Never Learning: Stuck Groove in a record.
Light, dark, light, dark, light, dark, causing pupils to expand and contract too quickly, hurting fragile head. Faces looking down at her with looks of urgency crossing their brows as they’d go from shadows to vibrant, shadow to vibrant, light, dark, light, dark, light, dark.
The wheels of her gurney squeaked violently as she was hurriedly whooshed to down hallway to waiting Emergency Room 5.
Cold, this room was so cold, so far removed from the humidity she knew mere moments earlier as she hung with friends she’d cultivated through total desperation and loneliness. These so-called friends controlled and fed her illusion that she controlled them.
One of them decided to put a slug into her.
Plasma, stat.
Yes, doctor!
Knock her out! STAT!
Affirmative! “just count backward from ten, please.”
She’s lost a lot of blood…
Scalpel!
Audible snap as nurse feed surgeon the tool requested.
Sponge!
Suction!
Nurse absorbing free flowing blood to give surgeon clear view from the point of entry.
Ten, nine, eighhhhhht, sev.
She was now sent to the neverland of the mind-world where the body feels nothing, eyes cannot see and arms and legs fail to move.
Ears still firing signals to the brain that never truly sleeps regardless of drugs given to make it idle. Christ, I can still hear what they say! Why? Shouldn’t hear nothing?
Hearing the sounds as they cut into her, attempting the remove the bullet from her chest.
Beep! Beep! Beep! Mechanical sounds repeatedly playing, giving the Staff vital information as to her failing physical whereabouts.
BP falling fast, Doctor!
10 cc’s of…
Pulse at 220!
We’re losing her!
Got it! Bullet removed.
CLANK. Hunk of lead hitting stainless bowl.
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!
Flatlined, vital signs nose-diving, darkness descending.
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!
Paddles!
Charging, Doctor.
WheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Voltage mounting to reach-
CLEAR!
Thunk! Dead body arching suddenly, explosively.
I’m not dead! I still hear! Is my hair fro-ing out?
Nothing.
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!
Motionless, like the branches of trees on a windless night, she lay there bathed in the glow of sodium illumintaion.
WheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
CLEAR!
THUNK!
Slender frame rising as voltage causes muscles to tense quickly.
Beeeeeeeep, beeeeep, beep beep beep beep beep. Leveling out to a steady metronome that comforts staff.
Nurse padding sweat from Doctors forehead.
Brain sending signals: fill lungs with air, make blood right again. Blood holding within. Live.
Stable, taking control of the bodies mainframe. Systems that function normally when we sleep without outside guidance by us. Operating crucial memory given at birth to keep us alive.
Green eyes open quickly days later, seeing blank ceiling tiles, faint whiffs of rubbing alcohol filling her nostrils, ears picking sounds like those heard in a long tunnel.
Processing slowly: of area with all senses sending information.
‘Wheeeeeeeeeeeeel offfffffffff Fortune!’
Brother looking down at her, tears falling like a gentle rain. You’re back!
Hearing his words, casting no smile nor look of happiness.
We almost lost you! His eyes flowing freely now, congestion taking grip of nasal reaction, getting stuffy, difficult to breathe.
She solemnly aimed her eyes into his.
I’m back? Her voice even and cold.
How long this time?, she asked him without emotion.
Things will be different this time. He stated this with a voice of confidence, looking down at his sister in the hospital bed. As he had, many times before.
Where’s my friends?
God help my sister.
Where’s my fucking friends? Where’s my cellphone?
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Some never learn. Some cannot learn for they have no sense of self and are more defined by others in some sad attempt to justify their lives. Shape-shifters in the most profound sense, adhering to the codes of lesser forms that manipulate them time and time again to their own demise.
I received an email from a man that left me his phone number. I called it and spoke with him for about an hour. Complete and utter tones of desperation, filled with frustration with him stating he felt useless and wanting to bash his skull into the nearest drywall.
Trying to comfort him, telling truth that some human-train wrecks cannot be avoided no matter how hard we try to save someone. Getting nowhere with words no matter how well intentioned or expressed, suggesting he simply give up like other members of his family had years ago. Failing further with each counter he swung at me.
Failing.
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!
I told him to call me when feeling at wits end.
Taking some comfort in that, <I hope> he said thanks.
We ended this conversation, but not before him saying:
They shoot horses, don’t they?
Mark William Darus 07/04-05/2012
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
4 months of solid writing: Anniversary for me.
Four months of writing and not ending thoughts water falling into words.
Research to the active mind should never fall to idle embrace.
On a personal note, I cannot believe I would ever continuously write on a single subject for so long, hopefully do some justice, and express my thoughts with those of others. I am flabbergasted to say the least, not only by my endeavors yet more to those that sent emails urging me to go forward.
Even with the ending of Psychopathy: Another Life and its going toward Borderline Personality Disorder, emails land on my place in the web of this grand world we inhabit.
I stated at its start: I hope some gain some knowledge through my words on subjects most dark, to gain some understanding into lesser known areas of human psychology.
Given the content I have received, I can believe I did hit some, albeit from lands far and away from the USA. I truly had no idea this would happen though I am profoundly glad it did.
I had seen on TV how blogs hit the globe. I had seen shows that had those offering kidneys and organs to a blogs founder in times of distress from other countries. I can now see how this happens, yet still held by such events. The power of words? Power of emotion to others? Power for the right thing to do?
Power suggesting a sacrifice selves for the benefit of another?
Do these that offer themselves to some electronic persons plight, showing the rest of us: what is human? And do this with little less than the suffering person to simply be able to write further?
The more I publish here, the more I know where this ability to do so comes from.
This graceful ability comes from Jesus, or as some would say: a higher power. Does it really matter in the long run which religion this follows and most of these teach us the same roads to follow for peace on this Earth? Buddha, Islam, Jewish, Christian <and it’s various subdivisions> Atheist, Hindi, Taoist, Shinto, Manichaeism, Cheondoism, Tenrikyo, Rastafari, Wicca, Pagan, and those that simple believe in nothing whatsoever. You follow the laws of what you believe as do I and for this, none of us are any different than one another in the grand scheme of things.
Yes, I am an asshole believing that someday humanity will ever have peace. We, as a species will always carry hatred of wrongs done to our people and wish to avenge our dead. We are human, subject to fail, repeating history ever forward. We learn nothing of the past. We sacrifice for a flag, pompous beliefs and offer up our children die as they die young.
For country <USA>, King/Queen, Czar, Dictator and self. What is to gain as we allow our kin, children to get wasted, dieing face down in muddy lands away from us, for us to maybe prevail in some illusion the media spins most proper?
I have been asked about 500 plus times in the last 4 months why I write on this blog and why I created it. I do this, without the blatant sarcasm that usually follows such, because I can. I write what I do because I am compelled to do so. There is some element within me that can take the most depressing aspects of humanity and write about them without judgment or remorse. Third Person narrative, fly on the wall, feeling nothing and just seeing the minds eye, as others share with me.
Am I evil?
This depends solely on your point of perspective. I write about desperation, being used by those that use us, the nearly dead and those wishing to be so, ones that wish to use each and every one on either a personal or economical level <via banks, leinholders, shareholders> of some femme fatale/ gigolo conning out of an inheritance.
I must be evil in some respects. I write what I do without feeling, remorse or sorrow. I write what I do caring not what blows back on me with the egocentric confidence I can defend every word here that would make the most seasoned lawyer or psychiatrist think twice about taking me on.
I would hire no lawyer in court to defend me.
If I cannot do this for myself, than I am truly a failure.
I hate no one.
Those that desire to be used will be by someone. You ask for this to occur, and if you have read anything by this: start at the beginning and read it over. What the fuck is wrong here and you sincerely need to gain serious help.
In conclusion I can only express this: I did not do this third of a year on my own. Those of many countries and lands fueled me to go on. I could not have done this without you.
Mark William Darus 07-04-2012
Research to the active mind should never fall to idle embrace.
On a personal note, I cannot believe I would ever continuously write on a single subject for so long, hopefully do some justice, and express my thoughts with those of others. I am flabbergasted to say the least, not only by my endeavors yet more to those that sent emails urging me to go forward.
Even with the ending of Psychopathy: Another Life and its going toward Borderline Personality Disorder, emails land on my place in the web of this grand world we inhabit.
I stated at its start: I hope some gain some knowledge through my words on subjects most dark, to gain some understanding into lesser known areas of human psychology.
Given the content I have received, I can believe I did hit some, albeit from lands far and away from the USA. I truly had no idea this would happen though I am profoundly glad it did.
I had seen on TV how blogs hit the globe. I had seen shows that had those offering kidneys and organs to a blogs founder in times of distress from other countries. I can now see how this happens, yet still held by such events. The power of words? Power of emotion to others? Power for the right thing to do?
Power suggesting a sacrifice selves for the benefit of another?
Do these that offer themselves to some electronic persons plight, showing the rest of us: what is human? And do this with little less than the suffering person to simply be able to write further?
The more I publish here, the more I know where this ability to do so comes from.
This graceful ability comes from Jesus, or as some would say: a higher power. Does it really matter in the long run which religion this follows and most of these teach us the same roads to follow for peace on this Earth? Buddha, Islam, Jewish, Christian <and it’s various subdivisions> Atheist, Hindi, Taoist, Shinto, Manichaeism, Cheondoism, Tenrikyo, Rastafari, Wicca, Pagan, and those that simple believe in nothing whatsoever. You follow the laws of what you believe as do I and for this, none of us are any different than one another in the grand scheme of things.
Yes, I am an asshole believing that someday humanity will ever have peace. We, as a species will always carry hatred of wrongs done to our people and wish to avenge our dead. We are human, subject to fail, repeating history ever forward. We learn nothing of the past. We sacrifice for a flag, pompous beliefs and offer up our children die as they die young.
For country <USA>, King/Queen, Czar, Dictator and self. What is to gain as we allow our kin, children to get wasted, dieing face down in muddy lands away from us, for us to maybe prevail in some illusion the media spins most proper?
I have been asked about 500 plus times in the last 4 months why I write on this blog and why I created it. I do this, without the blatant sarcasm that usually follows such, because I can. I write what I do because I am compelled to do so. There is some element within me that can take the most depressing aspects of humanity and write about them without judgment or remorse. Third Person narrative, fly on the wall, feeling nothing and just seeing the minds eye, as others share with me.
Am I evil?
This depends solely on your point of perspective. I write about desperation, being used by those that use us, the nearly dead and those wishing to be so, ones that wish to use each and every one on either a personal or economical level <via banks, leinholders, shareholders> of some femme fatale/ gigolo conning out of an inheritance.
I must be evil in some respects. I write what I do without feeling, remorse or sorrow. I write what I do caring not what blows back on me with the egocentric confidence I can defend every word here that would make the most seasoned lawyer or psychiatrist think twice about taking me on.
I would hire no lawyer in court to defend me.
If I cannot do this for myself, than I am truly a failure.
I hate no one.
Those that desire to be used will be by someone. You ask for this to occur, and if you have read anything by this: start at the beginning and read it over. What the fuck is wrong here and you sincerely need to gain serious help.
In conclusion I can only express this: I did not do this third of a year on my own. Those of many countries and lands fueled me to go on. I could not have done this without you.
Mark William Darus 07-04-2012
Monday, July 2, 2012
Samirs' Concrete Bed.
Another story given to me by those that knew someone of an area much later diagnosed as BPD. Witnessing styles, traits levels of elevations and depressions, setting signals of red and chiming loudly off to send an alarm to those that state they loved them in nearest proximity.
Of Samir: child of Buddha.
Of Buddha, my brother most strong with conviction, but never finished tiny tasks. His Medical School life deteriorated to shambles.
He did drugs as heroin and ludes to find sleep and kill voices. More than not, these failed and brought further dire depths as Samir swam deeper and deeper into lands of further discontent.
AUTHORS NOTE: This is where his sister gave me free reign to write freely based on her observations.
To her, thank you for your trust.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Samirs’ concrete bed:
Awaking in the home of parents. Shit, it’s 8AM, I’m still here and shit still smells the same: he thinks, eyes in growing anger reaching stronger elements.
Smelling funk and shit he rises as flies flutter away from him
Wearing black Metalica jersey and blood saturated jeans, he stands, full body image before full length mirror; who did I kill? Did I kill, someone, some thing?
Without showering, checking himself in a mirror, he took a walk. Those he passed looked both horrified or complacent as the sight of him and his enveloping odor took hold of their senses or didn’t.
Reaching into near empty pockets, finding little more than 50 bucks, still wondering, was it male or female, dog or cat he’d slain?
His brown eyes matching smelly shades in shorts, blankly staring into his image in the plate glass of a JC Pennys store. Six foot, highly gaunt frame with sunken eyes and unclean blond, mangled locks. He resembled a victim of a Amtrak derailment that’d been thrown several hundred into a morgue, hitting every possible object in his path.
Didn’t Matter, just keep moving. Just keep running and don’t ask questions.
Walking blankly into roads without the right of way, nearly getting hit several times by passing cars and trucks, causing him no stress nor tension. Never acknowledging blaring horns or the screams of those witnessing, he strode like a zombie.
Tired, so damn tired he pressed on, eventually finding a Unitarian church. Deciding to place his weary head down, he found comfort on the reclining bed that was it’s concrete steps.
Eyes closing, a chill crossing his body. He died there.
