Dear Krystal,

We weren’t the closest yet you know me better than any… We have suffered the same black dog of despair. You succumbed to him. Sometimes, I wish I would. I envy your strength. I envied it in life. You were are so strong. Stronger than me. That’s how you could have done it.

God I miss you. You never know how much a presence means until it’s gone. I’m sorry now.  So sorry I didn’t hang out with you that one last time you asked. I know you’re the only one who understood what I was going through.

I will never ever forget you defending me against my so-called ‘friends’ on Facebook when I was having a crisis and they were not supportive and they were telling me to simply “get over it,” and all that, but you knew what it’s like, so you were like “you need to be supportive of Emily,and you’re not helping her, you’re only encouraging her to be suicidal.” You were never afraid to tell someone how it is. I respected that.

Krystal, the last time we talked you were telling me not to kill myself. I don’t know what to do with these feelings of love, regret, and remorse. Everything reminds me of you and your influence. I never expected that. 

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Three Years Ago

This is something I wrote three years ago inspired by the man I am going to marry in 22 days. My sweetest love. My darling. My Andrew. ❤

Molten Gold

Molten gold flowing down my hands
Over my heart,
Pooling in my stomach.
Dripping glittering drops down my thighs.

A sister to pain
A cousin to pleasure
The twin of fear.

Tremble and drum
Seep and dull
Balmy winds hasten
A dreamer comes to call.

An alien sensation
Spirits alive in chains
Warring within
Warring without
To make war never again.

❤ I love you always my darling. EAE

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Feeling Human Again

To celebrate my 29th birthday, my fiance took me to my favorite place for the weekend, The Pennsylvania Renaissance Faire. I like to go every year at least once. I’ve been going for about 8 years now. I always go in Harley Quinn cosplay. When I first started attending the faire, barely anyone knew who Harley Quinn was. So they assumed I was just a court jester, which is what I was going for. Now everyone recognizes Harley, so it’s kinda less magical. But I still get copious compliments on my costume, which I have perfected over the past 10 years. Kids always love to come up to me and take pictures. I’ve become kind of a staple at the faire, with the usual actors recognizing me every year and calling me Harley.


Sign for the most beautiful place on earth

We had a fantastic time staying at the hotel next to the faire, which is great for drunken stumbling back to the hotel after the faire closes. I went full costume and make up on Saturday and opted for no makeup on Sunday because I was feeling lazy. It was lovely weather the entire weekend, mid 70s cloudy and breezy. Heaven-like weather for my favorite place in the world.


Me, full costume and makeup


Myself and my sweetie


A mallet I was too cheap to buy


I thought this was a kid at first

My favorite show at the faire is Circus Stella. I adore the aerial silk act. I wish I could learn to do it, but I lack the discipline and drink too much beer.


We passed though Litiz on the way home and stopped by Wilbur Chocolates to pick up a gift for my parents, who love the place and used to take us to it as kids. Unfortunately, their big beautiful factory has been sold, but the store across the street remains open. Next to the factory was a gorgeous park.


The sold factory building

We stopped at Stoudt’s Brewing on the way to the faire, and I was impressed with the antiques inside.


What looks like an antique dresser re-purposed for the bar area


Huge fancy mirror bench


Women fencing topless

A glorious time at the place I most love, doing the thing I most love, with the man I most love.


Old Mt Hope sign at dusk

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I’m the Great I Am

Through Bowie all things are possible. He brings me light, love, comfort, and hope.

Just go with me..


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It has been three months since my last depressive episode. That was the longest time I’ve ever gone without one. It returned today, along with suicidal thoughts.

At what point do you just stop the charade and just give up? At what point do you begin to look foolish for continuing to try, only to fail? Everyone is laughing at me.

I did all the right things. I earned a bachelor’s degree, had great grades, didn’t get pregnant or do drugs. Yet I have failed miserably. I can’t even get the lowest level jobs. The only jobs I can get are food service and customer service jobs … kid jobs.

I don’t need your useless platitudes about how everything will be okay. I need HELP. 

Am I meant to just kill myself? It is obvious I am of no use because one wants me.

Some people are beyond help. Maybe I should scrape up the last of any dignity that I have and not continue this humiliating existence of servitude and poverty and finally do something for myself for once. No one else is going to save me from this pit.

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Digust Me

The following excerpt is, I’m ashamed to say, from my most popular work on AO3. In essence, it’s about a prisoner of war being detained by a psychotic high ranking enemy. He’s showing off his “spoils of war” (the prisoner, Anne of Levinheim.) at a victory banquet.. she is slightly drunk.. and this happens… enjoy my toxic fanfic waste my dearest darlings…


“Be careful then, you might break her!” The man laughed heartily and winked.

 “Oh, I intend to do just that.” Loki said with a little laugh of his own as we walked away.

 “Please don’t break me.” I murmured stupidly in my intoxication to Loki. 

 “Soon enough, you will beg for me to break you. I can promise you that.” He said and fisted the material of my gown at my waist momentarily as if to drive his point. We headed out of the hall and were quickly in the darkened corridors of the palace. 

