Monday, November 17, 2014

Deleted Messages

HAIL SATAN!!!!!!!!!


Even before I became a born-again Satanist, I was blessed with many internal wicked traits that helped me cope with life at home growing up. I like to think of them as natural gifts given to me from the Devil himself. Not many people out there are given natural gifts directly from Satan, so, as you can guess, I was definitely meant to be a Satanist.

One of my favorite Satanic abilities that I had was my ability to completely block out most of the messages my evil mother used to leave for me on my cell phone. I wouldn't simply listen to them and block them out as many lame, non-Satanic people do. No, I simply would delete them as soon as I could hear her bitchy, dry cunt voice playing from my speakers. I didn't always have this beautiful wicked trait; it sort of came to me as I got older and developed a deeper hatred for my mother as time dragged slowly on.

I remember one very specific event in which I deleted my mom's messages without even taking the time to listen to them. It was when I was eighteen years old and still living at home. My mother refused to let me live in the college dorms when I was eighteen because, as she put it, I was "Not totally cooked yet." Whatever the hell that meant is beyond me. All I know is that she was grasping at straws so she could keep me captive at home longer and longer. Anyway, I had decided to go to Florida to visit my fake dad Tim. I hadn't cut him out of my life yet and I thought that Tim could replace the empty hole in my heart that my real dad had once occupied before he died. I didn't really believe that Tim could totally fill in that void for me but I thought that he might be able to fill at least some of it. Boy, was I absolutely, one hundred percent wrong on that one!

My mother Jennifer had been dragging her feet the whole time about whether or not she should allow me to go to Florida to visit Tim and the rest of his relatives that lived there. I finally got her to let me go by saying to her, "If you don't let me go this year, I'll just go next year and I won't spend the holidays with you, I'll spend them with Tim and his family instead. At least with this visit, that is, if you let me go this year, I will be back in time for the holidays."

So she finally gave in and drove me to the airport, taking extreme measures to be careful so that her boyfriend at the time wouldn't find out that I was going to Florida to visit the guy who had held a gun to my mom's head and pointed it at him.

Jennifer was always extremely overbearing and super clingy. It was like I was somehow a part of her very being and to separate me meant that her whole life would fall apart because she had nobody else to boss around and abuse and bully. It was very difficult for her to let me board that plane to Florida. She kept giving me filthy, wet kisses during the whole time I was waiting to board the plane. As soon as I got on the plane, I scrubbed the skin where she had kissed me, determined to get her slime off of me. Then I turned my cell phone off when the flight attendant instructed all of us passengers to do so, and heaved a great sigh of relief when the plane lifted off and began ascending in the cloudy, night sky. I was sure that when I landed in Miami, Florida, that I would have a boat load of messages waiting for me. The majority of them would be from my mother and there would be quite a few from my grandma Giovanna, too.

Sure enough, when the plane landed and we were allowed to turn on our cell phones, I found that I had seven unheard messages in my mailbox. The first one, as I knew it would be, was from no one other than Jennifer. I listened to only half of the message before I got disgusted and deleted it.

"I'm watching the plane take off from the gate," she announced mournfully on my machine. Since she was a flight attendant herself, she was allowed to stay in the gate where my plane took off and watch it leave the runway.

"I'm going to miss you so much. I already miss you. Please call me when you arrive. I love you Ashlee."

There was more to the message but after she gave me the "I love you"; I found that I had had enough. I hated it when she told me that she loved me because I knew, even from a very young age, that her love was not unconditional like every parent's love should be. Her love was conditional so long as she got her way with everything that she wanted. If you messed up even once, there would be hell to pay and her love would vanish until you managed to make it up to her. Hearing her say that she loved me made my blood boil and my skin crawl. I REFUSED to let her anger me right before my happy vacation away from her and all of her drama began.

The next message was also from her.

"Okay, so now I'm---"

DELETE! I really didn't give a rat's ass what she was doing now. I hated her guts. The only message I would have listened to from her was a message from her telling me that she was in the hospital on her deathbed because she had gotten into a tragic accident of some sort. That would be the only message from her that would bring a huge smile to my face and a huge sigh of relief as all the tension left my body from eighteen years of being burdened by her.

Next message:
"Hi Ashlee---"

Delete. On to the next one.

"When are you---?"

Delete. Next message:

"I miss---"

Delete again! God, would all of the messages on my damn phone really be from her? It wouldn't surprise me in the least if they were.

Next message:

"Are you---"

Delete. Jesus H. Christ, only two messages to go before I had gotten through them all. Seriously Mom?

Next message:

"Ashlee, call---"

Delete! Okay, one more to go. I kept my fingers crossed, hoping to hear a different voice for a change, a voice from anybody else would be greatly celebrated.

Next message:

"I'm worried---"

The hell you are clingy bitch! Delete again! Phew, I had finally gotten through all of them in a matter of seconds. The plane was still taxiing slowly down the runway, inching towards the gate where it would let all of us off.

Jesus, if I had listened to all of those awful messages, I'd be all the way off the plane and probably at least halfway to Tim's car before I had managed to get through them all. And wow, it really did feel so satisfying to simply erase them, without giving one iota of care about what she had said. I made a mental note to tell her when I got back that I had erased her messages, with hopes of making her stop calling me so much and to let her know that it was futile to call me so much because I wasn't going to listen to them anymore, especially when she called over and over and over again like she did so much of my life, needing to have that control of knowing my every move, my every thought, my every mistake.

It wasn't just my mother's messages that I deleted without listening to. My grandma Giovanna was also in the habit of calling repeatedly with nonsense drama to try and overload my head with, so she got the delete button pushed quite a lot, the rest of her messages never being heard by anybody but herself.

A few days later, when I got back, I did get a chance to tell the whore, my mother, what I had done. I can't remember exactly how the conversation came about but it did. Anyway, I remember saying to her, "You know, you really did call me a lot during my five hour flight to Florida. Why'd you call so much?"

"Because I missed you. And I got worried when you didn't call me back. Why didn't you call me back anyway? I left you like five messages."

"No, you left seven messages Mother," I said harshly.

"And anyway, I didn't call you back because I didn't know you wanted me to or that you were that worried."

"How could you not have known. I told you in the messages how I was about to board a plane to Miami myself and hunt you down to make sure you were okay. I told you how I stayed at the airport for three hours after your plane took off, just in case something went wrong. So don't tell me you didn't know I wasn't worried."

"No, seriously, I didn't have a clue," I said, trying to stifle the smile that was threatening to give me away before I was ready for it to yet.

"Well, as you said yourself, you did get the messages. Was my phone breaking up or something?"

"No, the reception sounded fine, of what I heard of your messages anyway. You see Mother, there comes a time when a person really can't take being constantly monitored and babied all their life anymore. Well, I reached that point long ago, but on the plane, when I received your messages, it occurred to me that I could simply delete them instead of listening to them all the way through. So, that is what I did with your seven messages Mom. I deleted them as soon as I heard the first few words that were uttered from your mouth."

Jennifer let out a loud gasp. It was totally obvious how utterly appalled she was that her only child didn't care to listen to her incredibly important messages. It never occurred to her that her eighteen-year-old daughter might someday want to live her own life without her interference. I could tell by her reaction that nobody had ever confessed to deleting her messages without listening to them. This kind of shocked me because, ironically enough, she is the one who gave me that idea.

Countless times I had witnessed her deleting messages without listening to them. She did that with her own mother. She would also do it when she was mad at a particular boyfriend or when she had decided that she was ready to break up with them for a month or so and then get back together with them once she got tired of the other boyfriend.

"You deleted my messages!?" she said, aghast.

"Yep, I sure did. There really was no need for you to call me that many times during a five hour flight. If you were truly worried you could have called Tim and asked him if he had heard of any problems or delays with my flight."

My mother didn't talk much after I broke the news of my wicked deed to her. I quickly found out, though, that my shameless confession wasn't going to make her call me any less in the weeks to come when we were separated. That was okay, though. I always remembered to have my finger on the delete button so that I could stab it with my finger when I heard that awful voice oozing like blood from a disgusting, over-worn tampon from my speakers.

It always amazed me how good it felt to delete her messages without ever knowing what she said. In some circumstances, when someone repeats an action the good feeling of that action wears away bit by bit the more they do the action. Well, not for me. I was on cloud nine every time I deleted her messages after only hearing the first few words. Eventually, with serious practice an enormity of calls to practice on, it got to the point where I could delete the message after only hearing one word escape from her mouth. Once I got to that point, I had absolutely no clue at all what the message was about, whereas, when I used to hear more than one word in the message, I would have some general idea of what the call was about. I used to make educated guesses on what she wanted. Now that I have permanently estranged myself from her, I don't give it even a second of passing thought. It's just delete and then I move on to bigger and way better things that are going on in my life because really, she is dead to me and she always will be.

Along with the great feeling I had when I deleted her messages, I always wondered in the back of my head whether there would ever be a day when she would realize just how futile it was to call me, even if it was just once when I finally did move out and estranged myself from her. I wondered if she would ever realize that she was wasting her breath, words, and energy she could be using to fuck another pilot or gunman instead of wasting it all on leaving me messages that would never be heard. Along with those thoughts that swim around in my mind, I also always never forget to thank Satan for giving me the opportunity to witness my mother doing the exact thing with unwanted messages so I could learn from her shining example.

HAIL SATAN!!!!!!!!!

Friday, October 24, 2014

Fake Dad

HAIL SATAN!!!!!!!!!


Last night I discovered something very interesting. My fake dad, Tim, called my domination business phone number, which is called the Den of Serpents. He didn't say anything in the message. There was just a second of silence and then I heard the sound of the phone hanging up. At first I wasn't sure who called me because the phone didn't read the number out loud so I called it back twice. He didn't answer it. I considered leaving him a "Hail Satan", message, but my friends all were against the idea, so I didn't leave him a message. Instead, I turned my big lug of a computer on, logged on to the email address that belongs to the Den of Serpents, and had my computer read the number out loud. Sure enough, it was Tim, my fake dad.

How he got the number is beyond me. He must be talking to my mom again. My mom and Tim used to live together. They got married when I was six or seven years old. I thought that Mom divorced him but, the last time I spoke with Tim, he informed me that they were still married, which is why she hasn't married her newest boyfriend yet.

