28 April 2019
Dream that I was running around the Baton Rouge kitchen with no shirt on then Rusty slapped me on the back. Then I went ballistic on him for touching me.
16 April 2019
- Mental health help wasn’t available and looking for me until my late 20s.
My parents weren’t able/willing to support me through college or film school.
Those are the reasons I have wobbled in my early adulthood—and that in my 20s and 30s I struggled.
15 April 2019
Appointment with Lisa (my psych) zero changes to medicines. She obviously thinks I’m fine (for me). I feel a little separation happening from when I see her (I obviously like her) but obviously it’s a professional relationship and I’m ok with that. A good check-in.
13 April 2019
Second day not drinking. Work continues, and is going well, on my book.
I’ve been too forward with all Davina’s children. Think of my relationship with Dad’s new girls and wife: I wanted nothing to do with them. The same may be true of me. Relate with Davina, be kind to the rest, but they’re Davina’s kids, let her care for them.
Be quiet, work, leave other people alone.
11 April 2019
Try not to drink today.
Try not to worry today.
10 April 2019
If you play a part like it was written for you, you will play the part perfectly.
8 April 2019
Will write second day of novel today (second day of PXSSY). Excited!
Went to therapy. Mike thinks I should be more active in positioning with Zachariah. Like when is he going? Where? Like: I should protect the living room area as me and Davina’s space (like we did with Philip before he decided not to move in). He says Davina controls so much. That she’s operating under a haze of weed and alcohol.
Ashley told her mother Davina she’s so glad Davina has me (supportive, loving type) she wished she and Christopher had that.
6 April 2019
Got my card. Dinner with Davina, Christopher at Maloney’s. Ate a salad and drank one gin martini!! Excellent times.
Kept it to one drink at the bar and one beer when we got home. Took a nap and still feel guilty—maybe about the total lunch cost, I don’t know. Feel like I haven’t paid enough attention to Davina today (her daughter is suicidally depressed right now) but I don’t know what to do or be right now that would help D.
2 April 2019
Waiting on a replacement debit card. Writing day by day. Will need to refill my medicines once I get paid. Lithium has been out for a week. Sunny day. Wrote day 29/90 today. Will take a day or two off after tomorrow. Patience. Present moment. Ok.
28 March 2019
Spent great time with Davina and Zachariah—yay! Laughed our heads off tonight—genius.
26 March 2019
I am able, now, to manage my feelings about Davina better than a year and a half ago, due to therapy and my own experiments. Thank you therapy! I’m growing.
24 March 2019
Sober. Writing. No money. I feel sad. Nothing to do.
Apologized to D for my difficulty interacting with Phillip back in the day. She said I don’t have to apologize again for things in the past.
I had to eat another meal and that’s offending D’s cooking.
I feel horrible today. Lying down for a nap. Got to restart my relationship with D.
Feel better after an hour’s nap. Think I might lie down again.
Don’t worry about anything: My phone falling apart, breaking while I’m still using it. My sense of self, already mad transient, eroding below my life. My body, my friends, my work. Forgetting for a day that all of that goes away daily..that it was never really there by the time I finally noticed.
22 March 2019
Sober and ok. Loving and working. Reflecting, from this point, how full of pain and idiocy and hurt that family is. I made the right decision when I was 18—to leave them behind—and I’m making it again lately and it’s right. It’s so freeing and so right and complete that I can breathe a deep sigh of relief.
13 March 2019
Dry and ok. Storm. Making trips back and forth to the pharmacy. Have felt better. Have felt worse. Book is on hold for a couple days. Will start again tomorrow.
6 March 2019
I still have a feeling I want to dissolve: that I am somehow not ok.
17 February 2019
I’m quite happy as others drink on. D and her middle son drinking beer. Me drinking white grape juice. I feel like a trip guide.
15 February 2019
Certain based on how breathing now feels, I believe that [aliens] have replaced my organs with superior ones. These are to support my writing activities as history proceeds.
13 February 2019
I feel like during my recent allergic reaction, my body was further upgraded to include better lungs, and my brain has received a slight cleanout. I plan to keep them clean. And thank you for the neuron flush, dudes!
7 February 2019
Had a good date with Davina in which we drank reasonably. Wow. What a day.
4 February 2019
Dry. Wrote. Going to put it down (mentally), not worry about anything, and have a great day. I have my tools (coffee, vape pen, computers, internet, my own room) and I can have a great day today.
3 February 2019
Wrote one day on my book—strictly one-day looks. Will write today, surrealist style (only viewing the last little bit from yesterday) strictly! Increase the ease as I write. Go one direction forward for 90 days when I finish with the word P❌SSY. Completion. Perfection. Write in 90 parts, 90 one-day sections. Make patterns with the ❌s. Some sections void of them, some artfully using other word combinations which mean P❌SSY, but never contain the word.
21 January 2019
My family may have given up on me because it’s too much work. I may have given up on them for the same reason.
20 January 2019
I’m not wanting to wake up and tomorrow feel the joy of having sobered up and know it is short-lived. To know my life is short and may come to an end. I think I am crazy enough—no need to increase it. I love Davina’s face and her energy and I even like fucking her. I want to wake up, rather, resolved from drinking, ready to become a better man. I am afraid, though. Afraid that if I stop drinking I’ll stop wanting to fuck. Afraid of loss. Afraid of change. This is exactly what I did not want to do when I said I wanted to live without fear.
I woke up today feeling fresh. Feeling ok. I’m going to quit caffeine (daily), nicotine (virtually done with), cannabis (almost daily), and alcohol (sporadic but immediately destructive). My kitty is sitting in the window, soaking in the sight of the snow. Also buying a foam pad for sleep in my room—going to sleep in here for a while. 2019 off to a great start. Analysis and creativity. Also: I feel I’m part of a rhythm, something great that I don’t have to understand (in fact I cannot understand) it from within. “I” may never be able to “understand,” but I’m still part of it. And I love it.
Also: high fructose corn syrup. That shit’s making my shit slimy (gross). And potatoes—gone.
Make no mistake: this life is the process of tearing down the mortal coil—maybe to something, maybe just from—until I die this life. Until I have nothing left to give.
This is going to be a great decade for me.
And also: it’s ok to come to my room to work. I can’t work with the TV on and two people there. It’s too chaotic. Work in my room, primarily.
19 January 2019
I don’t have to do it all at once.
I feel so aware and also so alone.
I need to relax, even when my self-esteem is low. Worrying and feeling bad are not helping me.
18 January 2019
Listened to Adele, Someone Like You. This song reminds me of the Retreat. Of Faith, singing there in the lobby.
17 January 2019
Wet. Drank two double shots of Jameson with coffee. Ate food with Davina and Christopher at Maloney’s. Re-did deadnovelist.com with ideas from a couple directions. D says she feels better, like she’s not living underneath some regime. That’s fair. If I can dabble in alcohol that will be best for all of us.
15 January 2019
Dry again. Woke up dry again ~!~ hey ~!~ dry again. Dry forever ~!~ sober never.
14 January 2019
Dry. Headed to therapy. Saving my voice from free talk with Mike—that is, sparing myself from the conversation that would occur if I let the bus driver small talk me. Waiting room now: Feeling good. Had money to pay the bus and extra cash and leftover to pay for snacks at the grocery store if I want to—having spare cash makes me feel good. Spoke with Mike Baldi and it was good.
9 January 2019
Dry. Editing books.
5 January 2019
Dry. Have started using vape pens for THC—six hits a day, three after dinner and three before bed. Love them, and less dangerous than drinking alcohol. Should be home and in-place before using, though, even on a bicycle. Not worried about death today.
31 December 2018
New year’s eve—dry!
28 December 2018
Davina talking about “Remember that time I had that dog for one day?” And it breaks my heart how she loved that dog. I can imagine how full of love that day was—and I want to get her a dog again someday. Not just for one day, but for as long as it lives.
26 December 2018
Adding and formatting books for my blog. Maybe I should call them “texts.” It’s boring work, but an act of love.
23 December 2018
A small part of me wants that. But the more complete whole of myself does not.
22 December 2018
Dry. Organizing and converting my documents. Moving from pages/pdf to text (markdown)/html. Some documents too big. Good deal of manual formatting needed. Especially with long documents. Felt like nothing earlier, like going to the bar, not because I really wanted to drink. Because I didn’t know what to do and drinking is so familiar.
19 December 2018
Dry. High. Not working. Laughing.
Amy/J says I am too disturbing? Think about the upside to that: I am able to receive dark stories without adjusting myself too much.
16 December 2018
Lying in bed perfectly still. Thank you Ingrezza.
Next morning. Not drinking, consciously. Happy that my money’s not running out the door. I don’t want to regret/rethink, so instead of saying, “What if I had stayed sober when I moved up here with Davina and fam?” I’ll say: “What if I stay sober from here on out?”
