i miss my babies

Home is just a fucking word

I need to go home but that’s just a word and it’s also the place where my best friend is.

My best friend is my dog and I feel bad for leaving him at his home all alone because I don’t want to go to that place and nobody wants him at their place not that anybody invited me to that place that they didn’t invite my dog.


No Fear

When I found drugs and alcohol at the age of fifteen, it was at a time when the conversation of mental illness was still somewhat taboo, as far as anything less than straight-up schizophrenia, multiple-personality disorder, and things like that.  In retrospect, I understand now that I have always been a person very prone to depression.  I can remember writing things like, “I hate my life” and “I want to die”, upon my bedroom wall.  I always wrote it very small, though, so no one but me would know it was there.

I used to fantasize about having cancer and different ways of dying  and all other manner of  morbid self-atrocities.  My favorite fantasy was one that I played in my mind, repeatedly, for many years as a child.  Here is how it went:

Me, my little  sister  Katy,  and   my  stepmother,  who  is  Katy’s  biological   mother  are all

standing in this  really  dark  basement. I never  fantasize   about how we  got  down  there,

but  Katy and  I  are  cowering  together and  right across   from us  stands  my stepmother

and  a  crazed,  masked,  unknown   gunman.  The  walls   are made  of a light tan brick and

 they  seem  wet  and  slimy.  There  is   only  one  dim  light  hanging  from  a  wire  from the

ceiling, which   swings lazily overhead, in juxtposition  between me and my  sister and my

step-mom and the crazed, masked, unknown gunman.  I am so scared down there, not  at

all  knowing how  to comfort my  little sister, because we can’t stand each  other, but I feel

bad  about it  now knowing that  both  of us are  about  to  die.  All  of a sudden the gunman

looks at  our  mom and says, “Ok,  I’m going  to  kill one of   your  daughters  now  but  you 

have to choose.  Do   you   want   me to   shoot   Katy or do   you want me to   shoot   Sarah?”  

It never failed, no matter many times I re-ran the scenario in my head, she always picked me to be shot.  Even on the good days, in my good moods when there was the thought that she might really, possibly love me….she always picked me to die with zero hesitation.

Now that I’m grown and have learned much about life and a little about psychology and the way the human mind works, I can understand why things in my life have turned out such as they have.

I did it.

I brought all of this on myself.

All of the things I have ever feared the most have now happened.

I really do believe that my biggest fear, which was the fear of losing my children, was so strong and palpable, that I manifested it.  Never, in a million years, did I dream I would have lost my youngest four children, the way that I lost them, but lose them, I did.

Now, I have nothing left to lose and nothing left to fear….and I don’t know whether that’s good or bad.


“Ashes” by Mi Abaga

So, the other night I was outside dancing, as I often do, late at night.  All of a sudden I stopped…the streetlight which always goes on and off in my presence was making itself known.

I knew my mommy was there.

She was there.

My playlist on my phone has almost 1000 songs, total, and I had it on shuffle.  The song that played when I realized my mommy was there was this one, and I DO NOT EVER REMEMBER DOWNLOADING IT.

I do not know how this song came to be on my phone.

I love it, though.

I miss you, mommy.  I love you so much…I wish I would’ve told you when you were alive.



My mom was cremated.