Anyway, my fake dad is a real creep. I don't mean he's creepy because he's attracted to my mom, though that is reason enough for him to be considered a creep. No, I mean, he is a serious, SERIOUS, MAJOR CREEP! Tim is the kind of creep that thinks that it's okay to pull a gun on somebody. Nope, no exaggeration, he actually did pull a gun on someone. And that someone was my mother Jennifer.

It was New Years Day of either 2004 or 2005. I'm pretty positive it was the beginning of 2004, when the year was no more than eight or ten hours old. An infant year, Chrissie says. I was dead asleep in my room with the door locked. My mother's boyfriend at the time, Chris, had a very obnoxious son named Andrew, and they were both spending the night over at my house. I locked my bedroom door before I went to bed so that if Andrew dared try to enter my bedroom he'd be stopped in his tracks by the protective lock on my door. Doors weren't respected in my household ever. Nobody ever knocked. They always just barged right in, unless you locked the door, of course.

Anyway, while I slept soundly in my bedroom, feeling confident that I would not be disturbed by anyone, my mom and her boyfriend slept in their bedroom downstairs, sharing the bed as if my mom wasn't married to Tim at all. The guest bedroom was unfurnished I sure as hell wasn't going to allow Andrew to sleep in my room with me, even if he was willing to sleep on the floor, so he was stuck sleeping on the cold, uncomfortable, too small to really stretch out on all the way leather couch downstairs in the living room.

Tim and my mom had had a fight the night before so he was sleeping at his friend Brian's house at the driving range where he and Brian worked. Well, Tim decided to get up nice and early in the morning and take a drive up to Port Ludlow where his adulterous wife slept in his big, roomy white pickup truck who I liked to call Moses. It wasn't just him and Moses, though, on that cold, grey morning. They also had the company of a nice, powerful, loaded gun.

Being the stupid person that my mother is, she didn't bother to change the locks or take the key away from Tim to avoid any catastrophic events. So, when Tim arrived at the house, he simply got out of his truck with his gun, walked right up to our front door, and boldly shoved the key in the lock. I'm pretty sure that Chris's truck was parked in the driveway instead of hidden in the woods or parked somewhere else so at this point he knew that he wasn't going to find the spot where he normally slept empty and waiting for him when he arrived.

I don't remember what I was dreaming about or if I was even dreaming at all. The only thing I remember was being awakened by an enormous commotion going on downstairs. I heard Tim shouting, "Fuck you, fuck you! You little cunt!"

I heard the chimes of the Christmas bells clanging as the front door to the house either opened to let someone out or closed shut to give Tim the privacy to continue terrorizing his prey. As terrified as I was, I was drawn to the commotion. I knew that some major shit was going to go down and trouble always reeled me in. I was a glutton for trouble and drama, though this kind of drama seemed a bit over the top even for me, especially at the early hour of the morning.

I didn't open or unlock my bedroom door. I just knelt down on the floor and put my ear to the gap of the door by the floor so I could hear what was going on downstairs.

"What do you want Tim?" Chris was asking, a high note of panic in his usually deep, calm voice.

"I want her dead!" Tim hissed through clenched teeth.

"She's MY wife! I want you dead, too!"

"Andrew, Andrew," Chris said in a low voice. His voice had lowered considerably since he had last spoken so it lead me to believe that he was desperately trying hard to stay calm and collected for the sake of his nine or ten year old son.

"Andrew, don't look up. This is just a dream, a very, very bad dream. Keep your head down."

"Tim, get out of here," Jennifer said in a muffled voice. I wondered if he was choking her or something.

Suddenly, I heard rapid footsteps and the sounds of bodies flailing and colliding near the front door near the stairs leading up to my room.

"Tim, leave now! I'm calling the police."

"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you," he growled.

Holiday things that were hanging up all around fell to the ground. I heard other things fall to the ground but I wasn't sure what they were.

Eventually the struggle ended and I heard the front door slam shut and the bells jingle loudly as the door slammed forcefully shut. I remember feeling bad for the poor bells that were meant to jingle for happy, festive occasions but were instead forced to clang and clatter in distress as their little nook, the door, was forcefully thrown about like a shit on a stormy sea.

I heard the sound of Moses' engine starting up and then Tim forcefully slamming on the gas peddle. The engine roared and groaned painfully as poor Moses was jerked into drive and then made to lurch forward into motion so that Tim could leave the crime scene before any cops showed up.

"Are you okay?" Chris asked quietly from somewhere close to the stairs leading up to my room and the den.

"Yeah, I'm fine," my mother said. I was surprised how calm her voice sounded. I was expecting it to sound more traumatized and shaken up than it sounded.

"I just can't believe that he put a gun to my head and pulled it on you."

"Yeah, I know," Chris said, his voice full of raw emotion. He sounded pretty traumatized.

There was a brief few seconds of silence and then I heard them start kissing. By this time, Tim and his truck Moses were long gone. I wondered where Tim was going to go next, if he was going to run off and try to hide out like the people on America's Most Wanted. I wondered how long it would take for him to get caught. And I silently cursed him for not having shot the gun and killed my mother. He had been so close to shooting her and he had her exactly where he wanted her. What stopped him? I silently called him a coward and then I hoped that he would get caught quicker and have to spend time in jail. I was absolutely furious that he hadn't killed her when he so easily could have. I wasn't at all angry, though, that he pulled a gun on my mom and I wasn't really that surprised that he pulled a gun on her and Chris. They really did have it coming, though my mom did more so than Chris did. Who knows if my mom really told Chris the truth of what was going on? He might have been oblivious to a lot of things since my mom is never honest about anything. Every word that comes out of her mouth is a lie.

As soon as I heard them kissing I didn't want to listen anymore. I was so disgusted and outraged that my mother had the breath in her to kiss him. All I wanted was for her to be lying in a pool of her own blood, gasping for breath, but knowing deep down that there was no chance of survival for her. Every time I heard her kissing Chris it totally made me go ballistic with rage inside. So I got up, walked over to my sound proof drum studio, which was way back deep in my bedroom, put in one of the CD's that my real dad had recently burned for me, skipped to the loudest song on it, and cranked up the stereo to almost full blast and let the music calm me. I wasn't fond of loud music, and I'm still not to this day, but I needed it to be loud that day to drown all the angry emotions and thoughts that surged through my entire body.

Eventually I heard knocking at my door. My mom wanted to talk to me. Turning down my stereo, I got up, walked over to the main part of my bedroom, unlocked the door, and opened it.

"It's time for breakfast," she said, still as calm as if nothing had happened. The little slut didn't even bother to ask me if I was okay and what I had heard.

We ate mostly in silence. Whatever mess had been made during the incident had all been cleaned up, probably to spare Andrew the sight of it? After all, Chris had told his son that it was all just a bad dream so he had to keep up that story and, to do so; he had to clean up the scene of the incident.

After breakfast, we drove to the nearest police station where my mom told the police that Tim had pulled a gun on her and Chris. When the police asked if they could come over to see the scene of where it happened, my mom said, "It's all been cleaned up. To spare the kids, you know."

Yeah right, to spare the kids, I thought bitterly. She still hadn't even bothered to ask me if I was okay. Chris hadn't asked his own son if he was okay either as far as I knew, though he spoke more gently to him than my mom spoke to me. If I hadn't actually heard the confrontation that had taken place downstairs that morning I would not have believed my mom about what had happened, with the whole scene being cleaned up and all. But I had had actually heard it with my own ears so, for once, she actually was speaking the truth about something.

Once Andrew asked what was going on and I told him, trying to soothe him, "Don't worry about it Andrew, it'll be fine."

"Ashlee, you're going to be such a good babysitter being so comforting like you are," Chris told me.

"Well, I won't be babysitting anytime soon," I told him. I wasn't sure if he was trying to hint to me that he was going to try to get my mom to force me to watch his bratty son while my mother and he banged away in the bedroom and went on fancy dates or what but I was bound and determined to make it clear to him that that wasn't going to happen at all! I was absolutely positive that I was NOT going to watch that boy, no matter how much my mother spanked and punished me. It was so not going to work.

Mom eventually called Grandmama and told her what happened. Grandmama came over right away and asked me if I was all right. She was the first person who actually cared how I was feeling and I was grateful that at least SOMEBODY cared about what my thoughts were. I made sure to keep the thought of wishing that he had killed my mother to myself, though. I was sure that wasn't going to earn me any brownie points and I had had enough excitement and drama for that day.

We went to the indoor swimming pool at the Port Ludlow Beach Club. When I say we I mean my mom, grandma, and me. I'm not sure where Chris and Andrew were. I guess Chris wanted some quality alone time with his son to make sure that he wasn't overly traumatized. At that time, Chris was in the middle of trying to win full custody of Andrew and he was probably pissing his pants about what happened and was trying to do everything he could to bribe Andrew into not telling his mother what happened at our house.

"So, what happened exactly?" Grandma asked as we sat in the hot tub, trying to relax our stiff, tense muscles after such a hellish start to the New Year.

"Well, Tim barged into the house with his key, then went to the bedroom and opened the door and found Chris and I sleeping together," my mom began.

"Then we went into the living room and he pulled a gun on us while we were trying to get to the phone to call the cops. He put the gun to my head and showed me the chamber so that I would see that it was loaded. It had six bullets in it. He then tried to go upstairs and then I proceeded to block him."

"Why was he trying to go upstairs?" I asked my mom.

"Do you think he was planning on killing Ashlee?" Grandmama asked.

"No, I don't really think he would have killed Ashlee," my mom said.

"But I wasn't going to let him upstairs. I don't know what he was up to but he didn't get up there. Finally he left and we filed the police report. They've caught him and he said that he got the gun from Brian. He was arrested a little while ago."

My mother spoke so nonchalantly, like she was talking about the weather. It really irritated me. So I got up and jumped into the indoor pool where I began aggressively slapping the water with both of my arms and hands, determined to swim as far away from her as I could and as fast as I could. I did not want to hear her horrible voice any longer. As I swam, I wondered why Tim was trying to go upstairs. The thought of him killing me sent chills up and down my spine.