 “Is that the reason you took me? For me to be your whore?” I slurred, not really caring at the moment.

 He stopped suddenly and pushed me against a wall. He had me pinned with his arms on either side of my head. My mind sharpened a bit with the unexpected violence. 

 “Listen well, my pet,” Loki hissed, coming dangerously close to my face. “You shall be whatever it is that I wish you to be, and you will glad for the opportunity. I warned you not to question me. You will now have to learn your place the hard way.” 

 I gulped and looked into his eyes and realized that I had gone too far. But I was no longer under the Odinforce oath to obey him and felt anger bubble in my stomach. I figured he would do with me what he wished anyway, so why bother being meek? The alcohol also provided me some courage.

 “What will you do? Kill me? Then do it! I’d rather die than bear this any longer.” I spat at him. 

 He backed up a bit and his face twisted with anger. He raised a hand and slapped me across the face. It was certainly not nearly as hard as he could have done, but I felt my cheek sting and burn all the same. My eyes watered a bit with the pain and I clenched my teeth as I held my face. 

 “Perhaps I will kill you.” He growled, coming near again. “But not yet. Not until I destroy everything that you are bit by bit. You want to know why I took you, little Levin? I want to watch as your mind comes undone in my hands.” He smiled cruelly and roughly gripped my forearm.

 He dragged me further down the labyrinth of halls until we reached (from what I could see in the shadows) a large chamber. He threw me into the vast darkness of the room and slammed the door. I fell to the ground and blindly felt around. I could not see in the pitch darkness. It wasn’t until I heard his boots move across the stone floor that I realized that Loki was in the room with me. I then stood again, uneasily with my arms stretched out in front of me feeling. I heard Loki laugh behind me. As I turned to face the sound, I heard his laugh to my right, then to my left, above me, below me, all around me. 

 I retreated and felt a wall behind me. I steadied myself against its coldness and waited. The laughter had stopped. I heard him approaching me, his boots echoing a hollow sound throughout the cavernous room. I braced myself. 

 Quite suddenly, I felt a cold hand stroke my face. I jumped from the sensation and then was pinned against the wall by his chest. My breathing quickened and I could feel his firm chest pushing deeper into me with each exhale. 

 “This is what I like,” he whispered, and placed a hand over my heart. “Feeling your fear. How rapidly your little heart beats in your chest,” He said with apparent relish. “I love the feel of this fragile form quivering beneath my hands. You have no idea what it does to me.” His voice was thick and smooth. 

“You should be frightened, Anne of Levinheim. You should be very frightened.” 

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Nostalgia and Balloons

Tonight I bring you the first part of chapter 7 from my novel, Blood and Balloons, where we find Brian (the mime and leader of the clown support group) walking towards The General theater for the meeting. (Reminder: Harpo was the haughty clown who works at the Jack amusement park.) I hope it reminds you of some time in your life when you were content.

Chapter 7: Money Found Me

As Brian walked towards The General on Duke Boulevard, he did something out of the ordinary for him: he smiled. If there had been anyone else on the street that night, Brian could have feigned a cough to conceal this, that’s how foreign an act it was. It almost seemed shameful, like he had pitched a tent in public. Sad for a clown to not smile, but mimes are different.

It had been a great day, as far as Brian’s normal days go. He hadn’t had work, due to the Chuck E. Cheese being fumigated for vermin, and he also hadn’t performed today. He had just slept for most of the afternoon. It was beautiful. He loved to retreat into slumber. In sleep, your anxiety and crippling self-loathing couldn’t chase you as closely. That isn’t to say these demons don’t follow you into your dreams, but they are warped- altered somehow. There are lead weights on their wings. You may not realize that you’re dreaming, but you do perceive the fresh distance between you and your demons, and that is a beautiful feeling. Not unlike the warm, heavy blanket feeling when the Xanax finally kicks in and shoos the fear out the front door. It wraps you up in its soothing embrace, holding you tight, slowly letting go. Until your realize that your feet are cold again and the dread has found its way back in through the open window and resumes squeezing your heart.

No, it had been a nice day. Sweet unconsciousness. He couldn’t understand why Poe had hated sleep. Little slices of death, he had said. And what’s wrong with that? For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come must give us pause, correct? Death is the ultimate escape. Like a warm blanket that never slips away.

Brian shivered and pressed his chin against his chest as a cold gust blew right through him, threatening to take him with it. When he looked up again, he saw the back of the new-comer woman as she passed through the gilded doors of The General. He was curious to hear her story, should she chose to share. He hoped that she did. He had been watching her; she was so invested in every story that everyone told. Her face had mirrored her emotions clearly, especially sadness and regret.

Brian reached forward and grabbed the brass door handle. He was unnerved to find it still warm from the woman’s hand. The old theater was just as he had remembered from childhood, except smaller- as things often appear to be once you rediscover them as adults. It’s kind of shame to do that to yourself. You lose all the wonder and magic of childhood if you go and ruin it with your adult eyes.

The lobby was dark, but a path of light led him to the theater- which was the only room that was completely illuminated. Brian was shocked to see that it was clean and in almost perfect condition. Puddles had certainly been busy refurbishing the old theater. The seats were restored, the paint on the walls bright as ever. It was as if he had stepped back a decade in time when passing through the double-door mouth of the great theater.

