if I spare people those bad feelings, they will do the same for me. Oh, but the world is not logical. Other people don’t give a shit that you consider their feelings. I’m sorry that I don’t want you to feel the betrayal of being lied to, I’m such a bad person. /s

The second reason is that lying is hard, especially with a memory like mine. I have a hard enough time keeping track of continuity in my fictional stories, can you imagine me trying to keep track of untrue details I’m supposed to be pretending are true? It’s easier to tell the truth because you know what it is and you don’t have to try and remember what you said. That’s why one of the red flags that someone is lying is they can’t keep their story straight. I have a couple people in mind right now as I say that. [You’re a liar, you know you are, and you’re a bad person.]

The third reason is one I didn’t realize until recently after watching quite a few true crime shows. I am human, and humans lie. Even after making my vow, I’ve gotten the urge to lie many times over the years, and about stupid stuff. I’m ashamed about my trichotillomania, so I actually had a “baby bird” thought of saying I had cancer instead. A “baby bird” thought is something we all experience; impulsive thoughts that often make us go, “why did I think that?!” immediately after thinking them. Example: you find a helpless baby bird, and you suddenly get the thought or urge to smash it to death. If you don’t do it and question the thought, you’re normal. If you do it, you’re most likely a psychopath. Anyway, lying about having cancer is one of the worst things you can lie about, so obviously I backtracked on that immediately. But I’ve had the urge to lie about things to Michael, or even to people on the internet. I was thinking about this the other day, and I realized the reason I always resist certain lies is because I think, “wait, then what will I say when they find out the truth?” Not if they find out, when. Because people will always find out. I’m afraid of trying to dig myself out of a web of lies, I’m afraid of people having actual proof of me being a bad person. It’s one thing if people just believe you’re a bad person because of someone else lying, but it’s a whole different ball game if it’s true. I’ve been so confused these passed few years, wondering if the opposite would have worked. What if I had acted that way? Would people have fallen for it? If I had been another fake ass influencer with no sincerity, would I be successful? Is that what people want? Do you want me to lie to you? Every time I get the urge to lie, there’s a series of things going on in my head: when they find out you lied, what are you going to say? Are you going to tell another lie, or tell the truth? What’s so bad about the truth that you have to lie? You don’t know how long it will take them to find out the truth. Will you even remember what you said? Are the consequences worth it? Who will you hurt? They will find out. THEY WILL FIND OUT.

It’s fear. Fear keeps me from breaking my vow. I’m afraid of being found out, I’m afraid of hurting anyone who trusted me, and I’m afraid of going against what I believe is right, even if the rest of the world is full of lying pieces of shit. But I don’t get it… Why aren’t you afraid too? Are you just used to getting away with lying? When you get caught, don’t you care? Why don’t you think about the bad things that can happen to you when you get caught? Are you so certain you’ll never be found out? Does lying make you a coward? I think it does, and I know this from experience. Every time I’ve ever lied in my life, it was to hide something so I wouldn’t get in trouble. It took me many years to figure out you get in worse trouble when you’re caught lying than when you just tell the truth in the first place. But if I’m afraid of being caught lying, doesn’t that make me a coward? Isn’t fear the same as cowardice?

I think I’d rather be an honest coward than a lying one. And I think you have to be pretty full of yourself to believe you can get away with lying all the time. I just think it’s funny. I think it’s funny that I can’t relate. People always find out the truth eventually. Always. And every liar should be scared to fucking death of when they get found out, but they’re not, and I’ll never understand why.

Jonnie is Not Doing Well

Jonnie, my rat (a rescue who was a stray during the cold winter) has had to be on medicine for some respiratory problems. Rats are extremely susceptible to respiratory issues and cancer, and it’s usually their cause of death. Suddenly, Jonnie has taken a bad turn. It doesn’t help we don’t know how old he is, but we’ve had him for awhile. Michael is going to call the vet tomorrow, but we hope we won’t have to bring him in because the visit could stress his little lungs to death. When Jonnie passes, we won’t be able to get any other small animals such as rats because exotic pets vets are much harder to find nowadays, and without a vet, we can’t properly care for someone who needs that kind of special attention. Aries died of lung cancer, and Jonnie doesn’t show signs of cancer, just damage from possible pneumonia he may’ve gotten when he was a stray. I just want my kids to pass naturally and painlessly without drama, but you rarely get that with rodents. I just can’t lose someone right now.