Eventually my grandma left and one of Andrew's older cousins named Conner came over. Conner and I got along pretty well. He asked me if I wanted to watch a movie with him but I said I didn't want to. He tried to talk to me but I didn't want to talk to anybody. I just wanted to be alone in my room with my thoughts. So, when they put in a movie, I got up and quietly walked out of the den and took a nice, warm bath in my bathroom where I could be alone to process what happened and cry. Now that Tim had actually gone to Jail I felt sad, though I didn't really understand why. People who pull guns on people are supposed to be arrested. But I still couldn't help feeling sorry for him. He really had been put through the ringer by my mother. He had been dealing with multiple affairs on her part for some time. Finally, he just snapped. That's what I thought back then anyway. Now I think he's a total creep who should have had the balls to leave my mother before it reached that point of him being angry enough to pull a gun on her.

After my bath, which really didn't relax me at all, I went into my bedroom and called Tim using my phone in my room. His cell phone was off and the call went straight to voice mail. I knew then that my mother wasn't lying. He really was in jail. I could feel it and the sadness in my heart weighed it down even more.

Without knocking on my bedroom door, my mother Jennifer barged in.

"What's wrong?" she asked as I bent down, acting like I was looking for something under the bed so that she wouldn't see me crying.

"Why aren't you talking to Conner and watching a movie with us?"

As if nothing awful and tragic hadn't just happened hours ago.

"I'm tired," I told her, trying not to sound all stuffy nosed like I was in the middle of a huge cry.

"I want to lie down a little."

"Okay," my mom said and she left, not bothering to close the door behind her. I quickly closed it and returned to my meltdown, grateful that my mom had just left me alone instead of interrogating me on why I was crying and making me feel terrible for crying. Like, how dare I cry after someone comes in my house with a gun and then doesn't even kill the one whom I hate the most in the whole wide world?!

Some time later, my mom went to court and got a restraining order against Tim for having pulled a gun on her, though she didn't press charges against him. A few weeks later, though, she got mad at Chris, broke up with him, and then started letting Tim come back to our house. Tim was very paranoid about getting caught with my mom at our house since he had the restraining order in place so he parked Moses at the Port Ludlow Marina instead of our driveway to avoid getting picked up by the cops.

Once, a cop came to our door and knocked on it. Tim jumped to his feet, all freaked out and ran to one of the closets in the house and hid in it like a frightened dog. It turned out that all the cop wanted from my mom was for her to take some kind of survey about something unimportant.

Eventually Mom went back to court and asked the judge to vacate the restraining order that she had won against Tim. I wasn't actually at that court hearing but my mother told me that the judge thought she was a real nut job for wanting to vacate the restraining order after what he had done.

"The judge said to me, 'He pulled a gun to your head! Are you sure you want to get back together with him?'"

My mother told this to me while laughing like this was some sort of joke. I was revolted by the way she told the story and blocked out the rest of what her terrible, stupid, slut face mouth said. But the judge did vacate the restraining order, not even bothering to take into account the fact that my mom had a minor living with her, which was me of course, so Tim got off foot loose and fancy free. Mom told Chris that she wanted to work it out with Tim after she got the restraining order vacated, and, like the judge, he was blown away by that.

"He pulled a gun to your head!" my mother told me that Chris said to her.

Pretty soon, it was like the whole thing never happened. It was not spoken about at all. Eventually, my mom got tired of Tim, fought with him, kicked him out, and let Chris and his bratty son move back in to our house. Then Tim moved back in after she and Chris broke up again and then the topic was brought up again, this time by the gunman himself.

"You wouldn't believe it Ashlee, but Chris actually peed his pants when I pulled the gun on him!" Tim said, then afterwards throwing his head back and howling with laughter.

"Yeah right Tim, whatever. He did not," I said.

"No Ashlee, he really, really did! There was a huge puddle of piss where he stood when I had that gun pointed at him! IT was awesome. I left the house and drove away laughing hysterically! IT was great!"

Never did he apologize to me for what he had done and never did I tell him that I wished he had killed my mother. I wondered, and still wonder to this day, what stopped him from pulling that trigger. What went through his head that caused him to chicken out? I guess I'll never know.

So, now the story is out there. This is what Tim gets for calling me. He is a for real creep and I will not allow him to intimidate me. It has been years since I have spoken with him. I don't know who he thinks he is or what kind of nerve he has for calling me up but I'm not going to quake with fear and cow down to him. If my mom put him up to calling me, which is what I think happened, well, he did call me, and this is the consequence he faces. This story of the crime he committed is now up on my blog for the whole world to read. Nothing frightens me about him anymore. If he knows what's best for him, he won't try to contact me again and mess with my precious family, whom I will call thousands of demons up from hell to help me protect if the situation calls for it.

HAIL SATAN!!!!!!!!!

Monday, October 13, 2014

Life Insurance, Part 1

HAIL SATAN!!!!!!!!!


Sitting in my dorm room at Evergreen College, once again procrastinating doing my homework, wondering just how much longer I could get away with not doing my homework for my sixteen credit class. That was what I was doing one dark, extremely cold and rainy evening when my phone, which was sitting on my desk next to the stereo, began singing its cheerful, Grey Revolution ringtone. I sat on my bed, unmoving, taking in the sweet melody of the song, wondering who was calling me and whether it was in my best interest to get up and answer it or simply let the phone sing itself out before sending the caller to my voice mail. I was feeling extremely lazy, though I wasn't sure whether it was because of Bryan's ever potent and present spell of laziness that he kept cast on me at all times or whether the depression was worsening. I had been struggling with depression lately and it had been making all activities very difficult to accomplish. Homework lay scattered all about my desk, unfinished or simply not done at all. The garbage bag was almost overflowing with disgusting, smelly garbage because I had failed to take it out in weeks. My stomach rumbled with hunger, but I hadn't gotten up to eat in hours, maybe even longer. Perhaps it would do me some good to get up and answer the phone after all. Or, maybe it would make things worse. That's what I was evaluating as my phone continued to ring.

"I think you can get up and answer it," Nevaeh encouraged me.

"You're ass is so asleep it's dreaming. You need to stretch your muscles. You haven't gotten up in hours."

She was right, of course. Getting up was what I needed to do.

"If you don't want to talk to whoever's calling you, just hang up on them," chimed in Mary Meyers.

So I got up, stretched my arms way up, up, up, towards the ceiling, grunting as I did so because it felt so good to stretch. Then I picked up my phone, opened its lid, and said, "Hello?"

I made sure to sound cheerful. Sounding cheerful was a must, unless I wanted my mom to find a reason to somehow get me kicked out of my dorm and forced to move back home with her. Back then, I thought that she had the power to do that. I was unsure of everything.

"Hi precious Ashlee," Grandma Giovanna said in her phony cheerful voice.

"How's it going?"

"It's fine," I said and then I yawned loudly. The yawn was semi-fake and semi-legitimate. The hugeness and the loudness of it was fake, exaggerated, because I wanted to make her believe that she had caught me when I was right in the middle of working on a grueling, brain crushing essay but real because I was really tired, even though I hadn't worked on one single assignment in Satan knows how long. At least a few days.

The exaggerated yawn worked just the way I'd hoped it would.

"Are you working on a biggy?" Grandma asked.

"Sure am," I answered sluggishly, sure that she would take the sluggishness for tiredness from working hard rather than sluggishness from the depression that was hitting me so hard.

"Well, I'm sorry that I interrupted you," she said, genuinely apologetic. If there was one thing that my family valued besides money, it was education. They were hell bent on me getting a good education, though their motive for it was that they wanted to make sure that I got a high paying job so that they could continue to use me some more. I knew that as well as I knew my alphabet. They may have been able to fool me when I was young but they certainly couldn't fool me anymore.

"How about I call you back later. Or, better yet, why don't you call me back when you're finished with whatever you're working on?"

"It's okay," I told her, walking over to my bed and plopping down on it again with a heavy sigh.

"I was in need of a little break anyway. So, what's up?"

"Well, I want to ask you for a favor."

Surprise, surprise, I thought bitterly. It's always something with them.

"What do you need?" I asked, struggling to keep my voice at an even tone and not let any bitterness leak out.

"Well, I need you to come home this weekend and sign some papers for me."

"What for? What kind of papers do you need me to sign?"

I was certain that I was only going to get a half-truth explanation of what they wanted me to sign but I didn't care. I wasn't just going to meekly sign anything for them without an explanation from them first.

"Well, I took out a life insurance policy on you," Grandma Giovanna said, her voice as smooth as velvet.

"I need you to sign the papers allowing me to take one out on you. If you don't sign them, I won't be able to get the policy."

I wasn't really sure what, exactly, life insurance policies were for but I didn't like the sound of having to go home for the weekend. I was more upset by that more than the fact that she wanted me to sign papers for her. I absolutely LOATHED going home, even for just one day.

"Why did you take out a life insurance policy for me?" I asked her.

"Because I want to make sure that, god forbid, if something were to happen to you and you died I could arrange a decent funeral for you. This life insurance policy will insure that I can do that. I want to make sure that you have a proper burial and that everything is nice for you."

I'll be dead, I thought to myself.

What will I care about whether the funeral is decent or not? And, I don't even want to be buried; I want to be cremated just like my dad was. I want to be thrown off the Indianola dock along with his ashes so that we can float in the sea together and let the ocean take us whoever it wants to. The thought of dying didn't scare me much. I sort of saw some relief in it. And, the thought of floating in the sea and being thrown off the Indianola dock and spread all around the beach with my dad sounded really pleasant. It gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling in my heart to think about being that close to my dad. It had been a very long time since I had been that close to him. Way too long.

"I don't want to be buried," I told my grandma.

"I want to be cremated with my dad. Isn't getting cremated cheaper than getting buried anyway?"

"Well, yes, it is," she admitted.

"But I want to have a nice funeral ceremony for you, a nice ceremony that the whole family can enjoy as we say good-bye to you."

My grandma was always preparing for death. I used to think it was really morbid before I came to learn what she was really up to.

Not having the energy to argue with her about taking the life insurance policy out on me, I said, "Why do I have to go home to sign the papers? Can't you just mail them to me or send them to me via email so I can just sign them electronically and then send it back to you that way?"

"I need you to come home so we can take care of it in quick succession. If I mail you the papers it can get lost very easily. And the insurance company won't accept an electronic signature, they want you to sign very specific places in the paper documents that I have at home. If you don't want to come home I can come down and have you sign them there," she offered.