A few parishioners saw him fade on their churches steps and dialed 911. They ran out to him, eyes filled with a mixture of desperation and horror. Some saying prayers, others tag-teaming with CPR, never giving up til the EMS teams arrived.
Siren quietly in the distance, getting louder and louder still with each fleeting second, a blaring a metronome of hope for those dying and those in audience with it.
The curious, eyes wide came to the happening from close gas stations, corner stores and a library. As they approached, many speculated it was either another drug deal gone bad or just another drive by.
People love to see death and dying. They slow down on freeways out of sick curiosity. They so wish to see a mangled, blood-soaked bodies penetration with a windshield that they cause accidents on their side of the road.
Sirens converging from opposite sides, with differing tempo and pitch, police and EMS arrive.
Police ordering the irrelevant people to move back, sometimes shoving those with far too much glee in their eyes away from the scene. The Paramedics, life saving duffels in hands, hurriedly pacing toward the failed body of Samir.
Taking vitals: Nothing. Determination, fortitude and a fiery will showing in their eyes, they continued.
Their frenzied, sweaty work succeeding as Samir made a tiny, shallow cough.
Stabilizing him, they swept him off the nearest Emergency room.
As they took Samir from the scene, the murmur of conversations mingled in contrast of both hope and ill-tidings, female and male alike, creating a word salad of confusion: Let’s pray for, hope he dies the goddamned drug dealer, our brother in Jesu, dude got jacked and must’ve had it commin, eye for an eye, lift him up god and, let that sad fucker die, in Jesus name, hope he dies.
After surgeons worked on Samir for hours, giving him much to replace what he had lost, they deemed this an attempted suicide. His naked body revealed cuts, not slashing knife marks of an attacker, and saw this as self inflicted.
Clean sheets, clean self, days later Samir awoke in a hospital room. Feeling little about himself, almost pulling his IV’s out as he turned toward his sister, he rolled toward her voice.
Eyes twitching, fleeting focus on her look of concern.
I was worried, she cried, clutching is fragile hand.
I’m sorry… Again.
____________________________________________________________________________________
She asked me to attach no name to her words. She asked me to give her brother a name and homeland close to hers.
I hope I have written what you wished to be told in truth to your words by me.
Mark William Darus 07/02/2012
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
BPD: Sarah's story: First entry In Borderline Personality Disorder.
Sarah travels gracefully through minefields.
She awakens in the morning shade side of the room she rents. Eyes openly slowly, cautiously, afraid to see what diminishing items she owns have vanished over night.
Hangover so immense it tries to cleave her brain in two. Throbbing pain in temples, mouth drier than the Sahara, she coughs, gags and heaves nothing but stomach acid onto the floor. Cockroaches scurry about yet some are trapped in the tequila and stomach acid vomit as it hits them squarely. Try as they might, they’re toast and will soon die. The rats, on the other hand, will indulge on the dead roaches in due time.
Sarah, looking down, brushing her matted brunette locks aside, thinks idly: Serves ya right! Why should be the only that suffers?
She finds the energy to pull her too thin legs over the side of the bed and attempts to stand. The soiled pink tank top she wears rides high, exposing breasts that resemble deflating balloons, layers of overlapping flesh with nipples.
Rats and mice take notice and hurry to their safe places. Rats and mice are sharp learners in the realm of survival.
She of extremely slender frame, falls back into the bed, head spinning, pulsating, in grand pain, yet no different than many of the yesterdays she’s known in her twenty six years.
Need shower, she thinks, catching whiffs of her odors mixed with the recent fire smell from down the hall and the pesticides House Control use with no effect.
She rises without falling. Baby steps, one foot in front of another as if never to have walked before, she aims toward the bathroom. Veering into the entertainment center that once held her flat screen, blue ray, and stereo, hip connecting sounding, she flinches not. The numb have no feeling. The numb don’t care what happens to their body.
Sarah enters the bathroom and hits direct sunlight. She takes off the filthy tank and goes to remove her panties. She sighs, looking down. Another morning without having them on, what did I do last night, she ponders. Eyes tightening, muscles on her face become pronounced, tears wanting to leave yet unable to as she bites down hard, wishing not to feel them on her cheeks.
Her expression of sadness gives way to a look of hope as she stares at the sun.
This is a new day, she says to the shattered mirrored across from her. Things can be different this time. Things can get better. I can do this. I can try. I hope.
I hope, she says in a voice of both a whisper and a whimper. I can’t keep failing forever, right?
Turning on the water, she steps into the moldy shower.
Water covers her like a total baptism. Mouth opens to the showerhead, drinking deeply to waste the cottonmouth that threatens to seize her throat. Her body takes in the surrounding warmth as water courses over her. She takes the mildew covered washcloth off the paint-chipped windowsill into her hands and applies a liquid soap.
Fading green eyes closed, she begins to wash herself faintly noticing dogs barking in the alley and exhaust smells from the rising morning rush hour.
It’s 8AM on someday of some week during some month in another year for her.
Sarah, after spending 45 minutes sifting through much dirty body covers finds some clean things to adorn herself with. Putting on the perfume an old boyfriend bought her months, mayhap years ago to substitute for deodorant which she hasn’t had in months, smile on face, she ventures out to this brand new day of sunlight.
Walking to another point of possible employment, digging deep to bring both positive attitude and confidence to bear, through yet another clear glass doorway, striding forward.
Fills out an application like the hundreds she’s done before.
She has references to place to paper. Those that would grant her experience from jobs past most imaginary: given by the weakest of friends in the lands of addiction with cell phones and those that owe her, mostly through sexual favors, she tries.
With vibrant long flowing brunette hair rolling over broad shoulders, shrouding her gaunt face, she answers questions from the nondescript interviewers that challenge her. The confidence she shares with them grant her a job.
A job that she will be fired from through her emotional outburst and tyrannical behavior.
This job, granting her at least a months worth of starting wages, gives her the peace of mind to keep the sad room to sleep in, with its cockroaches, mice and rats. This tired place to lay her head to awaken with hope.
This infinitesimal world to grant her little more than a desperate, miserable sustenance to live a bit more. Hope a shrinking tad more with each day that passes.
To get a paycheck, hit a bar or crack house, letting men buy her delights that will numb her as she lets them take advantage of her. Remembering not what happened after work, waking up each next sunlight feeling numb, semi naked and alone.
To fail when depression grasps her, lashing out to hurt others on her paranoid defense or maybe attempt to kill herself again.
Failing at both, she always awakens another morn. Tries. Attempts.
Sarah fails like a skipping record of a sad tune, yet picks herself up like some Phoenix of the eternally damned and tries with less strength than the day before.
Each day is a rerun. Each day is the same.
She forgets months, years, and proceeds down avenues of broken dreams remembering not the hours, days, years before. Learning nothing.
Each morn, waking more tired than the one before, yet dredging her soul forward, she tries.
And strikes out at the plate every time.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Authors note: The above story was my words. The thoughts behind this was given to me by someone that read my Mondays Facebook post asking for those that had something of personal history with either BPD or a family/friend story on this.
The person that sent me the information and their observations asked me to put their words like what I wrote in the Cracker Barrel Massacre entry to Psychopathy: Another Life. A third person description into what I see when I read, sense and take in what those that feel for someone they love and cry for. To those that are utterly powerless to assist this person with, yet watch all the same.
Futility squared.
Or as this person so eloquently put: Watching a human train wreck in the slowest of motion, sobbing heart out and failing all the same.
Granting me the privilege of a first name he wished to publish.
Viktor, the first to send me an email. Your email came within five hours of Mondays 06/25/2012 post. Thank you very much. I can, in some respects, sense your pain through the words you shared with me. You truly are someone of feeling. A man of humanity towards someone you deeply care for and love.
Thank you, Viktor!
Mark William Darus 06-27-2012 in EST, Cleveland, Ohio, USA.
This is the music i played while writing this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3q1zTneO46Y
She awakens in the morning shade side of the room she rents. Eyes openly slowly, cautiously, afraid to see what diminishing items she owns have vanished over night.
Hangover so immense it tries to cleave her brain in two. Throbbing pain in temples, mouth drier than the Sahara, she coughs, gags and heaves nothing but stomach acid onto the floor. Cockroaches scurry about yet some are trapped in the tequila and stomach acid vomit as it hits them squarely. Try as they might, they’re toast and will soon die. The rats, on the other hand, will indulge on the dead roaches in due time.
Sarah, looking down, brushing her matted brunette locks aside, thinks idly: Serves ya right! Why should be the only that suffers?
She finds the energy to pull her too thin legs over the side of the bed and attempts to stand. The soiled pink tank top she wears rides high, exposing breasts that resemble deflating balloons, layers of overlapping flesh with nipples.
Rats and mice take notice and hurry to their safe places. Rats and mice are sharp learners in the realm of survival.
She of extremely slender frame, falls back into the bed, head spinning, pulsating, in grand pain, yet no different than many of the yesterdays she’s known in her twenty six years.
Need shower, she thinks, catching whiffs of her odors mixed with the recent fire smell from down the hall and the pesticides House Control use with no effect.
She rises without falling. Baby steps, one foot in front of another as if never to have walked before, she aims toward the bathroom. Veering into the entertainment center that once held her flat screen, blue ray, and stereo, hip connecting sounding, she flinches not. The numb have no feeling. The numb don’t care what happens to their body.
Sarah enters the bathroom and hits direct sunlight. She takes off the filthy tank and goes to remove her panties. She sighs, looking down. Another morning without having them on, what did I do last night, she ponders. Eyes tightening, muscles on her face become pronounced, tears wanting to leave yet unable to as she bites down hard, wishing not to feel them on her cheeks.
Her expression of sadness gives way to a look of hope as she stares at the sun.
This is a new day, she says to the shattered mirrored across from her. Things can be different this time. Things can get better. I can do this. I can try. I hope.
I hope, she says in a voice of both a whisper and a whimper. I can’t keep failing forever, right?
Turning on the water, she steps into the moldy shower.
Water covers her like a total baptism. Mouth opens to the showerhead, drinking deeply to waste the cottonmouth that threatens to seize her throat. Her body takes in the surrounding warmth as water courses over her. She takes the mildew covered washcloth off the paint-chipped windowsill into her hands and applies a liquid soap.
Fading green eyes closed, she begins to wash herself faintly noticing dogs barking in the alley and exhaust smells from the rising morning rush hour.
It’s 8AM on someday of some week during some month in another year for her.
Sarah, after spending 45 minutes sifting through much dirty body covers finds some clean things to adorn herself with. Putting on the perfume an old boyfriend bought her months, mayhap years ago to substitute for deodorant which she hasn’t had in months, smile on face, she ventures out to this brand new day of sunlight.
Walking to another point of possible employment, digging deep to bring both positive attitude and confidence to bear, through yet another clear glass doorway, striding forward.
Fills out an application like the hundreds she’s done before.
She has references to place to paper. Those that would grant her experience from jobs past most imaginary: given by the weakest of friends in the lands of addiction with cell phones and those that owe her, mostly through sexual favors, she tries.
With vibrant long flowing brunette hair rolling over broad shoulders, shrouding her gaunt face, she answers questions from the nondescript interviewers that challenge her. The confidence she shares with them grant her a job.
A job that she will be fired from through her emotional outburst and tyrannical behavior.
This job, granting her at least a months worth of starting wages, gives her the peace of mind to keep the sad room to sleep in, with its cockroaches, mice and rats. This tired place to lay her head to awaken with hope.
This infinitesimal world to grant her little more than a desperate, miserable sustenance to live a bit more. Hope a shrinking tad more with each day that passes.
To get a paycheck, hit a bar or crack house, letting men buy her delights that will numb her as she lets them take advantage of her. Remembering not what happened after work, waking up each next sunlight feeling numb, semi naked and alone.
To fail when depression grasps her, lashing out to hurt others on her paranoid defense or maybe attempt to kill herself again.
Failing at both, she always awakens another morn. Tries. Attempts.
Sarah fails like a skipping record of a sad tune, yet picks herself up like some Phoenix of the eternally damned and tries with less strength than the day before.
Each day is a rerun. Each day is the same.
She forgets months, years, and proceeds down avenues of broken dreams remembering not the hours, days, years before. Learning nothing.
Each morn, waking more tired than the one before, yet dredging her soul forward, she tries.
And strikes out at the plate every time.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Authors note: The above story was my words. The thoughts behind this was given to me by someone that read my Mondays Facebook post asking for those that had something of personal history with either BPD or a family/friend story on this.
The person that sent me the information and their observations asked me to put their words like what I wrote in the Cracker Barrel Massacre entry to Psychopathy: Another Life. A third person description into what I see when I read, sense and take in what those that feel for someone they love and cry for. To those that are utterly powerless to assist this person with, yet watch all the same.
Futility squared.
Or as this person so eloquently put: Watching a human train wreck in the slowest of motion, sobbing heart out and failing all the same.
Granting me the privilege of a first name he wished to publish.
Viktor, the first to send me an email. Your email came within five hours of Mondays 06/25/2012 post. Thank you very much. I can, in some respects, sense your pain through the words you shared with me. You truly are someone of feeling. A man of humanity towards someone you deeply care for and love.
Thank you, Viktor!
Mark William Darus 06-27-2012 in EST, Cleveland, Ohio, USA.
This is the music i played while writing this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3q1zTneO46Y
Monday, June 25, 2012
BPD: Yet Another Life. Intro to Borderline Personality Disorder.