15 December 2018
Kristi agreed to collaborate on her memoir. So my three books for next year are Burn, Kristi, and PXSSY. Kristi said she can get me an outline in two months and then we’ll talk on the phone. So it needs to be the second or third book of three, written. Let’s make it third to give us both lots of room on constructing the outline. I think: let me do PXSSY to start with, in the winter months (a long book)—that’s January, February, March, and edited in April. Then Burn in the summer (a short book)—somewhere in the May, June, July, August time. Then Kristi in the last few months of the next winter (a medium book)—September, October, November, and edited in December.
14 December 2018
Sober. Working on my outlay of three books to write in 2019.
13 December 2018 (take to therapy)
Take care of myself versus feeling like my life isn’t worth living. If I was my own plant, would I feed it alcohol?
My anger: Look to my journal post about things I was right about. Those are also things I was angry about, am still angry about. Ways in which my value was misused, hardly used. And that has made me angry.
I feel warm and good. Slept to ASMR lullaby last night, after Wonder Boys.
Mike said people come to therapy to change. That is what I want. I’m not ready to die. I want to grow and change from here—from this point in life. Also I want to let go of people who I’m angry at. I don’t want to be angry anymore.
Part of what I’m mad at is my parents and relatives not understanding me and not caring to understand me from the beginning of my life. From my first word (ball) to my prediction of my parents’ divorce at around age three to my painting and photography to my programming work to my novel writing, my family has never understood me and also never given a shit about coming to understand me. That hurts my feelings. It makes me angry. This is what reaches its fruition as anger.
And my suicide attempt made the situation worse. Now that I’m diagnosed as bipolar-type schizoaffective, the conversation gets hijacked at its beginning: When they say, “How are you?” and I say “Fine” they automatically classify that as a lie, classify me as not ok, and every interaction we have is colored by me being sick. I am colored by them as being not ok and everything I do or say is indicative of a sick person, according to them. When I show them work I published or sold or got paid for (a measure of its solidity and worth) they don’t understand and they categorize it as “crazy” and me as “crazy” because they don’t understand it and they don’t feel like listening to me (a “crazy” person). They discount me because they don’t understand me. It’s insulting to publish a novel and my grandmother only reads the first paragraph. The reason given?: GranGran needs us to censor literature for her—How is that? She’s the oldest one of us and she spent her life teaching English to high schoolers. Now the only book she reads is The Bible. What the fuck is that?
11 December 2018
Finished with book. Happy with the character voice and the satire achieved.
Drinking. Seeing it as a nice thing I can do for myself. As a person with pain. I just need to do it reasonably.
5 December 2018
Dry. Writing. Four days left on this draft of Purity Ball.
4 December 2018
Spent time with Davina out and inside the house. Love her deeply. She makes me less lonely. I love life with her.
1 December 2018
God is a psychopath.
30 November 2018
Dry and working.
Spoke with Kristi on the phone today. Told her about purity balls and my latest project. She said: “Matthew! Why do you do this to yourself?” And we laughed.
Watching a movie, Take Me to the River, and it’s so familiar about my family that it stirs up some emotion within me. But it’s distant—some—and I’m able to put it down. I feel what I did with my own family is the right choice. The best choice that I could have made. And I feel, today, that letting my mom and her brother/sister/mother cabal go, is still the best choice for me. For so many reasons. But it is something I would like to talk more about in therapy.
28 November 2018
Dry. Day off from writing. I’m 2/3 of the way through Purity Ball. Feel good about it.
25 November 2018
Dry and writing.
24 November 2018
21 November 2018
Knowing me, if I write this I’ll go back to drinking, but: Smoking, drinking: It’s just not worth it.
19 November 2018
No drink. Working on my book.
16 November 2018
Haven’t been drinking but one day. Thought about getting wine bottles to go from Maloney’s but they were illogical and unhelpful when I, then Davina called to figure out whether they had any bottles. It’s enough of a reason to eschew going to all these places. They’re so disorganized. They can’t tell us shit. They deny that they can do things they have done in the past—like sell us bottles of wine from the bar. Davina bought two bottles last time we went to Maloney’s; tonight on the phone they tell us they can’t do that. Fuck ‘em. I’d rather not go at all.
11 November 2018
Went out drinking last night with Davina, her daughter, another guy. D and I drank a lot. Not drinking today. Would love to replace last night with a night of drinking juice. Will try that next time.
Giving myself a break. Washing dishes. Lying on the couch. Allowing myself to feel ok. I haven’t done anything bad. I’m ok.
Washed all the dishes in the house. Wrote a section of my book. Had a great day. Feeling good about my life and everything. Love Davina.
10 November 2018
Wrote today (day six of Purity Ball). Did a bunch of dishes. Did not drink (day three)—feels good. But boring. But good.
I’m afraid of death as I have been for a long time. Letting it pass.
9 November 2018
Dry today. Feeling good. Keeping low key about my life and pursuits. Gotta keep humble, not worrying or feeling elevated about writing. Enjoying my house life with Davina.
Today is good but I’m ready for tomorrow. Ready to leave today behind.
8 November 2018
I have to stop drinking bc it’s affecting my memory. Too many blackouts. I really can’t drink at all or I’ll drink too much. I’m hopeful I’ll be able to follow my own plan here.
It becomes a matter of how much I care about my life. Do I care to live it? To remember it?
Davina said she’s good with me taking time off from writing for a week or more—that she’s glad I’ll be working on myself and you know, I don’t have to decide on drinking or not drinking forever, I can just sit here, stay inside, and work on myself. I can decide no to drinking just for today, just for this moment. I don’t have to decide forever and I don’t have to decide for forever. Maybe I can keep a light touch: When someone offers, I think about it for a second, then say no and act no. Then go away from thinking about alcohol until I’m tempted—and respond the same way.
6 November 2018
I only have $300 for the rest of the month. Spent crazily at November’s top. Only have to buy medicine (once, I think) and not a whole lot else. Upset with myself for spending so much. Did have extra expenses but. This is it. This is my life right now. Bored. Not sure what to do with my book. Not sure what to do with today.
Dry today. Didn’t buy anything. Starting to feel better. Maybe I could try only drink on odd-numbered days. Maximum two drinks. But when put like that, a limit never seems acceptable, and no limit would ever be enough.
5 November 2018
I’m funked up. Considering re-starting Purity Ball. Drinking at home today, thinking. I can change my schedule any time.
4 November 2018
Dealing with going out without Davina—just because I want to be alone. Sitting here getting food and drink. And it’s a money issue (secondarily)—I spend less when I go out by myself. Primarily I just need some time alone. Davina says she misses me when I’m gone. I believe her. I offered to bring her food if she wants.
Thinking about writing (never do this), I got so so nervous last night about yesterday’s chapter, written drunk. Does it fit with the rest of the book? Will I have to write more chapters drunk to make this one fit?
Then sometime this morning I realized I can just discard this one and re-write it sober.
Then I realized I don’t have to do that. At all. Not only do I not have to think about my writing—I better not think of it. At all. I’m not in the business of writing commercial fiction. The process writer wouldn’t even think of these factors. Why don’t I more completely guide my writing by how I feel in the moment? Make everything based on how I feel in the moment? Forget about the product? Do it like I did photography in high school? Believe that I cannot fail. Forget about the projections of everyone’s opinions of me, of my product?
I can do that.
Total freedom of writing.
31 October 2018
TD is better today even though I ran out of Ingrezza a couple days ago. Not sure why it’s better, but I’m enjoying it.
I’m going to work at not thinking about my death for one whole day. And if I do, to not dread it. To not fear it. To accept it. To embrace it.
Also: strategy for dealing with obsessive habits: Do it a little, rather than abstaining altogether. Because not doing it at all is another type of obsession.
Two nights at 1/2 normal sleep. I may be manic. D also manic. Not sure this has happened to us lately. I feel good, though—extra good.
TD continued good throughout the day.
30 October 2018
Saw a video of Daniel in an old iChat history. He looks and seems amazing. I wish I could be part of his life but I can’t get over Amy’s child abuse and her and Jaymz’ behavior toward me. I wish you the best, Daniel.
Feeling good physically and otherwise. Researching for my book. Relationship with Davina at an all-time high (expect some dips soon, but know that—and act like—they will be short lived).
29 October 2018
Made love with D. It was supreme.
28 October 2018
Crystal meth dream. The meth was mixed with huge piles of snow occupying one room in my house. A cute little blond girl swam up to me in a pool in another room, flirting with me—touching her represented taking the meth. And I could not resist doing so.
23 October 2018
Up early, watching a movie in my room. Fear and Loathing—my flick of the moment. Have watched it every day for a couple weeks.
22 October 2018
I do not know it all. This day is a humble day today. I can live without being a master of anything. Being a beginner of it all.
Lisa and Davina and I all have an eye on my mental health—I can rely on us to see problems approaching. I am not alone in this life.
21 October 2018
Today I’m going to work on, when thoughts of my family come up, letting them go. Feeling them, identifying them, and letting them go.
