"Hey hey, how’s it going?" - Beavis #tbt #throwback —- chillin in #Tijuas #TJ #Tijuana back in 2002? 2003? That’s Lola. #pitbull #woof (à Spin Diss Records)
Experimental Underground Hip Hop for the masses. Bay Area by way of Boyle Heights. Fresh since 1979.
I know I’m late on this, but here enjoy! #beastieboys #muppets #mashup #happywednesday #happyhumpday #sowhatchawant #ripMCA (à Spin Diss Records)
Oh hai. Choo, choo muthafacka! #happywednesday (à Spin Diss Records )
"So my lil’ Cali luv bug ❤️what’s new with you?" —- I’m going to file this one under #tbt #throwback. Why? Because this how we kept in touch back in the early 90s when we first met. #bff #bestfriends It has been refreshing to receive letters from my friends the last month. To know that they’ve taken the time to write me a letter, is truly special to me. That means that their time is all mine for those moments. Seeing their handwriting is like holding a piece of them. No text message can match that connection. At least to me anyway. Go run along! Spend quality time with someone you love and care about. Oh and @irreplaceablemasterpiece I’m glad to have you back! xo (à Spin Diss Records)
I feel as if I’m talking to myself most of the time. Our coexistence has been reduced to a Facebook like and a retweet of something you misunderstood. Perhaps it’s our volatile personalities that cause us to implode into an infinite chaos. I take from you what you take from me, even though sometimes you borrow without asking. As I lie here full of energy, I’m drained at the thought of our misfortune.
The odds were against me from the day I was born. I was supposed to be dead before the age of four. My heart kept beating. I was just a file folder to the men in the white lab coats. When I was promoted to the next level of infancy, I learned the reasons why my mother strongly disliked me. The…
Love is unconditional. When you love someone, you love the good, the bad, and the ugly. This is probably why I have a hard time loving myself.
It’s about 3am PST and I’m still up. I had coffee many moons ago so I know it wasn’t that. I won’t even say that I’m up because I’m somehow distraught over the death of comedy legend Robin Williams. However, my mind is still going at warp speed and I decided to write a letter to a friend in Idaho.
I have been corresponding with Babs for about two weeks now. She posted a status stating something along the lines about handwritten notes. Of course being someone who writes notes and letters often, I responded to her status and we exchanged addresses. Each week I look forward to a letter from her. It is more exciting to get her time to myself than to have to share it with everyone on Facebook. Indeed the long lost art of writing has sentimental value to me, something that instant modes of communication such as texting or email could never replace. It has also helped me regain a part of myself. It’s now 3:30am, and I feel the mania coming on.
Yesterday my timelines were flooded with quotes, pictures, and news stories about the late Robin Williams. The trolls were at work and it didn’t take much time for people to discount his death as “some rich white guy who was addict that just happened to be famous.” Oh and he was just sad. Well, I wish depression was just being sad and moping around feeling sorry for yourself; however, that’s oversimplifying it. In fact, that’s basically a copout to not address the underlying issue that is mental illness. I didn’t know Mr. Williams personally nor could I read his mind and know what he was thinking. Still, many people have called him a coward because he chose to leave us in such a horrific manner. Unless you have lived through it yourself or have dealt with it because of a friend or family member, you really don’t know shit from squat my friend.
My bipolar disorder wasn’t diagnosed until I was 15. Even then, I was just “the crazy one”. The stigma that mental illness carries in our society can be detrimental to someone who is already having to balance normalcy and their disease. You’re treated as if you are defective and in my family it was something you didn’t talk about. That means I was never on medication and the only time I saw a therapist was at John George in San Leandro to evaluate me. So what happens to someone with a mental illness when it’s left untreated?
For me it has meant weeks of uncontrollable crying and feelings of despair. Having thoughts of driving my car off the cliff or walking into oncoming traffic because overdosing on pills is reserved for celebrities. Sleepless nights of writing and composing music, recording and then crashing for three days at a time. Deliberately starving myself because I thought I was too fat or making myself vomit because food was the enemy. Destroying anything and everything I have worked hard for, which in turned destroyed many friendships and relationships. Inability to concentrate. Violent mood swings and this is just what I’m willing to share on here. Add an almost career ending injury, being home sick, and other health issues and it’s a recipe for disaster.
Not too long ago I was in Vegas with my husband. For most people, Vegas is where you go and lose your inhibitions. For me, it was a reminder of a life I left behind years back. It triggered so many negative emotions. The emotions were so intense, that I found myself locked in the rental bawling my eyes out with my friend at the other end of the line trying to convince me why I shouldn’t go and end my life. This was in May 2014. Weeks before that, my husband found me on the couch looking as if I had gotten hit by a train. By then I hadn’t left the house in over two weeks, refused to answer calls, and when asked what was wrong, I screamed at the top of my lungs on why I felt useless, hated myself and wish I wouldn’t wake up one day.
Because of all of this, when I was 21 I changed a man’s life forever by giving him a scar that he wears on his face. As much as I would like to own one, I’m afraid to keep a gun in the house. I try to fill up every minute of my day, so I don’t have to be alone with my thoughts. I end up exhausted, but it’s a small price to pay to live. When it is too much to handle, I turn to music and poetry. Neither that get any attention because I don’t have videos of me in koochie kutters and don’t glorify materialism. I recall that a few months back I posted a message on Facebook about taking the time to read my Tumblr posts because I have a lot to say and wanted feedback. That was my cry for help. This is a reminder for later : The signs were always there, you just ignored them.
If you know me personally, by now your jaw is on the floor. Pick it up. This is the face of mental illness. You see it isn’t about how successful you are, or how much money is in the bank. That shit doesn’t matter when you feel like blowing your brains out. FACT. You’re not thinking straight, and that is just sugarcoating it.
I’ll leave you with the last words written to my friend Babs :
"My ‘highs’ are euphoric, and my ‘lows’ are catastrophic. Each day I walk on a tight rope, trying to maintain my balance hoping I don’t fall."
#RestInPower #RobinWilliams —- #comedian #comedy #legend (à Murrieta, California)
So refreshing! #summernights #hibiscus tea #Jamaica with clementines. #happyfriday (à Murrieta, California)