Intro to Borderline Personality Disorder <<BPD>>research study:
Why research this area of Mental Disorders ? Well, I like underdogs in all aspects of life. Like the area of Nonviolent Psychopathy <NVP>, there is very little known about this aspect of human life.
Unlike NVP, BPD crosses to lands where either physical illness brings it to light or its victims were simply born this way. Either way, there are physically painful aspects that connect these with mental illness.
One has to ask: What came first? The chicken or the egg? What came first? The physical pain or the downside of mental wellness?
My personal visits to University Hospitals Psych area and its staff never fail to give me areas to further explore. I use their suggestions and run with it. I do this to help those in trouble and maybe aide them at getting help.
How many of us haven’t been in need of help that its bleakness descends on us and drives us to harm or run so beyond the scope of ourselves and those precious others around us, are completely eclipsed by its grandeur?
Some peaks at best left climbed and guided by those with understanding of its terrain and knowledge of an ever-changing landscape as winds, blinding snowfalls come from nowhere. Where does one find a worthy guide to climb? What should be brought before ascension? Clean clothing, insurance in order, or an open mind mostly clouded through shredded memories of past failures after trying? What to bring? Ever felt a sense of unease going to Christmas gathering wondering if presents you bought will be appreciated or just looked as a half-assed attempt to save face? If you have, you know, perhaps can feel what these people of pain and mental side-windings go thru each and every day of their lives.
What do I attempt to find as I climb Everest once again?
Truth as it is given to me from readers that wish to write feelings out in plain sight. Their experiences and life events and how others viewed them. Maybe finding some anonymous peaceful land to simply share and realize they are NOT alone on this planet. For friends and families to share experiences over time: feeling lost in helping, guiding those with this Illness.
Know this: like psychopathy, Borderline Personality Disorder is NOT considered a viable disability and therefore will not get anyone a ‘check’. For those that follow beyond the United States of America: the ‘check’ designation goes to this countries view of a disability and how the government will send them a monthly paycheck, if you will, for not being able to work and earn a living.
In the United States of America, this ‘check’ aspect tends to go for those that never worked more than a few months in 5 years of life beyond eighteen years of age, yet as a benefit of a twisted welfare system that funded, or finding other avenues to find a doctor that placed signature to paper they were unfit to work and be granted a check.
I make no judgment on this, but I will back up my words here.
Just what is Borderline Personality Disorder?
This disorder should be considered serious in areas as they pertain to unstable relationships, massive mood swings, < I love you, but I am going to punch you in the face>, behaviors that can instantly go from major violence or its opposite., <I want to kill my boss slowly! Let’s go to the mall and eat Orange Chicken.>L
Those suffering from BPD often experience:
An innate inability to control thoughts or emotions on a day to day basis.
Massively impulsive and reckless behaviour.
Unstable relationships with those beyond families (perhaps because families/blood ties have deeper roots that can deal with droughts given to them by the afflicted.)
There are physical areas I wish to explore here as well as mental.
I am not a doctor by any stretch of imagination. I do believe this credential is irrelevant where people on people experience occur with emails, or as phone conversations or face-to-face encounters grace me, bless me, if you will.
Without leaving Psychopathy: Another Life in the dust, let’s explore another area of human experience that can kill, more via suicide than financially wasting others for gain. Far more internal in its minds hold seeking an end to pain, either imagined or realized since adolescents.
It is my sincere hope we will discover something that aides.
Mark William Darus June 25 2012 6:29 PM
Why research this area of Mental Disorders ? Well, I like underdogs in all aspects of life. Like the area of Nonviolent Psychopathy <NVP>, there is very little known about this aspect of human life.
Unlike NVP, BPD crosses to lands where either physical illness brings it to light or its victims were simply born this way. Either way, there are physically painful aspects that connect these with mental illness.
One has to ask: What came first? The chicken or the egg? What came first? The physical pain or the downside of mental wellness?
My personal visits to University Hospitals Psych area and its staff never fail to give me areas to further explore. I use their suggestions and run with it. I do this to help those in trouble and maybe aide them at getting help.
How many of us haven’t been in need of help that its bleakness descends on us and drives us to harm or run so beyond the scope of ourselves and those precious others around us, are completely eclipsed by its grandeur?
Some peaks at best left climbed and guided by those with understanding of its terrain and knowledge of an ever-changing landscape as winds, blinding snowfalls come from nowhere. Where does one find a worthy guide to climb? What should be brought before ascension? Clean clothing, insurance in order, or an open mind mostly clouded through shredded memories of past failures after trying? What to bring? Ever felt a sense of unease going to Christmas gathering wondering if presents you bought will be appreciated or just looked as a half-assed attempt to save face? If you have, you know, perhaps can feel what these people of pain and mental side-windings go thru each and every day of their lives.
What do I attempt to find as I climb Everest once again?
Truth as it is given to me from readers that wish to write feelings out in plain sight. Their experiences and life events and how others viewed them. Maybe finding some anonymous peaceful land to simply share and realize they are NOT alone on this planet. For friends and families to share experiences over time: feeling lost in helping, guiding those with this Illness.
Know this: like psychopathy, Borderline Personality Disorder is NOT considered a viable disability and therefore will not get anyone a ‘check’. For those that follow beyond the United States of America: the ‘check’ designation goes to this countries view of a disability and how the government will send them a monthly paycheck, if you will, for not being able to work and earn a living.
In the United States of America, this ‘check’ aspect tends to go for those that never worked more than a few months in 5 years of life beyond eighteen years of age, yet as a benefit of a twisted welfare system that funded, or finding other avenues to find a doctor that placed signature to paper they were unfit to work and be granted a check.
I make no judgment on this, but I will back up my words here.
Just what is Borderline Personality Disorder?
This disorder should be considered serious in areas as they pertain to unstable relationships, massive mood swings, < I love you, but I am going to punch you in the face>, behaviors that can instantly go from major violence or its opposite., <I want to kill my boss slowly! Let’s go to the mall and eat Orange Chicken.>L
Those suffering from BPD often experience:
An innate inability to control thoughts or emotions on a day to day basis.
Massively impulsive and reckless behaviour.
Unstable relationships with those beyond families (perhaps because families/blood ties have deeper roots that can deal with droughts given to them by the afflicted.)
There are physical areas I wish to explore here as well as mental.
I am not a doctor by any stretch of imagination. I do believe this credential is irrelevant where people on people experience occur with emails, or as phone conversations or face-to-face encounters grace me, bless me, if you will.
Without leaving Psychopathy: Another Life in the dust, let’s explore another area of human experience that can kill, more via suicide than financially wasting others for gain. Far more internal in its minds hold seeking an end to pain, either imagined or realized since adolescents.
It is my sincere hope we will discover something that aides.
Mark William Darus June 25 2012 6:29 PM
Sunday, June 24, 2012
The end ofPsychopathy Another Life: total thanks. ROCK ON as i go into other places!
GOING FORWARD: FROM NVP's to BPD's.
Changing to Psychopathy Another Life and Borderline Personality Disorder.
I felt it was time to branch out and extend both arms and mind to other areas less studied or explored into the human condition where right equals left and down is up to some. So much like Nonviolent Psychopathy, BPD does have an unusual place in everyday life.
Often labeled with misdiagnosis, and more often treated with medications that proved either wrong or horribly so with patients seeking either suicidal or homicidal beliefs to ease themselves.
And what medications were those? We’ll get to that later. Trust me on this.
Borderline Personality Disorder has personal attributes that have symptoms that range from major depression, high blood pressure, slight mood swings to physical symptoms of RA (rheumatoid arthritis) , other severe debilitating illnesses. Sometimes Lupus, Fibromyalgia, and physically repeated perceived pain can cause psychological breaks to what we saw those afflicted with as psychotic breaks. This being done with best intentions, though wrongly so.
Unlike Nonviolent Psychopaths, this area goes into other areas often misdiagnosed, incorrectly and medically treated in sheer ignorance. There are so many in this aspect of psychology that professionals did not travel.
As I said in the beginning of PAL, let’s dance into corridors of darkness of the mind.
STAGE TWO: Psychopathy and Borderline Personality Disorder.
Journey into madness or enlightenment?
You decide for yourself and reach your own conclusions.
I will keep thinking and writing.
If I knew how to do scrolling credits: I would do so to this song: to you all: CarlySimons: Nobody Does It Better. As you read below, but this Carly song says it best: to me, nobody does it half as good as you! Humble thanks to you all.
Baby, you’re the best!
I thank the Roses, Holly, Klockner, Torres’, Baznik, Somers, Henson, Catherine, Stool-sample-Pyro, Cleveland Ohio, Heidi and David, Gretchen, Angie in The Great white north<and you keep running in those pick shoes and waste them all!, Lisa USA, Lisa, UK, Leesa Italy, Thermal Nuclear Warrior Prypiat, Ivana, Sabrina, Caitlyn Georgia, Jonathon, Thyroid Avenger, Katerina Czech Republic. Maria of violence in Mexico, Julia, Donna, Audrey, Mary Pa USA, Olga, Maribeth of Wyoming, Felix of Tacoma Washington, dumb bitch two alleys over, COOBA, Giant Eagle employees at Parma, Garfield heights, Brooklyn and Middleburg heights, Heinans employees at Mayfield Village, Rocky River, Bagley and Bainbridge. Sav-a-lot employees from Cleveland Ohio: Brookpark Road, Clark Ave, Parma Heights and Twinsburgh. Kmart reps and managers from Medina, Lorain Road, Brookpark road, Macedonia, as well as Sears in several locations. To McDonalds, Arbys, Burger King, Mr. Hero’s, Taco Bell, Denny’s, Appebys, Mr Chicken, Verizon Wireless, Sprint Wireless, Five Below, Bath and Body Works in Parma and Solon, Mustard Seed Solon, Barnes and Noble employees many of which former Borders workers, Half Priced Books both Great Northern Mall and off Mayfield Road, FYE Parmatown, North Olmsted, Strongsville, Steak and Shake Brooklyn, Kamms Corners, Cityview and Steelyard, Bed Bath and Beyond managers for their sincere words and giving and paying for their employees to talk to me with no credentials whatsoever,
Benihanna Japanese steakhouse, Samurai Steakhouse <but these wonderful people fed me for free when my blog was proven to them as its author. >. To the Mall RATZ that maintain and keep our malls and eating areas clean for us: Westfield Great Northern, SouthPark and Parmatown. Union Eye Care Pearl Road Parma, Aetna Plastics Cleveland, Home Depot in Brooklyn, North Olmsted and Euclid and others, Old Navy several locations, Olde Tyme Pottery Middleburgh/Parma heights, China Town carry out and delivery, Choopa’s Market Parma, Brookgate Lanes welcoming after a 12 year absence and remembering me, World Auto Parts Parma, Malleys Chocolates Lorain Road, Aurora Prime Outlets and RT 43 Solon, Aunt Annies Pretzels Parmatown, Great Northern, Southpark. Monroe PA, Olive Garden in locations in Ohio and Pennsylvania, Gabes Cleveland, Catherines Middleburg Hts,
Other areas of thanks:
With Beer:
Great Lakes Brewing Company. Buckeye Beer Engine Lakewood, FatHeads North Olmsted, Brew Kettle Strongsville, Rat Cellars <part of Chalet Debonne winery in Madison Ohio> nice IPA’s. Rust Belt PA, <<< with beer and food, buy local, eat well, and enjoy with friends as you do it…. Have a responsible driver and pay this person with massive amounts of coin to stay sober.
Ohio is thumping its chest in the world of microbreweries.
The Cleveland Ohio Police Department < and how they treated me when I went suicidal after forgetting to take meds for two days.> Sadly, conversely speaking, Cleveland Metro Generals ER placed me in a room without padded walls, phucked up cable with no channel changer and NEVER locked the door. Of course I ventured out and walked the halls. I talked with others about gunshot wounds to garden accidents that sometimes cut the small of their backs. I talked to the depressed wishing to die and those that wished their person to remain amongst the living…
To Sheetz, GetGo,. Speedway, BP Gas USA, to The Ford Motor Company for going against bailout money from all of us Amerikans. Ford: Standing Tall and Proud as WE SHOULD!
To the athiests, teaching me that the truth is most important.
To the Wiccans, telling me each blade of grass bears meaning.
To Christ that taught me everything has meaning and to never judge.
I would like to thank the following:
Abigail: First commenter, and contributor. You threw yourself out there. Give me just about 15 minutes and we will share the dance with the song you asked for.
Catherine: Stay a friend on fbook. Your words rang true…
Jonathon: You are what you are, brother,
Irina: sad as subjects ends. Elated where your mnd takes us. I so loves you, tears as we don’t join,
NO ONE PERSON WILL EVER TELL ME MY MADNESS HAS NO RELATION TO CHRISTS PLAN FOR ME. Why else do I seek and talk to those in pain and agony and the brink of total despair.
Sure, I learn from each encounter with everyone I meet.
\
Still… I am cold, have no heart most would call such.
I am not without Christ at my side, guiding me.
In Conclusion:
I: Mark William Darus am what I am
I am the son of Marion and Theodore <ted<grandchild of Jenny and Orlan Sturdivant.
I am what I am. This journey began over three months ago into this blogs realm. Time to take a shift.
Do not waste time feeling sorry for me. Spend that time and its energy to bring smiles and happiness around you.
You all are where you are in my life: I hold most of you most high. I will no longer say the word love to my children. They are smart enough to hear my words. < well, I know that Rachel knows what this means>
To Catherine, Jonathon and first time posters: you wrote what you did for a reason. Thanks.