I didn't take any comfort in her offer. Just as much as I hated going home for the weekend, I hated it when she and my mom came down to visit me. Sure, I wasn't trapped with them when they came to visit me because I was in my own element in Olympia, in familiar territory. But, if they came down to Olympia, it still meant that I had to see them and that was what upset me more than anything. I just hated seeing them, even for an hour or two.

"No, don't come down," I said, not caring now whether she picked up on the bitterness in my voice.

"That doesn't work for me either."

I had another idea to offer her. I hated doing it because it wasn't a good idea to give her or anyone, for that matter, permission to do it but, hey, it was better than going home, wasn't it?

I said, "Okay, look, I have an idea. Why don't you just sign the papers for me using my signature and then send it off to the insurance. You know what my signature looks like; you've seen it plenty of times! Just go ahead and do that, okay?"

There was silence on the other line. The hopeless feeling returned to me as I realized that she wasn't going to take me up on the offer. She was afraid that I would accuse her of committing fraud, I was sure, because I had called them on it before when they had actually committed fraud when I hadn't given them permission to sign papers pertaining to me. I could tell that, even though I had given her verbal permission to sign the papers, that she was afraid that I would turn around and say that she committed fraud.

"I can leave a message on your answering machine giving you recorded permission to sign the documents pertaining to this life insurance policy," I offered, feeling the desperation beginning to grab hold of my chest and throat, squeezing them tighter and tighter, compressing them, grinding them together, crushing me mercilessly.

"I'll think about it," she answered.

We hung up a few minutes later and I sent her a message, giving her permission to sign the papers for me about the life insurance policy but making sure to add in the message that she didn't have permission to sign anything else pertaining me. I didn't like leaving her that message, giving her consent to sign such important documents, pretending like it was me who signed them, but I didn't know what else to do. Saying no to her was still too scary of a feat to tackle back then and I was too exhausted to even begin to pursue it.

A day or two passed and she called me again.

"I've thought a lot about your offer and I've decided I don't like the sound of it," she told me.

"I want you to come home and sign the papers. I'll be picking you up on Friday evening after I get off work. Bring your homework with you and books to read to occupy yourself when I'm busy."

Helplessly and hopelessly I agreed and hung up the phone, feeling completely void of any emotions and thoughts. Not even my imaginary friends could be heard by me. I'm not sure if they were talking to me, trying to reach me or if they, too, felt paralyzed with hopelessness and despair to speak like I was. All I knew was that I had a weekend of pure hell ahead of me.

Friday rolled around the corner and the evil woman came to pick me up at my dorm. Obediently, I got in the car with her like a fearful, abused dog. She drove me home, stopping at Dairy Queen to get me an ice cream cone to try and soften me up in preparation for signing the documents.

As soon as we got to her dark, cavelike condo on the basement level of the building, she ran in the kitchen and grabbed the documents. She was eager to get me to sign them before I had a chance to change my mind. She didn't want to waste any time.

I hadn't even taken off my coat and shoes and backpack before she shoved the pen in my hand and proceeded to show me where I needed to make my squiggly signature.

"Jesus!" I almost shouted at her.

"Won't you let me take off my damn coat and shoes and backpack?! For god's sake, I'm stuck here all freaking weekend, aren't I?"

"I wouldn't call it STUCK here," she said.

Well, I sure would, I thought angrily as I threw my backpack down on the floor, kicked off my shoes in a huff, ripped off my jacket and flung it on the back of the living room couch, which was almost as old as me, and stomped into the kitchen.

When I sat down on one of the bar stools, she gave me the pen once again and showed me where to sign it. I can't remember whether she read the document to me after she made me sign them. If she did, I didn't understand it because it wasn't written in a simple, easy to comprehend way.

I felt like I was signing my life away. There were like five or six places I had to sign on one page alone.

Once everything as signed, Grandma's voice softened considerably.

"Thank you Ashlee for doing this," she said, bending down to give me one of her filthy, slobbery kisses on my left cheek. She always tried to aim for the lips but I'd jerk my head out of the way before she got a chance most of the time. On the times when she caught me when I wasn't prepared to dodge her yucky kisses I'd immediately wipe it off with my sleeve and make a racket to let her know just how disgusted I was.

"Now, I want you to know something," she said, sitting down next to me on the other bar stool.

"Don't EVER let anybody else take out a life insurance policy on you. If anybody ever asks you to do that for them, it means that they are trying to take advantage of you or that they are thinking of murdering you so that they can get money for your death."

Hmmmm, I thought to myself as I sat on the bar stool listening to her lecture.

How come she thinks it's okay for me to let HER take out a life insurance policy on me but it's conveniently not okay for other people to do it? And, how come other people are taking advantage of me by taking one out on me but she, by some miracle, isn't trying to take advantage of me? It doesn't all add up, that's for damn sure.

"I love you Ashlee, very, very much," she suddenly said. I think she was starting to panic as she saw the wheels turning in my head, processing what I had just let her do. I think she realized too late that she had said too much and now I was asking myself why she could take out a life insurance policy for me and it would be okay but that it wasn't okay for anyone else to do so for some reason. I think she noticed that she couldn't fool me and that I knew she was up to something no good.

"I love you Ashlee," she repeated, leaning closer to me. I backed away, not wishing to have another one of her gross kisses rape and violate my skin.

"I'm taking a life insurance policy out on you because I love you and because I want the best for you. I'm looking out for you, not taking advantage of you. Unlike strangers in the world or your so-called friends, I have your best interest at heart. But anybody else who wants to take out a life insurance policy on you does NOT have your best interest at heart. I'm doing this to help you by providing a decent funeral for you as I explained to you over the phone. Other people who don't care about you the way I do have alternative motives. They just want the money for themselves. They wouldn't be using it for you like I intend to if something happened to you, God forbid."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Chrissie shouted.

When she shouted, I jumped a little. It was the first time I had been able to hear my friends talk in a very long time. Back then, when I was overwhelmed with stress and anxiety, I wouldn't be able to hear their delightful voices until I felt better. Try as they might to get my attention by yelling, poking me, walking on my head, or whatever else they could think of, I was completely unreachable.

"Oh, she can HEAR US AGAIN!" cried Nevaeh as she leaped up into my arms and gave me a huge bear hug.

"Oh Mommy, we love you so much! We'll get you through this weekend somehow. And, don't give up and despair yet because I think there is a loop hole, a way out of this whole, outrageous life insurance policy stunt your grandmother is trying to pull. I don't know what it is yet but we're doing some snooping around and we're not going to stop poking around until we see just what the loop hole is."

"Yeah, and Mommy!" Chrissie shouted.

"Your grandma is full of shit! She's not looking out for your best interest at all! She's a total fucker! Don't listen to her or let her brainwash you into thinking that she really cares about you because she doesn't! WE don't know what she's up to but we know it's something nobody but a low down, scum bag crook would think of."

"You don't think I've completely fucked up after I signed those papers?" I asked them, bewildered.

"No!" they all assured me.

"There is still something that she needs from you I think. Like we said, we don't know what it is but be patient and the truth will reveal itself somehow, somewhere, sometime!"

"Ashlee, I'm TALKING TO YOU!!!!" Giovanna shouted.

"Why aren't you answering me?"

"I know you love me," I said calmly.

"I know you're looking out for me."

Of course I didn't believe it for a second but I knew it would shut her up and we could move on to doing something else. My friends all gave me a thumbs-up for telling her what she wanted to hear. They, too, wanted her to shut the fuck up already. The sound of her voice was like nails screeching on a chalkboard. Her voice was only slightly more tolerable to listen to than Jennifer, my mother's voice.

The weekend dragged on miserably. By the time I got back to Olympia, my whole body felt like it had been rammed by a freight train. I had actually managed to get my homework done over my visit home. That was the only good thing I could think of for going home. I hated being there so much that doing homework to occupy my time was better than being with them. I knew that my teachers would all be happy to finally be receiving long past due assignments.

That night, I went to bed, grateful to be able to sleep in my own bed. For the entire weekend, I had been sleeping in my grandma's bed with her and she snored ceaselessly all night long. I asked repeatedly if I could sleep on the couch but she would deny every request, saying that sleeping in a real bed was better for my body and overall health than sleeping on the couch.

I was totally confused about why my grandma needed the life insurance policy so much. Well, wanted was more like it. She said that she needed it but really, she just wanted it. I tried to think about what she could be after but the more I thought about it the more exhausted I became so; finally I stopped thinking about it and tried to put it behind me. I wasn't sure if my imaginary friends were right about getting out of giving her what she wanted but, if I hadn't gotten out of it, all I could was let it go now. The past was the past and there was nothing that I could do about it now.

HAIL SATAN!!!!!!!!!

Tuesday, October 7, 2014

Hospital Bill

HAIL SATAN!!!!!!!!!


We were all being lazy and carefree in our tiny little home yesterday evening. When I say we, I mean all of my imaginary demons, Amira, my beautiful daughter, and I. Chris, who also appreciates laziness and includes it in one of his five Satanic virtues in honoring the Devil, was summoned by Chrissie to go to the grocery store to get us some New York Super Fudge Chunk ice cream from Ben and Jerry's. Most of the time, we all go on outings together but yesterday all of us felt especially inclined to be lazy. It was like Bryan had cast a particularly powerful lazy spell upon us. Even Chrissie wanted to be lazy and she's usually the most hyper one out of all of them.

"Very well," Nevaeh said cheerfully from her perch on my left shoulder.

"It's a good idea to be lazy today. The Smm Smm cards need to rest. They are tired from working so much to make breast milk. The more we all help Mom rest the more rejuvenated the Smm Smm cards will be and the less formula dear Amira will have to eat."

We all agreed with Nevaeh and so off Chris went to fetch us our rich and creamy treat, along with olives, sauce, meat, and garlic bread for the spaghetti dinner that we would all be eating after we had ice cream.

Even Amira felt like being lazy. She lay in my lap, cooing and grabbing at my hair, not pulling it, just grabbing it and exploring the feel of it. I rubbed her nose and told her just how lucky I felt to have such a wonderful child and how happy I was that she was alive. She listened intently, not feeling the need to fuss, even though she had a wet diaper. Normally she fussed about wet diapers because she hated the feel of cooling urine against the bottom half of her body but Bryan's spell of laziness even reached her it seemed. Not even the wet diaper was cause for fussy time. She just lay there, enjoying her nose rub, fighting desperately to keep her eyes open but quickly losing the battle. Amira loved getting her nose rubbed. It is something that I've done to her from the day that she was born. In the background, quiet oldies music played to lighten up the room a bit.

