What a fucking week.

Remains.Use a hazmat suit.Wash your hands.Disinfect.Do not pass go.Do not collect two hundred dollars.

(no one ever made me hate myself more…)

My brain has been tear-assing after itself on quite the merry little abortive chase.( You are supposedly a writer woman,recall the feelings,remember the details,the hell that lead you here,paint a picture you talentless hack….) I had my last wisdom tooth ripped out on Friday.It is now residing in the satin heart shaped box on my cluttered bedside table, keeping it’s hook rooted company with my ticket from The Dead Weather at the Hollywood Palladium,a few photos,a business card from El Compadre and a fist full of sobbed over mash notes.The hole in my jaw is rancid,filled with a plug of rotting copper flavoured blood the size of a Honda hatchback.At least when it heals and Elvis only knows,I am taking enough vitamins to make that process happen faster,I will be able to run again and right now that is all that I am craving.

Well,that and sleep.

These days? Four hours sleep if I am lucky.Twenty hours of tearing myself apart.My brain sounds and for all I know,looks like the monkey house at the zoo,complete with flying crap and green bananas.I lie here twitching under the covers (“C’mon kids! Do the Epileptic! It’s the latest craze!”) ,tears steadily leaking from behind my mascara stained Hello Kitty pink sleep mask because I just can’t tip over into the ether.I try so hard but I can’t drift off.Memories projected in my mind like the summer shows on the crypt wall at the Hollywood forever cemetery.If I win the lottery I am going to hire an  full time anesthetist to put me into an assisted coma.Twilight sedation,whatever,I will take what I can get. You know,I used to get such great joy out of imagining my happily ever after out in California.Now my fantasy life involves IV’s pumping vat’s of Demerol and Valium into my unconscious corpse via a bruised vein on the back of my hand in a small temperature controlled white room.

If it’s not flashbacks melting my bones and my will, it’s stress.My sweat smells like fear.Like I am hunted.Prey.I would set fire to a station wagon full of born again Christian’s for ten hours sleep unbroken.Prior to writing this I lay in bed pretending to be in asleep for nine hours.It’s hopeless and sending me over the edge once again.(“Barkeep! A round of panic attacks for me and my friends!”)

My therapist was talking me through my seething terror of  physical intimacy recently.Asking me questions,gently lifting the scab so to speak.I looked down at my hands twisting in my lap,my dead grandmothers ring where my engagement ring once was,the nails chipped,bitten and ugly and I noticed patches of pale pink erupting beneath my tattoo’s,hot and itchy.

I held my arms out and yelped “Stop!”



All over my stomach and face too.As if I didn’t already feel ugly and mental enough.

Took about 3 hours for them to go away and all because she was probing me about sex.No pun intended.There’s nothing funny about it.Just pathetic.Do you know how it feels to be driven so crazy that you know you will never fuck again? Do you? That something that was once so beautiful with your one and only is dead to you forever? That in front of you there is nothing but an empty road that swan dives into the horizon…

(….crumb donuts,fish tacos,Reese’s pieces,meatless cheeseburgers,El Compadre,icy poles,caramel drenched parades drinks with extra whipped cream,Mr Pibb’s,two eggs over easy,root beer float,re-fried beans,omelette’s,Starbucks ,Denny’s,soft marshmallow peeps in the shape of ghosts round Halloween,tea with milk and sugar,lemon wedges on white napkins,waffle house,Mexican beer,passion fruit ice tea,shrimp cup of noodles….)

I guess erupting in a non communicable rash was a step up from vomiting all over her floor. I am so completely devastated. I feel like a CNN crack team should be covering me,the disaster zone.I shuffled home weeping again.Back into my asbestos cave.The only thoughts that I have that bring me any kind of vague sensual pleasure involve long drawn out sessions of torture and carnage.To the brink of death in complete agony.Stop,pause,start over.That wins my crooked chipped  smile.

I think that you tend to scoff at a phrase until it is applicable to you.

Such as?

How about we start with “The damage is done” .The old me? She would have shaped up to a phrase like that, knocked over it’s pint and smashed it’s face in.This me? This me has it wired in flashing purple neon over her ribcage framing her dead heart.

Right next to “Too little,too late”

I hate this.

My heart just skipped a beat.Stories or murdering myself. I like that people say “Commit ” suicide.Like its a diet or a fun run.That you have to be in 100%. You have to be committed to the end result.The English language.You gotta love it.

