Fear is a Prison

I’m afraid of everything. I’m afraid of fear itself. I have been through so many emotions in the last two weeks… but, of all of them, fear has twisted me up and raped me of nearly all abilty to function. 

I have lived my entire life in fear. At a very young age I learned that it was necessary to find distractions to shove in my brain to keep it busy… that way the devil wouldn’t get me.  They weren’t always bad distractions.  When you are young you can stay pretty active during the day. Night time was hell though. Complete hell in full-out glory. 

I just let go of my latest distraction. The battle I fought… the disgusting shit I allowed myself to stoop to before finally giving up… the monster I became… are all evidence of the fact, I think, that I was scared – almost literally to death – of what life would be like without that distraction.  

And now here I am on the other side of the fight – breathing heavily…

I don’t know where it came from. Or, what I’m afraid of. But, it’s deadly. I may never know. Could I have just been born with it? Does it even matter where it came from? Does it need a home?

I know it’s open season on my brain right now though. I’m doing my best to handle it with care. But fear is fear and the memories are starting to resurface as the fog settles from the disaster of the last few weeks. No one wants to live in the past, but when the past lives in you, what are you suppose to do? Especially when that past doesn’t make any sense?

Then there’s tomorrow? And the day after. .. makes ya wanna start shoving in something to just make it all stop before it even starts.

Just kinda…

Ok, over and out.

Here’s George Jetson!!!


I pulled into Nazareth, was feelin’ about half past dead
I just need some place where I can lay my head
“Hey, mister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed?”
He just grinned and shook my hand, “no” was all he said.

— “The Weight” The Band

Decided to get out of town for a few days. Paisley, the Basset hound is staying with the hot vet. Boyfriend is fishing… I’m just driving. No spaceships. Although looky what I passed as I was driving.


Freaked me out at first! Thought maybe I was having a moment. “Here’s George Jetson!” Then I noticed the twin motors. Hey, it was a touch and go few days last week… What can I say.

So I’m taking it easy. Day is not so great, but it’s quiet – outside my head and in. I’m not going to complain.

“What if this is as good as it gets?”

So I’m trying to reach up, and climb out, dig through all of this garbage that I have collected and most importantly created. It’s smelly and scary and revolting.  Childish – yes, very childish. But mostly it’s deep and tangled in this… l don’t know… just mess. It has roots, oh yes, very deep roots. And branches that have grown miles just in the last few weeks.

The problem is that it’s so fucking intriguing. Almost as if the more I create the more I want it to continue.  But, the anger that came out of it. And, the reactions? Damn it if it wasn’t at all what I wanted.  They weren’t playing right!

I mean really… if you are going to play.  Play right. I realize it’s hard to keep up at times, but come on.

I was so far in my head at times that I was psychotic –  seeing things and feeling things that I was still very sane enough to know weren’t happening to me. And one would think that you could realize if you were still that together at that point that it’s “game over”, Jami. Pack it in for your sanity, babe. But, it would seem that when I am hell bent on destruction – zooming around in a spaceship with other spaceships on the highway isn’t a enough to snap my crazy-ass back into reality. It was enough to get me to pullover and “phone a friend”, but look out world, after this break, round 15 is back in play.

Sadly tho, for Crazy Jami, I was able to put it to rest. No, you can applaude that.  Or, call 911 and still have me committed  or stop reading.  All of the above. I understand. Please know I AM NOT trying to make light of the seriousness of that mess.  If I went into the actual behavior you probably would stop reading anyway. Or wonder what the fuck? Why isn’t she committing herself?  That is the scariest I have been non-anxiety wise… non-screwed up med wise… since the 80’s. It was straight up bipolar, borderline behavior like I have never seen… from a 48 year old woman on top of it…

I am seriously surprised I am not locked up somewhere – hospital or jail. Or dead. I am SO grateful that I’m not.

Now I have to deal with the fall out.  Not so much that of who I lost.  I didn’t lose anyone I didnt need to lose. I have to deal with behavior that I thought was gone.  That I thought as a 48 year old woman I could honestly live my life knowing I was free from. 

This is where shit gets real.
This is the frustration. ..
This is the exhaustion.
This is the anxiety… the “oh shit, the other shoe just fell” reality.

Yeah, I threw a toddler fit.  But I came apart on every level possible.  I kept telling myself that everyone gets angry. Everyone goes through stuff like this. I worked hard all summer to be able to stand up to somethimg like this.  I can do this….

That’s what I told myself…

And I lost it… straight to hell in a handbasket. 

I don’t know what’s next.  I’m safe and that is huge.  I hate the saying, but every day is a new day.  So that is something in my favor.  Good news is that I only had one more shoe to fall.  Out of shoes… so… back to the books I guess.  I don’t know. 

That’s all I got.  I do write alot during times like this.  Most of it will seem like nonsense because its just me talking to myself.   Which is what I do anyway.  Understand that I am really in my head still…

Just a warning. ..

Over and out.

