Category Archives: mental health

I am guilty, I am war, I am the Root of All Evil

Posted on by Standard Respond
I am not at the wheel of control

I am not at the wheel of control

Today I met someone not unlike myself in many ways. Twenty-something, college educated, reasonable New Hampshire upbringing, self-deprecating humor.
That, however, is where the likeness stopped. This man spoke of polar ice caps melting, he delivered upon an a discussion with words such as, bigotry, hatred and lack-less adulthood.
Though I claim dyslexia as the heaven’s punishment on me, along with many other things.
This young many agreed with his learning disability, embraced it and used it to his advantage.
Not narrow of mind but straight by heart, I heard courage ring out in his continuous search for knowledge. Homophobia, he stated, is not a state of mind, it is a state of unrest from within.
Hatred of unknown origin was and is our biggest human downfall. For with it, none but ourselves can be imprisoned. We incarcerate via environment and a gutless unwillingness to change.
I wanted to grasp every word out of the air and embrace it. For, the other side of the coin, is mine.
Ignorance, bigotry and disdain. Sloth, impunity and infinite indifference is the stepping stone to helping others with skills I do not possess.
For just that one moment, between Ambien, Trazodone and a boatload of other mind altering drugs, the need to get off my ass and really mean what I say, hit me like a down east wind from a shit factory.
As with most vacant spaces, though, the winds came to quick for my uncoordinated grasp and I let go of the thought.
I just smiled at the young man and said, ‘Would you like to sign our petition to free homing pigeons?’
Lost in the moment but back to dumb and dumb-founded.

I am a backseat driver from America
They drive to the left on Falls Road
The man at the wheel’s name is Seamus
We pass a child on the corner he knows
And Seamus says, “Now, what chance has that
Kid got?”
And I say from the back, “I don’t know.”
He says, “There’s barbed wire at all of these exits
And there ain’t no place in Belfast for that kid
To go.”

If we poison our children with hatred Then, the hard life is all that they'll know

If we poison our children with hatred
Then, the hard life is all that they’ll know

It’s a hard life
It’s a hard life
It’s a very hard life
It’s a hard life wherever you go
If we poison our children with hatred
Then, the hard life is all that they’ll know
And there ain’t no place in (Belfast) for
These kids to go

A cafeteria line in Chicago
The fat man in front of me
Is calling black people trash to his children
He’s the only trash here I see
And I’m thinking this man wears a white hood
In the night when his children should sleep
But, they slip to their window and they see him
And they think that white hood’s all they need

I was a child in the sixties
Dreams could be held through TV
With Disney, and Cronkite, and Martin Luther
Oh, I believed, I believed, I believed
Now, I am the backseat driver from America
I am not at the wheel of control
I am guilty, I am war, I am the root of all evil
Lord, and I can’t drive on the left side of the road

Leave the Paranoia to those Better Qualified

Posted on by Standard Respond
Hate Not Welcome Anywhere

Hate Not Welcome Anywhere (Photo credit: Taekwonweirdo)

Where there is smoke there is fire! Where a wrist has been slashed and not properly tended, more slicing most likely will occur.
I get it. I really do! Someone needs to look after the state of the state of things. A regressive female with suicidal tendencies and in a mother/daughter relationship akin to Norman Bates and his Mom; is a pile of rising white bread that is in need of cooling.
Bette Davis once said, ‘a little paranoia never hurt anybody!’
So true! My previous place of employment categorized me as, threatening and often times unstable. Not the US Government though. They take a lickin’ and keep in tickin’. No pun intended.
What the worse that could happen? I am under constant supervision and I don’t even know it. When others are offering to assist me in my attempts at volunteering to teach blind kids how to tie a sailor’s knot; they are in fact, peer spies.
Slowly but surely a fog arises from my Ambien not so Full of Grace, Land, and I can see forever. I can see that my derelict ways, my vague attempts at stepping outside of the Stepford box, are all in vain. Best if I just went back to being a heterosexual without a cause!

land of the lost...directions not included

land of the lost…directions not included

Recently, a friend of mine has let me know that she will be volunteering for your organization. Though, I think she is a wonderful young lady. She does have some severe mental impairments that I believe volunteering such a distance away and not taking her medications, wish she will not because she doesn’t want to get turned down for ______, she surely will at some point have some sort of bad break in her depression.

My concern seems out there. And, it doesn’t seem like a friend would write you about this. However, in light of the recent events in Connecticut I have some valid concerns over her state of mind under stress.
I’m not sure if this email will reach the correct person. I am hoping that it does.

Thank You

Good Morning,

Volunteer NH does manage the ____ State grants and we have a very good relationship with the staff who interview and select members to participate. I will direct your concern to the appropriate team. With a bit more information I can do so. Please give me a call or email with more information including your friends name and the program that she is going to be serving. And, as always, there will be a close monitor for anyone accepted that may have mental health issues.
Very best,

P.S. Disaster Assistance Agent?  Me?  WTF?  Why is it the American People keep getting shafted with fancy entitlements such as the above?  All I’m doing is learning how to mulch and rake leaves!

Forever yours-

Gracie Willams, the Ambien Grace

Good to not be Home

Posted on by Standard Respond

The Healing of America

Home is not where the heart is. It never has been. Auburn Street Concord New Hampshire, not At Home!