Time went on and eventually, Chrissie's hunger for ice cream began to win out over the lazy spell.

"Where is Chris?" she yelled.

"I want ICE CREAM!!!!!!!!!!!"

"He'll be back soon," I told her in a soothing voice.

And, sure enough, he was back within an hour and a half, arms full of goodies for all of us.

"Did you bring the ice cream Smm Smm?" Chrissie asked, jumping up and down in front of him and flapping her arms around like a bird flapping its wings in preparation for flight.

"I sure did," he said, smiling down at her.

"Is it Ben and Jerry's?"


He put all the groceries down with a sigh, tore off the hard to open tape that went all around the lid of the ice cream carton, and then handed it to me along with my spoon. I only have one spoon that I use. It's a big spoon, great for looking at my reflection in the back of it and telling myself how beautiful I am. Being vain was another Satanic virtue that my Dark, Unholy Lord encouraged me to practice on a regular basis. So, every time I was about to eat something, especially a decadent dessert such as the one that Chris handed me, I always took a moment to stare at my stunning reflection in the back of the spoon, marveling at how bright my face looked and how long and perfect my nose was and how dark and Satanic my brown eyes looked.

"Imagine how much more vain you'd be if you had full sight!" Mary Meyers said, dancing in the kitchen.

"I know it," I said with a laugh.

"Okay, okay, enough yapping already!" Hollered Chrissie.

"Open the damn lid to the ice cream already Mommy!"

So I did and it was perfect. The ice cream had thawed considerably while taking the long journey from Safeway to my house so it was just the right kind of softness but not too melty so that you would have to drink it like soup.

"MMMMMMMMM, I just LOVE these chocolate shavings!" Chrissie shouted as she took a huge, gluttonous mouthful of the rich, dark, creamy chocolate ice cream. I could hear her teeth crunching mercilessly on the nuts and chocolate shavings and it made me smile. I felt glad that Amira wasn't old enough for ice cream. I didn't want to share my precious treat. I wanted to be selfish and have it all to myself, with my imaginary friends taking imaginary bites whenever they were ready but not having it actually lessen the amount of ice cream in the little carton it came in.

Thank you Smm Smm," Nevaeh called to Chris. All of my friends say Smm Smm, too, in honor of my demon Smm Smm.

"Yeah, thank you Smm Smm," all the rest of them chimed in. Even Bryan said thank you to Chris and that was a rarity. In Bryan's mind, giving thanks was a righteous gesture and it often took too much effort for his lazy self to want to make.

"Wow, even Bryan said thank you," Chris said.

"He wanted ice cream, too," I told Chris.

"Thank you," I told Chris after my friends had finished yelling and applauding Chris for bringing us such a wonderful, heavenly treat.

"I'm glad you like it," he said.

"Hey, guess what we got in the mail today?"

"What?" I said, running my ice cold tongue over a smooth chocolate shaving before I clamped down on it with my teeth and savored the taste as it melted in my mouth and burrowed down in the grooves of my teeth. I loved it when chocolatey desserts burrowed down in the grooves of my teeth because it meant that I could still have a chocolatey taste in my mouth for a while after I had actually finished the treat.

"You got another bill from Providence St. Peter Hospital," Chris told me.

"Your mom stopped making payments on the payment plan for 150 dollars that she set up for the labor and delivery."

"She did?"

"Yep. She hasn't paid for two months in a row it looks like. Remember when we got one last month and it said that she owed 150 dollars for that month?"

"I remember getting something from Providence but I didn't understand that she didn't pay last month either. I guess it didn't process in my brain. So how much has she neglected to pay on the payment plan that she set up with them?"

"It says that she owes 300 dollars and that there is fifteen hundred dollars of the bill left over for her to pay," replied Chris.

I took another large bite of ice cream and chewed it thoughtfully, letting all the information sink in.

"You know what Smm Smm?" I said, sitting up straighter on my bed, feeling the waves of excitement begin to wash over me.


"She must have stopped making payments on the bill right after I wrote her the letter that's on my Satanic blog now telling her that I wasn't going to talk to her anymore. That must have made her mad enough to stop paying it. Do you think that's what happened Smm Smm?"

"Yeah, I do. She's really, really mad about the letter and that you posted the message she left online for the whole world to hear, too."

"Oh, that's great!" I said and laughed out loud. Chris joined in and laughed with me, too. It gave me such gleeful satisfaction whenever I found out that I made my mother, Jennifer, mad. I used to fear her violent temper when I lived with her and would bend over backwards to avoid making her mad. But now that I'm finally free of her grip I really enjoy making her mad. If I could think of ideas every day about how to make her mad I would. Oh yes, sweet revenge, sweet revenge. Bet she really wishes she could slap me around or hit me in the face. Too bad she can't. Not unless she wants to be filmed doing it and have me write a story about it and post the incident and video on my blog so the whole world could see what my abuser looks like and to stop her cold. Oh, sweet humiliation, sweet humiliation. It will happen someday. She's so cocky I know she'll mess up and try to catch me. The day will come for the greatest humiliation of all time! The smile on my face could not possibly have gotten any larger or the muscles in my face would begin to tear.

"Why do you think she's not paying the bill besides that Smm Smm?" I asked Chris.

"Because she's trying to scare you into calling her," he said simply.

Yeah, earth to Ashlee, OF COURSE that's what she's doing! Why else would she not pay the bill. She is totally obsessed with my credit not getting ruined. That would ruin her perfect daughter's perfect reputation, wouldn't it? And she doesn't want that to reflect on her. That is why I strive to ruin the picture perfect Ashlee. I know it disgusts every fiber of her evil being and that pleases me to no end. Besides, I don't want to be perfect. I want to be as depraved as Satan wants me to be.

I felt kind of stupid not realizing that's what she was doing. There have been numerous occasions in the past where I would receive a huge, honking bill in the mail that my mom said she would pay but then stopped payment when I wouldn't talk to her. I would call her up because I was afraid of the consequences I would have if the bill didn't get payed. I knew that eventually the unpaid bill would go to collections and that I would get dinged on my credit and I wasn't sure what the consequences would look like once I had ruined credit. Would my doctor stop treating me if the bills didn't get paid? Would I be able to find a new place to move to if I ever decided that I needed or wanted to move? Were there any other repercussions I would face that never even occurred to me that would be worse than the ones I was afraid of facing?

Those fears would haunt me and, eventually, I would just break down and call her because the anxiety would eat away at me until it was unbearable. I would schmooze up to my mom, kiss her ass, tell her everything and anything that she wanted to hear to get her to start payment on the bills again. If I promised her something, such as being allowed to see the baby once things were cleared for me, I never actually intended to keep them. It was all just a big, huge game that both of us were playing. We were playing each other and, in this game, there would be no winners. It was a lose lose situation. Jennifer, my mom, would never see the baby even though I tricked her into believing that she would see her and even lying about having my own job to get her to pay up and she, in turn, would pay the bill while she believed in what I told her but would stop abruptly once her wishes weren't met and once she realized that I was playing her just as much as she was playing me. Then the whole process would begin again. I'd get scared, call her up, listen to what she was saying for a while to gather up enough information to make up a proposal that would appeal to her, she would like the proposal because it met her high standards and expectations of me, she would pay the bill for a while, I'd stop talking to her because at least the bill was getting paid again, I'd break my promises to her, she would again stop paying the bills, and the whole process would begin again. That is how my relationship has always been with my mother. She is too stupid to catch on to the fact that I wasn't ever really going to do what she expected of me and I, in turn, would tell her what she wanted to hear so that I could get my basic needs met, such as getting medical bills paid.

Now, why was I using my mother and doing it so guiltlessly? In her eyes, Jennifer believes that it's because I don't have a conscience, that I am ungrateful for the things that she does for me. She's even gone to lengths to tell people that I have bipolar disorder when she ran low of ideas to try to control me and found herself floundering, grabbing at nothing but air as she attempted to think of something else that she might be able to hold over my head. She thought that if she told everybody that I was bipolar that she would somehow manage to regain control over me. The truth is, I am getting back at her for all the years of mistreatment. I am not grateful to her. Sure, she provided me with shelter, clothing, food, and education during my childhood. But it is a very small offering compared to the monstrosity of abuse I endured while under her care. So, although I am not bipolar, she is right about me being ungrateful. What is there to be grateful for anyway when it comes to her?

I have also used her to pay the bills because she said that she would pay them. I had offered numerous times to get off of her insurance and apply for Medicare or Medicaid so that she wouldn't be responsible for the bills anymore. Her response was, "Ashlee, I want to pay your bills, especially the labor and delivery bill. I know that I haven't gotten to see Amira yet but I already love her and I know that you'll let me see her before she's up and running around. Besides, if you get off my insurance, you will have two hundred dollars deducted from your social security check. You don't really want that, do you?"

So far, everybody who I have talked to has told me that I won't have any deductions from my social security check if I get on my own insurance. I think that was just another one of her lies she told me, hoping that I would believe her so that she would still have something to hold over my head. She also told me that she was the only one who could remove me from her insurance. When I called the insurance company to confirm what she said, the person who I spoke to said that was true. When I called another time, though and spoke to a different person, they told me that I could still apply for Medicaid or Medicare and use them as my secondary insurance. Just because my mother was the only one who could remove me didn't mean that I couldn't apply for another insurance and have two insurance coverages. Phew! That was a huge relief to find that out.

Because she said that she would pay the bills for the labor and delivery, I refuse to pay the bill. If it goes to collections, so be it. I don't have enough money to pay for that sort of bill and she knows that. That is why she's trying to scare me into calling her again. She thrives off of contact with me because she thrives off of bringing me down, shooting down all my creative ideas, and making me second guess myself constantly.

This time, though, I am going to break the cycle. It's not going to work anymore. I am not going to let this huge bill make me panic and call her. Instead, I'm simply going to write the hospital a letter, telling them that I am unable to pay the bill. I am going to apply for charity care and I am going to write that none of the social workers who work at that creepy hospital ever told us about the option of applying for charity care once during our prolonged stay there. I'm also going to state that I never agreed to pay the bill and that I wasn't the one who set up that payment plan. My mother is the one who agreed to pay it and, if they want a payment from someone then they'd better call her and start mailing her the bills because I'm not paying it. I'm going to add that I am estranged from my psychotic family and that they're going to have to deal with them if they want the money badly enough. If they reject my request for charity care, the bill is going to go straight to collections unless my mom pays up. And, if it goes to collections, they aren't going to see a penny of it because I'm on social security and the collections agency won't be able to garnish my wages for medical bills that I can't afford. They can only garnish social security wages for unpaid student loans, taxes, and I think child support, though I'm not sure about the last one.