Motivational Speech #1


Sometimes ya gotta just fake it ’til ya make it and I figure a little humor in the process can’t hurt… this morning is rough. I’ve got a long weekend ahead of me with zero structure planned and that is a map for destruction.

But, I refuse to give in. I have Big Girl responsibilities today. I will have to at least get through them.

Over and out.

Moving on?


Ok…. maybe it’s personal.  Yeaah… it’s prolly personal.

I am really out there right now.  If I wrote for real I think you’d all need a translator.  Good news is that the therpaist, Adonis, is back from vacation.  I have locked him in his office and he will not be taking vacations ever again.  Nor will he see his family… tough break, therapy man.  Price ya have to pay when you are both amazingly good at your job and have a fruit loop for a patient like me.

Ok, no I did not lock him in his office. Gees… his kids start school this week.  I wanted him to have that moment.  And, no I didn’t threaten him.  He’d already tossed around the idea of a safety contract and so I decided not to push it.  BUT! I did let him know that it was extremely inconvenient of him to go be on vacation when I was having a slight breakdown. He didn’t seem phased at all.  Creep.

However, to keep things on the up and up… the lego is for the asshole who broke my heart… not the therapist.

Are we good? Still with me? I should stop here.  Have a blessed day everyone… haha… ahhhhh.  I’m going to grab my regularly prescribed xanax and try for another successful day of geometry education in the Indiana Public School System.  No worries.  Ill be fine. So will the kiddies.

Over and out.

Seconds in Forever


For just one second I wanted to drive my 1999 white toyota solara into the big oak tree on the corner… that second lasted forever as I realized a thousand things … most of which ….

Man, that would hurt! And, I would screw up and kill myself… I don’t want to die. Just hurt….

I realized that if for some reason I did die – which, again, was never the intention – my 80 year old parents would be heartbroken. They have been to hell and back with me.

I also realized that I was actually, quite insanely,  attempting to self-injure with a multi-ton vehicle… the insanity of that!

I realized that while, yes, I was trying to release the fucking build up of pain and sickness and vomit and blood and tears and everything screaming to get out, this time was different. I was doing it out “there” because he’s a cop and on duty and he’d get the call and he’d hear it.  Woohoo… can you say “fruit loop?”

That’s when it hit me… as the tears were falling faster than the rain itself…. he as been my self injury.  He’s why I haven’t picked up those razors in over 2 years. He is the razor. Don’t ask me how this all came together in this grand aha moment.  It just did. One of those things that you just know…

………. and so I drove the rest of the way home in my 1999 white toyota solara. All in one piece.

Now I have to deal with this…

Over and out.

..and I wonder, and I wonder….

I started teaching this week. 22 years. Forty-six little faces (ok, teenage faces) staring back at me.

It took 3 days for my principal to decide that Clarence should go back to the alternative school, aptly titled, LIFE.

3 days. 1, 2, 3.

I realize there are occasions where this is necessary. Students who fit the bill for alternative settings. I have taught this group of young adults for half of my career. I was shocked at this one though. Got a group email asking that I see him, the principal, about Clarence. … wanted to fill me in on his situation. I had no idea there was a problem. I knew he had a “baby mama”. Eh, it happens. But, he was working for me. Obviously distracted. Lacks the basics in math, but he’s a freshman… and has a baby mama. I figured I had some time with him. Wasn’t a problem other wise. I’d had him for 3 days.

So, good ole Mr. Wood informed me that when Clarence was 4 he watched as 3 men “busted” down the front door of his house. One grabbed him and he watched as the other two filled his father full of bullets. Mr. Wood didn’t bother taking me into his office to inform me of this news. Didn’t even bother to really look around to see if anyone else was listening. In all fairness, he did sound (and I know he was genuinely) sad for Clarence. But, um… I can’t say I was entirely prepared for the news. I’m one who feels nearly everything she thinks. And so for a bit… I was there in that house with Clarence – I’m sorry, I just do that. I believe it’s the PTSD in me. I don’t know……

After I got my poop back in a group…. and took a deep breathe that I didn’t even have to begin with, I stood there and wondered about it for minute. Really wondered what I was going to do. Then I went into teacher mode – which is helpful since I am suppose to be a teacher. It just never gets old for me. I never get use to it. Then I got angry about it because I suddenly remembered that the head principal wants to send him to LIFE… What the hell for? You all ready for this? Because he got upset in class when a teacher told him to sit in his assigned seat in the front of the room. First day of school. He refused. There was an argument. He lost the argument (which, had I not known anything about the kid either – he probably would have lost with me). He ended up in the office… and I’m sure shit when down after that! So, he should go to alternative school for that because of his background. Suddenly I was sickened by the thought that I bet the boy has an IEP (Individual Education Plan) and a BP (Behavior Plan) plan and I haven’t seen either yet. New kid to the school. BP’s were just uploaded for us to view. I don’t know anything about the kid and NO ONE ELSE DOES EITHER. And, because he comes from (excuse the reference) the other side of the tracks, no one probably came into the school to let us know to look out for him…

Then I find out that he came from the middle school LIFE program – which is attached to our LIFE program but no one bothered – no professional educator – bothered to say…. Hey, Clarence has some quirks. We’d like to see him succeed in a regular high school setting because WE are professional educators and that is what we are all about so……. here he is…. please be aware.