Irina Spektor, we have talked so many times that wish me to forget how to swim and lose myself with you. Irinia, we will join one day. In the words of Stonewall Jackson: if not in this, then in Heaven. I so wish I could embrace you for where you took me to.
Abigail: First contributor and huge supporter of my entries. Yours was the first voice that shed meaning to words. Yours was the first human voice that I encountered to this blog. What can I say to you?
You stood by me cyber world when many saw insanity through this journey and kept me on the true North…. What can I say to you?
Tabitha: Your words, continued support and thoughts enlightened me to no end. I look forward to working with on BPD research. You came to my blog a relative late-comer and I was blessed you found it.
Baby's , you’re the best!
Mark William Darus. 06242012
Stage Two: DPD: Borderline Personality Disorder.
Psychopathy: Another Life.
Changing to Psychopathy Another Life and Borderline Personality Disorder.
I felt it was time to branch out and extend both arms and mind to other areas less studied or explored into the human condition where right equals left and down is up to some. So much like Nonviolent Psychopathy, BPD does have an unusual place in everyday life.
Often labeled with misdiagnosis, and more often treated with medications that proved either wrong or horribly so with patients seeking either suicidal or homicidal beliefs to ease themselves.
And what medications were those? We’ll get to that later. Trust me on this.
Borderline Personality Disorder has personal attributes that have symptoms that range from major depression, high blood pressure, slight mood swings to physical symptoms of RA (rheumatoid arthritis) , other severe debilitating illnesses. Sometimes Lupus, Fibromyalgia, and physically repeated perceived pain can cause psychological breaks to what we saw those afflicted with as psychotic breaks. This being done with best intentions, though wrongly so.
Unlike Nonviolent Psychopaths, this area goes into other areas often misdiagnosed, incorrectly and medically treated in sheer ignorance. There are so many in this aspect of psychology that professionals did not travel.
As I said in the beginning of PAL, let’s dance into corridors of darkness of the mind.
STAGE TWO: Psychopathy and Borderline Personality Disorder.
Mark William Darus. 06242012
Ending this part of the BLOG I started: Final Phone interview.
Final Interview: a predator, a healer: The Psychiatrist.
It may be months before I post others, yet I found this one most profound and disturbing.
____________________________________________________________
Predator: Final interview
General Information.
Sex: Female
Age: 48 (but I look about 30)
Race: White, but most of time, very tanned
Body Style: Athletic with natural tits that don’t droop.
Highest level of education at the time of incident: Med School grad, field: Psychiatry.
Location: AN: Would not give.
Name: Alexis
<Advise caller their name is not needed as this is a blind survey. Their surveys will be assigned a random name for categorization purposes only>
1. HAVE YOU ALWAYS BEEN THE SICK FUCKER OTHERS VIEW YOU AS BEING?
Alexis: For as long as I can remember.
2. WHEN DID YOU REALIZE YOU WERE DIFFERENT FROM OTHER PEOPLE?
Alexis: about seven years of age, about the time I started having periods.
3. DID THIS BOTHER YOU IN ANYWAY, AND IF SO, HOW?
Alexis: I did not find this bothersome in the least bit. I found it different, that’s all. I knew people looked at me in a way they didn’t look at my sisters/brothers or friends of similar ages.
4. AS YOU PROGRESSED IN LIFE, HOW DID YOU LEARN TO MANIPULATE OTHERS?
Alexis: I would try and fail. Believe me, it was a truly wise person that said: “you will always learn more about life through failure than successes.” Sure, it’s applied psychology 101, but it only works if you learn from it. Most don’t, you know, and repeat the same routines over and over again in futility.
5. WHEN DID YOU LEARN TO INTIMIDATE OTHERS?
Alexis: 13.
Mark: Care to elaborate?
Alexis: Sure! I had a teacher in junior high that would keep staring at me. I didn’t feel creeped out or uncomfortable. I’d seen this kind of look before. Dad would give mom this look as I grew up. She’d smile and they’d disappear into their bedroom for a while. They’d be gone for about an hour, sometimes longer if mom was upset about something and dad had sensed it. They could read other like a movie you watch over and over again because you enjoy it so. He’d have a raw look of desire in his eye that he’d aim square at her. She responded most physically, sometimes blushing, mostly getting erect nipples. She’d-
Mark: Sorry to cut you off/ You noticed her nipples getting hard? You noticed his eyes?
Alexis: Yes. How odd is that for a girl of 13? But I always noticed things like that in people. Hell, I could even see the subtle differences in their breathing the closer they got to one another. At that point, they’d been married for over 20 years! Theirs was a love, that to this very day, I have never seen before with any couple. I miss my parents, I wished I’d found a partner like that had to each other.
6. DID YOUR FAMILY KNOW WHAT WAS GOING ON WITH YOU?
Alexis: My parents, yes. Siblings noticed nothing. My sisters and brother had their lives, friends and looks at life. Honestly, how many bros and sis’s notice anything about abnormalities in each other? My parents did though. They believed me too analytical for my age. Way too young for thoughts that delved into what makes people tick, what makes one ract this way while other respond this way. My dad was fond of saying, him being a highly educated dentist, she has a keen knowledge of fight or flight areas of human nature. She is most gifted.
Mark: Did you feel yourself as gifted?
Alexis: Not really, but it did tell me I was on to something.
6a. DID THEY MAKE YOU SEEK HELP? AND IF UNDER 18, DID THEY FORCE YOU IN THIS REGARD?
Alexis: Force, no. But they did say it would be in my best future to do so. They deeply loved me, all ego aside, perhaps more so than my sibs. They watched them extend, go beyond, grow normally. They saw a difference in me. They were both highly educated people, deep thinkers and secure in themselves to throw it out there and let the world deal with it.
<after a long silence, huge sigh and telling her dogs to behave and be quite>
Alexis continued…
Alexis: They asked me about venturing into counseling, telling me all the while they didn’t think anything was seriously wrong with me. I so loved them, but back when, I hated what they wanted me to do. I did it though. Through those interactions with a trained professional, I learned a massive amount of intel. I studied their reactions to my reactions, figuring those far less studied could both enchanted and beguiled by my answers and statements.
Mark: Where did this knowledge take you?
Alexis: To a land way beyond my lack of age, yet expanding wisdom. I learned to control strangers easily as your average person always give the crying child the benefit of the doubt.
7. WERE YOU SEXUALLY, EMOTIONALLY ABUSED BY YOUR FAMILY WHILE GROWING UP?
Alexis: No, not at all.
8. AS YOU SLIPPED INTO WHAT MADE YOU BECAME, DID IT HAPPEN SLOWLY OR FAST?
Alexis: It was a way since birth with me. I just was this way. I have never had an age of realism without the factors I didn’t know then.
9. AS IT OCCURRED, DID YOU HEAR VOICES, AN AUDIBLE SOUND LIKE THAT OF A CLOCK THAT MADE A SINGLE ‘CLICK’ OR ANYTHING THAT MADE YOU REALIZE YOU WERE CROSSING A TERMINATING POINT IN YOUR LIFE?
Alexis: Nothing on this one.
10. DID YOU SEE ANYTHING WHEN CROSSING THIS SUBCONCIOUS/MENTAL LINE? (if asked: what do you mean? counter them with probing questions: DID YOU SEE BELOVED GRANDPARENTS, AUNTS/ UNCLES, SIBLINGS FADING FROM YOUR MINDS EYE, DISAPEARING INTO A BLACK, DESOLATE BACKGROUND ? DID YOU SEE ANYTHING LIKE DEER RUNNING ACROSS A FREEWAY GETTING NAILED BY CARS OR TRUCKS. A CHILD FALLING FROM A FIFTH STORY BALCONY? WATCHING A BROWN FALL LEAF FALLING SLOWLY FROM A TREE IN HIGH WINTER OR SUMMER? (let them answer fully. Let them form their own answers with NO GUIDANCE or leading.)
Alexis: I have no memories whatsoever of a past before then.
11. WHEN DID YOU LOOK AT OTHER HUMANS AS BEING A LESSER FORM, OR AS SOME WOULD SAY “A SPECIES APART” FROM YOU?
Alexis: Early, like 10. I didn’t manipulate my immediate family, but I did uncles and aunts. Christmas was always a grand spectacle, me getting better toys than their own kids. I opened up to them with my minds fiction and they’d feel sorry for me. From that point, I took neighbors for a long walk off a short pier.
Mark: Were you proud of these things?
Alexis: Pride had nothing to do with it. Pride is an emotion-based reflex to a reflection to ones self. I had no pride about this, but I did have a sense of power. This power grew and grew over the years and decades to follow.
12. DID THIS KNOWLEDGE MAKE YOU MORE POWERFUL THAN OTHERS? AND IF SO, WHY?
Alexis: Yes, vastly more superior. This is why I became a Psychiatrist. A gatekeeper for others to seek the truth inside their own minds and have me be in control the entire time. I helped others, granted: DO NO HARM, but I did and still use them to further my knowledge and studies.
Mark: What studies would that be?
Alexis: later, please continue.
13. DO YOU LOOK AT HUMANS AS TOYS? <<<adding: AND I WON’T MAKE YOU GROVEL OVER THE CAT TOYING WITH THE MOUSE QUESTION>>>
Alexis: Toys? No, not in the slightest. I did look at them as both sad and desperate people that longed for hope and those simply to be loved or understood by peers. I believed I failed many clients on this. It is truly impossible to teach others to look past the materialistic areas/ values and have them expect their friends to do the same.
14. ARE YOU PERSONALLY SUCCESFUL WITH MANIPULATING, INTIMIDATING AND USING OTHERS FOR YOUR GAIN?
Alexis: definitely so. I have written five books in the realm of psychology and will continue to treat people and write about it.
15. DID YOU GET MARRIED AND IF SO, WHY?
Alexis: Yes, to wonderful man that even in my pathological lying knew the truth about me. He won’t admit it, but he like me.
Mark: and what is that?
Alexis: A nonviolent psychopath. You should see what he does to companies. How much money he gains manipulating business owners, share holders and unions. He won’t say it, but he is my twin. I cannot say more about this man I share life with.
16. IF BEING MARRIED, WHY DID YOU CHOSE THIS PERSON? IF HAVING CHILDREN WITH THIS SPOUSE, WHAT WOULD YOU TEACH YOUR CHILDREN?
Alexis: Had no kids. Why did I chose him? Well, he was like me in male form. Made sense, logically and physically speaking. We seemed to know each other from day-one. We had a rhythm, similar stride or dance with each step given us. Marriage, either made in heaven or ascended from hell, you decide. This man is mine, and I would kill for him.
17. ARE YOU CONTENT WITH YOUR LIFE AT THIS POINT?
Alexis: I would not give this life in trade for Gates cash or any of the Hiltons-dumb ass chicks disbrain endeavors.
18. IF NOT CONTENT, DO YOU THINK YOUR HUNGER WILL EVER SUBSIDE?
Alexis: I am content and as long as I have a license, I will never hunger deeply so.
19. DID YOU FIND PSYCHOPATHY: ANOTHER LIFE HELPFUL IN ANYWAY?:
Alexis: Mark, you have no idea how much this has meant to me. You, without shame, kept this blog running while placing your full name to it. I have shared emails with you to the point I believe your aim is true. We have been Facebook friends for a few months now. I have followed your writings since we met. <she chuckles, saying, I know you will give me a good name.
Mark: like everyone else. I give you a name I find appropriate.
Alexis: controlling bastard! <laughing>
Mark: and what else would you expect?
Alexis: just let me co-write your book with you.
Mark: We’ll see, Alexis.
Alexis: I hope you do. Love you!
Mark: No, Alexis. You can’t. But we will write a book together.
Alexis: Mark, do you think you and I can find what is truly human? I am willing to try and my man says I should with you.
Mark: What harm would there be in trying?
Alexis: None. I will call you..
AN: and she did. We talked for hours, about 8 with various recharges to sustain this conversation. We still talk, she has become my Comrade. And we have been FaceBook friends for months, half a world apart with similar interests. Mentally Joined. Sharing thoughts through emails and phone calls. Hugging each other as we'd embrace ourselves.
Fantasy? Well, that depends on how you view your world around you and spirituallity. It's not like we have phone sex...
_____________________________________________________________________________________
This was the final phone interview I would post on the subject of NVP’s until a later reprise comes forth.
Why is this?
I found this to be a vastly more poignant interview as many deal with mental help professionals and never wonder why they choose to do such things for an income. How many times does a person look at an engine specialist as to why he chose to work on internal combustion engines versus brain surgery? And while we’re at it, why should a Certified Auto Mechanic be paid less than that of a medical professional? These highly trained people do for your mode of transportation, getting to work, getting kids to places, aide you in that illicit affair and charge must less than medical doctors. You give the grease monkeys flack. Try giving your doctor flack and see how far that takes you.
Yeah, this is a major shout-out to Dave, Mike and their band of Brothers at Midas!
Thanks to all for the Phone interviews. In time, I will place all of them here.
I must move to the next area of study.
Mark William Darus 06-24-2012
All rights to this blog are reserved. They can be used with permission via writing me at emails given at the start of this blog. Said rights, being either in book form, pictures, screen captures or quotes will be used as stealing and be dealt with as such.
It may be months before I post others, yet I found this one most profound and disturbing.
____________________________________________________________
Predator: Final interview
General Information.