His eyes reached the stage, and found that Puddles had arranged a collection of antique wing-back chairs in a circle. Brian was embarrassed to see that he was the last one to arrive. He usually was the first one there, to set up and to get things going. But no one seemed to mind, as they were all chatting away. Well, all except Puddles and the new woman. Puddles was not in makeup, but he was silent nonetheless. He sat next to Sparkles in a large blue velvet chair, his chin resting against his large fist, smiling contentedly at Sparkles. Brian felt a stab of jealousy like a blow to the heart. Puddles was really in love with Sparkles. Brian could tell just from that look he was giving her. Brian was familiar with that look. He smiled as he climbed up the small stairs at the side of the stage.

He took the last chair, which had powder blue damask upholstery and claw feet. “Hi everyone,” he said as he removed his jacket and draped it across the arm of his chair. “And thank you again, Puddles, for generously providing us with a location for our meeting.”

Puddles smiled genuinely and responded in a deep, smooth voice, “it’s my pleasure.” It was almost shocking to hear him speak, especially with such a remarkable baritone voice.

“I’m glad to see everyone has decided to come tonight. Well, aside from Harpo. I suppose he must’ve landed that audition.” Brian said snidely.

“Good. Maybe I can take his job,” Sparkles sneered. “I can be the new Harpo at the Jack.”

“And I for one would know you’d do a far better job than he ever could, Spark. I mean it.” Brian said a bit too fondly. He caught himself and avoided looking over in Puddles direction as he felt color rise in his cheeks. He cleared his throat and looked to Willy.

“Would you like to finish your story on how you became the great Willy the Tramp, Willy?” Brian asked.

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It’s been quite some time since I’ve written. I went from posting every day to posting once a month. When did this happen? These sorts of things just …. do. You settle in, get comfortable with the excuses you give yourself.

My mind has been as wrought with the fantastic as ever… I just haven’t shared it. I think to myself, ‘who cares what I have to say?’

Who cares, indeed.

Well, I care. Even if I’m all I’ve got, that should be enough. Although I find that there is always someone there. Even when there’s not.

I’m good enough for myself. I love and respect myself (well… working on it.) because no one else will.

I’m seeing a therapist for the first time in over a year on Wednesday. Hopefully she can help me with my feelings of failure and depression from having a BA and working a shit job. And help with my crippling PTSD.

I’m getting married in a bit over two months. I’ll be 29 on my wedding day, yet I don’t feel grown up enough to be getting married.

I hope I never do.

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Cry to Arms

I am a damn talented writer. (With an excellent credit score to boot.) Give me a chance and I’ll give you life. Give me a voice and I’ll sing sweetly or brutally scream your song.

I am here. I am ready.

Give me all you’ve got.

I can take it.

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I’m Late This Month

My monthly visitor skipped me this month. Usually it comes like clockwork two weeks before my period starts. My depressive episode.

I did not have a depressive episode this month. I haven’t ever not had a depressive episode. Before my tubal ligation last August, my whole life, beginning at age 12, was one big depressive episode. I have Major Depressive Disorder with Atypical Features. My ‘atypical features’ were that I didn’t have depressive episodes– I had severe depression all of the time. (Dysthymic disorder is when you are mildly depressed all of the time.)

This month, I awaited the black dog to come sit on my chest and make me a burden for my loved ones. It never came. My period started today, and so that means I’m late for my depressive episode.

Changes that may have caused this? My Wellbutrin dose was decreased from 500mg to 300mg and I began using 20mg of Celexa again last month. I was on 60mg of Celexa for 9 years until my psychiatrist wanted to try getting off of it and just using Wellbutrin about 6 months ago.

Then the anxiety began. I never knew I had anxiety until this time. I knew I had PTSD, but that anxiety is different (at least for me). This constant anxiety was more than I could bear. It made me suicidal. I had a resting heart rate of 130 BPM. I had EKGs done, complete metabolic panel, blood work, etc. No heart condition. It was the anxiety! Wellbutrin doesn’t treat anxiety apparently. But, I have been on meds that just so happen to treat it ever since I was diagnosed at age 12 with depression.

That time when I was only taking Wellbutrin was the first time in my life that I haven’t taken a med that treats anxiety, so symptoms presented themselves. Now I’m on Celexa (which does treat anxiety) and reduced Wellbutrin, I feel wonderful. I have some dark days, but they are few and I haven’t been suicidal in a month and a half. I am happy and can see beauty in things, and I found myself grateful to be alive to witness such beauty. I’ve even started to like my job.. even if only for my coworkers, whom I think of as family. If you knew me, you’d know that this is unprecedented!


From the Chesapeake Bay Bridge today. (I was a passenger on a bus). I was struck with the beauty of the water and the sun rays and the sky. I felt lucky to be alive. Weird for me!

True, I feel my sorrow makes me a better writer, but I’d rather enjoy life and still be able to write some things. Perhaps they are great in their own way. Not everything has to be a tragedy I suppose.

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