That went well. Only had two such thoughts—one critical and one complimentary. Felt them and let them go.
Didn’t drink today. I feel good about it.
I need to remember that drinking alcohol is common among people with bipolar. That smoking is a habit associated with schizophrenics. Not as an excuse, but as an explanation. And as a way to place the activities in my mind so that not doing them is part of how I stay healthy with my mental illnesses. Special challenges, special solutions, special cares.
20 October 2018
Woke up dry and I feel great! Moved to my own room to sleep or watch movies for the rest of the sleeping period. Not obsessing, thoughts/feelings flowing. I am not an expert at coming dry. I’m just a fool who is maintaining my dryness moment, day, year at a time. I don’t hate being drunk, but I love being dry even more. It’s a short life and I can afford to have said goodbye or “not for a while” for a while longer. Good day my friend =)
Did dishes, slept a few more hours, woke up. I feel ok. Feel more normal, less high. D offered me cannabis and I said no. Planning not to drink today. Of course I want to. And of course I don’t. But for now I plan to abstain.
Went to the grocery store and bought Four Lokos. Enjoying them by the glass with my boo. I wonder if I will ever quit this. But today I’m having fun with it—mood pegged “high” (5/5)—maybe edging against mania today.
Playing with my koi pond (Wa Kingyo). Generally enjoying my day and my phone and gonna get Four Loko tipsy with my friend.
19 October 2018
I like this life. I would say a sober life but I’m drunk at 10 o’clock today.
I’m not going to talk about it anymore. I’m just changing my ways. I got sober today. Forget the date. I’m just sober now. Move onto different things.
18 October 2018
I woke up this morning. Took a drink. Slept another four hours. Woke up and Davina was drinking—a few shots. She wanted to go to the grocery store, was mad at me (seemingly), and I let her go by herself. I wanted to wait until she had sobered up. She wanted to go now, insisting that she was ok to go. Now I’m in my room drinking and watching Lost In Translation. I’m out of money for the month (less than $100 now). I learned a new phrase in counseling yesterday morning: “I can’t.” Need to stick to that from now on: I can’t give you that much this month—I can’t. And I can’t go with her to the grocery store every two–three days. I can’t. It’s too hard on my body. It’s too hard on our income. I love the dinners D creates. But I don’t love how much we spend on groceries—it’s too much. It gives D something to do. But we don’t have enough money to do it with.
I’m having my own little party in my room today.
17 October 2018
On my way to therapy (riding the bus). Rode my bike to get cash at Hallstead bank earlier this morning. Front wheel squealing. If I can I’m going to get some alcohol after my visit. Lay off Davina’s cannabis (which I bought) and drink wine today? I don’t want to drink enough to spend my day napping. But it’s cold outside—enough that a drink would be cozy. This bus driver is driving extra fast today. We have stopped suddenly two or three times on that reason.
I think that I should drink the way of the camp counselor. And go to counseling the way of the camp counselor—I’m rarely exposed—I am there to do my job which is to help others—to write—I deal with chaos but fall back asleep at home in my safe place (so to speak).
16 October 2018
Drank yesterday. End of Four Lokos from the 16th plus two double vodka tonics at Harmony. Came home then slept all day. I’d like to stop today. I need to bc of the money. We’ll see what happens. Going back to sleep now.
15 October 2018
Saw Lisa. Cleared up the no-lithium thing (the computer was sending to my old Rx from when I had health insurance..not Reddon’s). She had a student with her. She asked about my writing and I told her about Purity Ball—she said that idea was “cool!” Now I’m back in bed with Davina in the dark with a fan blowing at our toes. D rubbing my back with her hand. Dry. Lisa asked if I rode my bike (yes). At the end I told her student she would learn a lot if she listened to Lisa. We all smiled. Lisa is getting a new desk so she was displaced in another office.
14 October 2018
Free from everything, including me.
I can do..whatever I can do.
13 October 2018
Lying in my room listening to Cœur de pirate. It was Philip Glass before this. I’m thinking: everything in my life is perfect. There is nothing to fix. Only maintain.
I like spending time by myself in the morning.
Davina said, “I love this day!” I do too.
12 October 2018
Upon a little suggestion five days ago I went drinking with Davina. Yesterday it got to the 10-shot level, 12. I haven’t drank today. I hate that Davina made that suggestion—I know she does too. I am a drunk (when I drink). I don’t know what the solution is here. Except that I cannot drink. I can take that for today and enjoy a day sober. Or I can choose to go to the bar. For health and finance reasons I suppose I’d like to enjoy the day not-drunk.
I need to start over. Gently. Within myself. Need to be kind but listen to my own voice. Need to insist on what I need for me—in this relationship, in my life. I am worth it! I am worth it. I’m not indestructible, though. I’m resilient. But I can go away: from this world, this place—even my consciousness?
(Had a glass of wine while waiting for Davina’s psych appointment—I went to Tedeschi’s.)
It has something to do with my writing. With “the meaning of life” or enjoying my life—or something. I think of myself as the same essence as my 23-year-old self (the self Rebecca knew)—the same tendencies and reactions. But I’ve been through (thankfully) 17 years more experience. And writing. The me back then had never been to a psych ward. That me had never had the experience of designing and programming a regular expression engine. That me had never written a book. He would come to do those things. But hungered then to do them. And now I’ve done them in spades. I don’t necessarily have to do major reorienting of my path, but I do want to take this moment in my life (40 years old) to re-path myself and re-value myself where I feel like it. I think I’m ok with my values (treat ME well, treat others well, and write). The writing seems good as my optimal creative output (or good enough, as an optimal output). The rest of my values seem right (though I don’t always do them—they are what matters to me). My “path”?—I don’t think I need to figure that out in advance of doing it. I’m cool with working my values and looking back at points to see my path.
D replacing rubber ring on our toilet with occasional help from me. We found what looks like black mold between the toilet and the wall (on the back of the toilet and on the wall). D cleaned it and I stood outside. This is just a difference between us: that shit scares the hell out of me and she just goes ahead through it because she doesn’t want the landlord to come over.
11 October 2018
Drinking today. Half-price Harmony. Feel fine. Wonder if my feeling well or not has more to do with the weather. I’m drinking alone as well. Playing on my phone and waking with a double rum and Coke at 11:23am.
I came with a new vibrator and told D about it in text. She said ~Gosh you said you would wait for me~ and I didn’t remember saying that. I feel bad but I also feel controlled. Maybe that’s the word from my therapist. I wish they had half-price day every day here at Harmony. I didn’t mean to hurt Davina but I woke up ready to cum and I made myself cum. I’m not exactly sorry about that shit.
Here at Maloney’s eating lunch. Dude sitting next to me who doesn’t like me. Who cares.
Drank so much I don’t remember coming home. Davina making dinner. I think I need to silently quit.
9 October 2018
Everything is fine. Not drinking today.
8 October 2018
Everything seems fine. We didn’t keep it reasonable—well, reasonable for us.
Davina can do 16 shots; I can do 10. She’s still asleep. I woke up, took a shower, called in my lithium prescription, and edited my blog entries from the last two days (one-word edits).
A little dehydrated, a little poorer, but set for the month. Reasonably happy. I have the entire day to myself. I can do anything I want—or more realistically, I can do anything that I can do.
Went drinking. At Harmony this time instead of Maloney’s. Davina was sleeping so I went without her. Uneventful. I have about $500 left for this month. Came home and slept on the couch. D is watching a movie—a paranormal one I can’t stand. We both said we’re alright to the other one’s question.
I still want to drink more.
7 October 2018
Drinking with Davina. She suggested we go out. I said Maloney’s. She said yes. We’ve agreed to enjoy the night and keep it reasonable.
4 October 2018
D’s insurance (public: Medicare/Medicaid) canceled bc with what I give her monthly, she makes too much money. As of now, both of us don’t have health insurance.
25 September 2018
I’m feeling better. D and I good. Researching my next book. The war is over. The fall-like weather is coming on. I will save some money in October—have something left at the end of the month. Will not drink—will stay home if I have to. This is a new beginning. I am allowed to enjoy my life.
I shaved my face (with clippers). Didn’t set a guard and Davina said this is as shaved as I’ve been in the two years since I came to life (live!) with her. I did it for her so she can see my expressions. And she likes the way it feels when I’m not super hairy. She said I look different than she’s ever seen me and she’s right!
24 September 2018
Been worried for about a day about defamation of character lawsuits about a couple of my books. Read about it, decided to put those books back on my deadnovelist.com shelf and go in with my life. Davina encouraged me not to worry before I have to—that’s good advice and I’m taking it.
I feel anxious in general. Back to thinking: “Fuck everyone. It’s my writing and I can do whatever I want with it.” But about my life in general, I have anxiety. Maybe that’s part of how alcohol functioned for me, kind of a low key Klonopin. I’ll just have to get used to it (not having it). I’m anxious today.