I sleep almost constantly. I’m so tired that I feel like I’m going to fall asleep all the time, and I get dizzy and lightheaded when I stand up. My energy is even too low for video games at this point. I don’t have any cancer that they’ve tested for so far, but I have to go see an endocrinologist soon to figure out what’s causing all of the physical hormonal changes in my body. I went three months without a period, then had a short light one, then had a heavy one that lasted for twelve days. I hope they can stop my hot flashes, which are less flashes and more constant. It’s like I have flashes of normal temperature or coldness every so often. I just wish I could stand up without getting lightheaded.

I don’t think people realize what I’m going through right now, and that it started years ago, just getting worse. I was accused of just being lazy. Laziness is a side effect, it’s not a choice I am making. I have so many things I want to do, but I have no energy or motivation. I wish this was just laziness, because then I could change it, but I’ve never been lazy in this sense, I’ve always worked on something. I wish I could force people to feel this amount of exhaustion so they can understand. I can’t explain in words properly just how fatigued I am. It’s driving me nuts. I hate sleeping so much, I hate not moving around, I hate not being able to do things because normally, I am ALWAYS working on something. I am ALWAYS hyperfocused. Now, though, I feel like I’ve been drugged constantly with something meant to knock me out at a party so someone can do horrible things to me. That’s how it feels, it feels like a date rape drug or something, or like a fraction of one because I’m not just passing out all over the place.

I had a horrible nightmare last night where Michael tried to cut my throat, and I had to wrestle three knives away from him and kill him in defense. I had to tie up some loose ends in my life before calling the police on myself, like trying to find homes for our pets. Michael’s body was stood upright inside a wall behind some wallpaper, and the whole time, I was numb because all of my concentration was on getting things done, knowing that I was going to kill myself when I went to jail. I wasn’t doing to kill myself before calling the police, because that’s not fair to the victim. I always laugh coldly when I watch a true crime thing and the killer commits suicide before getting caught, or even confessing. Sometimes they don’t even let anyone know where to find the body. That’s cowardly and selfish. Then again, the ones I’m thinking of killed their spouses instead of just divorcing them, so that already tells you something. One guy fucking killed his kids before killing himself because he lost custody of the kids, and he hadn’t even been proven to be the murderer of his wife yet. He killed two little boys that weren’t older than seven. Selfish.

Anyway, even though I know Michael wouldn’t hurt me, and he was there to comfort me, these dreams still fuck with me. I had to take some anxiety meds, but those make me sleepy too, and I’m only supposed to take half, but I might have to take the other half, that’s how bad today is. If Jonnie wasn’t in such a bad way, I could deal with it, but that’s my baby boy, and he might be dying. I still remember when he used to bite my hand bloody because he was distrustful of people. I didn’t give up on him, and he became such a love bug. If I hadn’t adopted him, no one else would have. No one wants a biting rat. But I refused to take him back, I didn’t care if he bit me forever. I was going to make sure he had food, water, and a warm place to sleep. And then he crawled out onto my arm and perched, and I got it on camera. He slowly stopped biting and nipping, and he’s just such a little miracle. I can’t believe he survived being outside during that winter. He’s such a tough little man.

Sometimes I wish I didn’t love so hard. It’d be easier to say goodbye. It’d be easier for me to leave. I could probably even make more money because I wouldn’t care about using and cheating to get it. Seriously, watch “Deadly Women” on Hulu. I don’t think I’ve ever understood narcissism so well until after watching so many episodes of it, and so many of them remind me of a certain someone. I’m waiting for that certain someone to either kill someone or have someone else kill someone. I’ve already left some information behind in a private place for police in case I’m murdered under suspicious circumstances because I know what people are capable of. Michael says I’m just being paranoid, and maybe I am, but I’m covering my tracks, I’m covering all bases, and if I’m killed, they will know who to look at. They will be unable to frame an innocent person as well. They won’t be able to make it look like a suicide because I have a fail safe for that.

I’ve researched killers for my fictional stories. In a way, every bit of information we have on how murderers did what they did have taught me how to be a murderer. They’ve also taught me how to be a victim who doesn’t let their killer get away. With all of the information we have, we know what mistakes people have made, how they got caught, how victims have been kept from being found, who the police look at as suspects, etc cetera. I don’t know if I could be a good killer in real life because I have qualities my fictional killers lack, which are what make them good, but I have the qualities that make me someone you don’t want to kill unless you plan on getting caught. The qualities I have that would make me an unsuccessful murderer are what would make me a talking corpse. You will know who killed me. You will know if I actually killed myself or not.

Just don’t try to kill me for money. I don’t have any money. I don’t even have life insurance.

Fishing Rope

I made a working fishing rope. The rope I have is so scratchy, but it’s really long, I just don’t know it’s weight limit. But the loop works, so there’s that.

Sad songs stuck in my head,

No sleep when I go to bed,

Just painful memories instead,

I just wish we both were dead…

But you go first.