Tuesday, June 06, 2006


It’s late. I want to sleep. My brain, however, appears to have another plan for me. Why the hell does it have to work that way? All fucking day long, not one coherent thought, but the minute the sun goes down and it’s time to lay my head on a pillow, my mind has LOTS to say.

I think that if this doesn’t stop soon, I’m going to take a page from Homer Simpson’s book and. Poke. My. Brain. With. A. Q-Tip.

That’s sure to teach it a lesson.

The worst part?? They’re not brilliant thoughts. You’re reading them now. You know… they are just thoughts. Stupid thoughts. Thoughts that somehow coincide with a cartoon character created to showcase human stupidity at its best.

I shan’t wait by the phone for that call from Mensa then…

Monday, June 05, 2006


Today is a milestone day, folks. I finally cleaned my house for starters, which may not sound like much to you, but considering that the dust bunnies had grown so large they were actually wrestling the vacuum from my hands, it is a big deal to me. Now normally, I avoid housecleaning with the same intense ferocity as I avoid great white sharks when I’m out in the ocean, but today I have hope, and hope leads to wanting to improve myself, which naturally leads to wanting to improve my surroundings. For me, my house completely reflects where I’m at, if it’s messy, chances are my mind is taking off on a tangent as depressing as it is unnecessary, if the house is clean, I’m happy and working on something exciting. There really isn’t an in-between in my world. I’m either happy or sad. There is seldom a gray area in my world; I’m one or the other, black or white and absolutely nothing in-between.

So, today, I cleaned. I did this because my world is starting to change for the better, and it was time to reflect those changes in my surroundings. I don’t think it wise to say too much about what those changes are, as I don’t really know how things are going to play out as yet. Suffice it to say that I finally found the courage to email a person that I very much respect and admire, and this person may be able to help me to make some of my goals into a reality. Two amazing things could come of this, the first being that I will finally be able to make some money off of my writing, and the second being that I think I’ve a great deal to learn from this individual, and I’m honored to have her help on this project. All of this means that I finally have some hope again, and let me tell you, hope has been a hell of a rare commodity round here lately.

A lot of that comes from my world changing so dramatically after I found out that I was physically unable to work in the conventional sense any more. I went through so many emotions, from high to low, from hating myself to loving the lack of schedule in my world. The worst part of all of this was suddenly finding myself with all this time on my hands with which to think. I sat and thought, and thought…and thought. Nothing is more deadly to a person that is prone to depression than too much thinking. As a result, I slipped into some dark places and some even darker times. I can’t tell you why…depression is not something that tends to offer an answer or solution. Depression is something that just is, something that takes your personality without warning and bleeds your soul with no apology. I tried to fight it, but the darkness is a formidable foe, and it managed to take me places I would never want to visit again.

One thing kept me going through this time, and that one thing was the sunshine that my little girl brings to my world. For her, I willed myself well, and fought the darkness in favor of basking in her light. Children do not understand how all encompassing an emotion that blackness can become, nor should they be made to. I got through the hard times by reading my two favorite blogs on the internet, and trying to keep myself as busy as possible. I refused to admit that I was going through depression to anyone in my immediate world, namely because I was still refusing to admit it to myself. That’s the funny thing about depression. I mean, for most illnesses, a person isn’t ashamed. When I found out that my hip was shot, that my back needed disc repair and my uterus was prolapsed and needed to be removed, I told my family and my friends. No problem there; that was what was going on in my life, and that was what I told them. Depression is a totally different ballgame. It is a mental disorder, and carries with it a terrible stigma. When my sister and I were kids, I had a friend named Val who was 33 years old and chronically depressed. My mother spoke of her in desperately condescending tones, constantly reminding me that Val was a loser, a dredge of society, a leech on the welfare system.

When I was fifteen, I had my first bout with depression. I remember being ashamed of myself, and feeling that I was letting my family down. No matter how much I tried, however, I couldn’t stop feeling the way I felt. Couldn’t stop the darkness from closing in around me. It was like I was drowning in a sea of blackness, and there was no one there to help me, no one there to understand why I was so terribly sad. I remember my mother and father asking me why I felt the way I did, and I remember not being able to aptly explain how I felt. Nothing that I could point to was the cause of the feelings; nothing that I could remember created the unending emotional torture. It was just there…it just existed, and nothing I could do was stopping it, and nothing I remembered started it. All I really knew was that it was choking the life out of me, and that was enough for me to want to be out of this jail cell that my brain had decided to throw me into. Unfortunately, nothing seemed to work to make it go away…it was just always there, sapping my soul from me and stealing my personality.