23 September 2018
Woke up sober today. I get to be sober now! All I have to do is remember that my life is easy sober and hard drinking. That really is all I have to do: is remember that and choose the easy path.
After a good day together, D giving me the cold shoulder with no explanation. Things like that make life hard for me. I need to write here to stay on my sober path—as in the past stuff like this has been my reason for drinking.
She texted me and I went down for a donut and milk. She said she’s just emotional. I love the girl.
I was abrupt in my going upstairs. She said she doesn’t want me walking on eggshells and I said I would try to keep better track of my endings so they’re less abrupt.
22 September 2018
Drank last night and this morning. Will start tomorrow sober.
This not-drinking is partially a way we can take care of us both. Yesterday Davina didn’t remember going to the bar. She was drunk before we went and didn’t remember that it was her idea to go. I can protect her by keeping us both sober.
I’m going to not drink and encourage her not to drink. My success in this is my own sobriety and encouraging her (strongly) not to drink. As a way to take care of my boo. And me.
I don’t want to see Davina in the state she was in yesterday morning. Nor do I want to be in it.
Capitalism keeps people in line. And the more dough you have, the more kept you are.
I feel so guilty for my drinking—doing stupid stupid stuff and spending all my money. And in this quitting drinking with Davina, I feel our liability (bipolar disorder) suggesting how hard this must be for us both. We get manic and we drink. So many writers in history suffer from alcoholism. It’s not an excuse for future failure. It’s just the case that you have two bipolar people in this house. That’s part of what drew us together, even before Davina knew she had it. And with us both on lithium, we have a pretty calm household. But someday soon we will both want insanity to cover sanity, to cover normal, and I hope (hope hope) that we do not drink this time.
Sitting outside. It’s cool. I hope this fall weather stays with us for a while. The cooler air calms me. Summers have always been hard. But I can see myself being sober for this season and beyond.
I had a dream there were little piles of my shit everywhere and I was going around picking them up with my bare hands—resembles my drunken messes?
Also a dream that aliens were grooming me: they started abducting me last night and I had made all the right decisions. In my dream they were going to take me soon.
I feel—beyond guilt—fear that everything is falling apart. Which is true. I am so temporary. Maybe this is all an experimental ride engaged in my super beings. And maybe it’s not. I know that if it’s not a super being plaything, that there won’t be a “me” beyond this life to regret losing this life. So either way I will have gone leaving no trace of consciousness or I will be conscious with an ability to look back or I will be conscious without the ability to look back. Or it’s possible that the terms in which I am capable of stating this situation make me formulate nonsense questions that don’t even make sense.
I do know that it makes sense for me to live, to love, completely in this series of present moments. To walk away and never look back.
The government canceled my health insurance which I was paying for with my credit—they said my Blue Cross/Blue Shield overlapped with the Medicare part A that I had and that I was not allowed to cancel the part A (hospital coverage). They said to apply for Medicare part B. I did and they said I was applying outside of the application period, which is January. I shut down at this point as these policies are clearly designed to remove my health insurance.
My psych Lisa is trying to get me Ingrezza, samples, as they drug costs $5700 per month. How can anyone afford that? And it helps me but not completely. I want to get back on it.
Also (and I don’t know exactly why this is, but) I feel guilty after drinking and I don’t like feeling that way. So: don’t drink!
And after that, as the lyricist says: “What will you do when the war is over?” I can basically decide, on my own, to end the war. To stop my struggle and live at peace with myself. That decision has always been right with me, but now closer than ever. I can choose the easy path—so simply.
21 September 2018
Drank massively with Davina yesterday. She woke up hung over, vomiting, not remembering. I told her I’m not going to let that happen to us again. We’re stopping with alcohol. I’m going to enforce it. D said she feels just fine with that and I do too.
First day of fall.
I can do anything I want. To seek happiness. To seek peace. It’s totally my choice. And I know what I’m going to seek now.
19 September 2018
Day five not drinking. I am aware of Harmony’s dollar shot day today (vodka) and tomorrow (rum). Tomorrow is my therapy session. Next door to therapy is a drink store. I could get alcohol there. Or save my last $50 for groceries—which D is going to use our savings to buy groceries anyway. I’d rather have $50 in my account than less than $50, but at some point who cares. I need to get $8 in ones and $0.10 in nickels to ride the bus to Susquehanna tomorrow for my therapy appointment—gotta go somewhere today to get it. My stomach is irritated today. Not much food in the house.
Just made lunch. I feel better. Going to finish the dishes now.
Editing my book. Changed one typo.
18 September 2018
Got through three days of not drinking. This is day four. I’m dreading counseling on the 20th. Then I remember this life is about me—not what my counselor thinks of me. But Christopher is coming over today and I (like Davina) want to minimize Christopher’s memories of me drunk. But then it isn’t about Christopher either. It’s me, it’s how I want to spend my life. It’s how I want to be around Davina. I’m a problem drinker (if not an alcoholic) and I want the rest of my life to be different than the last two decades, roughly, have been for me. I don’t want to talk about it with anyone. Because it feels like a failure? A failure to drink successfully? In the sense of “Do fewer things better,” I could strike that off the list of things I do. It could become one of the activities I don’t do well—and don’t do at all.
I don’t know.
I’m broke ($50) and that’s something I’d like to change.
16 September 2018
Did a couple stupid things on this last run. Sober today and yesterday. Gotta figure out how to live a different way? For now I’m just going to live today differently, not drinking.
I’m thinking about a piece, feeling about a piece, based on the Purity Ball. I told Davina this and she was all over it—had thought of it before, saw it as a fertile area. I agree. And this is one way that Davina is still my muse.
I feel guilty—like a bad citizen—after my last drinks. Thought about emailing my family, sending a letter to agents. Walked out on my bill at Maloney’s. Spent more time with stupid company at both bars. Spent all my cash by halfway through the month. Drank during writing (it turned out ok). Did some other stupid stuff during the month: Oh yeah: Went up to the house of someone who made evil eyes at me and Davina at the grocery store (went up to their house while drunk). I think I stopped short of confronting them but they will never be good in my book. They’re agitators, and I let myself get agitated—I don’t need to do that!!
15 September 2018
Thought has a way of not being able to understand that it can itself exist. While its existence is obviously, subversively, true. True by the true truth 1==1 type of freedom. That the light is true. True.
Today is first new day to not drink.
8 September 2018
Drank 1/2 a glass of wine this morning. That’s something I don’t want to do again—forever. I’m hurting slightly from this latest binge. Don’t want to ever binge at all or drink at all from now on. I have to remember this. It’s so key and I never get it quite right. I need a sign to remind me not to take that first drink. But nothing bad or negative or injurious. I want a peaceful life at home.
Maybe not drinking is part of my process. That (not drinking) is just simply part of my process in writing here on out.
Hanging out with Davina. Laughing at Cujo. I want to laugh like this for the rest of my life.
5 September 2018
I love everything.
4 September 2018
Realized my motivation to meet with the Mormon girls. Actually read the material we would be discussing and had no interest. Texted them telling of my desires and suggested we not meet. I suspect that this same sort of transaction (though in the opposite direction) goes on, hidden, and is the motivation behind a lot of these meetings. I’m happier to show them my dirty laundry and suggest the same is true for many Mormon meetings. And show my integrity up front. That feels good to me.
Told Davina of all this. She said she was a little jealous. I said I thought it was interesting that her reaction was jealousy when I did the exact opposite of meet with them clandestinely and go for a relationship. She slammed me, rightly, saying that if I did pursue a relationship, she would have dumped me. Davina is right. She’s totally right. And I’m an idiot not for handling the situation by never discussing it with her, ever. I don’t need to tell Davina that sort of thing. I don’t want to involve her in matters that don’t affect her. She said the words that made her feel bad were: “nubile,” “young,” “women.” Yeah I fucked up.
Been editing book two days. Seems like an easy book to me. I feel that I achieved a style/format/pace that is consistent throughout the book.
Valbenazine at full dose dose for third day. Works pretty well. Symptoms are still present but lessened.
I’m at a bar with a whole bunch of guys on this side—plain dudes. Dudes I don’t think I could ever share my soul with.
1 September 2018
Finished the first draft of my book today.
31 August 2018
Everything effed up. Wrote fine. Trip to McD’s and the sound and seating bothered me. Got me thinking How can I live this life? Stopped by NEPA, worked with Reddon’s to get my Rx at $20/month instead of $3/month. D was looking at me in this pressured way. She wouldn’t even smile at me this morning. I think she didn’t get enough sleep (she said that) and my contractions/twitching were making life seem impossible. We tried, we failed. She went upstairs, I hope to sleep. And I went out to fill my Rx and take 2/3 of my daily dose with a gin and tonic. Good bike ride in almost rain and I’m at Maloney’s now.
Texted with Davina. She apologized. I apologized. We’re ok now. I finished my second drink.
