I am sorry I don’t provide many visuals. I’m really not one to take pictures–not on vacations, with friends, at concerts–none of that. It’s not that I don’t like pictures, I do. I just either don’t think to do it (lazy?) or I feel like it interrupts the experience I’m having.

Even trying to find images after I write a blog post feels like a major pain in my ass. I’m not searching for the pictures to entertain myself, it’s strictly for the reader. But isn’t the reader supposed to be reading?

And why is the reader reading this? What is so interesting about what I have to say anyway? It seems, everyone has a blog. Why are you reading mine? I mean, I thank you. I feel like someone out there cares about me or at least wants to know what I’m up to. That means something. But God knows I hardly pick up the phone to call anyone. It’s a real sickness I have. I hibernate, withdraw, and isolate myself. I don’t like talking to people, but I want to communicate and reach out to the world in some way. Maybe through art? Writing? I still want to help people, though I do less and less of it these days, if I ever did to begin with.

Life has been sucking lately, which is one of the reasons why no one has heard from me. One of my best friends died last week. No, not Gemma. She’s dead too, yes. But this was a human friend. Someone I’ve known since I was six years old. We’ve stayed close most of the time and probably more so in recent years. I still just can’t believe it. I knew he was ill, but not terminally, so it was really shocking.

He had a great impact on my being an artist and a creative person in general. He was the first person I met that made art, wrote, played music, and made his own little zine–at nine years old. He was like a brother to me. Now he’s not here anymore, which is sad and tragic. He was also one of very few people who understood me. I already miss him terribly.

I’ve been sick physically, and mentally. For more reasons than usual. Too many things happening at once. And while I shouldn’t, I guess I’m looking back at the year behind me. Taking inventory of lost relationships, and not all of them by way of physical death. Some by way of disappointment and hurt feelings. Things that can’t be undone.

Then there’s my stupid fucking book. Despite all my countless efforts, it still has mistakes in it. I’m so sick of it. And people who have already read it this way probably think I’m some sort of imbecile.

I’ve also had a lot of time to think, like maybe I wasted my time and energy on publishing it, editing it especially. I don’t have any bad feelings about exposing Scientology. That, I don’t regret one iota. But being molested and raped, writing about my band, or my relationships that went bad? Who fucking cares? And laying it all out there–being brutally honest about my personal struggle with mental illness when very few can understand it–leaves me full of remorse, and frankly, defensive. Putting the book out there didn’t empower me in this respect as much as I’d hope for. While it did some, I guess I had higher expectations. But I just might be in a bad funk these past few weeks.

“Be positive!” “Don’t live in the past,” “Don’t worry, be happy.” People who say this shit have not lived my life. I can almost guarantee they’ve had some semblance of a healthy childhood, were loved, cherished, and not raped. Something nurturing happened for them that developed their sense of resilience. I’ve read studies. Despite what’s happened over the course of my life, I’m not living in a straight jacket (full time). Isn’t that something to be proud of? I’m trying to be proud of it, but haters are still gonna hate. It’s a never-ending blame-the-victim society filled with self-righteous people.

self-right·eous·ness, noun: a feeling or display of moral superiority derived from a sense that one’s beliefs, actions, or affiliations are of greater virtue than those of the average person. Self-righteous individuals are often intolerant of the opinions and behaviors of others.

I kind of wish I could tell self-righteous people to just “snap out of it” the way they do me about my situation. Who knows, maybe they can’t improve their behavior in the same way I’ve worked on improving mine.

Sorry, I couldn’t find an image for that.