Fear first, trembling, mask
face, bent, clenched like a secret
Her eyes lift, bright blue.
* * *
Trust me, he said, love,
hot lies whispered in her ear
Broken heart, raw truth,
* * *
“I fear the night
I fear the dark
I need this light
this special spark”
After my parents have tucked me in, kissed my forehead and said good-night I make them leave my door open a crack so I can still see the light. I know when they go to sleep, they turn it off. Those scary images outside my window start coming inside to my room. Every. Single Time. I am scared of the dark and when the evil ghost, witches and monsters start coming inside my room, I feel like I am going to throw up.
Long, pointy black brittle fingers from the mean witch come straight at my eyes, I try closing my eyes but they stay open. Hairy, big, green and brown monsters attack my head and as soon as I feel them clutching my head, I shake them off, but they come right back like super glue. It’s like a clamp, getting tighter and tighter until the pain is unbearable. I start screaming for help but no words come out of my mouth.
I stay frozen in fear unable to move my arms or legs. Now, every part of my body feels like concrete. I just want to be safe but there is a twin sister witch in the corner hovering over me with her nasty broom and she is roaring, deep, dark sounds, telling me “she will never let me get up”. I try to look for any possible escape and see a corner of a window but I know my body can’t move. The witch sees my eyes look over the tiny bit that I can and out of the window comes hot boiling cauldrons of scalding black and red oil flowing into the room. Anyone that touches that would get burned and eaten alive. The witch sisters scream with laughter.
They. Know. My. Name. Now, I know that they really ARE meant to torture just me. “BENJAMIN” they boom and my heart beats so fast it feels like it is going to jump out of my body and sure enough there is an evil gnome with no eyes and nose right next to my body with his hand outstretched as if to take my heart any second. It makes my heart beat even faster and it hurts. I start not being able to breathe…until, until… I am being gently woken up and my room has its lights on again. I see my mommy but I am mad at her, “where were you before when I needed you?” My mom is trying to tell me “It was a nightmare.” For a minute I don’t understand, everything was so real. I try to explain but soon as she continues to hug me and not let go the images fade away and finally I am relaxing and I try not to cry with relief.
Mommy says “that’s the last scary movie you will ever be allowed to see” and for a moment I pretend to be mad but secretly, I am so relieved. My mom’s arms are still around me, and before I can even ask she says “I’m not going anywhere, buddy, I’m staying right here until long after you fall asleep.”
all photo credit
goes to the very talented @Doug88888.
Colleague, evil, fake
lies, deception, back-stabbing
I saw my blood leak.
In secret black webs
evil thoughts bake with bright blood
hidden plans, cookies?
Black gooey shrines
mask the real terror of life,
Every day moments.
A white gown of lace
now fitted to perfection
her stark red lipstick.
Misty, cloudy fog
squeezed me away from my Love
Twists my throat, deeply.
F**k you and the greedy, wife-beating, drug addicted husband of yours. He should be in jail, right next to you since he has such a quick and angry temper. Was it the police who came to your house for a domestic abuse phone call, yes, I think so. Better yet, you deserve each other. You should be close together in isolation. You should live a long and painful life and die for fraud and embezzlement, murder of innocent people and animals. Take your stupid ass alcoholic son with you too, he’s clearly as dumb as a post. I have nothing bad to say about your two older sons except that they are the alien spawns born from you two evil bastards.
I hate liars, but people who lie and cover-up their lies to make other people suffer for their crimes are miserable human beings. As Sue Hawk, one of the first person on Survivor once said “if you were on the street covered with blood, I would walk over you.” I finally know what she meant. No one deserved what you both did. People who are dead were good people, decent folks and would never, ever be malicious or cruel. You allegedly killed three people.
I hope you are happy. You have ruined lives, torn families apart. People are living in a state of hell because of you. You are not, nor were you ever a good person and our people never trusted you. Your small and squinted eyes fit on a rodent’s face not near your greasy head. I believed that good people get good things back and I don’t know what to believe in anymore. In my innocence I still hope that the vicious wolves and coyotes that live in the darkness of your back yard will find you, attack you and make you bleed.
I never stopped being a patient, not since my thyroid went out of wack 3 years ago, not since I was told I had Fibromyalgia (and then told it was a “lazy diagnosis”) Not since the prednisone, the hospitalization for eppiglottitis the 24/7 cough that would not go away, not since I was sent to the Pulmonologist, the ENT the addition of 5-7 different medications. Not since my stint in the packed emergency room with an overnight stay in the hospital with the worst pain I have ever had in my life.
Here I am again, world! Stuck and pissed off with yet another chapter to my ever-so-boring and relentless saga of pain, chronic pain, auto-immune diseases, Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis, lack of energy and tonight, a really bad, horrible, disgusted and angry, almost-in-tears mood.
The latest is that my Synthroid level ( TSH) is very, very low, too low said the doctors. To those in the Club of Thyroid Disorders out there, (COTD- I made it up but it works) I know you will understand. The T4 is perfect. One doctor, the evil endocrinologist (lower case on purpose) sent a prescription (albeit the wrong prescription) in the mail telling me (no, writing me) he was surprised with my numbers but I should reduce the Synthroid medication (buzz word) to 50 mcg. First I was at 88, then 75, now 50??? That’s like telling someone who has the flu, to get up out of bed and do somersaults while standing on their heads, backwards. I’m down enough people, now this? It makes no sense.