Two nubile women, Mormons, stopped by to talk. I was so enamored by them, especially the one, that I gave my most welcoming attention ever to the girls. I listened to everything they said. Took their book, etc. I hope we meet again with all of our fewer clothes.
30 August 2018
I feel incredibly weary, like I’m about to drop down and die. On valbenazine for a week, off baclofen due to doctor/pharmacy error. Changes like this make me feel my reality is untenable. But I want to continue.
Eating dinner from Davina. I feel 10x better. I feel I’m going into another level, another dimension. I don’t know if it’s food or the seasonal change to fall. Or if it’s coming to the end of my book that’s graduating me to this new place/self.
I’ve been thinking about the Mandela Effect lately and touching my ribs.
29 August 2018
Cooking eggs. Davina said, “Why don’t you just use butter?” when I was starting to use oil. I had that reaction again of, Why are you nitpicking telling me what to do? But I asked her why. She said, “It tastes better and it’s easier.” So I used butter and got over my particularity. I don’t think I noticed the taste difference. And it wasn’t easier for me. I guess conceptually I like butter better than vegetable oil. But I didn’t let a small thing bother me—and it threatened to. I wonder what my therapist would think of that. Success on me for not getting off track because of it. But maybe Davina micromanaging me? Idk but it’s ok. It’s not an important issue to me. The fact that I was still able to write afterward, was.
Three days left on my book. I am tired after writing. The writing is good and almost done. Tired by not having money and people I give money to spending it in unnecessary ways. Tired of D’s family bs. It could be much worse, though, and I’ll take it over my own.
I can’t buy any food or groceries next month. Except Davina’s birthday dinner. No Subway. Nothing. I have to save for heating oil for the winter. The subsidy company won’t give us anything. I don’t have health insurance. D may be buying gas for Ashley’s car. It’s insane. It’s stressing me out.
And no alcohol for Davina =( Just a little pot money for her birthday =) Take her to dinner and give $$ as a gift for mj.
28 August 2018
Third day not drinking. Wrote excellently. Thought “I am a man of peace” afterwards. Feeling great.
Feeling anxiety. Out of Baclofen. Can’t get NEPA clinic or Reddon’s Rx to call me back. Just gave up. If NEPA doesn’t call in a refill, what can I do? The psych meds, one new, one now missing, color my view of the world. I will cease contacting either of them until next week. I’m accepting that I cannot get the medicine. If NEPA asks me if I got it, I’ll say it was never called in and I gave up.
Difficult mood this afternoon. Cleared up at the end of late afternoon. Feeling better now. Same thing happened yesterday. I can see a way through the rest of the day.
Davina bringing up 2x dui Ashley’s transpo problems (brought on by 3x dui Frank’s crashing her last two cars). Ashley wants Davina to drive her to appointments for a year in exchange for us keeping this (imaginary) new car in our driveway (and us getting to use it). Sounds like a nightmare to me. I encouraged Davina to say no to that. She and I are hanging by a thread. As of this point Davina will accept the car from Aaron and Ashley and she will chauffeur Ashley around for a year. Ashley will be homeschooling Christopher and going to buy groceries and going to three meetings (AA?—something) a week. She could use the transpo bus like the rest of us. But she doesn’t want that. And Davina wants a car quickly, wants to help her daughter. Ashley wants us to put in our $200 we have saved so the car is ours!! Wtf. Davina and I decided not to touch that money of ours to help buy a car. But Davina is still talking like she’s going to play Ashley’s driver. It sounds crazy to me. We’ll see. I got to save my own money and stay uninvolved as much as possible.
27 August 2018
Maybe the guilt Mike Baldi and I have discovered in me, after drinking, is survivors’ guilt from Rebecca. The day after I partied that time, she was in a coma and I was physically fine. Maybe I think that I’m still in that situation now: the day after, and I’m still alive. While my mythical friend dies over and over again.
26 August 2018
Why is pregnancy so painful? Is it to draw help from society? To ensure that a woman is not alone when she gives birth?
Why does Joan consider Fetus Room to be a feminist work of art and consider TRANS! to usurp representation of a group that isn’t mine? The fact is neither is a representation—only for the reader is it so. Why does she ignore the mismatch in her own judgment of me? I have so many people and types of people other than me, who I “write as.” Why do trans people get a special status that women don’t even get in Joan’s mind? The fact is that both those groups are equally not mine. And they’re both equally present in my mind. I can write anything I want. If people feel sensitive about it, that means I’m doing my job. I pay the price for their anger. There’s no fundamental difference between women and trans people, between high school students, between pedophiles and drug users. I am none of these at present and I can use them, call upon them all, to play my parts. I do the work of author and (in some ways) represent them better than themselves. If I’m smart I do my research so what I present is true to life. I steal my best material to do this. The most controversial line in TSID (I’m pliable..I come with a vagina) was stolen almost word for word from a conversation I had with a woman. If it seems unrealistic to you, that’s your error: it’s beyond “realistic”—it is totally real.
But nowadays, doing research as a writer is considered cultural appropriation. That doesn’t work for writers of novels. Is every writer of fiction to stay only within their own culture? That doesn’t work. What about Donna Tartt in The Secret History, writing as a man? Is she appropriating men’s culture? It’s insane. Taken to the limit it means every book is an autobiography. It doesn’t even allow novels to be written, movies to be made, or actors to act.
Talked with Davina about stopping drinking again. I haven’t drank today. Prior to that, drank 4–5 days in a row. Prior to that, didn’t drink for 3 1/2 months (since May 13). Maybe we will drink every few months. She says she likes drinking when I’m not (it makes her feel safe). I like that too, when she drinks a little, smokes a little, and I do neither. That works best for us right now. Thing get messy, confused when we drink. So after five days I’m going back to not drinking (not sobriety, necessarily, but not drinking) today.
Also: alcohol congests my nasal passages. They feel so clear right now. I don’t want to give that up. I hope I remember this in the future.
25 August 2018
I’m lucky I made it through the nascent phases of writing novels without having hooked up with a publisher. Most likely in that case I would have sacrificed my final cut, my originality. But if a publisher comes to me now: It would have to be that way. And I think I would have to say no, to maintain my (not control, but:) artistic flow. How could I possibly go to a publisher now, begging for them to include me in their catalogue? It would be begging in the wrong direction and it would never happen. I would rather maintain control of my entire opus than take 15% from someone who wanted to (also) re-write my books! Fuck that. That’s capitalism of old—and the new is at hand.
23 August 2018
Finished through 81k words, the father/mobile section. I’m about to cry. I don’t care if anyone else likes this book. I do—and that’s enough.
22 August 2018
People tell me there are limits to artistic expression. That there are rules. But I don’t see any. My play takes place on an infinite field, or world, or hyper world with no fences or rules.
21 August 2018
Saw Mike Baldi, therapist. He encouraged me to not let the little things derail me. Like getting upset by Davina suggesting the mail go in a certain pouch in the bag. I told Mike I appreciate the level of discourse we have—that he and Davina are the only places I do.
I was worried about telling him that I’ve drunk for two days. But it never came up and I never brought it up. And honestly it’s not that big of a deal.
There are so many more things that demand my attention. I’m drinking wine today but plan to nix it tomorrow. Continuing the sober path. No pot. Staying sober so I can be Davina’s safety net. That works for both of us. I’m best with nothing. She’s best with a little pot. We work together that way well. Most of the time I have a craving it’s best fed with food anyway. Some beef. A hamburger. That addresses my hunger just fine.
18 August 2018
Uncomfortable and bored this afternoon. Feeling bad about today’s writing.
Davina drank yesterday and today. I was with her throughout. Based on her behavior, I hope I remember not to drink again.
Also, I don’t think I should buy her any more alcohol.
17 August 2018
I had a dream I was attacked by the first of two dogs—Doberman Pinschers—they were blue and gold, reflective metal. And I was graduating art school early. Thoughts, this morning, that the two dogs aren’t my traditional interpretation of addiction, but that they simply meant I was graduating school two days early—that I might skip both my scheduled days off before my book finishes. Today is one of those days off. But I’m currently planning on keeping it.
Took day off—glad I did. Friday party!!
15 August 2018
As of the 13th, I haven’t drank alcohol for three months. Well done, Matthew! Well done. Fifteen thousand words left on my book. Seventy-five thousand done. Today is a day that I doubt what I’ve written, so I thumb back a hundred pages and peek—what I find is inventive and good. This isn’t the time to think about it. For the rest of today, it’s time to relax. And tomorrow morning give it my all in that moment.
13 August 2018
Just watched Brain on Fire, which Davina says I already watched. It moved me. I don’t know that I will ever be as healthy as she is, in the end. I don’t know that I want to be.
12 August 2018
Reading over old stuff, The Survivalist. I realize and feel so deeply how grateful I am to have time in this life to write. I am blessed beyond belief.
