Posts Tagged ‘depression’

Five Minutes of ADHD

Posted: August 10, 2012 in life lessons, love, self-help
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Everything is in pieces. It’s always been that way.

For anyone with ADD, ADHD or other learning disability. No one understands. People can’t see your issue. People tell you they understand when they don’t. They forget. If you’re a parent, your children will be judged, labeled, medicated and treated like they are just bad. I have ADHD.

From http://www.livestrong.com:

A person with ADHD might have problems expressing himself or communicating with others as a result of the presence of other undiagnosed mental health problems. People with ADHD commonly have co-existing mental health disorders that include, but are not limited to, learning disorders, autism spectrum disorders and mood disorders. While having ADHD itself will impact a person’s ability to communicate, the presence of any of these other disorders will also impede a person’s normal communication skills. 

My Morning:

It was dark this morning when I woke-up. I’d only been asleep a few hours. That damned John Mayer song is playing in my head again. Shut the fuck up, John! Can’t you see I’m trying to sleep?? I don’t know what time it is. Where’s my watch. I always sleep with my watch on, why not last night? Oh…that’s right, I’ve been itchy. I was scratching … where did I take it off?

Geesh, I’m itchy. I wish I didn’t bite my nails, then I could scratch better. Where is that metal ruler I used the other night to scratch my back..it’s here somewhere. I feel around in the dark. There it is. I scratch my back and eventually end with my legs. I wonder if it is possible to scrape a hole in my leg? I’m probably bleeding. I can’t see. It’s dark. I should be more careful, I’m diabetic. These scratches and bites could really get infected. Well, maybe I’m not really diabetic anymore. My readings have been normal recently. Wait…when was the last time I checked? I really haven’t been eating very well lately. I think I want donuts for breakfast. I haven’t had donuts in a really long time. I want coffee too. Where can I get that? I really should look for my test kit. 

John…shut-up…seriously. Maybe if I take a hot shower this itching will stop? Captain is sitting there staring at me now. God, what a good dog he is. I know he wonders why in the hell I’m scratching like this. Fucking Florida bugs. At least I haven’t seen any roaches. I really hate roaches. “Okay, Cappy…let me get your breakfast.” He really is a good boy…he’s dancing down the hallway now. He really would like Karma. Sigh. Doubt that’s going to happen. 

I reach for the dog food, the cat starts crying. I grab the cat food instead. The dog sighs. John is still singing. I’m still wondering if hot water will help.  I’ve been awake 5 or 10 minutes. Where IS my friggin’ watch??

People don’t understand me. I’m used to it. It doesn’t hurt any less. It just is. I have autistic tendencies at times. I have auditory processing issues. I get agoraphobic and have panic attacks when I’m in crowds. I have a soundtrack that plays in my head all the time, 24 hours a day. I assume it plays in my sleep, it plays all day long and is there first thing when I open my eyes. I have a tendency to get depressed, because of all the other issues. The doctor calls it “situational depression”, slaps a prescription in my hands and pats me on the back on the way out the door. I’ve learned “detachment” in self-defense. I walk away. Isn’t the first time, probably won’t be the last. It doesn’t hurt any less. It just is.

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New book is available at a discount for the first 100 people only!

Posted: June 6, 2012 in Uncategorized
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Please, use this link and visit my e-store. Use the discount code XMQ9U2F6 when ordering and receive a $2 discount off the printed version of my book.

You Get the First Free Look At My New Book

Posted: June 5, 2012 in Uncategorized
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Available in the US on June 6th and the rest of the world on June 7th, I’m announcing my new book: “Twisted -Flashbacks”. Twisted is a brand new series that focuses on Sam. Flashbacks is the first book of the new series. Stay tuned for links and how to get your copy!


Sam represents the best and worst of us all. She’s the product of her past, present and what she sees as her future. Sam is a survivor, a victim and sometimes even a bit of a predator. She’s dark, troubled and on a one-way trip to self-destruction. Haunted by her demons, she struggles to live her life as best she can.

As you get to know Sam, things will come out about her life that are surprising and often times troubling. You will no doubt find yourself loving her and hating her, all at the same time. You may find that things about her remind you of yourself, making her a little harder to swallow at times? Some things about her will make you feel mournful for the childhood, family and friends that she has lost.

Ultimately, I hope that you will find some way to connect with Sam, whether it is love or hate. Through Sam, I hope to open some people’s eyes to show that we are all one in this world together. We all have the same hurts, struggles, pains and fears. We all have a dark side and we all cry eventually.

EXCERPT:

Book One:

Flashbacks

Taps played in the background as the seven Marines lifted their guns to the air to fire the first round of the 21 gun salute. Ka-Pow! The rifles made her jump and she looked around to see the reaction of everyone else around. There were people crying, mothers holding children in their laps, and others holding hands. Men had their heads down and their shoulders visibly heaved as they were overcome with emotion. Crack! The second volley seemed even more thunderous than the preceding one and now she could hear crying in the background. People now hugged each other in a show of support. She could hear the commands being given to the rifle squad as they once more took aim into the baby blue sky and let rip. Boom! The final, thunderous round of gunfire made its intrusion into the clear September day. Sam looked around once more and watched the people all around her. There were middle-aged women, children, young men … she didn’t know any of them. She didn’t want to.