Sex: Female
Age: 48 (but I look about 30)
Race: White, but most of time, very tanned
Body Style: Athletic with natural tits that don’t droop.
Highest level of education at the time of incident: Med School grad, field: Psychiatry.
Location: AN: Would not give.
Name: Alexis
<Advise caller their name is not needed as this is a blind survey. Their surveys will be assigned a random name for categorization purposes only>
1. HAVE YOU ALWAYS BEEN THE SICK FUCKER OTHERS VIEW YOU AS BEING?
Alexis: For as long as I can remember.
2. WHEN DID YOU REALIZE YOU WERE DIFFERENT FROM OTHER PEOPLE?
Alexis: about seven years of age, about the time I started having periods.
3. DID THIS BOTHER YOU IN ANYWAY, AND IF SO, HOW?
Alexis: I did not find this bothersome in the least bit. I found it different, that’s all. I knew people looked at me in a way they didn’t look at my sisters/brothers or friends of similar ages.
4. AS YOU PROGRESSED IN LIFE, HOW DID YOU LEARN TO MANIPULATE OTHERS?
Alexis: I would try and fail. Believe me, it was a truly wise person that said: “you will always learn more about life through failure than successes.” Sure, it’s applied psychology 101, but it only works if you learn from it. Most don’t, you know, and repeat the same routines over and over again in futility.
5. WHEN DID YOU LEARN TO INTIMIDATE OTHERS?
Alexis: 13.
Mark: Care to elaborate?
Alexis: Sure! I had a teacher in junior high that would keep staring at me. I didn’t feel creeped out or uncomfortable. I’d seen this kind of look before. Dad would give mom this look as I grew up. She’d smile and they’d disappear into their bedroom for a while. They’d be gone for about an hour, sometimes longer if mom was upset about something and dad had sensed it. They could read other like a movie you watch over and over again because you enjoy it so. He’d have a raw look of desire in his eye that he’d aim square at her. She responded most physically, sometimes blushing, mostly getting erect nipples. She’d-
Mark: Sorry to cut you off/ You noticed her nipples getting hard? You noticed his eyes?
Alexis: Yes. How odd is that for a girl of 13? But I always noticed things like that in people. Hell, I could even see the subtle differences in their breathing the closer they got to one another. At that point, they’d been married for over 20 years! Theirs was a love, that to this very day, I have never seen before with any couple. I miss my parents, I wished I’d found a partner like that had to each other.
6. DID YOUR FAMILY KNOW WHAT WAS GOING ON WITH YOU?
Alexis: My parents, yes. Siblings noticed nothing. My sisters and brother had their lives, friends and looks at life. Honestly, how many bros and sis’s notice anything about abnormalities in each other? My parents did though. They believed me too analytical for my age. Way too young for thoughts that delved into what makes people tick, what makes one ract this way while other respond this way. My dad was fond of saying, him being a highly educated dentist, she has a keen knowledge of fight or flight areas of human nature. She is most gifted.
Mark: Did you feel yourself as gifted?
Alexis: Not really, but it did tell me I was on to something.
6a. DID THEY MAKE YOU SEEK HELP? AND IF UNDER 18, DID THEY FORCE YOU IN THIS REGARD?
Alexis: Force, no. But they did say it would be in my best future to do so. They deeply loved me, all ego aside, perhaps more so than my sibs. They watched them extend, go beyond, grow normally. They saw a difference in me. They were both highly educated people, deep thinkers and secure in themselves to throw it out there and let the world deal with it.
<after a long silence, huge sigh and telling her dogs to behave and be quite>
Alexis continued…
Alexis: They asked me about venturing into counseling, telling me all the while they didn’t think anything was seriously wrong with me. I so loved them, but back when, I hated what they wanted me to do. I did it though. Through those interactions with a trained professional, I learned a massive amount of intel. I studied their reactions to my reactions, figuring those far less studied could both enchanted and beguiled by my answers and statements.
Mark: Where did this knowledge take you?
Alexis: To a land way beyond my lack of age, yet expanding wisdom. I learned to control strangers easily as your average person always give the crying child the benefit of the doubt.
7. WERE YOU SEXUALLY, EMOTIONALLY ABUSED BY YOUR FAMILY WHILE GROWING UP?
Alexis: No, not at all.
8. AS YOU SLIPPED INTO WHAT MADE YOU BECAME, DID IT HAPPEN SLOWLY OR FAST?
Alexis: It was a way since birth with me. I just was this way. I have never had an age of realism without the factors I didn’t know then.
9. AS IT OCCURRED, DID YOU HEAR VOICES, AN AUDIBLE SOUND LIKE THAT OF A CLOCK THAT MADE A SINGLE ‘CLICK’ OR ANYTHING THAT MADE YOU REALIZE YOU WERE CROSSING A TERMINATING POINT IN YOUR LIFE?
Alexis: Nothing on this one.
10. DID YOU SEE ANYTHING WHEN CROSSING THIS SUBCONCIOUS/MENTAL LINE? (if asked: what do you mean? counter them with probing questions: DID YOU SEE BELOVED GRANDPARENTS, AUNTS/ UNCLES, SIBLINGS FADING FROM YOUR MINDS EYE, DISAPEARING INTO A BLACK, DESOLATE BACKGROUND ? DID YOU SEE ANYTHING LIKE DEER RUNNING ACROSS A FREEWAY GETTING NAILED BY CARS OR TRUCKS. A CHILD FALLING FROM A FIFTH STORY BALCONY? WATCHING A BROWN FALL LEAF FALLING SLOWLY FROM A TREE IN HIGH WINTER OR SUMMER? (let them answer fully. Let them form their own answers with NO GUIDANCE or leading.)
Alexis: I have no memories whatsoever of a past before then.
11. WHEN DID YOU LOOK AT OTHER HUMANS AS BEING A LESSER FORM, OR AS SOME WOULD SAY “A SPECIES APART” FROM YOU?
Alexis: Early, like 10. I didn’t manipulate my immediate family, but I did uncles and aunts. Christmas was always a grand spectacle, me getting better toys than their own kids. I opened up to them with my minds fiction and they’d feel sorry for me. From that point, I took neighbors for a long walk off a short pier.
Mark: Were you proud of these things?
Alexis: Pride had nothing to do with it. Pride is an emotion-based reflex to a reflection to ones self. I had no pride about this, but I did have a sense of power. This power grew and grew over the years and decades to follow.
12. DID THIS KNOWLEDGE MAKE YOU MORE POWERFUL THAN OTHERS? AND IF SO, WHY?
Alexis: Yes, vastly more superior. This is why I became a Psychiatrist. A gatekeeper for others to seek the truth inside their own minds and have me be in control the entire time. I helped others, granted: DO NO HARM, but I did and still use them to further my knowledge and studies.
Mark: What studies would that be?
Alexis: later, please continue.
13. DO YOU LOOK AT HUMANS AS TOYS? <<<adding: AND I WON’T MAKE YOU GROVEL OVER THE CAT TOYING WITH THE MOUSE QUESTION>>>
Alexis: Toys? No, not in the slightest. I did look at them as both sad and desperate people that longed for hope and those simply to be loved or understood by peers. I believed I failed many clients on this. It is truly impossible to teach others to look past the materialistic areas/ values and have them expect their friends to do the same.
14. ARE YOU PERSONALLY SUCCESFUL WITH MANIPULATING, INTIMIDATING AND USING OTHERS FOR YOUR GAIN?
Alexis: definitely so. I have written five books in the realm of psychology and will continue to treat people and write about it.
15. DID YOU GET MARRIED AND IF SO, WHY?
Alexis: Yes, to wonderful man that even in my pathological lying knew the truth about me. He won’t admit it, but he like me.
Mark: and what is that?
Alexis: A nonviolent psychopath. You should see what he does to companies. How much money he gains manipulating business owners, share holders and unions. He won’t say it, but he is my twin. I cannot say more about this man I share life with.
16. IF BEING MARRIED, WHY DID YOU CHOSE THIS PERSON? IF HAVING CHILDREN WITH THIS SPOUSE, WHAT WOULD YOU TEACH YOUR CHILDREN?
Alexis: Had no kids. Why did I chose him? Well, he was like me in male form. Made sense, logically and physically speaking. We seemed to know each other from day-one. We had a rhythm, similar stride or dance with each step given us. Marriage, either made in heaven or ascended from hell, you decide. This man is mine, and I would kill for him.
17. ARE YOU CONTENT WITH YOUR LIFE AT THIS POINT?
Alexis: I would not give this life in trade for Gates cash or any of the Hiltons-dumb ass chicks disbrain endeavors.
18. IF NOT CONTENT, DO YOU THINK YOUR HUNGER WILL EVER SUBSIDE?
Alexis: I am content and as long as I have a license, I will never hunger deeply so.
19. DID YOU FIND PSYCHOPATHY: ANOTHER LIFE HELPFUL IN ANYWAY?:
Alexis: Mark, you have no idea how much this has meant to me. You, without shame, kept this blog running while placing your full name to it. I have shared emails with you to the point I believe your aim is true. We have been Facebook friends for a few months now. I have followed your writings since we met. <she chuckles, saying, I know you will give me a good name.
Mark: like everyone else. I give you a name I find appropriate.
Alexis: controlling bastard! <laughing>
Mark: and what else would you expect?
Alexis: just let me co-write your book with you.
Mark: We’ll see, Alexis.
Alexis: I hope you do. Love you!
Mark: No, Alexis. You can’t. But we will write a book together.
Alexis: Mark, do you think you and I can find what is truly human? I am willing to try and my man says I should with you.
Mark: What harm would there be in trying?
Alexis: None. I will call you..
AN: and she did. We talked for hours, about 8 with various recharges to sustain this conversation. We still talk, she has become my Comrade. And we have been FaceBook friends for months, half a world apart with similar interests. Mentally Joined. Sharing thoughts through emails and phone calls. Hugging each other as we'd embrace ourselves.
Fantasy? Well, that depends on how you view your world around you and spirituallity. It's not like we have phone sex...
_____________________________________________________________________________________
This was the final phone interview I would post on the subject of NVP’s until a later reprise comes forth.
Why is this?
I found this to be a vastly more poignant interview as many deal with mental help professionals and never wonder why they choose to do such things for an income. How many times does a person look at an engine specialist as to why he chose to work on internal combustion engines versus brain surgery? And while we’re at it, why should a Certified Auto Mechanic be paid less than that of a medical professional? These highly trained people do for your mode of transportation, getting to work, getting kids to places, aide you in that illicit affair and charge must less than medical doctors. You give the grease monkeys flack. Try giving your doctor flack and see how far that takes you.
Yeah, this is a major shout-out to Dave, Mike and their band of Brothers at Midas!
Thanks to all for the Phone interviews. In time, I will place all of them here.
I must move to the next area of study.
Mark William Darus 06-24-2012
All rights to this blog are reserved. They can be used with permission via writing me at emails given at the start of this blog. Said rights, being either in book form, pictures, screen captures or quotes will be used as stealing and be dealt with as such.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
What simple things give you happiness: What makes us Human: part II
What makes us Human: Part II.
Did you cry at the raw screaming beauty of your woman as she experienced more pain than she has ever known, that you had a major hand in its creation? During this event: did you feel elated and stressed, a whacked, convoluted insanity that made your chest pound uncontrollably, mind racing without direction of control simply by her agony as you witnessed the birth of your child?
Do you feel empowered by the glory of gazing at a sunrise, darkness shedding its grip over the land, succumbing to the rising unyielding light? Do you feel a sense of hope as a new day is born with the endless possibilities given to us?
Do you get goose bumps as the sun takes its rest from your eyes, going to its rightful rest, skies going from orange to yellow to varied shades of blues and black. Do you revel in a sense of wonder as stars fill the night, twinkling, ever growing as jets and satellites dance across what you see. Do you hear the sounds that accompany this visual wonder you witness: The music of frogs, owls, crickets and other beasts as they awaken, come to life and shout proud in the safety of darkness reborn to them?
Do you look to the sky and find images painted with clouds against sharp, vibrant blue backgrounds, point these self-inspired findings to others with excitement and child-like glee? If and when you witness this gift of chaos or gods hand, do you realize this is something you will never see again no matter how long you grace this Earth?
Do you feel delight as snowflakes descend or flowers begin to defy chilly air and take their promised place as seasons change? Do you love the palate of colours when falls changing temperature graces trees, once blended green, as they explode to ever changing shades of reds and oranges?
Do you like the sounds of rivers: as water runs over rock in unrepeated patterns, differing as movement and erosion create things unheard to you, yet charging you with power in natures delight?
Do you embrace the chill of a winters night as it makes your breath a sight to behold?
Are you fired up by the first sun-heat of spring and winter loses its frosty grasp?
Do you feel anything at all?
If so, why in the name of your higher power do you fail to express it or be willing to share and talk about what it does for you?
What are you so goddamned afraid of?
Are you so preoccupied with your income, social status or lack of a worthy phone that you let yourself become eclipsed to the free gifts given us from somewhere else?
AN <authors note> Modern cell phones have taken the place of the car you own and drive which use to be the status symbol of our lands. I find this interesting, as phones are way cheaper than cars. Run with that thought if you will, yet with the current generation of 20-30 somethings, this does seem to hold true.
What makes us human?
I further my exploration on this subject in the attempt to seek some truth of what makes us so vastly different than any other animal that inhabits the Third Rock from the Sun.
My desire is to gain responses to this post: Do any of the above questions give you any emotional drives whatsoever? If so, please explain these to me and be willing to have them posted here.