10 August 2018
It is strange to be talked down to by a Medicare representative when I’m trying to get my Medicare ID over the phone. She tells me that they no longer give out any information over the phone. There’s no website where I can get it. It should be on my Medicare card, which I never received. I requested a “new” one and she said it would take four weeks to arrive. I have to wait a month before I can submit my Medicare Part B application, which consists of my name and address and Medicare ID number. When I questioned whether this was the only way to proceed, she talks down to me. It was just a question. I’m sure she hates her job. The system is beyond fucked—this system is rigged.
9 August 2018
Jody at NEPA helped me get set up on a sliding scale. I started paying off my debt to them with $50.
Lisa said me and Davina look great. I told her I stopped drinking a few months ago and stopped smoking pot altogether. And that we both changed our diets since Davina found out she has diabetes. Lisa said we look great. That we look so healthy and good these days. I feel the same. To hear it from Lisa is amazing.
I weighed 168lbs when I went in. Lisa said she didn’t want to see me for another three months. That is the best grading I can get from her.
8 August 2018
I quit Mastodon today because it’s senseless. I don’t want to be in arguments with anonymous personalities who argue for violence against oppressors. People who have done nothing creative with their lives. I’m off Twitter, I haven’t been on FB for years. And now I’m off Mastodon. I guess I’m done with social media. Let the kids have it for their insane arguments. I’m getting nothing out of it and almost everyone there knows nothing of logic or logical discussion. They’re just angry, without any sense. I got no love for that.
It feels good already. I don’t know how people will find my books, but being off social media completely for the last few hours feels good good good. I’m listening to Indigo Girls. This is my spirit up music! When I’m creating I don’t need random social media voices in my head.
(Also: I don’t even know if those are real people. They’re personalities, for sure. But how do I know they’re not bots? FB is unacceptable for obvious reasons even though it insists you sign up with your real name. Twitter and Mastodon have this same problem: Unless someone puts up a website with extensive work on it, with a name to match, unless the person is basically a celebrity or otherwise verifiable person, all of these social networking services suffer from the problem of a verifiable person [arguing with] unverifiable ones. It is definitely my belief that someone betting the farm on their name is entirely different than an anonymous personality dipping their toes into self-expression. Those are two distinct types of person doing two decidedly different things on the internet and in the world.)
I quit social media because the level of discourse there is so low it’s just a waste of time.
Bought a case for my iPhone 8 Plus (Red). It is dope. It houses my phone and replaces my wallet, yet it’s still pretty minimal in size.
I’m hopeful we will get the health insurance thing figured out one way or the other. I’m going to talk with Lisa tomorrow about it during our appointment. I’ll just tell them the facts of what happened yesterday and see if they can help me apply for Medicare Part B—which is supposed to be automatically applied for after 24 months of receiving disability (which I have been at this point) and for which I applied twice before (manually) and which I have been twice denied based on my disability income being too high (even though it’s below the poverty level). There’s nothing here for me to get upset about. As I understand it, I can’t get rid of Medicare Part A without giving up my disability income (which is obviously not an option). I can’t have insurance from the marketplace if it duplicates any part of my Medicare (which every private insurance would do since I have Medicare Part A). So the only option left is for me to apply for Medicare Part B again. I’ll ask NEPA to print the application for me tomorrow. I’ll apply for Part B tomorrow. I’ll either get it or I won’t. There’s nothing else for me to do.
7 August 2018
At this point, I have no hate for my mom or my dad or the rest of the family. I cannot talk with them or listent to them because they dilute me, they invite me to introduce topics they will disagree with, not understand. I know they know things I do not; I’m not being self-aggrandizing. But there’s just too much interruption there via their illogic to continue my work. My writing. My love. My excellent treatment of those I relate to. No scientific discussion can take place with them. Nothing “political”—they don’t even recognize what they are talking about, when I see what’s coming 2-10 years ahead of time (and act on it that early). Two years ago I was begging my family to see that Facebook didn’t respect their privacy. Two days ago FB’s stock lost 20% of its value as adjustment to this crime. Ditto my statements about Paula/Jeff/Sarah—that whole situation is a blight on that family, which is not mine. Everything I said there is true, too. It’s a tragic reflection on the parenting job they’ve done. I wish them all luck but not with me. And, today at least, I am peaceful as a lake when I think of them.
The idea is perfectly contained in the lyric: “What will you do when the war is over?” What. Yes. When taken fully the answer to that question is joyful as fuck. What indeed!
The government canceled my health insurance via a loophole that targets people on disability. There is nothing I can do. I have hospital insurance—that’s it—no way to pay a doctor or get medicine. I make too much money (even as it is at the poverty line) to get government health insurance. And they made it illegal for me to buy private insurance that duplicates any part of the Medicare hospital insurance that I can’t get rid of without giving up my disability insurance—which is my only source of income. It is difficult, stressful, to be dealing with this. If I was rich or powerful, I would never let anyone poorer or weaker than me go through this. But I can make it and I will make it. As I told Davina a moment ago, at least, as my ship sinks, I will go down making a terrible noise.
I can’t own this and I don’t own it. I didn’t make these laws and I can’t change them. I can search for a legal way to survive. The situation does not reflect negatively on me. These are someone else’s rules that fuck me, that sink me. But in no way do I have ownership of this. Except that it affects me, this has nothing to do with me.
If the government thinks it’s better for this TD-having, bipolar/schizo person not to have lithium and my other drugs, fine. I’ll be in more pain from my TD. My bipolar will go untreated. I’ll stop riding my bike and stay home all the time. What can I do? If I have more pain (as I know I will), I’ll become less functional in society. Fuck it.
It’s unbelievable that I’m part of this society. This feels like a slap in the face from a world I have served without reservation.
6 August 2018
Wrote today. Organizing shit on my phone and laptop. Ordered a phone wallet case. Excited.
Davina bought wine. She’s smoking and drinking. Good deal for her. I’m refraining from both. Tempted by the drink but abstaining, for one, because I’m in the middle of writing. I’ve made a contract with the universe, with myself, that I won’t drink during the writing. And in return I’ll write well every day. It’s not exactly a contract but I’m not drinking during this book. After working through the temptation, I feel good about things.
Davina and Ashley drinking wine. I’m better now that we ate dinner. I’m good with not drinking tonight. I like the clarity.
5 August 2018
Can’t relax. Convinced my book is shit. Worried Davina and I are about to fight again for three days. I’m censoring myself over some theory she has about the post office, paying PO box fees, and getting an actual mailbox in front of our house. I don’t want to discuss—I just want to do. Tell me to pay the fee, to put up a mailbox, etc. Wrote my words today (day 65/90). Concerned they’re too rambling, poetic, “experimental,” abstract. I read over the last page and it seems ok, though. This is me off alcohol, off pot. I don’t have patience for idling discussions. I don’t want to see the doctor (Bill) at NEPA ever again. I’m embarrassed to go back to Lisa and Mike. I want this book to be good. It very likely is..and I just have to finish it. I’m going to write for 2-3 more days and then take a break for a day, then go back to it. I love my characters. I love the things they’ll do. The lyricism runs heavy with this one. And I love that, too.
3 August 2018
Woke up 2am. Took out the garbage. Paid my bills. Bought my game for the month. Watching a movie. Feeling good. Feeling like this is my house. This is where I live. When I see my caretakers I’ll just say that when I canceled my appointments I was feeling terrible, like I could lose it all. That I’m still sober. That I stopped smoking pot. And now I’m better. Tell them that and be quiet. That’s all I have to say.
The war is over. I don’t have to fight anymore.
2 August 2018
Have a plan. But don’t stick to it. But have one. But don’t stick to it.
That way you have the advantage of a large view, an overview. And you also have the advantage of the small view, the detailed view of the present.
I’m less mad today. Less disturbed. I still don’t want to talk to anyone. Did art with Christopher after I wrote day 62/90 on my book. Watched movies the rest of the day. Quiet with Davina. Imagining my doctor’s appointments coming up and I’m imagining myself saying, “I don’t have anything to say.” But maybe by then I’ll be in a better mood. I’m really not sure.
When Davina’s talking to me she doesn’t make much sense. Not sure if that’s her or me.
Feeling like I’m doing something wrong. Not sure what it is. I’ve felt this way before. Tomorrow is pay day so that’s exciting. I’m going to pay my bills and get a $7 game from the Apple store that I’ve been looking forward to.
I feel like I’m hiding in my journal, like I come here to be quiet and alone. To escape. From what? I don’t know. Everyone I know and the previous versions of me.
I gotta keep more of my money this month. Going to pay Davina the usual $1000 and after my bills I can save $400 and spend $600. As long as I don’t buy weed or take D out for drinks or meals I can spend that six delightfully and save the four.
Write my book. Don’t say anything to my caretakers. Keep D at a healthy distance. Play with Christopher when he comes over. But write at about 1k words per day and give it my all.
