Skip to main content

I'm so sick and. tired of kvetching about Butch and the trust.

It. seems to be all I do, here and in Therapy.  I  think of suicide every day now.  I’m in an odd kind of place right now.  I may observe, but not effect , change.  I think about suicide every day still, like I said; Effie and only Effie, my cat, keeps me from acting on it; we need each other, her and I.  People talk and talk about making my life better, but they never do anything.  And they’re too afraid of what might happen if they take their hands off the wheel and let me drive.

Anybody remember when I had hopes, dreams, aspirations?  No?  That’s a damn shame, ‘cause I sure do.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I'm sooooooo effing tired.

Arguing for my independence with my trust lords  has gotten really old, really fast.  See, I’m like a poor man’s Brittany Spears:  all my money is in a  special needs trust, dispensed as need be by my Trustees:  Gil Roth and Peter Johnson.  Gil, I’ve been friends  with since St. John’s.  Peter does this for a living, & cuts me a world of always legal and ethical slack. More tomorrow.  Nighty-night.