Sam stood in the background like a shadow, trying not to be seen or noticed. She felt as though she was inside a bubble and the world was simply going on around her, as if she didn’t exist. “Wouldn’t life just be easier then”, she mused. She waited for the crowd to disperse. As soon as everyone had disappeared from the tent, she walked towards the casket which was draped in an American flag and covered with flowers. She stood for a moment, just staring at the finish of the casket. One tiny part of the corner of the casket was left bare, left uncovered in flag, flowers or adornment. In this corner, she realized that she could see her own reflection as she stood there. She looked completely out of place.

She realized that this tiny little piece of this box, that held what was once a life, was a direct representation of the tiny piece she’d had in that life. He was her father. He’d helped to create her. He had sex with her mother, created her and then walked out of both of their lives. He’d never been there. He was a stranger. She hated him, she loved him, she felt like she needed him … but he was gone. He had never taken the time to try to get to know her or to even look for her and now he never would. Yes, right now she hated him. Now, he’d abandoned her not just once, but twice. She laid the black rose she’d brought on top of the casket. She’d carefully picked it out. It was in sharp contrast to the red roses and the carnations with their banners that read Rest In Peace. Sam didn’t want him to rest in peace. No, she hoped he’d be tormented in some kind of hell to make up for what he’d done to her. She dropped the flower without touching the coffin and turned around to walk away, she had an appointment to get ready for.

She made her way back to her old mustang and got in. As she fired-up the engine and drove away, she began to do what she always did so well. The wall was already being built, one brick at a time. Mortar was her pain and the bricks were the events of her life as they unfolded. She built the walls meticulously and steadily, one day at a time, one brick at a time, with enough mortar to last a lifetime.

Getting Into Character

Posted: May 29, 2012 in Uncategorized
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I’m working on a new character for a series of books. She’s going to be a rather dark figure, with a lot of issues. I am finding myself getting a little depressed as I delve into the trenches of this girl’s life. Part of me wonders if she is something outside of myself or if she is a part of me that I have personally yet to deal with?

As writers, we are similar to actors in that we get “into character” and we begin to almost “live” in the shoes of our characters. In this character development phase, it is new and almost overwhelming…but I think that the most overwhelming thing is the fact that I know it represents some part of ME. I don’t like this girl very much, yet she is me. I can see that. 

Writing has always been cathartic for me, but this time…it may be a lesson in getting psychiatric help? Part of me worries that I’ll pull a Heath Ledger and get so depressed by this character that I end up on sleeping pills and anti-depressants. 

Emptiness

Posted: May 28, 2012 in Uncategorized
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My latest book on Amazon.com

Writers have the ability to change the world by changing people’s minds. Writers can open minds, as people open their books. In a strange twist of realities, as you turn the pages of a book, a writer turns on your mind. A writer can bring you face to face with your worst fears and walk you to the edge of a cliff and force you to look down. Writers have the power to take you to other worlds and bring you back to reality. Being a good writer isn’t as easy as some would think and there are times that you find yourself wondering what it is all for.

Sometimes, when you are a writer, you find yourself blocked. You feel the need to write, you feel the emotions that you want to write, but you just can’t find the words to put it on paper. Writers are no different than other people in this world. The only thing that separates us is our ability to look at things from many perspectives and summarize situations for other people. A writer can torment and a writer can comfort but who comforts the writer and what are his torments? Is it true that some of the greatest artists and thinkers of our time have suffered great depressions and experienced tormented lives?

As I sit here and stare out the window at palm trees, my heart is yearning to say something … but I don’t know what. My state is melancholy and I feel as though I should write one of my greatest works at this very moment. Yet, when I look inside myself for the words and the feelings, the descriptions and the anecdotes … there’s nothing. Emptiness fills my chest and my mind. It’s black, cold and dark. I’m tired though I’ve done nothing all day.

It’s a holiday and the world is going on around me. I have no desire to participate. Twice today, people have reached out to me and I’ve found ways to avoid them. This is what I’ve done with my life. I’ve avoided people. I’ve avoided family, friends and any essential ties to anyone.

I published my first book this weekend. It’s a work on butch/femme erotica and I felt good about it until someone asked me if anyone threw me a book release party. It occurred to me that there was no one who would have or could have done such a thing for me. I’ve no one that close to me. The people who tried to be close to me, I’ve found ways to hurt, avoid and just quietly slip away from. In the loneliness and gloom that have been my life, the only joys I have found in recent years have been in writing. I delve into other worlds and pretend to be someone else. Fiction takes me outside of my own life and gives me relief from the pains, tragedies and heartaches that are my real life.

I dare say that I am not that different from many creative people out there. We see and experience so much from the world around us that we feel overwhelmed sometimes. Rainy days can make us depressed and a parade can take us back to childhood. A bite from a chocolate chip cookie and I find myself back in my grandmother’s kitchen, keenly aware of the smells, sounds and sensations of actually being in that room again. Everything the world does touches me, but on some level I have grown to not let the world in too deep. I keep that space for myself and only me. Emptiness.