Month: February 2015

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You Ain’t Special Part 1

It was as if time and space had never existed. It was only me and I had just died and was laughing and playing with God, Himself.

There are no words to adequately describe anything, at all,  about my trip to Heaven,, but I am going to try my fucking hardest.

The very first thing I took away from my journey was this:  THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO FEAR ABOUT DEATH.

All of it is a cosmic joke, just like I thought it was, and believe me, your presence on this planet only exists in one facet of God’s Infinite Brain…one very, very, small, miniscule facet.

I hate to break it to you, but you really are not all that important in the Grand Fucking Scheme of Things, and neither am I.

But, WE ARE.

Isn’t that weird?  And yet it’s also everything I truly expected God to Be.

Athena’s Bad Week

Athena has had a very bad week…

In December I allowed the people at mental health to medicate me with their drugs because they wouldn’t fucking prescribe me the drugs I wanted, like adderall and xanax, and it got to the point where it was like, “fuck man…something has got to change”.

I started taking Sertraline a.k.a. Zoloft and I can’t lie, that shit had me thinking and acting like I was a normal motherfucker with no seratonin issues.  I felt really great for about a month and a half before my skin fucking broke out in what I thought was excema and I started soaking the bed three times a night with ridiculous-ass nightsweats.

When I started looking for carpet to run my fingers through, to assuage the horrible fucking itching ass blisters that had cropped up in between my fingers, on my panty line, my stomach, under my titties and on my back….I knew it was time to let the Zoloft go.

I mean, I think I could have lived with the night sweats, even though when I woke in the morning, I smelled like I had just run three miles while fucking a tuna…I could NOT DEAL WITH THE ITCHING.

FUCK THAT.

The last time I itched that bad were the days following that time my mom’s conure, Bud,  flew out the back door and into the trees and I climbed up every tree, some of them using a fence laden with goddamn poison ivy.

I went to the emergency room twice that fucking week and I didn’t even catch the fucking bird.

I don’t remember most of what happened this week in my detox from the Zoloft, but I know I punched my boyfriend in the face so hard that I broke my goddamn finger.

And now I am back in that gutter that my mind tends to enjoy living.