1 August 2018
Davina and I continued to fight last night. The littlest thing sets either of us off. I am paranoid. She suggests she might be experiencing PMS. We can’t even do our cooperative exercise of moving the air conditioner upstairs. D slept downstairs in the cool. I slept in the hottest room in the house: my own, upstairs. I was extremely worried from a couple of days ago about going back to writing after taking yesterday off. But I did it and it came out A grade. I ate breakfast in my room. I’m considering paying her less this month, just a “renting a room” rate. Maybe I’ll do that next month to keep the August energy clean for my writing. I told her yesterday I’m not smoking pot anymore. I was doing it for fun and mostly as an activity we could do together. She’s doing it for some more serious reason. I’m going to reschedule the appointments I cancelled yesterday. One with Lisa, that’s the most important. And one with Mike, I guess. Not rescheduling the one with the osteopath. I feel..I feel like people should cut me some slack. Davina included.
Didn’t drink. That’s about 10 weeks without.
In less pain today.
I feel like a failure in my relationship with Davina. With everyone. With the people in town. With Davina’s friends and family. With my doctors. It seems useless. I’m having thoughts of “I just have to finish this book then I can die,” which isn’t good. Watching a movie downstairs. Stupid movie, but it comforts me. I don’t know. Trying to get through this one day at a time. Sucks. I hate feeling this way. I’m paranoid. Davina says she’s having momentary hallucinations. Idk. I feel for her and would support any help she seeks. I can’t even keep my tone even with her. I fail. I fail.
I don’t know what I’m doing. I worry about my writing, trying to do this with so much anxiety. I don’t see how people do this life. If nothing else, I feel like I’m done talking with everyone.
I made a waffle and some coffee. I feel better just smelling it. I think when I get what I need, I’m a better person. Space, some food, and my creative energy projected. Made a cup for Davina. She said thank you.
The thing is, I can write this. I’ve written 61 days, all A grade or B grade days. And I can do that again for 29 more days. Maintain my writing/mental/emotional posture even as the rest of this goes on. Use the emotion and circumstance as I write. In my writing. I’ve known this all along. It’s always the case that my mental state is in my writing. I always use it. I will here, too. That’s part of my power.
31 July 2018
Woke up for the third day with pain worse than usual. Bad mood. Going to the doctor in an hour. Hope they have something stronger than 6 x ibuprofen daily, weaker than Vicodin. Today is a break from writing day. Yesterday I finished act two out of three. I feel unloved.
I want to play with Christopher but I can’t. Davina says it’s ok if I’m not fun.
At the bar after going to the doctor. They’re setting me up with an appointment with a bone doctor. No help for pain except instructions to take two extra ibuprofen mid-day. Staring at a gin and tonic. Haven’t drank a sip. I think I’m going to leave it here. Going now.
Arguing with Davina all day. She says she can’t take this. I’ve been thinking about moving out all day. Sleeping in my room tonight after she’s getting snippy with me about moving the AC. We left it downstairs. I’m going to try to get a good night’s sleep, write in the morning, and have a good writing day on the first day of the third act. I can’t afford to talk to her anymore. I’m not going to volunteer to move out, but if she suggests it, I will.
On Friday, pay D $500—half the rent and bills, buy my own food, and live out of my room. That’s where I am right now. If she allows that, do it. If not, leave.
30 July 2018
“If the wind will not serve, take to the oars.” —quote Davina found. I love it.
Davina pissed at me. I was hungry and stopped for some to-go food on the way to the grocery store. She didn’t make eye contact with me until we got home. On the way home, my bike chain unhooked and I had to stop and re-hang it. Davina didn’t notice she was so far ahead. She waited at home for me to get there since I had the key. She has no idea why I was so far behind her. She has no idea what is going on with me. And I have no idea what her experience is, since she’s not speaking.
She is generally anxious without weed. I’m not going to smoke with her anymore and I’m not going to buy anymore either.
Now she’s up in her room. No discussion with me. I’m just the guy who pays for the groceries and carries them on his back.
I would love to get out of here and get some space but I’m almost broke and I’d just be going to bars so forget that. It strikes me I could outfit my room upstairs with an air conditioner and hang out there. I just hate when she and I are like this. No communication. I don’t know what she’s thinking, feeling. She hasn’t told me what I did wrong. It’s bullshit.
She came downstairs and even though I apologized on the way to the grocery, she hasn’t made eye contact. That is utter bullshit. Honestly. I don’t see how people live like this. I love her but stuff like this is why I wanted to move out a year and a half ago. I haven’t said that to her this time, and I suspect we will get through this, but times like these I want to get the hell out. And be lonely, yes. But peaceful. That’s a terrible trade to feel like you have to make.
My best guess is her diabetes but why does that prevent me from getting some to-go food? Why in that case would so much ire be directed toward me?
It’s important that I not mention leaving. That’s a pattern of mine I must avoid. If I ever mention leaving to D, it will be when I’m actually going to do it.
I’m giving her $1000/month and spending $400 on weed and more on gifts and date nights and taking her out drinking. I can’t do that anymore. I cannot.
Davina and I spoke. She got off track when I poo poo ‘ed her delight with the pocket on the side of the bag I was carrying the mail in. She suggested I use it. I felt corrected as I had to move the mail to this new pocket. I apologized and apologized to her about it. I never mentioned that my bike was falling apart on the way home. Why should I? Would she even care.
She said she thinks I’m trying to make her feel bad and I assured her that I wasn’t!
Now she’s asking me questions about her phone. I assume that means we’re put back together. I would like that. To eat dinner together. To sleep in the same bed. If this is what they mean when they say “relationships are hard”—being briefly and occasionally treated like shit—then I know what they mean.
It’s better than living with Mom. There it was like three or four days a week that everything was super shit between us. Here it’s less than once a week. Hurrah.
It continues to be tense here.
29 July 2018
Tomorrow is 2/3 day on my book. I think it’s going well. I have a rough plan for the rest of it but will stay open to surprise. Taking a break the day after tomorrow and plan to finish my first draft by the end of August.
28 July 2018
Picasso with crayons. Sometimes the fewer tools you have, the better story you tell.
26 July 2018
It’s been a year since I spoke with my family (excepting Suzanne and Kristi). When I think about it I feel fine. They just don’t treat me with respect. And with my origin family, everyone but Suzanne insists on the “Matthew’s sick” metaphor, which I’ve said before doesn’t work for me. I wish them well and I wish we could be more. And I damn them to interactions between themselves. Mom moved to Austin to be close to Amy (to help Amy with her children)—good for both of them. Amy is a child abuser and I can’t stay in the picture and say nothing. Jaymz..all I can say is thanks for financially taking care of my sister (and you can fuck right off back to your dysfunctional family). I remain disappointed in the majority of my family. GranGran. All her children. And all their children.
I’m finding mostly sanity here with Davina, who is wise and kind. Suzanne and I talk every 2–4 weeks. Kristi and I email.
And I spend time each morning writing my book, The Guru Principle, which I know is good—I don’t need anyone to tell me that. I may die before my books are read. I don’t give a fuck as long as I get to write them.
25 July 2018
My neck, shoulders, elbows, and forearms hurt. More than usual. From tardive dystonia. Going to bed early. I feel like curling up for a week and being sick.
Took Davina to Harmony today. Probably not going to repeat that this summer at least. Loud, smoky, and I’m not drinking. And I don’t want to.
Configured my iPhone to have markdown editing, multiple cloud drives for redundancy. All for writing my next book this fall. I’m going to use my phone as my primary device for everything except the one or two things that require a laptop. Excited. Smaller footprint for me. And everything I do will be with me all the time.
The family relationship came up in therapy yesterday and I am happy with where I stand. My family needs me to be sick so bad that if I called or wrote and said, “I’m doing well psychologically,” they wouldn’t believe me. That much I know from the psych screenings in Nashville. Psych screeners said I was fine and we agreed on outpatient treatment. My mom refused to agree with the psych screeners and insisted that I needed inpatient care. It’s just crazy how much my family (and not just my mom) needs me to be crazy.
I am separate from them now. I can get some peace for a while. Hopefully for a long time, full of writing and joy with Davina.
I have written 55k out of about 90k words on The Guru Principle. Writing again tomorrow. Happy about that.
24 July 2018
I weigh 168 pounds as of my therapy appointment.
19 July 2018
Set up a new domain name for my website. Quit Twitter and moved to Mastodon. Encouraging people to contact me publicly via Mastodon. That feels right. Other than people who text me, I don’t want to have private conversations. I want everything I do to be public and scrutable.