What happiness, hope or emotion do you find elating to you?
At your request, I will post your sentiments anonymously.
Mark William Darus
Did you cry at the raw screaming beauty of your woman as she experienced more pain than she has ever known, that you had a major hand in its creation? During this event: did you feel elated and stressed, a whacked, convoluted insanity that made your chest pound uncontrollably, mind racing without direction of control simply by her agony as you witnessed the birth of your child?
Do you feel empowered by the glory of gazing at a sunrise, darkness shedding its grip over the land, succumbing to the rising unyielding light? Do you feel a sense of hope as a new day is born with the endless possibilities given to us?
Do you get goose bumps as the sun takes its rest from your eyes, going to its rightful rest, skies going from orange to yellow to varied shades of blues and black. Do you revel in a sense of wonder as stars fill the night, twinkling, ever growing as jets and satellites dance across what you see. Do you hear the sounds that accompany this visual wonder you witness: The music of frogs, owls, crickets and other beasts as they awaken, come to life and shout proud in the safety of darkness reborn to them?
Do you look to the sky and find images painted with clouds against sharp, vibrant blue backgrounds, point these self-inspired findings to others with excitement and child-like glee? If and when you witness this gift of chaos or gods hand, do you realize this is something you will never see again no matter how long you grace this Earth?
Do you feel delight as snowflakes descend or flowers begin to defy chilly air and take their promised place as seasons change? Do you love the palate of colours when falls changing temperature graces trees, once blended green, as they explode to ever changing shades of reds and oranges?
Do you like the sounds of rivers: as water runs over rock in unrepeated patterns, differing as movement and erosion create things unheard to you, yet charging you with power in natures delight?
Do you embrace the chill of a winters night as it makes your breath a sight to behold?
Are you fired up by the first sun-heat of spring and winter loses its frosty grasp?
Do you feel anything at all?
If so, why in the name of your higher power do you fail to express it or be willing to share and talk about what it does for you?
What are you so goddamned afraid of?
Are you so preoccupied with your income, social status or lack of a worthy phone that you let yourself become eclipsed to the free gifts given us from somewhere else?
AN <authors note> Modern cell phones have taken the place of the car you own and drive which use to be the status symbol of our lands. I find this interesting, as phones are way cheaper than cars. Run with that thought if you will, yet with the current generation of 20-30 somethings, this does seem to hold true.
What makes us human?
I further my exploration on this subject in the attempt to seek some truth of what makes us so vastly different than any other animal that inhabits the Third Rock from the Sun.
My desire is to gain responses to this post: Do any of the above questions give you any emotional drives whatsoever? If so, please explain these to me and be willing to have them posted here.
What happiness, hope or emotion do you find elating to you?
At your request, I will post your sentiments anonymously.
Mark William Darus
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Suicide: those words by the senders finding dead loved ones.
Can I Play With Madness?
In the last entry, I gave you a glimpse of desperation heading toward suicide. From the four I have been given the opportunity to publish thus far, I am propelled to give you the words of those they deaders left behind.
Of the four notes of progressing death being submitted to me, were there not storys behind them? Did these family members/friends/coworkers have no feeling whatsoever?
AUTHORS NOTE: And do not look at others outside the USA for having lack of feeling due to a background of a Soviet Republic… At least they don’t kill for tennis shoes or Ipods…
I published four letters of the dying: This is what the one submitting to me had to say.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
I knew he was most distraught. Depressed, no longer smiling at anything, dead in life. A host of the party gone silent. No tears when asked what was wrong with him. He said simply, Just tired; and he’d bust another joke.
There was nothing serious about my brother. He could find sick humor in most everything and we’d smile.
I knew he’d used women over and over time and again… He’d thrusted his way to a million plus dollar a year income.
He’s dead. He was fucxked up… Why should I mis him anee less?????
Sorry-happay to sahre,
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Love my sister, but she did deserve to die. You cannot use so many and not get killed. Seeya, sis…
_____________________________________________________________________________________
I send you this because my Husband had an ironclad will. I was guaranteed my powers of his will long before I sent you this.
A month passes, so I reach out, seeking guidance. realms of thieves, lawyers and hungery family wanters, clawing gnawing wanting a hunk of him. A bracelet, necklace, gold statue.
Clawing for possessions he’d attained from legal right, not morally so, with chirst at his helm. He wnet to church with me… He annihilated others with the stroke of a pen. He handled his family and friends much the same.
He took care of me and our kids What was he really though?
He took us care of. I louds what he did. Sad he’s gome. Kids will miss his. _______________________________________________________________________________________
Police find her note in her pocket, dotted with blood and fluids of her.
Christ, I cannot fathom the guilt she felt as she wandered off to her killer or how many times she had done so before her slaying.
Over coffee, she told me her desires, and yes, I saw her cliumb was far and beyond any of us would have gone. Yes, she did this by hurting others lives, but we thought his america corparation loiving….
I miss her. Sorry she fekt sirry…..
Vodka cleaning me.
‘’’’’’’’’’ of sister of
///////////////////////////////////////////////
RIP….
____________________________________________________________________________________
AN:
Shallow messages left on devourers of both word and thought.
You miss them, wish for others to learn and such.
Why should any of us listen to you at all?
Your words far reaching a shallowness of your departed that set you into motion so eclipsed at their passing and what they graced us with.
The Why factor.
I sincerely believe they wrote these death notes for someone to learn
I have been known to wrong before.
Sleep well, or awake grand on this Earth.
Mark William Darus
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Part One: What Makes Us Human? We kill each other freely.
What makes us human?
Part One:
What makes the human animal, so apart from other animals and species that inhabit this once gentle earth, gone more violent from greed and a sincere, homicidal ideology to kill virtually everything we see that presents itself as an obstacle to us? What makes us in our ideals, desires and hungers create an atmosphere of content when we get ours at the lives of others?
Be it from segregation of races, monetary status or simply pushing deer and other natural animals from their lands to build housing developments to later call them a nuisance. \
In the United States, my homeland, besides slavery, we committed wholesale genocide on the people that inhabited this land before we got here: Indians, Injuns, savages.
As I like to say every Thanksgiving in regards to people that have a true and absolute claim to our lands: They brought us Turkeys and we gave them hot-lead, a mere few crossings down the road. Labeling them savages, animals, and lesser forms than whitemen, much as England had the Crusades, trashing lives/cultures that were simply different from theirs in power. And that power coming from what?
What gives all dominant societies superiority over others? What makes one group of people the power to rule over others? What makes their way right, correct for the benefit of humanity versus others of differing options?
Technology, that’s what.
Granted, it didn’t help Custer, but hey, you got to historically throw a dog a bone and give the INJUNS a win. <and didn’t Custer repeatedly do audacious acts to point out General McClellans absurdity to his subordinates during the American Civil War? Didn’t Custer, after McClellans wasting an hour wondering if a river was too deep to cross, take his steed by the reins and go into said river and say, as his steed was in midknee depth and say: This is how deep it is General. We can cross here.>
I am not blaming all this tired worlds problems on this United States, but we have more than our fair share to do with it.
In 236 years, let’s take a look at what this country has accomplished.
We started with Blacks enslaved: Tell me how this didn’t help the industrial Agricultural growth. During Our Civil War, we may have declared how we’d set blacks free, but wasn’t that some ploy to make them feel a sense of loyalty to the Northern efforts to one day pay them less than whites for their very same labors as whites? <<<see movie Glory: Black Civil War soldiers, willing to die like Whites, yet paid less for their duties.>>> After the war, weren’t they paid less for jobs with the same skills and life-threatening endeavors? And this lasted how many decades? How many thousands slaved and dies, while getting paid with no benefits given to their families?
Who really built the railroads in the USA? At least I can say this on this: There has never been a government/ taxpayer influence on the railroads. They started by men of vision. They funded these uncharted areas themselves. They made a huge profit from cheap and expendable Chinese labor, a different sort-of slave, soon after the Civil War. How many of these men died with absolutely nothing being given their families.
By simple comparison, let’s make some cement, shall we. Let’s play in a desert plain. We’ll build steelworks foundries, cultivate the best of plumbing, electrical, and the mass of a nation that has no other gainful work to find until the next huge war comes along.
Let’s play with massive amounts of sweat, pain, potential death and relocating <leaving loved ones behind, families fragmented> for a hope. This hope: to live.
C’mon America! Let’s play with cement on the most extreme of scales!
With this: The Hoover Dam was started.
When, at the first two months of its construction, white men began dying at about 100 a week, dehydration became a real problem. Oh my gosh. How could these men just die? Didn’t we make them barracks to live in, places for their families to live while they build this for our nation and didn’t we, in turn, charge them rent for these graces we bestowed on them? Didn’t we also own all the food stores and restaurants, not to mention, churches they‘d contribute to. Didn’t we also give them stores for their weakensses of lesser women desire and their sins in gambling?
Just prior to the beginning of the Hoover Dam, the dustbowl took out many states farming capabilities, wiping out virtually any physical sense of harvesting. Did the powers that be help them keep the banks from taking their lands and making them homeless? Didn’t we grant the banks power to hire thugs to remove them from their dwellings? Push them into desolate streets of sand and sadness: to fields of broken dreams.
Sorry, you lose. Capitalism must prevail. We got your land. Tough titty!
And didn’t we, as a people many decades later, bail out these same banks with our slaved earned waged taxed dollars, believing in a dream that would not become a reality without a lottery?
Like lambs to a slaughter, we did nothing against it.
Like lambs on Broadway, we kissed pavement.
Like lamb cakes during Easter, we offered our heads.
History only changes when its people make it so/
We are at the brink, of what I would consider another Cold-War, with Russia. Why is this? They sell arms to other countries. OOOOOOOWWWWW, call out the boogeyman! Like we didn’t support Iran, Iraq and even the Taliban, to later go for their annihilation, In Our Own Best Interests. Didn’t we support the Cubans with both military arms and training to sacrifice them during the Bay-of-pigs?
In Our Best Interests.
Anyone, Please: From any country, nation or tiny village: What does: OUR BEST INTEREST really mean? Feel free to take this to its least common denominator to share your mental view or humble point of interest. Jump on this. You don’t love where I do.
Allow me to go backward, to the then and when:
World War Two heated up.
AN: Authors Note: I have discussed certain areas of this in previous posts.
\
Didn’t we, as a country, take the Japanese Americans land, property and their dignity away from them because of Pearl Harbor? Did we do the same of the Germans, Russians or Italians when they declared war on the USA?
We treated those of Japanese origins as a different colour and in so doing, made them the Lesser-Americans than whites and blacks in our lands.
During the Cuban Missile Crisis, did we intern those of Spanish speaking backgrounds?
When World War II ended: did we give back to the Japanese Americans their houses, businesses, their orchards the lives they had known before? Did we even acknowledge the educations they achieved here before the war?
No, we didn’t.
We hit the proverbial ’RESET’ button long before there was such a term of meaning.
And personally hitting that ’RESET’ button.
What makes us human?
Hitler had twelve million killed.
Mussolini had some twenty million killed.
Before 1490: The Mongols ruled Afghanistan. No known record of the dead.
Australia: Black War. This was between the British and the Tasmanian Aborigines in the Van Diemen’s land. The Aborigines were virtually exterminated.
Do your homework. Read and study.
Much after the baby boom went BOOM, didn’t all our parents want us to have lives easier than they’d had? Didn’t they say this to us, pushing us to go further: I just want you to have better, easier things than I did?
Sure they did.
If We’re lucky, we make what half of them did 20 years ago with their, maybe high school degrees.
My best year working for a huge company, and I have no complaints, with overtime made me 49, 000. My father, on the other hand, passing 20 years ago, with not even a high school degree, made approx 85k two years before his death….
They so wanted to make things easier for us.
So what went wrong?
Greed? Self minded self indulgence? Faith in perceived gods they held most high?
Where does this go? Where should I take this further? Emails, phone calls, where?
What theories, by the questions asked here deserve answers?
You decide.
Most Urgent: Why the United States oppose Russia on anything unless it gains them…
Through some cash, some grain, some human lives from any country, why oppose? Yeah, we know the answer here….
Some fucker has to get rich and make friends rich. THIS IS THE RULE OF THE LAND IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA…
And at what point do we hear the sounds and see the sights of family and friends that passed before us to see this?
Didn’t we disregard this as an event of folly…
Wait til this future cold war burns hotter.
Choose your own path,
Mark Williamn Darus
Part One:
What makes the human animal, so apart from other animals and species that inhabit this once gentle earth, gone more violent from greed and a sincere, homicidal ideology to kill virtually everything we see that presents itself as an obstacle to us? What makes us in our ideals, desires and hungers create an atmosphere of content when we get ours at the lives of others?
Be it from segregation of races, monetary status or simply pushing deer and other natural animals from their lands to build housing developments to later call them a nuisance. \
In the United States, my homeland, besides slavery, we committed wholesale genocide on the people that inhabited this land before we got here: Indians, Injuns, savages.
As I like to say every Thanksgiving in regards to people that have a true and absolute claim to our lands: They brought us Turkeys and we gave them hot-lead, a mere few crossings down the road. Labeling them savages, animals, and lesser forms than whitemen, much as England had the Crusades, trashing lives/cultures that were simply different from theirs in power. And that power coming from what?
What gives all dominant societies superiority over others? What makes one group of people the power to rule over others? What makes their way right, correct for the benefit of humanity versus others of differing options?