Day 3. He’s on his way out because he’s too anxious to sit in the front of a classroom and can’t handle a confrontation perfectly. Which SOMEONE could have informed us about. Someone other than a 14 year old traumatized kid could have given us a heads. If anyone says no about that I think I will vomit. It is our job, people. Come on.

Oh boy.

So I say, “Mr Wood. Has anyone sent Clarence to the social worker yet?”

Seems like a perfectly rational idea to me?  It’s not like the social worker’s cup is overflowing with issues at the moment. I talked to the social worker. He told me no one from administration had spoken to him about Clarence, but he’d seen him in the detention room earlier in the week. Clarence has a ‘fro that stands out a bit. Can’t really miss. But he honestly rocks it! So, when I showed the SW a pic of him he knew who I was talking about.

Day 5, Clarence is still at the school. I asked if he’d seen the social worker. He said he hadn’t but would meet him. So, I sent him. I talked to the SW and he told me that they had a good chat. Clarence was wide open about things. He told him he’d really like to touch base with him if it was ok and Clarence said he was fine with that. Hmmm.

There’s a fine line in teaching. When to get involved and when not to… And, at any time I think as educators we can use that card. The “it’s not my job” card. I understand that. There are times when I have so much on my plate that I have to use it. I also understand that being bipolar makes me, at times, overly emotional and I am forced to draw lines – which I’m not all that good at. However, I feel that when a student is making a transition from middle school to high school there aren’t any lines to draw. No balls to drop. Especially when we know that there is very little, if any parent, support. Right now, I am sick about the situation. Admittedly, I have issues with letting things go. I have done what I can for the support he needs. I have washed my hands of that and now I am concentrating on how to get him to produce in my classroom. That’s the next entry, I am sure.

It’s just so frustrating.

Over and out people. Have a beautiful day!

it’s about salvation…

I looked up salvation… Since I’m currently having what might be considered a toddler “fit” with God, I avoided the theological definitions. Nice how we can do whatever we want with words… I should actually change the name of my blog from Missing Peace to Word Whore…. way more fitting.

– preservation or deliverance from harm, ruin, or loss.
-a source or means of being saved from harm, ruin, or loss.
I want to know if we search for salvation or live it everyday?
Hang on folks, this could be a really weird post! I’m am simply trying to avoid the battlefield today and this is what I’ve got going for me…. journaling, laundry, mowing and the bassethound. It’s raining. Mowing is out. The laundry is going. The bassethound is down for the count and so.. here I am journaling. And, I ask… how many – show of hands please- want another tear-filled entry about the jackass who broke my heart even though he had no business with my heart to begin with? Anyone? EXACTLY! And, selfishly, I can’t go there today anyway because I still haven’t caught my breath from Thursday and I might just end up drowning due to the lack of oxygen – which I understand makes ZERO sense. None of this makes sense to begin with, however… so, IT COULD HAPPEN. Welcome to my world!
Now! Back to salvation. Saw a little white butterfly yesterday, which is suppose to be my connection to my higher power… told the poor little thing to fuck off… SMH (according to my high schoolers, that means “shaking my head”). I think I need to really work on this salvation idea. That, and my therapist should NEVER take another vacation.
Ok, that’s probably it… school started and fuck if my therapist decides that he’s going on vacation and jackass decides he’s not going to see me anymore. No, stop the excuses. I’m looking for someone to save me because I’ve been saving people all of my life.  Calling BULLSHIT on that one, Jami.
Fuck this. I’m not going to get away from feeling like shit today. I’m going to still drown in my inability to breath. I know, I know… it’s called asphyxiation. But, I’m drowning. I promise you. I’m downing. I’m still having to hide it from the one who actually cares about me.
And, here ya go!!! The SALVATION of it all is… that he does love me and now that the other one is gone… I can start to feel that. The caring… and, although I can’t breath from the inside/out, I can feel him – the right one – breathing life into me. Why so hateful right now? Or hurtful… I don’t know which one it is. Probably hurtful and wishing I could just stay hateful because that feels more appropriate and comfortable.
Everyone is so supportive right now. Thank you, truly, thank you for that. I know I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. I know that the major part of this issue is that I am one VERY messed up bipolar chick. Alot of the behavior that I took part in is due to that… but the fucked up part of it is that there is that part of your brain that sits there in this little capsule protected… regardless how sick the rest of you is…. regardless of the where you sit on the messed up mental health spectrum at the time and it KNnnOooWS that you are f.u.c.k.i.n.g. up! At least for me. I have had delusions. I have been psychotic… had breaks. I can remember almost everything… and the whole time there was that little, bitty piece TAUNTING me… hmph… little bitch. It won’t let me forgive myself for ANYTHING. It also doesn’t forget a DAMN THING.
OMG. I need my therapist back in a bad way. Thanks for letting me rant. Dryer is done. Sun is out. Mowing to commence.
Over and out.