It was amazing and wonderful yesterday how little fear I felt once Chris delivered the news to me. Normally I would be tense with fear and tension and dreading the fact that I would have to talk to my mom again because back then, I felt like I had no other choice. It was like she was controlling me from far away. Even though she wasn't in my presence I still felt like she was and that terrified me. This time, though, I felt almost nothing. Sure, I don't like the idea of having ruined credit. But with the help of my imaginary friends and talking to Chris about my feelings, I decided that having ruined credit was a minuscule price to pay compared to talking to my abusive mom again.Sure, I will probably have difficulty renting a place to live, but eventually, I will find one. Satan will guide me to a place where landlords accept people with poor credit. I won't be the only one with bad credit in the world. Lots of people have poor credit and the numbers of people getting bad credit keep climbing as our economy continues to crumble like cookie pie crust. It's not the end of the world.

It took me years to finally reach this mental milestone. All of my imaginary demons are all clapping right now as I write this. Last night they had a huge party to celebrate this milestone of mine.

"See Mommy, Jennifer has NO control over you at all!" they all cried as they surrounded me, offering me various gifts of scented roses and candles.

"It is your life. Only YOU have the power to control it! We're SOOOOOOOO happy that you realize this now! It took you FOREVER but hey, better late than never."

I still have work to do. I've got to apply for Medicare now. Once I do that, Jennifer will have absolutely NOTHING to hold over my head ever again. I know what it feels like to be freed. I used to be on my Grandma Giovanna's phone plan for years but recently, I decided that I was ready to pay for my own phone and get off her phone plan since she constantly abused that power and held it over my head. So I got my own phone for only fifteen dollars and now, Giovanna has absolutely zilch she can hold over my head. When my new phone played the first musical notes of life as it turned on, I felt this amazing weight lift from my shoulders as I realized that Giovanna would never again have anything to hold over my head. Now, I've just got to get off of my mom's insurance and I'll be golden and she'll be a loser. Finally a game where there is a winner and a loser, the way a game should be. I'm the winner, she's the poor, sad, miserable, defeated loser, with no one but her equally evil mother and a boyfriend with no balls or guts to break free of her to complain to and lots of friends and coworkers questioning her about why she didn't own up to her agreement and pay that bill and why I loathe her so much.

"I bet she's going to be really mad when you apply for charity care because she's already paid so much into the bill," Chris said, laughing.

"I sure hope so. Maybe the bill collectors will start calling her house and harassing her for unpaid bills."

"They just might. And, once your relatives find out, she might not get any inheritance from your great-grandmother because she'll be really mad at your mom for treating you like that since she considers you this poor blind girl who has a very hard life."

"Oh, that'll be just great!" I yelled as I scooped up the last bit of ice cream into my gluttonous mouth.

I'm attaching the bill to this story for all to see. I'm also going to tell the relatives that I am still in contact with the injustice that my mother is doing. She used to be able to get away with manipulation and abuse while I silently and fearfully lived on, but not anymore. Mom, the jig is up. I am exposing you right here, right now, for the whole world to see just what a true scoundrel you truly are. Every time you pull a stunt like this to try and scare me, or any other stunt, I'm going to publicly expose you and write about it on my blog. I'm not going to contact you ever again and, it is probably in your best interest not to contact me either unless you want all your dirty laundry set out for the public. It isn't only you who I expose, I do it to everybody who deserves a good, strong dose of Satanic revenge for wronging me if they are stupid enough to do so. I sure hope that you enjoy having ruined credit, too. If I go down, I'm bringing you down right along with me. And the collections agency will think that your stuff is way more valuable for them to take than mine.

HAIL SATAN!!!!!!!!!


Mary Meyers is laughing in your face as the curtains close, darkness sets in, and the story comes to an end.

Friday, September 19, 2014

Minnie May, Part 2

HAIL SATAN!!!!!!!!!


Something was terribly wrong with this new imaginary friend that I had created. That was for sure. As difficult as it was to pinpoint what exactly was wrong with the bunny I knew it had to be done. If I didn't develop an understanding of what she was doing to my life, why all of a sudden I was having so many problems, I was going to go completely mad! I was also determined to figure out why none of my brilliant, active-minded demons could think of one single thing to call her during all this time that she had been with us. In any other circumstances, my demons would have picked out a name for her, wouldn't they? And they would have fought hard about it, too, before actually managing to come to an agreement about it. I had to pinpoint all of those things fast, of that I was certain to avoid completely losing it.

It took immense concentration and observation of the bunny to find the first clue. I noticed right off the bat that Minnie May didn't like it when I observed her and paid a lot of attention to her and what she was doing. At first I thought that she was just feeling scrutinized and I sympathized with her feelings. After all, I had been the victim of intense scrutiny by my mother and other relatives all my life. I knew how awful the feeling was and I felt bad for making Minnie May feel that way. Immediately after I saw her becoming uncomfortable, I apologized to her and told her that I was simply curious about her and that I was trying to develop a clearer understanding of her likes, dislikes, and needs. I explained to her that I had never had an animal demon inhabit my head before and that I thought her needs were somewhat different from the needs of my three girls and my tree Bryan, who seldom came to visit me. I told her that I couldn't learn about her unless I watched her and had my other friends do so also. I was sure that she would understand my explanation and even appreciate me having taken the time to give her such a grand apology. The reaction I got, though, was not so.

Her reaction totally blew me away! It was completely unexpected. The bunny began running all around my room in huge, circling sweeps. As she ran, she squeaked like a rat that got its leg snapped in half by a rat trap. As she ran, all the fur on her body stood straight up and bristled with fury. As she ran, her circles around my room became wider until she began to run out of space because of the walls, furniture, and doors that blocked her path.

"Why is she so mad Mommy?" Nevaeh asked, completely bewildered.

"Beats me," I responded quietly.

"Look Mommy!" shouted Chrissie.

"She's running faster and faster with every circle. How much faster can she run? Her legs are barely even touching the carpet! It looks like she's practically FLYING!"

"I have no idea," I said to Chrissie. Her observation was correct. Minnie May HAD picked up the pace considerably since she had first started running around in circles and throwing her little hissy fit.

"What should we do?" wailed Mary Meyers. Being the sweet-hearted doll that she was, it absolutely KILLED her to see the animal in such distress.

"I don't know," I said. I tried to think of a way to comfort Minnie May but my shell-shocked mind was completely drawing a blank. Looking back on the scene later, I realized that Minnie May wouldn't have been reachable anyway. She was in such a state that she probably couldn't have been reached by anything or anyone.

"Hey Mommy, you wanna know something weird?" Chrissie asked, excited but at the same time quite puzzled.

"What's that?" I asked her, breathless.

"The bunny's not hopping at all. She's just running. Aren't bunnies supposed to hop more than they run?"

"I would think so," I responded. By this time, I felt completely in a daze. I didn't know what the hell was happening but I did know one thing. The thing I was fully aware of was that I did NOT like what was going on. AT ALL! I thought the bunny's reaction to my attempt to comfort her was way out of the ordinary and very unacceptable. Yes, she was new to the world and there was a lot for her to learn and it was very overwhelming at times, but she did not have to act in such an unruly way. None of the girls acted that way when I created them and neither did Bryan. So why was she so much different? It couldn't be simply just because she was an animal, could it?

Minnie May continued running and squeaking. At one point during the bunny's rampage, Chrissie shouted, "Look Mommy, this bunny has big, huge claws! She's clawing at the carpet! Oh, if our evil grandmother could see this she'd be throwing just as much of a tantrum as the bunny is throwing!"

Minnie May was out of control. I didn't know whether it was because she was frustrated with how overwhelmed she felt or if something else that perhaps I hadn't seen panicked her. Maybe she thought that my cat Gregory, whom everybody could see, could see her and that's why she felt the urge to run, run, and run. Still unable to think of a way to calm her down, I decided that the only thing to do was to leave the room and let her wear herself out.

"Let's let her be, you guys," I told my demons.

"She's just going to have to run her course. Eventually she'll get so tired she'll collapse. When she does, we can come back in the bedroom and give her lovins."

"She's in too bad of a way to leave behind," protested Nevaeh.

"If we leave her she'll think that we don't love her," Mary Meyers sobbed.

"She is too wound up to be able to form that much of a thought," I reassured them.

"Right now she's just stuck in panic mode or angry mode, whichever one I can't say, and she's totally unreachable. The best thing for us to do is to leave. Even if it makes her feel mad we need to do what's best for us."

Reluctantly, all three of my demons agreed. Taking the lead, I walked to the bedroom door, opened it, and walked out. Once out of the room, I turned around and saw Chrissie slowly walking out of the room. Nevaeh and Mary Meyers lagged a ways behind her, still not convinced that leaving Minnie May to fend for herself was such a good idea.

"Come ON!" I yelled.

"The more we stare at her the madder she's going to get. She just needs time alone right now. I need time away from her, too. We all just need one big time out."

When I finally managed to get my demons to agree and comply with my wishes, I shut the door firmly and walked away from the bedroom and headed downstairs. The kitchen was going to be my destination. My grand plan was to raid the freezer and see what flavor of ice cream I could dig up. That's what we all needed. A nice, deep, huge bowl of whatever ice cream we could all scrounge up. Sure, the ice cream might not be exactly new and fresh but beggars can't be choosy, right? If we could find any ice cream at all, that would be something to celebrate.

"Why are you shutting your bedroom door?" my nosy mother asked from the den, where she sat watching Judge Judy, her favorite TV show of all time. Personally, I hated that show. I thought that Judge Judy was a major prick who really shouldn't be getting away with being so rude to people who came to see her. I always thought that she was probably making other court judges look really bad, setting a bad reputation for all of them.

Oh Shit, I thought.

What do I tell her?

"Tell her that you don't want the cat getting into your room," Nevaeh suggested.

"I shut it because I don't want the cat getting in there," I said, following my brilliant little doll's advice.