It is by far the most pretentious and stereotypical white bread neighborhood north of the Mississippi and south of the Canadian border.
So, stay and be miserable? . I’m not trying to be mean but the homophobia and finger pointing is beyond compare. I don’t think I’ve ever been happy there. Not with the forced gratuities on the Cape with Marcie the Super Cousin. Not with the faculty from State of New Nowhere University. Not with Mother Theresa offering up my lack of accomplishments like hor- d’oeuvres at a UNH X-mas party for passed on professors.
Something I don’t share….I cry every night before bed…I am indeed what most men would want to take home to meet their mothers. Quiet and stupid without authority.
In May, the progress I’ve made will revert back to, yes, Mum. No, Daddy! Did I clean my room? Yes, now can I go out and play…no, I promise I’ll only hang out with myself and not come in contact with anyone who has different beliefs than I. Or, should I say, you?
I will hoard dirty dishes, I will eat like no tomorrow, I will mistake my pills for PRN’s and I will avoid anything referring to adulthood.
This will be the course of action that Ambien Grace will take from the moment she unhooks herself from a free volunteering ride and sets sail upon the distant shore of fantasy movies and bad hair music. The thoughts will come back as they always do…
Wouldn’t it be better for everyone if I found a new home? How would I go about making a new home? I have no skills other than basic ideas on how to take pictures of trees. I don’t do well in crowds or speaking to others for extended periods of time. I slur my speech and on frequent occasions, I stutter. Anxiety is what my mother builds her hold over me with.
To top it off, I’ve become the Blob in the movie, Weird Science! Larger than fiction and most certainly, truthfully fat am I. Giving up smoking is one thing but this I didn’t bargain for. The dimples have left my cheeks and moved south to the other cheeks. My breasts are in need of a motorized Scooter and for the most part, I’ve seem to have lost the willingness to care about any of it.
I went to a spot today to try and find me but…
I went to the only spot I could think of you possibly being at.
Of course. You weren’t there. But I actually tried for once in my life. Because you mean the world to me
Sorry my sentence is horrible…I’m sorta crying…

Needless to say, I didn’t find me.

back rooms and alley ways of a homophobic America

back rooms and alley ways of a homophobic America

Quick question for the fans of Ambien Grace:
If your heart knows you better than you know yourself…how can that be if you are heartless?

The Blood that I Need

Posted on by Standard Respond

Adoption

So show me family
All the blood that I will bleed
I don’t know where I belong
I don’t know where I went wrong

When I had told my mother, that fateful and not faithful day in November, about my perversions with a married woman; that had been the last nail in the coffin.  It was in fact the end of my swan song.

Never again would I be given the ‘it’s only Ambien being Ambien’ response.  Forever emblazoned in my history with ‘family’ would I be the outcast from trailer park DNA.  Years can and will go by.  Volunteering will be a thing of the past.  My work experience will read like graffiti on a public bathroom wall.  And, my relationship with homophobia, will be my legacy.

The sexual tone to my relationship with Mother Theresa has shown me that I could never be the partner she needed me to be.

The making of my GYN appointments, the buying of the clothes and the dressing me in the likeness of her SELF are now memory massages with weak hands.

Adoption is a funny thing.  On one hand the willingness to succumb to all the distorted rhetoric from misogynistic Adopt-A-Partners causes glee.

A message that is heard around the world; look at me I no longer need to be white trash.

But bunked up with the Bears somewhere south of DC; the thoughts and mistaken identity rushes me like a cup of over flowing chocolate milk.

Have I again through fault of my own; conformed?  Became a Plain Jane or a Ambien Annie, just to be liked and petted by Mother Theresa!

Rejection letters litter my life with a capital Z!  Zombies in a adopt a zombie wasteland.

Social? Media?

Posted on by Standard Respond
Engaging a Disengaged Generation

Engaging a Disengaged Generation (Photo credit: drinksmachine)

Social Media seems a contradiction in terms. I may not know the true definition of vast or deep but I can grasp the basics when it comes to cyberspace. I am, after all, the internet generation.
At the young age of almost 23 there are things I know and as shown, a shit load of things I will never get. For example, the Bears as my F-troop, likes to call themselves, are appropriately named. For the women I’ve come across in the barracks showers are in need of a shave and a mowing! Most stand proud of their heritage, but, down in the bushes, the trenches with these gay gals, I would get myself to the nearest pair of scissors and razors I could find. Bears indeed. Personally, as stated before, I hate pubic hair. I’m not a fan of vaginas and I am a horrible excuse for a lesbian.
That is where social media in likes of Facebook, Twitter, MySpace, Buzz net and whatever come into play. Typically, as I am doing right this very moment, I am grabbing hold of every socially unacceptable outlet I can find. I am jamming the airwaves with these thoughts:
‘I can’t believe I am stuck with these hairy and homely back alley losers!’
‘Wow, I thought my breasts dragged!’
And, my favorite tweet to Zoey:
‘Girls like the one’s I’m seeing make me want to bat for the other team!’
There you have it.
You have me, Ambien Grace, Bared in Bear Blue, being social. And, you also have me, giving the whole inept twenty-something generation, something to mull over.
Perhaps this is the problem that the weird and older generation fears the most. My lack of sincerity when it comes to issues of importance.
Really does it matter if Bella from the Saga is real or not? Is it significant that I had sex all over the linoleum of my former place of employment?
Should it be of more importance that the breezes of change could come up to Winchester Virginia hit me in the face like a wet thong and I would only feel the need to put on a windbreaker!
Supposing my now defunct best friend, Beckett Couvillioin the third, went up to a stranger and made an attempt to befriend them. Wagged his tail and bowed his head. Say, the stranger, stayed aloof and put off. Do you really think that the dog would go back for some more indifference the next time he spotted the Not Animal Advocate? Shit, no, Beckett would ever so gracefully turn to one side and lift his leg…and, leave a legacy for all to smell.
Perhaps it would be best if my decisions with social media were left up to the dogs.  LMAO…could be some truth in that statement.