I wrote to my Guru Dr. in the City who handles the type of Autoimmune Disease (Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis) as in***THYROID DISEASE to tell him. He suggested that my” Endocrinologist” do a simple TRF blood test and he guessed I might have something called Secondary Hypothyroidism ( I know, I could so be on Gray’s Anatomy with the amount I’ve had to learn and remember.)
Here’s the problem. The nasty, dull, mean-spirited endocrinologist (lower case on purpose again) who I am going to DUMP as soon as I find a new one, refuses to talk to me on the phone. Just for a couple of questions. “No, come in”, he said. “I just want to ask him a question” I pleaded to his nurses “No, come in.” I’m seething. First of all I have never heard of a doctor that won’t take a phone call for a question (I wasn’t demanding to speak to him at that moment) and that absolutely refuses to return a phone call from a patient. Second, he knows about my Guru Doctor in the city since I have copied him on everything. (Do you think this could be a terrritorial thing?) Third, he did not believe that I had, indeed, a note from my Guru Dr. to suggesting he test me for TRF (whatever it is). No. What? You heard me. No. No phone call, no question, no way, no how. “It is too difficult to explain on the phone” the nurse parroted. Are you kidding me? I had one question about the blood (yes, in the lab in the office) test and a simple thought: wouldn’t it make sense to test the TRF level FIRST (as my Guru Doctor said) then to start on a regimen of a new medicine that could take 4-6 weeks to kick in? Isn’t that throwing the donkey in front of the carrots? (or whatever that stupid expression is.) Not to mention, I do not want to go back to a doctor that treats me with such disrespect (and he always has). I know he doesn’t know that the fifty dollar co-payment would be hard for our unemployed selves. I understand that, but, a 30 second phone call?
Well, you know what the answer is I’m sure. “No”. So here I am, calling new Endocrinologists (one is on vacation until the 20th, the other does not return phone calls) waiting to make an appointment. Oh dear Lordy, Lordy, it’s July and the doctors (at least the ones I’m trying to reach) are on vacation, and of course you cannot leave a message.
I have that creepy, queasy, angst-ridden feeling in my stomach. What now, I ask? I can’t reach any doctor AND short of sending an “I BEG of you” message to my Guru Doctor (which I will do anyway in the early a.m.) I will be sitting home in a flurry of frustration and anxiety. I will be sitting on my bed, fed up, confused and furious and yes, a little scared too. A little courtesy, perhaps DOCTORS?? Yeah, right.
I feel totally helpless and demeaned. I feel anxious and confused and ignored. Does anyone understand this? Is this the time for an out and out binge on sugar- laden treats? Can I run and hide from my anxiety for a few minutes with cookies and chocolate, and that sweet powerful surge in energy? This doctor says Yes. Absolutely. Starting Now.
In my first draft of this post, the title was:” Mel Gibson I’ ve always *hated you.”Dislike just seemed way too much of an understatement. After reading and posting that draft, I realized I was being hypocritical by using the word “hate,” since then I wouldn’t be much better ( ok, that’s debatable) than Mel Gibson himself. However, there is not a single, solitary thing I like about Mel Gibson, including his acting, his movies, his racist and anti-semitic rants and his abuse towards women. I’m not even saying alleged abuse since apparently he admitted this on tape.
I have no patience for fools, and certainly no patience for those who speak out with hatred and evil. I am not representing one race or one religion here, I represent them all. Mel Gibson, you make me sick. While I have never paid a dime to see any of your work you can rest assured I will NEVER pay a cent now. For people to pay good money to watch depravity and evil is a sin.
Don’t start with the 5th amendment either. I don’t care. I don’t like you, I don’t respect you and I don’t care if you are addicted to alcohol. Just don’t, please don’t, end up in “rehab” and say it wasn’t your fault. I’m sick of it. I was sick of it with Tiger Woods and I am sick of it here too. Don’t even get me started on Lindsay Lohan….
I actually happened to see a few minutes of the show “The View” where they were talking about Mel Gibson. Whoopi Goldberg, a woman and actress I deeply admire, was telling the co-presenters and the audience that “Mel Gibson was a friend, and she had never seen him act like this in front of her.” While I admire her allegiance to her friend, I question what she was thinking and what point she was trying to make. Yes, alcohol does make you do stupid and bad things but it doesn’t mean, just because he hasn’t acted that way in your presence, it hasn’t happened. I think we all know better.
Put me on “The View” I’m just in the mood to battle with Elizabeth Hasselback and high-five Joy Behar. As for Whoppi Goldberg? You are entitled to your feelings and your truth. But, while you defend your friend, try to make sure, to keep an open mind. See how he interacts with his other friends, girlfriend, people of different religions and races.
I’ve lost patience with all these so-called movie stars or celebrities. How about us admiring a person because they are good, because they are nice, and give plenty to charity? How about we make no exceptions for movie stars and celebrities because they are “famous.” Famous for what?