Technology, that’s what.
Granted, it didn’t help Custer, but hey, you got to historically throw a dog a bone and give the INJUNS a win. <and didn’t Custer repeatedly do audacious acts to point out General McClellans absurdity to his subordinates during the American Civil War? Didn’t Custer, after McClellans wasting an hour wondering if a river was too deep to cross, take his steed by the reins and go into said river and say, as his steed was in midknee depth and say: This is how deep it is General. We can cross here.>
I am not blaming all this tired worlds problems on this United States, but we have more than our fair share to do with it.
In 236 years, let’s take a look at what this country has accomplished.
We started with Blacks enslaved: Tell me how this didn’t help the industrial Agricultural growth. During Our Civil War, we may have declared how we’d set blacks free, but wasn’t that some ploy to make them feel a sense of loyalty to the Northern efforts to one day pay them less than whites for their very same labors as whites? <<<see movie Glory: Black Civil War soldiers, willing to die like Whites, yet paid less for their duties.>>> After the war, weren’t they paid less for jobs with the same skills and life-threatening endeavors? And this lasted how many decades? How many thousands slaved and dies, while getting paid with no benefits given to their families?
Who really built the railroads in the USA? At least I can say this on this: There has never been a government/ taxpayer influence on the railroads. They started by men of vision. They funded these uncharted areas themselves. They made a huge profit from cheap and expendable Chinese labor, a different sort-of slave, soon after the Civil War. How many of these men died with absolutely nothing being given their families.
By simple comparison, let’s make some cement, shall we. Let’s play in a desert plain. We’ll build steelworks foundries, cultivate the best of plumbing, electrical, and the mass of a nation that has no other gainful work to find until the next huge war comes along.
Let’s play with massive amounts of sweat, pain, potential death and relocating <leaving loved ones behind, families fragmented> for a hope. This hope: to live.
C’mon America! Let’s play with cement on the most extreme of scales!
With this: The Hoover Dam was started.
When, at the first two months of its construction, white men began dying at about 100 a week, dehydration became a real problem. Oh my gosh. How could these men just die? Didn’t we make them barracks to live in, places for their families to live while they build this for our nation and didn’t we, in turn, charge them rent for these graces we bestowed on them? Didn’t we also own all the food stores and restaurants, not to mention, churches they‘d contribute to. Didn’t we also give them stores for their weakensses of lesser women desire and their sins in gambling?
Just prior to the beginning of the Hoover Dam, the dustbowl took out many states farming capabilities, wiping out virtually any physical sense of harvesting. Did the powers that be help them keep the banks from taking their lands and making them homeless? Didn’t we grant the banks power to hire thugs to remove them from their dwellings? Push them into desolate streets of sand and sadness: to fields of broken dreams.
Sorry, you lose. Capitalism must prevail. We got your land. Tough titty!
And didn’t we, as a people many decades later, bail out these same banks with our slaved earned waged taxed dollars, believing in a dream that would not become a reality without a lottery?
Like lambs to a slaughter, we did nothing against it.
Like lambs on Broadway, we kissed pavement.
Like lamb cakes during Easter, we offered our heads.
History only changes when its people make it so/
We are at the brink, of what I would consider another Cold-War, with Russia. Why is this? They sell arms to other countries. OOOOOOOWWWWW, call out the boogeyman! Like we didn’t support Iran, Iraq and even the Taliban, to later go for their annihilation, In Our Own Best Interests. Didn’t we support the Cubans with both military arms and training to sacrifice them during the Bay-of-pigs?
In Our Best Interests.
Anyone, Please: From any country, nation or tiny village: What does: OUR BEST INTEREST really mean? Feel free to take this to its least common denominator to share your mental view or humble point of interest. Jump on this. You don’t love where I do.
Allow me to go backward, to the then and when:
World War Two heated up.
AN: Authors Note: I have discussed certain areas of this in previous posts.
\
Didn’t we, as a country, take the Japanese Americans land, property and their dignity away from them because of Pearl Harbor? Did we do the same of the Germans, Russians or Italians when they declared war on the USA?
We treated those of Japanese origins as a different colour and in so doing, made them the Lesser-Americans than whites and blacks in our lands.
During the Cuban Missile Crisis, did we intern those of Spanish speaking backgrounds?
When World War II ended: did we give back to the Japanese Americans their houses, businesses, their orchards the lives they had known before? Did we even acknowledge the educations they achieved here before the war?
No, we didn’t.
We hit the proverbial ’RESET’ button long before there was such a term of meaning.
And personally hitting that ’RESET’ button.
What makes us human?
Hitler had twelve million killed.
Mussolini had some twenty million killed.
Before 1490: The Mongols ruled Afghanistan. No known record of the dead.
Australia: Black War. This was between the British and the Tasmanian Aborigines in the Van Diemen’s land. The Aborigines were virtually exterminated.
Do your homework. Read and study.
Much after the baby boom went BOOM, didn’t all our parents want us to have lives easier than they’d had? Didn’t they say this to us, pushing us to go further: I just want you to have better, easier things than I did?
Sure they did.
If We’re lucky, we make what half of them did 20 years ago with their, maybe high school degrees.
My best year working for a huge company, and I have no complaints, with overtime made me 49, 000. My father, on the other hand, passing 20 years ago, with not even a high school degree, made approx 85k two years before his death….
They so wanted to make things easier for us.
So what went wrong?
Greed? Self minded self indulgence? Faith in perceived gods they held most high?
Where does this go? Where should I take this further? Emails, phone calls, where?
What theories, by the questions asked here deserve answers?
You decide.
Most Urgent: Why the United States oppose Russia on anything unless it gains them…
Through some cash, some grain, some human lives from any country, why oppose? Yeah, we know the answer here….
Some fucker has to get rich and make friends rich. THIS IS THE RULE OF THE LAND IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA…
And at what point do we hear the sounds and see the sights of family and friends that passed before us to see this?
Didn’t we disregard this as an event of folly…
Wait til this future cold war burns hotter.
Choose your own path,
Mark Williamn Darus
Monday, June 11, 2012
Suicide letters sent to the blog by loved ones left in their wake.
Suicide letters from those left to find by those loved them and carried emotions.
THEIR KIN, CLAN AND FRIENDS THEY LEFT BEHIND:
This goes to the families, friends and others that you loved, cared about or had thoughts about the one that killed themselves and held a place in your live with most sincere of hearts. Be it from the pain of being used or the crash that sometimes hit’s the nonviolent psychopath.
These two crossroads sometimes breed the same outcome. The victim and predator do have a second meeting point, which I find most interesting.
That final, most total act of self-absorption.
So desolate these Angels and Devils, running freely, playing freely, jumping happily, hungry to eat and tear apart, those contented by attention, some feeling a final encounter or those that wish to have a final audience with: Waste themselves either by being used or the depths of their using people as merely propellants for their mental, financial gains.
A curtain closing moments slightly prior to the point of being that worthy of Shakespeare. Before eyes shut eternal ending painful thoughts intentionally shut down by conscious wishes for some sense of peace and tranquility: to atone, feel so some sense of grace and forgiveness for flagrant stupidity and ignorance. To say they were wrong to the ones that cared, loved and believed them to be ones worthwhile.
As they die, both by their own hands and those worrying about a here-after.
For the prey: The victim: Enough being way more than enough. Time to end and once again be free, new in innocents splendor and be reborn . Been used enough. Been embarrassed sadly by their own weakness and failed understanding to loved ones that warned them, albeit repeatedly, with both open hearts and sincere honesty. To close their eyes and sleep eternal. Some finding one that would slay them, meeting a physical killer half-way. To find their heaven. Their guiltless place from being physically wasted, killed and thus, blown away. To reach Heaven promised them in the Bible. Not committing suicide yet reaching the same outcome.
Finding peace.
That being death.
For the Predator: Finding one like themselves and comprehending the ghastly ugliness of their action, their essence, their actions and seeing a profound sickness in their being and lives. Usually after embracing one that accepts them and points out what they are. To the predator, finally finding one of equal cadence, one like them, displaying sheer sensations, thoughts and desires. Slapping them as their mothers would, bringing them to some sad embrace of both reality and humanities sake. Years, decades perhaps, the nonviolent psychopath, by their own thoughts and desires took them away. No longer wishing to feel, to be hurt or used. Reaching some place, some neverland when all crashed down. To the point they once again realize.
To point they once again allow themselves to feel.
This being a point of equality. A juncture of convergence. Sad, rejoiceful meets happy and depressing.
The crossroads seeking forgiveness.
A road where they die.
<Authors note>
Once again, and I so find myself saying this a great deal, thank you for sending me these wondrous letters born of experience and its fallout. Thank you for sharing both your pain and most importantly, some area to teach others.
You have done this selflessly, perhaps to express warnings to others, perhaps to share grief’s felt on your behalf and free them, or to free ghosts of loved ones you’ve known.
These are the letters prior to their deaths. Both found at scenes or found in pockets as some deaths were sought by foreign hands.
Cry if you will. Free yourself to do so.
What could possibly be more human than to let your eyes leak? Gasp and find hardness in holding, sustaining vital air in your lungs.
Find some humanity in the now dead with their final written words.
The way written without editing, typos corrected, honor to their words.
Le Bel Age:
To the families of loved ones deaths: I cannot find words to express thanks.
No Froms or To’s will given here. I do this to honor both those that killed themselves and you the families and friends. They that passed know who they are.
You that survived and pursue know whom you are.
No disgrace, no remorse, only final words and your thoughts eventually given proper justice on this blog.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Le Bel Age:
_____________________________________________________________________________________
I kill myself this alone night. I am not sorry to end this agony that fills me. I must end this madness and regrets of heart and minds,
I am so ever sorry for what I have made my famly and friends feel and sadness great to their lives. I was fooled and humiliated, for this I can no longer stand in eyes of myself. I failed to see truths given me. So ashamed,
Mother and father, please forgive the child you gave birth to. Sorry to diregard what you taughts me.
I given much words from others. Those give me hopes to find brightness and happynous to sustain me.
You did not fail me.
I love you all so much.
Wrists slit. bathtub warm water, that of birth.
Falling to peaceful droughsynous
Must end
Love you so ver
____________________________________________________________________________________
I have trashd so many.
Wasted thooose that asked for it. Took their money and minds emotions to give me somethings. Grant me gaynes, and steroes…
Pills fuckings wurds. If I cud be sory.
If cud feeeeels, I wood tri.
I kant do shit,
Womns plygrnds 4 sx nt gns
Diings nws.
Gnghts n srys,
Sistrs,
I fld u’sss.
SORRRREEESSSSS.
___________________________________________________________________________________
Christ, where two begin areas I made nistakes?
Meeeting her?
To daze of serhing waks on beeches for waurm sunnsets. Rms in ams kisings.
This is diiing andits ok. Tiredes is I.
Pleze fohgives kme.
Killing thoughtss of you all??>
I soo bevlived in her. So wisheddd to be wti hur. She made me fels aliv and needsed.
I amn trashed nds wsted now. Sorry to hurts you alll so mcchu.
I dids nt 2 whis t hrts uou’’’’s
I fucks uyp.
Sry
_____________________________________________________________________________________
I once, for the first time in about three decades feel sorry for what I have done to women. I feel both pain and sorrow. I used women repeatedly, with no sense of guilt or remorse. I gained oral satisfactions and from a single finger to three fingerts over time to penetrate that anally.
Most would grant me enemas on them. I’d sickly watch pressure build, watching discomfort press both eyes and breathing. I so appreciated the pain felt by weaker fools of humanity.
I got a sense of strength of from bending, making them feel my will and them succumbing to their own weak self worth.
Such a rush! Such a feeling of dominance! I was special. I was strong
I was God!
What crshaed me to finally end this”?
I was visited my grndpants that I lovedd before, splliting lifes.
Dreems… druigs and alcohol an failed blue penz fumbllings wit vraoyoins
Diiiiiing nbiow,
Flls facccccing shttti.
Wrmth s nicee ddeth tks mmmme
Sweat Geeshus, ddjnt men thurxz sssss
_____________________________________________________________________________________
I was used by this guy and
fuck that. I know be3tter.
Mons, dads, bruthers warned me about ,.
Dn0oe fourtths
U gvs shitt llils hominine fstrrrr
Jess zrry gives meeee
Diings,,,\
Gnjnma cuiaz smone to klli em. Ihpoes thye illwezs.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
What can be said of someone as smart and educated as I before killing themselves? I am not, should not be considered a ignorant nor stupid woman. I have grown to affluence and stature. I have done this through both using men and keeping my shape from bulimia. Master of illusion and confidence of men that refuse to see and wish to have a trophy wife and blind themselves to all else.
What do you want?
I have debased, ashamed and degraded them from both pushing to get vasectomies to the point of sleeping with their friends.
I have no regrets on this.
I am simply bored.
There is something else and I wish to find it.
No regrets.
Jacuzzi, warm water.
Slitting wrists elongated, no suturing there….
Good day.
____________________________________________________________________________________
This is the end of me. Place neeeedlews finlas in emmeee.
Ahhhhssss.
So tyrd and sadd. Sorries to friends as ur all tht I hhad.
Plls. Fuciking dwoners crashing eplicsing …
Hhroin vians
Can flkly
Tu sys pn fllls don’t wnt cryumns
_____________________________________________________________________________________
What can I say as a fat female, weighing in at two hundred and fifty pounds plus? I so wanted to be just loved and wanted and dare I say, admired. I wanted to be accepted by a man and not simply used for sex as I had before.