"Why not? You always let him go in your room. There never used to be a problem with it before," my mother bitched.

I stood there, rooted to the spot, resenting and hating her for always questioning my every move and every decision. She always made me second guess myself. No matter what I did, no matter how logical it was, she always had to put her two cents in and question why I was doing what I was doing and suggesting her way of doing it because her way of doing things and deciding things was way better than my way, or anybody else's way for that matter. She is the reason why I lack self confidence today, though I have managed to find some of it over the course of almost two years of not seeing her. I'm certain that I'll develop even more self confidence the more time I spend away from her and the longer I can go without communicating with her on the phone, via email, or any other ways of communication.

"Tell her that Gregory keeps trying to get into the crawl space in your closet and that he's tracking dirt into the house when he comes out of there. She'll leave you alone after that," Nevaeh encouraged me.

I knew she was right. All I ever had to do to get her off my back was mention dirt or anything else that she considered filthy and she would usually come to the consensus that I was acting logically after all and that no further questioning of my decisions was necessary, so long as I was avoiding dirtying up the fancy stuff in her house and the ugly white carpeting that took up most of the house.

I repeated what Nevaeh coached me to say, and, sure enough, she shut her pie hole and went back to watching her stupid show.

We all headed downstairs and rooted around in the freezer for quite some time, knocking boxes and other crap on the floor as we dug and dug, hoping to find even a spoonful of some chocolate flavored ice cream in the freezer.

"Shut up down there!" The bitch yelled from upstairs in the den. I could hear Judge Judy shouting even louder than she had been when I left my bedroom as my mother turned up the volume on the remote.

"I can't hear what she's saying. What are you doing anyway?"

"Trying to find some ice cream," I told her, mouthing the word cunt after I explained myself yet again to her.

"We don't have any," she said, annoyed.

"We have some lemon cookies in the pantry, though. Grab those and stop making so much noise."

Lemon cookies didn't sound nearly as delicious as something chocolatey or ice cream but they were better than nothing sweet to eat.

"Make sure you pick up everything that fell out of the freezer and put them away NEATLY!" she nagged on.

"Okay," I said drily, admiring people who could manage to tune out people who annoyed them on a regular basis. I still hadn't quite managed to learn that trick completely, but I never did give up on it. Looking back on the way life used to be before I got the hell out of there, I can see that I probably could have learned to tune her out if she had given me the chance to. But she was so good at getting her way and making sure that she fussed and complained until she got her way that I never did have enough time to learn that precious skill. Whenever she'd say something and I didn't answer right away, she'd say loudly, "Did you hear me?" Because she would do that so much I found it impossible to tune her out because I was always afraid that she would ask me to repeat what she had just said. And anyway, I had to actually listen to her in order to meet her demands or else there would be hell to pay and quite possibly even a slap in the face, just to make sure I remembered who was the master, who had all the power and to remind me just how helpless I truly was under her control.

After I cleaned up and put everything away as neatly as I could, though I knew it would never be good enough for the bitch upstairs, I went to the pantry and asked all of my friends to help me find the lemon cookies. If I didn't find them pretty much as soon as I opened the door I'd get yelled at even worse for making too much noise.

"Hey Mommy, I FOUND IT!" Chrissie yelled as she bounced up and down, holding the lemon cookie box up high in the air proudly for all to see.

"Let's dig in!"

We opened up the box to find three long rows of lemon cookies lined up inside the box. They felt exactly like Oreo cookies, only they were thinner and they tasted lemony instead of chocolatey. I was skeptical about how they would taste but, upon biting into one, I realized that they were quite delicious and that they would definitely serve the purpose of satisfying and calming us quite well.

"Would you guys like to have some milk with those cookies?" I asked my demons.

"Absolutely!" they all cried, spraying food all around with their completely full mouths.

I poured a great, big, tall glass of milk for all of us, let Chrissie carry the box of cookies to the bar, and sat down with all my girls surrounding me. With the bunny not closely present, I felt so much calmer than I had felt in weeks! I could feel some of the tension in my muscles starting to be released. Not a whole lot but just enough to notice.

"It's so nice not having the bunny around," I said to my friends.

"Maybe I should try to kill her."

I expected them to all shout "NOOOOOOOOOO!" To my great surprise, they all just sat there silently, crunching on their cookies and drinking the ice cold milk.

Once we all felt better and after I had rinsed out the milk glass thoroughly and put it in the dishwasher and put the box of cookies away, I said, "Well, let's go check on that bunny of ours."

As I walked up the stairs, the little amount of tension that I had managed to release while eating cookies with my friends returned. The closer I got to my bedroom, the slower I walked.

"Are you okay?" my ever observant mother asked as I walked past the den.

"Fine," I mumbled as I neared the bedroom door.

"I just have a lot of homework to do," I added, knowing very well that she wasn't going to be satisfied until she got a wordy response from me, explaining myself yet again.

I opened the bedroom door. Nevaeh shot in ahead of me and stopped dead in her tracks.

"The bunny!" she exclaimed.

"She's gone!"


"Yes, she's not anywhere in sight!"

"Check under the bed, in the closet, in the dresser drawers, in the bureau drawers," I said, feeling positive that she must be hiding in one of those places.

"Maybe even check the crawl space."

My girls got down on their hands and knees and looked everywhere but to no avail. The bunny had simply disappeared.

"Well, that's just plain weird," Mary Meyers said, her forehead creasing with concern.

"Do you think she escaped from out the window?"

"Wait just a minute," whispered Chrissie. It wasn't often that Chrissie whispered. She usually got her point across and expressed her excitement by shouting everything. That was just her way, though she didn't shout meanly like my mom did.

Chrissie ran out of the bedroom and into the den, leaving a WHOOSH sound behind her as the wind blew from when she ran.

"Chrissie, where are you GOING?" I asked, tension building up stronger than before. I couldn't afford to lose any of my friends then. I needed them desperately. If even one of them strayed from me, I was certain that trouble would arise and that I would be stuck in something awful, though I wasn't at all sure just what that awful thing was or what it looked like, if it even looked like anything at all. I was just so unsure of everything.

"Mommy, I'm back!" Chrissie said a second later. She was breathless and perspiration ran down her forehead and her back.

"The bunny, it's hanging out with your MOM!"

"WHAT?!!!!!!!!!" My demons and I all shrieked at once.

"Yeah, take a look," she said to Nevaeh and Mary Meyers.

They all walked into the den and came back with looks of both betrayal and disgust on their wicked little faces.

"It's true," Nevaeh confirmed.

"She's sitting on your mother's lap eating cereal and watching Judge Judy like Judge Judy's her hero or something. Makes me want to puke!"

I remembered then how my mother had told me on numerous occasions about how she thought that Judge Judy was her hero, that she admired her for being so free to be rude to whoever came into her courtroom. My mother liked the way Judge Judy so openly and heartlessly humiliated people on national television almost every single day of the week. I shivered at the thought. Who was the bunny really? Was it my mother's imaginary friend? Had my mother created a portion of the bunny and then I had somehow gotten myself into creating the other half of it? I didn't know my mother to be into make believe stuff but maybe she was. Normally she poo pooed make believe stories but maybe she poo pooed it because she really believed in imaginary characters, too, but was just too ashamed to admit it openly like I'm finally doing now to you, dear readers.

"The bunny's eyes are like GLUED to the TV screen," Nevaeh told me.

"It's really creepy! It looked like they were identical, like they were sharing the exact same thoughts."

"I don't like the bunny anymore," Chrissie said.

"Me neither," agreed Mary Meyers.

"I HATE her," Nevaeh growled.

"The bunny's evil! She must be destroyed! Can you destroy her Mommy?"

"I'd like to," I said.

"I'm not sure how exactly to do it but, with your help I'm sure we can have her defeated."

"I don't want her defeated Mom, I want her DEAD!" Bellowed Chrissie.

"She doesn't belong in our tribe! She's a hater, an abuser, and she's no good. If she stays around much longer, she's going to become allies with your mom. With the help of your mom, the bunny is only going to get stronger and more powerful. The bunny feeds off of your mom's abuse towards you I think. She must DIE!!!!"

"Okay Chrissie, I hear you! I'm blind, not deaf," I told her.

"Well, sometimes you don't listen!" she said, justifying her need to shout everything at me.

"I'm just making sure you're actually going to hear us out and do something about it. We'll help you destroy her, kill her, but we can't do it unless you're on board with our plan, too."

"I'm on board," I assured her.

"Now we need to all just take a deep breath, calm down, sit down somewhere where we won't be bothered, and think of what we can do in terms of destroying her for good."

"Your mother's show's almost over," Nevaeh cautioned m all of us.

"You know what that means."

Yes, we all did. As soon as her distraction of Judge Judy was over, she was going to direct her full, undivided, unwanted attention all on me. That would last until Chris came home and then she would direct it at him and his son and figure out what she could bitch at Chris about that night. Unless she was in a good mood. If her spirits were high and she felt fully in control and like things were going her way, then she'd be smooching on him all night. They would be watching romantic movies, maybe fight a little about some stupid thing, like whether it was too late to start the washer, and then they'd make up and have makeup sex afterwards. Chris often doted on her, with high hopes of her being in a good mood when he came home. But, once he was home, it didn't matter so much to me whether her she felt friendly or not because I knew that her attention was finally diverted to him and not me anymore.

"So we'll wait until Chris comes home and after we have dinner," I told them, knowing that after supper was a time when I was free to go to my room because I knew my mother was being entertained otherwise.

"Just a few more hours and then we'll start forming a plan of action."

"How will we keep the bunny from finding out about our plan?" asked Mary Meyers.

"I'm sure that won't be too hard," Nevaeh said, sarcasm radiating off her voice like light radiates from the sun.

"The bunny and your mother are inseparable Mommy. We won't try to attract the bunny's attention. As long as we are as quiet as we can be, the bunny won't notice us and will continue to hang out with the cunt."

"No Nevaeh, that's not what we should do at all," howled Chrissie.

"If we're quieter than usual, the bunny will become suspicious. Just because she's an animal doesn't mean she can't pick up on something that seems out of place. No, what we really must do is act like everything is normal. We should pet the bunny, give it love, and act like we want it around forever. We should give it extra carrots and apple slices to try and make up for scaring or angering it earlier today. Then, when it goes to sleep after having such a full stomach, we will sit and form our plan for mass destruction."