I can’t really remember when it ended for me then; it’s sort of like when you’ve just broken up with someone you care deeply for. The pain is there and it’s so intense for so long, and then one day, you wake up and it’s gone. You can’t remember when it stopped or how, you just know that you feel okay again. That’s how it is with depression. With one key difference; with depression, it lurks behind your eyes, waiting for the right time, and the right moment, to come back and take you back to the depths of hell.

I’ve learned over the years how to combat the enemy to a certain degree, and busyness is something that can work. So is reading. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. There is no formula to take it away. You can think you have it all figured out, and the minute you stop for a second, it can take you down once again. My mother had a hard time understanding that, I don’t. But then,I understand only because I’ve been there more times than I care to count, sometimes for a long time, sometimes not. Only one method really works for me, and that is finding hope somehow. Something to point to that tells me it will get better, that I can win this battle of life or death. Today, I have Puddin’, and she makes me want to live everyday, even at my worst. Today, I have hope in the form of a project I desperately want to succeed. None of these things mean that pain won’t come back when I’m lying in bed at night, and the darkness surrounds me. It just means that it’s been a long time since I’ve thought of escaping that pain through death and that in and of itself is amazing to me. Hope in the form of a child, hope in the form of a woman that understands and has battled far worse demons in her time than I can ever hope to comprehend. Today is a milestone, folks. Today I feel like I can make it. For that…I am more grateful than you could ever know.

Friday, June 02, 2006

Domino Harvey

*This article is written on my perceptions about Domino Harvey based upon what I have read and envisioned about her. I did not ever know Ms. Harvey, nor was I present at the time of her death on June 27th, 2005. During the scenes in this piece where I am “speaking as her” I have imagined what I believe she would have said or done. In many places, I’ve had to also imagine other bits, such as what a heroine high is like, or what she was thinking before she died. This is meant to be a piece in her honor, and hopefully to, in some small way, reclaim a little of what she lost to an increasingly relentless media after her death. May she rest in peace.*

Domino Harvey passed away in the bathtub of her Hollywood home following an overdose on a painkiller that is reportedly 80 times harder than morphine. The movie depicting her “life story” had its release delayed due to her untimely death; reportedly to rewrite the ending. I just finished watching “Domino”, and though I found it to be a decent flick, if it chronicled her life and times, I’ll eat my gitch. Since Domino’s death, rumors have circulated in regards to why the beauty “committed suicide”. Many say that Domino was depressed because the movie took creative license with her life, and as such, she felt that she had lost the only thing she truly owned…herself. Given that the end of the DVD has several photos and video clips of Domino Harvey herself, laughing and having fun on the set, I have a hard time believing she was dead set against the movie. It’s possible she believed the film would turn out differently than it, in fact, did, but given she never actually saw the final release of the picture, that’s a little hard to believe also.

Further speculation goes into the narcotics charges Harvey was facing due to being caught with a large amount of illegal substance. Sources say that the world famous bounty hunter was released on 1.2 million dollar bail, for which she put up the cottage she shared with her sister, Sophie, was degradingly adorned with a parole anklet, and sent home to await trial and sentencing. Apparently, Domino had decided that the hard and heavy life of chasing one more chemically aided high was no longer her preferred rush, and as such had requested that some friends from AA watch over her during her court imposed recluse. It’s unclear whether the individual with her at the time of her death, on the evening of June 27, 2005, was an AA member, or just a dear friend. Either way, Domino was found dead in her bathtub after going into the room for a “quick soak” some time earlier. At first, reports erroneously stated that Harvey had drowned; later on it was released in the media that an overdose was the cause of death. Immediately, word of the beautiful bounty hunter’s death hit the news stands. I wonder how Domino, an individual famous for her dislike of the media’s intrusion into her affairs, would’ve felt about such fanfare over her passing…

So, Harvey “committed suicide” because of the movie betraying her real life story, because of her pending charges, because of God knows what and God knows why. But the media can always find a good story, can’t they, lovey? What if, just what if, the real story is far less sinister? Hollywood loves a good story, don’t they? Just for fun, though, how about you let me paint you something a little less glamorous, a little less made for front page news, and a little more Domino Harvey than suicide could ever be.