Deer god!
I evens did right. Got married four times in front of uy0o to kill guilt on my p[art.
Don’t get me wrong, as this is my death note. I did try to gain attention from men through years suing the size of my tits and willingness to be laid.
No9t wishing alonenous hatting my father. Shit he gave me being fat, sad and unwanted.
Lord, forgive me. I wanted so t be wanted I would let them have me. Cars, abandoned house, cemetaries, giving blowjobs behind mons house.
Sorry jesus.
Manic deprsiive they said I am. Got away froms you and mendicated. din't help.////
Failed at killing myself before
Will prevail this time.
Damn… finding it harders to seplel write.
Ooverrdsoe gppring
Flee no giult Mrak.
Tish nto yrou dnoing
dornwing drowins, ddrowning.
\]shit, mARK....
diiying.
mzzi uoy...
On thoer esid ess ouy.
ruoy erohs
Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiii\
Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
rys
_____________________________________________________________________________________
AUTHORS NOTE:
This is part of the many recent letters sent to me by both family members and friends alike and their beloved departed.
Keep this singular truth in mind: At no point did I ever ask for these things to be sent to me, nor did I ever wish for such abrasive endings of lives or sadness by those left in the harsh wakes of death.
If I could cry, I have little doubt I would at their last words. Tears are so gone from me now. Sadness is, to me, a life left behind in dust. I find solace on god paintings in the sky. To stare at the clouds and view wondrous sights: an elephant, image white against sharp blue. Horses crossing one another, and snapping turtle going toward nothing with mouth open. I view to the sky for happiness as most things on this Earth fail in comparison to God, Jesus, and life beyond lies, compromise and plastic tears.
I can only be objective to things where this blog is concerned.
Humble apologies: I do not wish to state submissions you have given through both heart and soul as mere ’things’. They are not such as you most sadly feel them, and I, so grateful you would share them. Some things on my part I shall not edit. For this, apologies.
I will, in due time, place your comments as those left behind by those leaving you, departing from all of us, your emotions, thoughts and hopes wish to place here, in this blog.
I cannot do this without placing my wishes and keeping anonymity on your part. I said I would do this many entries ago. I have to have some peace in this blog created and sustained by me and three others and respect all that submit here without backgrounds they wished to give.
In simple truth: the bereaved far to openly travel to lands they regret later on. So raw in emotion, so hoping to seek truth, affirmation for things that have little or no explanation they can drive themselves to the gates of madness.
Sorry, I will not help you on this trip. I will post your thoughts. I will do this with no bearing on anything posted or your connection thereof.
In conclusion to this entry: To those left in the murky waters yet white-capping on shores you hold close: The ones you loved that have passed futures are based on what you believe in in your mind. The memories, your memories , are what you hold as true. Do you hold happiness shared with them? Do you hold sadness of things they brought to your doorstep?
Do you embrace this one, or cast them off, with fake shit you display at their funeral to save face?
This is neither directed at no one nor any people of any land based on race, creed or heritage.
With thanks, embraces as well as milk and kisses,
-Mark William Darus.
THEIR KIN, CLAN AND FRIENDS THEY LEFT BEHIND:
This goes to the families, friends and others that you loved, cared about or had thoughts about the one that killed themselves and held a place in your live with most sincere of hearts. Be it from the pain of being used or the crash that sometimes hit’s the nonviolent psychopath.
These two crossroads sometimes breed the same outcome. The victim and predator do have a second meeting point, which I find most interesting.
That final, most total act of self-absorption.
So desolate these Angels and Devils, running freely, playing freely, jumping happily, hungry to eat and tear apart, those contented by attention, some feeling a final encounter or those that wish to have a final audience with: Waste themselves either by being used or the depths of their using people as merely propellants for their mental, financial gains.
A curtain closing moments slightly prior to the point of being that worthy of Shakespeare. Before eyes shut eternal ending painful thoughts intentionally shut down by conscious wishes for some sense of peace and tranquility: to atone, feel so some sense of grace and forgiveness for flagrant stupidity and ignorance. To say they were wrong to the ones that cared, loved and believed them to be ones worthwhile.
As they die, both by their own hands and those worrying about a here-after.
For the prey: The victim: Enough being way more than enough. Time to end and once again be free, new in innocents splendor and be reborn . Been used enough. Been embarrassed sadly by their own weakness and failed understanding to loved ones that warned them, albeit repeatedly, with both open hearts and sincere honesty. To close their eyes and sleep eternal. Some finding one that would slay them, meeting a physical killer half-way. To find their heaven. Their guiltless place from being physically wasted, killed and thus, blown away. To reach Heaven promised them in the Bible. Not committing suicide yet reaching the same outcome.
Finding peace.
That being death.
For the Predator: Finding one like themselves and comprehending the ghastly ugliness of their action, their essence, their actions and seeing a profound sickness in their being and lives. Usually after embracing one that accepts them and points out what they are. To the predator, finally finding one of equal cadence, one like them, displaying sheer sensations, thoughts and desires. Slapping them as their mothers would, bringing them to some sad embrace of both reality and humanities sake. Years, decades perhaps, the nonviolent psychopath, by their own thoughts and desires took them away. No longer wishing to feel, to be hurt or used. Reaching some place, some neverland when all crashed down. To the point they once again realize.
To point they once again allow themselves to feel.
This being a point of equality. A juncture of convergence. Sad, rejoiceful meets happy and depressing.
The crossroads seeking forgiveness.
A road where they die.
<Authors note>
Once again, and I so find myself saying this a great deal, thank you for sending me these wondrous letters born of experience and its fallout. Thank you for sharing both your pain and most importantly, some area to teach others.
You have done this selflessly, perhaps to express warnings to others, perhaps to share grief’s felt on your behalf and free them, or to free ghosts of loved ones you’ve known.
These are the letters prior to their deaths. Both found at scenes or found in pockets as some deaths were sought by foreign hands.
Cry if you will. Free yourself to do so.
What could possibly be more human than to let your eyes leak? Gasp and find hardness in holding, sustaining vital air in your lungs.
Find some humanity in the now dead with their final written words.
The way written without editing, typos corrected, honor to their words.
Le Bel Age:
To the families of loved ones deaths: I cannot find words to express thanks.
No Froms or To’s will given here. I do this to honor both those that killed themselves and you the families and friends. They that passed know who they are.
You that survived and pursue know whom you are.
No disgrace, no remorse, only final words and your thoughts eventually given proper justice on this blog.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Le Bel Age:
_____________________________________________________________________________________
I kill myself this alone night. I am not sorry to end this agony that fills me. I must end this madness and regrets of heart and minds,
I am so ever sorry for what I have made my famly and friends feel and sadness great to their lives. I was fooled and humiliated, for this I can no longer stand in eyes of myself. I failed to see truths given me. So ashamed,
Mother and father, please forgive the child you gave birth to. Sorry to diregard what you taughts me.
I given much words from others. Those give me hopes to find brightness and happynous to sustain me.
You did not fail me.
I love you all so much.
Wrists slit. bathtub warm water, that of birth.
Falling to peaceful droughsynous
Must end
Love you so ver
____________________________________________________________________________________
I have trashd so many.
Wasted thooose that asked for it. Took their money and minds emotions to give me somethings. Grant me gaynes, and steroes…
Pills fuckings wurds. If I cud be sory.
If cud feeeeels, I wood tri.
I kant do shit,
Womns plygrnds 4 sx nt gns
Diings nws.
Gnghts n srys,
Sistrs,
I fld u’sss.
SORRRREEESSSSS.
___________________________________________________________________________________
Christ, where two begin areas I made nistakes?
Meeeting her?
To daze of serhing waks on beeches for waurm sunnsets. Rms in ams kisings.
This is diiing andits ok. Tiredes is I.
Pleze fohgives kme.
Killing thoughtss of you all??>
I soo bevlived in her. So wisheddd to be wti hur. She made me fels aliv and needsed.
I amn trashed nds wsted now. Sorry to hurts you alll so mcchu.
I dids nt 2 whis t hrts uou’’’’s
I fucks uyp.
Sry
_____________________________________________________________________________________
I once, for the first time in about three decades feel sorry for what I have done to women. I feel both pain and sorrow. I used women repeatedly, with no sense of guilt or remorse. I gained oral satisfactions and from a single finger to three fingerts over time to penetrate that anally.
Most would grant me enemas on them. I’d sickly watch pressure build, watching discomfort press both eyes and breathing. I so appreciated the pain felt by weaker fools of humanity.
I got a sense of strength of from bending, making them feel my will and them succumbing to their own weak self worth.
Such a rush! Such a feeling of dominance! I was special. I was strong
I was God!
What crshaed me to finally end this”?
I was visited my grndpants that I lovedd before, splliting lifes.
Dreems… druigs and alcohol an failed blue penz fumbllings wit vraoyoins
Diiiiiing nbiow,
Flls facccccing shttti.
Wrmth s nicee ddeth tks mmmme
Sweat Geeshus, ddjnt men thurxz sssss
_____________________________________________________________________________________
I was used by this guy and
fuck that. I know be3tter.
Mons, dads, bruthers warned me about ,.
Dn0oe fourtths
U gvs shitt llils hominine fstrrrr
Jess zrry gives meeee
Diings,,,\
Gnjnma cuiaz smone to klli em. Ihpoes thye illwezs.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
What can be said of someone as smart and educated as I before killing themselves? I am not, should not be considered a ignorant nor stupid woman. I have grown to affluence and stature. I have done this through both using men and keeping my shape from bulimia. Master of illusion and confidence of men that refuse to see and wish to have a trophy wife and blind themselves to all else.
What do you want?
I have debased, ashamed and degraded them from both pushing to get vasectomies to the point of sleeping with their friends.
I have no regrets on this.
I am simply bored.
There is something else and I wish to find it.
No regrets.
Jacuzzi, warm water.
Slitting wrists elongated, no suturing there….
Good day.
____________________________________________________________________________________
This is the end of me. Place neeeedlews finlas in emmeee.
Ahhhhssss.
So tyrd and sadd. Sorries to friends as ur all tht I hhad.
Plls. Fuciking dwoners crashing eplicsing …
Hhroin vians
Can flkly
Tu sys pn fllls don’t wnt cryumns
_____________________________________________________________________________________
What can I say as a fat female, weighing in at two hundred and fifty pounds plus? I so wanted to be just loved and wanted and dare I say, admired. I wanted to be accepted by a man and not simply used for sex as I had before.
Deer god!
I evens did right. Got married four times in front of uy0o to kill guilt on my p[art.
Don’t get me wrong, as this is my death note. I did try to gain attention from men through years suing the size of my tits and willingness to be laid.
No9t wishing alonenous hatting my father. Shit he gave me being fat, sad and unwanted.
Lord, forgive me. I wanted so t be wanted I would let them have me. Cars, abandoned house, cemetaries, giving blowjobs behind mons house.
Sorry jesus.
Manic deprsiive they said I am. Got away froms you and mendicated. din't help.////
Failed at killing myself before
Will prevail this time.
Damn… finding it harders to seplel write.
Ooverrdsoe gppring
Flee no giult Mrak.
Tish nto yrou dnoing
dornwing drowins, ddrowning.
\]shit, mARK....
diiying.
mzzi uoy...
On thoer esid ess ouy.
ruoy erohs
Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiii\
Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
rys
_____________________________________________________________________________________
AUTHORS NOTE:
This is part of the many recent letters sent to me by both family members and friends alike and their beloved departed.
Keep this singular truth in mind: At no point did I ever ask for these things to be sent to me, nor did I ever wish for such abrasive endings of lives or sadness by those left in the harsh wakes of death.
If I could cry, I have little doubt I would at their last words. Tears are so gone from me now. Sadness is, to me, a life left behind in dust. I find solace on god paintings in the sky. To stare at the clouds and view wondrous sights: an elephant, image white against sharp blue. Horses crossing one another, and snapping turtle going toward nothing with mouth open. I view to the sky for happiness as most things on this Earth fail in comparison to God, Jesus, and life beyond lies, compromise and plastic tears.
I can only be objective to things where this blog is concerned.
Humble apologies: I do not wish to state submissions you have given through both heart and soul as mere ’things’. They are not such as you most sadly feel them, and I, so grateful you would share them. Some things on my part I shall not edit. For this, apologies.
I will, in due time, place your comments as those left behind by those leaving you, departing from all of us, your emotions, thoughts and hopes wish to place here, in this blog.
I cannot do this without placing my wishes and keeping anonymity on your part. I said I would do this many entries ago. I have to have some peace in this blog created and sustained by me and three others and respect all that submit here without backgrounds they wished to give.
In simple truth: the bereaved far to openly travel to lands they regret later on. So raw in emotion, so hoping to seek truth, affirmation for things that have little or no explanation they can drive themselves to the gates of madness.
Sorry, I will not help you on this trip. I will post your thoughts. I will do this with no bearing on anything posted or your connection thereof.
In conclusion to this entry: To those left in the murky waters yet white-capping on shores you hold close: The ones you loved that have passed futures are based on what you believe in in your mind. The memories, your memories , are what you hold as true. Do you hold happiness shared with them? Do you hold sadness of things they brought to your doorstep?
Do you embrace this one, or cast them off, with fake shit you display at their funeral to save face?
This is neither directed at no one nor any people of any land based on race, creed or heritage.
With thanks, embraces as well as milk and kisses,
-Mark William Darus.
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