My birthday is coming up here in a few months and I am in the midst of writing the hardest thing I think I have ever had to write. The memoir I am writing is taking a lot out of me–and I hope there is still some space to organize and put it all back together. I never thought writing about my life would be so difficult. Clearly this probably seems oxymoronic since I have been writing about my life since 2000 online. To save the reputation of people I do know, and I guess my own in the process, I have left most of the dirty details out of the stories I do have…and very few people have gotten the story out raw. Dare I say those who were not there really don’t know anything, and all of the witnesses to the actual events might be the only ones with a clear understanding of what it was like to watch me flutter and drown and literally be a few breaths away from death more times than I ever could have imagined.

This past year has been my hardest yet…and fucking everything has changed. It even beats my Jesus year of 33, where I rang in, or rather rang out my birthday day by being greeted and raped by my neighbor.

Yeah, so…that’s the first time I have written about that, but at this point I could give a flying fuck anymore. I told someone here about it for the first time last night, and though I expected recoiling and judgment (yeah, yeah, I know, how can you blame the victim, right, but you do, assholes. I have seen it.), but S didn’t say anything even remotely judgmental (but the things you can get out of me while drunk–almost anything. It is my truth serum, and though it came out voluntarily, it’s the easiest way to peel me open.) It certainly wasn’t the first time in my life I have gone through that, but it will be the last time, because the next time someone tries to pull that fucking stunt, I am going to jail for murder.

I am me. I am good, and I am not a victim anymore. You would be lucky to know me. You would be lucky to have me count you as a friend. I feel lucky for every positive human experience and connection I have had. I am not a bullshit artist. I don’t run around hurting people. In fact, I help at my own peril, risking my own comfort and stability to help those around me.

Wow, what a tangent. I am not even sure why that came up. I was at a punk show with S at the Marquis and I hope I didn’t hallucinate telling him in my side story imagination which is always running in tandem with things that are actually happening. My imagination is largely indecent. When I would ride the subways I would imagine everyone naked, and gauge whether or not I would have sex with them. Then my imagination morphed into a killing machine, where I would imagine all of these super gruesome deaths for me–like all of the time. In fact, I am pretty sure I have imagined every possible accident, outcome, burglary, robbery, or murder I could ever fall victim to–literally everything. I would imagine jumping in front of a train, how easy it would be to just jump as the train came into the station. It really is so easy to just–fucking leap! I would peer over the sides of buildings and imagine jumping, head first. When I am on planes I consider whether or not I would want to go into water or land. Land would win, of course, since drowning seems like a slow and horrible death. When I cross the street I imagine being plowed into by a bus or something else…but they are always quick ends, and though they are not always clean, they are definite end points. I probably do it at least once a day even now…and I recognize the insanity of being so fixated on your own death you might actually push the odds the other way…but to me it is so much more interesting than the way I will probably go, in another 40 years or so…BORING, mediocre expected ways. Man, that would suck.

The irony of this is that I literally had to convince Lisa that we wouldn’t have a tree fall into the house because that would be 6 Feet Under Worthy–if a tree broke through the windows with a branch circumference of an inch, well, we would have had to earn it. But you bet I had some serious imaginative meanderings when I was wandering around town the day after the hurrican’t…very fucked up, for sure. And no, I am not some drowning morbid goth princess dying all day long. My main focus for sure is living…but because I have come so very close to the end, it is something I tend to imagine…my what ifs get out of control sometimes. I live everything and feel everything more than I should sometimes, but it is the idea that this is heaven that keeps me grounded, keeps me from taking that leap. I could never do it because I have seen such beauty, felt such peace, enjoyed so much…I would never just give that opportunity up for anything, really. And with the understanding of death so near to my literal heart, it is most important for me to get every drop of love and life out of everything I do. It is important. It is all I have.

Anyways, I am thinking of stepping off that silly dating site for a while. I have met some friends, and some of you who are just wimpy voyeurs will just come look in my room but never knock. Whatever. I am tired of the whole charade. As I said to several when I first arrived, I have to do ME first. The rest of it all will fall into place or fit in the crevices–but meeting what is now…lemme see…19 people or something? That is fucking exhausting. And there was one for sure who rocked my socks off. One. But as is my luck he’s also the one who is leaving the goddamn country for a year. I know, I know—I am laughing at me too…it really is starting to get ridiculously hilarious.

But on to writing this story again. It is so hard to bring up all of that old shit and describe it and paint it for what it really was. It was no cavalier little thing to endure when I was going through it. And I have been dealing with this for the past–almost 16 years…I remember the feelings and writing about them and what happened has almost been able to put me through the same hell again in some ways, and there is nothing, NOTHING worse than losing control over your own body. Decisions are one thing, but when you have literally no say in what your actual body is going to do to you–and you never did anything to it–well, let’s just say that is a harder pill to swallow…

But it looks like I am going to down the whole bottle either way, so I am going to get on that now.