Imagine this for just a moment:

Domino has been under court imposed house arrest for too long, and though her beloved Pit Bull, Blue, makes her happy, he’s not enough to feed the need that burns within her for the “rush”. She’s vowed to stay clean and sober, so illegal highs are completely out of the question, and the world is starting to close in on her more than just a little bit. Desperate, she calls a good friend of hers and asks them to bring her something that will mimic her drug of choice, heroine, without showing up in a piss test. Any slip up in that regard will definitely seal her fate, and land her in the slammer, and that’s a fate Domino needs to avoid. Fuck, she’s a God damn famous bounty hunter…not the most popular people in prison, mate. Her friend comes through for her, providing her with a strong opiate that will mimic the high without any of the legal bullshit. Relieved, Domino takes the drug…it’s in pill form and damned if it’s not taking a hell of a long time to kick in. She’s used to chasing the dragon, and with that, the rush is instantaneously and, pardon her, fucking incredible. Deciding the drug isn’t working, she takes more and more…her friend, well he warned her not to take over a certain amount, but Domino Harvey has never been one to follow the rules. People that follow the rules don’t get the real highs in life, the true “rush” living is supposed to be all the fuck about; besides, she’s been doing it for years. She can damn well handle a fucking piss ant pill!! She downs enough to damn near kill a bull, and then decides to bugger off to the water closet to get away from the prying eyes around her. Friend of foe, everyone needs a little privacy sometimes, and she’s a lady that needs it a little more than sometimes. Since that movie, she’s been drowning in bloody attention, in fact, she’s betting on that movie being the reason she got busted in the first place. Being high profile has its drawbacks, she’s always known it, too…why the fuck do they think she stayed out of the so-called limelight for so fucking long? Maybe a hot bath will make those bloody pills kick in a little faster.

She draws the water and slips in, closing her eyes and willing the world away. Damn it’s peaceful in there…no one to demand her attention, no image to live up to, no one else to be but her; the one and only Domino Harvey. “My life’s a fucking bore…” she sighs, to no one in particular, lighting a cigarette. The movie she’s just finished gallivanting around the set of is just another bloody reminder of her glory days, as much Scott did take his fucking “creative license”. Those were the good days, the days that made her happy to be alive…gave her reason to get up in the morning and happy to draw breath at the end of the day. The rumors now circulating about her are doing anything but leading to glory, and that is something she means to set right in a God damned hurry. “They think it’s over, don’t they…” she grins lazily. “My life isn’t over yet, boys…not by a fucking long shot.” Exhaling a cloud of grey smoke, she’s thinking about how little it’s going to take to show them all, and make every one of those fuckers eat their words. Those pills are kicking in now, and she’ll be damned if they aren’t half bad, either. In fact, she’s feeling pretty bloody good for a girl that supposedly washed up, and at the end of her best days. “I’m not even fucking forty yet, for God’s sake. No ones dead at 35, mate…in fact, all that shit was just the dress rehearsal. You wait…” The old belief in her self is back, and for some reason, the comeback seems so simple now. She closes her eyes and smiles again. “No…you haven’t seen fucking nothing yet…” But it’s in like a lion and out like a lamb, isn’t it? Found dead later on that night by her friend on the verge of the greatest fucking comeback those stuffed shirts ever did see. A bloody overdose on something as harmless as little pills after a life of staring down the barrels of guns and not ever so much as flinching!!! She’s likely still sardonically grinning over the irony somewhere.

This picture of Domino seems to fit far better for me than the one of a woman so wrought she opts to knowingly take her own life. Harvey may not have been the happiest woman in the world, but she was a fighter. No matter how hard the situation, Domino always came out alive…always won the crap shoot. This is hardly the type that would go quietly into that goodnight. She would have fought with every breath, every step, every word to turn her fate around and land on her feet…and knowing Harvey, she would have done it too, if only she’d had the time. People say she hated the movie, and this I have a hard time believing, not only because she herself appeared in it, but also because her mother and friends were interviewed in it shortly after her death. People say she was running from her charges, committing suicide to escape the mess her life had become, but Domino had faced worse than this in her life, and had always somehow managed to come out on top of her game. It’s not fitting for me to think this lady would be the type to give up so easily…if she had been so willing to throw in that proverbial towel, then why had she surrounded herself with people in recovery in an effort to reclaim herself? Not the actions of one waiting to die, now is it? No…Domino Harvey died the way she lived, she pushed the envelope, rolled the dice, and this time, when she flipped that invisible coin in yet another game of “heads you live, tails you die”, the damned thing landed on tails.

Who’d have thought? I suspect she had a good laugh over that, the world’s greatest bounty hunter finally meeting her end by taking too many bloody pills, of all fucking things!! I bet that’s just the kind of thing Domino Harvey would’ve found just fucking hysterical.