I am running on pure stress again.My weight is up and down usually but right now its plummeting again.I can’t eat .Not a bad thing but it tears my skin apart.Makes me look sick.I drink gallons of soda water and burp like a drunk.I guess its mostly because of the dental apocalypse.I gave up trying to masticate solid food weeks ago.Too arduous and painful by far.Baby food has come a long way it must be said.

My pee is fluorescent yellow.I am the supplement queen. Magnesium,B+,fish oil….oh tell me why I bother and then we will both know.Valerian does not work though,doesn’t do sweet fuck all for my sleeplessness, just though I would let you know.Doctors don’t want to hand out the Valley of The Dolls pick-n-mix willy nilly so they advise you to go the herbal route,the sadistic clowns.I have been trying to meditate but as soon as I get close to relaxing it brings on flashbacks that send me howling back under the covers for hours shaking like a shitting dog.I do my breathing exercises ,well, sometimes and I stretch alot.But it will be the running that saves what little sanity I have left.

I think too much. I think about how I keep the entire world at an arms distance now,including my mother and my brothers. How they can sense the distance but I can’t stop it.They go to hug me and I flinch.I let my phone ring out for days at a time because I don’t want them to ask me how I am because I am just too tired to lie most days. Much of the same with my friends.I am turning into Andy Warhol.He used to live on the phone apparently.I do when I am able and have credit.I can’t go and see people,engage,I was doing ok-ish there for a while but its all fallen away.I turn down all attempts at kindness.

I have no trust. None.

It saddens me to see those words in front of me.”No more candy coatings” I tell myself.My journal is mortifying in its brutality.Seething with hatred and homicide.(How many ways can you kill a blonde?) Maybe I should publish some of my darker fables.That would be a surefire way to have readership fall to an all time low.

(Now I have “Ashes to ashes” By David Bowie on my internal I-pod )

So much death and mayhem,I murder myself on average ten times a day.What happens when you don’t want to stay behind the yellow line? When you don’t give a fuck about minding the gap?


July 4th and I am not in California.How strange.This winter is laying me low.I miss my west coast summer.I miss my life before it went rank.Lying in my yard at the start of it all,surrounded by the hounds soaking up the sun.Being in love,thinking that it would never end…that my life was finally beginning,that my love was the swiss army knife of emotions,it could do everything! That I could have,that we could have had it all….

So why is it,I ponder on this crisp cold night,that no ring was entered to defend me? Was I really that worthless?

That when I wrote ,sang,toured I was belittled and torn apart.Eventually I wanted to do nothing because nothing I did was ok.That’s why I wanted to quit .I thought it would make everything ok.You stupid bitch Michele,like anything you did was right…..That it would be ok? You are joking right?  Fun-neeeee.


Such a fool Madden.What a kidder! I am haunted by ill winds tonight.Writing horrific stories of revenge. No one wants the alpha female.I will stand by that . I know that I’m not great but I never thought that I was as bad as I feel now that’s for fucking sure. Have to do rounds of Doctors assessments again this week.It’s the equivalent your sanity going before the parole board. Mine is currently serving 25 to life.It’s harrowing to find out,on paper,how hopeless you really are.

On my shattered life’s rap sheet are all the five dollar words that could win you a game of scrabble but you don’t really desire attached to your name.

Chronic Depression,Post Traumatic Stress Disorder,Body Dysmorphia,Mid-range OCD,Chronic stress related Insomnia,mid range agoraphobia,anger management issues.

A bloody ribbon of wreck and ruin winding its way around my life,ending up in a big bow on the pustule of shit that my existence has become.Maybe that is why I love to run.Because just for a little while,a few glorious miles, I feel like I have wings,that I can leave it all behind….

I remember reading years ago that Graham Greene said that every writer has a shred of ice in their heart. We must.My heart feels positively arctic.Everyone is a story to us and we tend to write ourselves into existence.That’s why we have such small circles of friends,well at least I do.I think is because no one wants to be grist for our mills.Fair enough. But to be in a situation where I could not create freely without being questioned or accused?

I would never ask anyone not to be what they are or do what they do and I expect the same in return.Standing in someones way when it comes to the creative process? One never does that…

There are gaps that can never be filled.Spaces that remain infertile and inhospitable.And its such a low down crying shame.The earth has been poisoned and from it nothing can grow.

I am exhausted.How fucking moronic of me to think that I could ever be ok for anyone just the way that I am.Me? Me?? Ha.

I never thought in a million years that I would be so severely broken.That I would beg medical types for assistance.It’s mortifying.That the ringing of the phone would cause me to vomit.This is me and I wish that I had the guts to stop breathing because it’s exhausting .

Independence day my fat ass.