18 July 2018
When I hear news of Trump I am mad at my family. At my mom. I don’t want to be mad at them. I don’t want to think of them at all. I don’t know how to stop thinking of them—probably there is no way to force that. Must go at it from another angle: Which is, the angle that I’m free. I’m free from them, free from their oversight, free from hearing their opinions. At root, I am angry my ancestors don’t have relationships with each other. This makes it so that I cannot have relationships with all of them—and given the choice, I choose not to have relationships with any of them. How is it reasonable to expect me to relate to Rusty when my mom, for a long time, has chosen not to relate to him. That my mom fails to stand up for me with Rusty is criminal. Fortunately, I don’t need her to: I’ve done that myself. The Trump news since his election confirms everything I said to Mom and to Paula/Jeff about Trump. That those people lacked the foresight to not vote for him is tragic. I can’t say it’s anything less than that. It is a reason for me to disown all of them, including my mom, including Gran Gran—everyone. Amy needs to learn (and maybe she has) that you can’t treat me like crap and ignore the issues I raise without losing me as a brother. I can’t support her. I can’t talk to her kids. I can’t stand her husband—he has played games with me long enough. Jaymz refuses to recognize that I have a disability. He refuses to acknowledge his own incompetence socially. He doesn’t make eye contact with me when Suzanne, Amy, and I are in the room with him and he’s telling a story. He most likely feels bad about how he and Amy treated me, but that’s no excuse for his behavior. That people in my family exist who voted for Trump, that those people have treated me rudely (Jeff)—it’s unacceptable, intolerable. And I haven’t communicated with any of those people in nine months (in my mom’s case) or a year (in everyone else’s case). I must now let go of thinking about them. Of hoping good for them, or ill. I give them a perfunctory “The best to you” and free myself from ever contacting them again. They aren’t contacting me. And I consider each of them the silence of our friends in MLK’s statement, “In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.” I absolutely hold that to the anti-Trump forces in my family who refuse to speak to their own relatives about the specific ways Trump policies are affecting me. I hold this to every member of our family who hasn’t talked to their pro-Trump relatives about how his mocking physically disabled people relates to me, their bastard son and nephew and grandson who is shocked at their lack of insight and foresight about American politics, simpletons who thought they were voting for a politician, for that politician’s politics, when in fact (and I knew this at the time) that vote was for something else entirely. In the end, they are people whose general weakness hurts me to accept. I cannot call them my family. I cannot afford to think of them anymore.
The situaton with Jeff sums it up. Jeff is able and willing to talk about himself and his success. He is unwilling and/or unable to ask about mine, or ask about me in general. I’ve met a number of people like this—Jeff is just the closest somewhat reasonable guy who has displayed it to me. So: a person like Jeff attends Christmas with his family and refuses to get the story (everyone’s story). Then he supports a president who wants to kill me. Who wants to kill the poor. Will Jeff ever even know that Trump wants to cut disability money, food stamps, etc? We don’t even rely on food stamps here (we don’t qualify). What I find incensing is that Jeff will never know if his president’s actions make me homeless again. He will never even know. He will never know what it’s like to be homeless. And that’s partially because he never listened to me. Mom proposes slow and gentle conversations with him. I disagree. The motherfucker needs to be hit over the head with 1) US poverty 2) what it’s like to be homeless 3) what it’s like to be disabled. Without compassion for me in this situation, he will be making uninformed decisions. Can I have compassion for him? I can: He is working for the good dollar, something I did when I was in my early 20s. But he is uninformed. He will work an immoral job without self-review. I tried to jump start his review but of course that didn’t work.
Maybe I can find a way to write (another) book about it. About your family being duds, inanimate sharks. And about dusting off my shoes and leaving them behind. I didn’t vote for Clinton. I also didn’t vote for Trump. Anyone who did is either not thinking it through or does not have the tools with which to do so.
Don’t anyone ever tell me, “We didn’t know.” You knew. You knew enough to know you were doing a bad thing, as mush as a child knows they are forging some dirty secret between them and the universe. Don’t ever say “We didn’t know.” If you knew, you were wrong. If you didn’t know, then you’re lacking in some way that makes your vote the suggestion of a moron.
And with my mom, I have to let her go. I have loved her, but her failure to acknowledge the value I provide in this situation is criminal. I’ve written 30+ books. That alone would be reason to listen to what I have to say. I have lived four fruitful decades full of political dissent, social dissent, and all kinds of analysis and creative construction. If my mother is willing to look the other way when I am speaking, then my word is not for her. As I said to her before: “If you prefer the company of your bros and sis’s to mine, then they’re much better suited as company to you.” Than I am. My mom, in this situation, is one of the friends I had who remained silent. There is no reason or excuse for me to maintain ties with that person.
I want to say (and have already said) that if Trump cuts my disability budget, I’m going to pass the bill onto my relatives who voted Trump. I’m going to live no matter what. I am not going to just die as the prevailing winds suggest I do. I want to become super-in-your-face to people who threaten to screw me in this way. But probably I will maintain my silence toward them, to keep gross people at bay. I hate them so. And I love the possibility that exists for them. I just have to keep them out of my life as they (some inadvertently, some on point) want me dead.
Amy thinks we’re going to be ok long term. Both she and Mom sent me texts on my 40th birthday. But Amy and everyone else in my family besides Suzanne and Kristi, if they think that, are wrong. All those people have crossed the line with me. I have zero room for them in my life. Suzanne has also told Dad that she doesn’t want to have a relationship with him. He’s the last motherfucker on my mind right now. But he has learned the cost of rubbing Suzanne or I the wrong way: lifelong absence of your children. Dad fucked around too much when he and Mom were raising us. There’s no forgiveness for that. (And he has never asked for it.)
In the end, me living happily, outside of my family circle, is best for me.
17 July 2018
Good writing day. Wrote in Davina’s bedroom (which is where the AC still is). I proposed moving the AC downstairs like we often do. D said is it hot yet? I said I didn’t know how to answer that question and I moved upstairs. That was probably the best move for everyone. She and Christopher are downstairs watching TV and moving up here got me 1) cool air and 2) quiet for listening to my music. I’m at that point in each writing day where I cool down from the excitement and the flow of creation. Where I do my backups and re-read my final sentence, paragraphs, pages and where the magic of it goes away. Where they are just words.
Did not drink for a few more days.
I have to remember that, while loving Davina, I am on my own path. My writing must get done. Treat myself well, treat others well, write. Those are my tasks and my guides. The first two present themselves all the time. The third I do once a day in the morning when my energy is at its freshest. It’s not my job to change Davina, though. Davina is on her own journey and our paths overlap a great deal. But they do not overlap completely. When Davina is sad, it is my job to empathize. To relate. But not to get too involved. I’m in my own life with its own joys and troubles. I love Davina. I love that we’re together. We have a life together! Not every feeling is mine, though. I can support her while maintaing my distinct person.
And that person for me is writing. Writing books. I said a while back that this would be the age of books for me. That the age of blogs was over. That anything I would say in this time would be said with books. Not posts. Not other speech. Right now, I’m expressing myself through books.
16 July 2018
Wrote my first day of the second half of my book. Have plans for an ending. Rough notes. Still not drinking. Hope to finish this book and then start another while sober, to keep sober. Would like to make not drinking a regular thing for me. Need to speak less to people. Maybe? Don’t feel the need to promote this book or talk with anyone about my work. Just do it, put it on my site, toot a link, then forget about other people. Just write what I have to write for the rest of my life.
I want to contact my relatives, after a year full of news, and say: “You may have voted for, and empowered, the man who’s going to bring down America.” But they would not listen to me. They would use my illness and their supposed health to discount me. That is all they have done in my adult life, and if I interacted with them now, that is all they would do. So I journal this point and remain silent to them.
D and I sour over when a grocery trip will occur. I refuse to smoke with her while we’re at odds. I hope the entire day isn’t fucked. This makes me want to leave the house and get drunk. I’m not going to, though. It started when I said I was “excited” this was our last bag (of pot). Davina said she was scared. I said my excitement was the same: like butterflies in my stomach. But for me it was a fun idea (moving on) whereas for her it was a scary one.
Tried smoking with her but she wouldn’t look at me and she said my attitude today is making her upset. Apologized and came in the other room. I think she’s manic. She has set up the kitchen as a coloring station. She is looking to buy a car. It seems obsessive and maybe money spending. But who am I to tell. Actually, I think that is at least part of this. She keeps attempting ideas and I am putting them down. Seems frustrating to both.
We just smoked and things were easy between us.
13 July 2018
Two-month anniversary of not drinking. I’m proud of it. Taking the day off from writing to do art with Christopher and Davina. I think it’s a good decision. Will return to the book tomorrow. Drinking coffee.
12 July 2018
Tomorrow is my two-month anniversary of not drinking. I have urges here and there but there is no way I will start drinking again while I’m working on my book. Probably will stay sober after that. It’s too hard to quit. For now, I’m sober and working on the book 6/7 days. Quickly. A hour per day, sometimes an hour and a half. Went out with Davina yesterday and she drank alcohol while I drank water. Didn’t crave a drink until we were leaving the place. Left without taking it. Also, today is my half-birthday: yay!
11 July 2018
At the dollar store. Rode over in the morning. Found some grow capsules for Christopher. They grow from pills to bugs.