"Chrissie's plan makes sense to me," I told Nevaeh.

"It's going to be hard to be nice to the bunny, I know, but we must do it in order to get it killed quicker. Do you think you can bear with us Nevaeh?"

"I guess so," she said warily.

"But I want extra lemon cookies after having to be nice to that filthy, mangy little beast."

"Deal," I told her and she put her tiny hand into my large hand and we shook firmly, sealing the deal.

"I'll also work on Mom and see if we can get some damn ice cream in the freezer within the next day or so," I added to the deal to sweeten it a little so that if Nevaeh grew tempted to be mean to the bunny she could have that extra piece to chew on.


"And now," I said to my friends as the music indicating the end of Judge Judy sounded from the TV speakers.

"We wait."

"Yes," they all agreed, hugging me tightly.

"We wait."

HAIL SATAN!!!!!!!!!

Sunday, September 14, 2014

Minnie May, Part 1

HAIL SATAN!!!!!!!!!


Minnie May is the bunny, the very evil, manipulative, sneaky bunny. She doesn't want me to write about her, to expose her and all of her evil tricks. I have been trying to write about her for an hour now and she has tried numerous times to distract me with the phone, the Internet, needing to go to the bathroom, worrying about the future and what it will bring me, etc. But I am going to expose Minnie May, right here, right now, for the whole world to read if they so desire. Secrets can only be kept concealed for so long before little drops of truth begin to leak out. Sometimes, if the secret is held for too long, the whole truth comes pouring out like a carton that wasn't repaired and the hole in it got bigger and bigger until eventually everything comes gushing out. Minnie May, I will defeat you! Little by little I will begin to understand you and the way you work. Slowly, slowly, very slowly, you will weaken the more I understand how you operate and how to maneuver around your maze of tricks that you have set up for me. The jig is up Minnie May! And it all ends right now!

Minnie May is a bunny. I've mentioned the bunny in the previous story but it wasn't quite time to write about her then. Now it is. Anyway, Minnie May is my evil shadow, a shadow that I cannot flee from or get rid of no matter how hard I try. Minnie May isn't just any ordinary bunny. She is probably the most unusual bunny there is. There is no right way to describe her because she is always changing her appearance to try and trick me into believing that she is someone else, not the bunny. Her main reason for changing her appearance is to make me believe that she is a different bunny, a friendlier bunny, that only has my best interest at heart. I used to fall for her transformation tricks quite often but, as time goes on, I am falling for them less and less, much to her great dismay.

Minnie May is a bunny that I created myself. I didn't intend to create such an evil bunny, it just happened that way. I created her because I thought that she could be another one of my imaginary friends, a friend who I could love and trust and consider my partner in crime. The details of when and where I made her are vague, probably because my childhood sucked and my only way of coping was to block most of it out. So, if you were to ask just how old she is, I couldn't tell you exactly. All I know is, I created her after Chrissie, Nevaeh, Bryan, and Mary Meyers came into existence. Before the girls came around but after I had made Bryan, I had sort of a small resemblance of a bunny or some kind of animal that was similar to a bunny, a spirit form of one I guess you could say, but her whole figure didn't develop until the girl friends came along because I couldn't decide what Minnie May should look like and what kind of creature she should be. All I knew at the time was that I wanted an animal imaginary friend, not just a tree friend, who I rarely saw anyway because I didn't understand what his purpose was yet. I needed an animal imaginary friend who would give me cuddles and kisses to help combat the strong feelings of grief and loneliness that I felt since my dad had died. After her spirit form came into existence, I thought I would feel better, less isolated maybe, but I didn't feel any comfort from her. The loneliness felt worse than before, unbearable at times, and my heart ached so much for my dad to come back that I thought it was at risk of combusting into a hundred billion pieces. I wondered if I would feel better and get more comfort from her once I made a body for her but every time I tried to make one I felt completely drained of energy, unable to hold a coherent image or thought about what she should look like for more than five seconds at a time. Fatigue would wash over me, leaving me cold and breathless. At that point, I would usually burrow down under the covers and try to absorb as much warmth as I could. If being under the covers wouldn't work, I'd take a scalding, hot shower. Sometimes the showers would work, but more often than not I would get out of the shower still shivering and feeling totally blank, like a walking, breathing zombie. I should have realized that something was very wrong with this imaginary creature that I was attempting to make but my brain wasn't capable of recognizing the signs for anything. It was hardly capable of forming a coherent thought and holding it for more than a few seconds at a time. This is how Minnie May was able to get stronger as time went on. She knew I was weak and vulnerable and she sucked up every opportunity she could by draining me of my energy and will to live so that she could get stronger and more cunning. My suffering was what the bunny thrived on. My suffering was like the bunny's food and water, two very essential things for keeping humans and animals alive.

It wasn't long after the girl demons came to me that I gave Minnie May her bunny form. Mary Meyers, Chrissie, and Nevaeh had been pestering me for some time about wanting to have a pet. I had a real live cat named Gregory but they didn't have much fun with him because Gregory couldn't see my demons because they lived in my head, therefore making me the only one who could see and hear them. They tried to chase Gregory around the house, pull on his tail, meow loudly in his ears, stroke his silky soft fur, but they got no reaction from him whatsoever. This infuriated them so they turned to me, begging to have a pet of their own.

"Mommy, we'll take care of it," they all chirped.

"We'll feed it, we'll take it outside to potty, and we'll groom it before it even has a chance to get stinky. Please, can we have a pet?"

At first I objected because I thought I was possessed with enough demons for one person. I didn't want to have too many imaginary friends roaming around inside of my head because I very well just might wind up going crazy after all. But they were very persistent and so finally I gave in. After all, they were all very good, responsible demons and they really didn't ask for much. What would one more imaginary demon hurt? So I gave in and began to work on Minnie May's body. I wasn't sure what kind of animal she would become and my girls weren't too picky on what kind of critter they wanted. All they knew was, they wanted a pet of any kind and they wanted it RIGHT NOW!!!!

Minnie May got a soft, furry dark brown head. Then she got some whiskers and a cute little button nose. Her eyes I made orange so that they would glow in the dark. I wanted her eyes to glow in the dark so that she could provide light for my demons when they went outside on their night adventures in the woods. She got four little paws and a little stub for a tail. I meant to give her a long, fuzzy tail that my girls could hold onto in case they got lost in the blackest of black places and the light from her eyes wasn't enough to guide them into a lighter area of woods or wherever they were but, for some reason, the tail just wouldn't grow into anything but a short little stub. So finally I just gave up on the tail and told the girls to bring flashlights in case they needed more light than Minnie May could provide.

I didn't know that Minnie May was going to be a bunny until she was completed and she began nibbling on carrots, apple slices, and lettuce. I just gave her the essential body parts that an animal needs and she decided that her main shape was going to be a bunny, and a small one, too. The first form that she took that I thought she would permanently stay in was a small bunny, so small that she could fit in someone's jacket pocket. She was too big to fit in pants pockets, though. She was a plump, round little bunny who loved to eat and hop about, stopping ever so often to graze on grass, weeds, dandelions, and whatever else that she thought tasted appetizing. My girls all loved her. They didn't know exactly what to name her but I told them that there was no need at all to rush.

"But what will we call her?" Nevaeh whined to me, completely in the depths of despair that a name failed to come to mind.

"How will she know that we're talking to her?" Chrissie added.

"You can point in her direction when you're speaking to her," I told them in a reassuring voice.

"Just take a few days to watch her and study her personality and the characteristics that stick out the most to you guys. A name will come to you eventually, I promise. Just give it some time and be patient. Everything takes time."

I remember at the time thinking that it was quite odd that none of the girls could think of one single name to call her. Normally they would be squabbling and squawking at each other, unable to agree on a name. They were always quarreling with each other as all siblings do and often times, it drove me nuts beyond belief. I was sure that all sorts of names would be flying all around the room as they fought to agree on something. As I sat there amongst all three of them, the silence that hung in the room seemed ominous, scary, out of place and highly abnormal. I knew that something was wrong but I could not put a finger on what, exactly was wrong. I tried so desperately to pinpoint the problem but my mind kept colliding with a wall that was at the end of yet another dead end road. I also wondered why the silence that was substituting the boisterous squabbling of my imaginary friends was so terrifying to me. Normally I welcomed silence. Silence meant peace, harmony, safety. Silence meant that there wasn't a fight going on downstairs between my mother and her boyfriend Chris or Tim, whoever was around to satisfy one of my mother's very abundant needs at that time. Normally I embraced the silence, felt the safest when all there was looming around me was the soft, sweet protective wall of silence, sometimes tainted a little bit by the music playing from my radio in the farthest corner of my bedroom from the door as possible. The farther I could be from my mother's bitchy voice and the fighting, the better I felt

"What's wrong Mommy?" my demons all asked me.

"I don't know," I said, uncertain.

"Maybe I'm just feeling a little vulnerable or something right now. It's nothing you guys, nothing at all. Why don't you go outside and play with your bunny. I'm going to sit here and listen to a few old classics that my dad and I used to listen to. Hopefully I'll feel better soon. When I do, I'll come outside and play with you guys. Until then, take the bunny outside and try to figure out what she will be called."

My demons agreed and, once Chrissie picked up the squirming, fuzzy little bunny in her soft, bean-filled arms, my girls waved farewell to me and departed my room by walking through the window. Since they were demons, they had the ability to walk through windows and doors and sliding glass doors. They couldn't walk through walls or through furniture, though, something that fascinated me quite a bit. I used to think it was quite strange how they could walk through doors and windows but not through couches or beds or dressers.

Time went on and still they could not think of a name for the bunny. As time went on, the tension built up stronger and stronger inside of me, putting much strain on my shoulders, back, and neck. Whenever I stretched out in bed or on the couch, my back and neck muscles all made popping sounds as the muscles tried desperately to relax, to relieve themselves of the ceaseless tension that invaded them. More often than they ever did before, the muscles in my body began to twitch constantly, which was another way that they tried to relieve the tension and get me to relax. It perturbed me even more as every day went on that my friends couldn't think of a name for the bunny even though it had been over a month since I had created her in full. I could have understood them not being able to conjure up a name for her if she had only been in the spirit form and didn't have a body to call her own yet. But she DID have a body, now, a real, live, visible body that they could all see and yet they still drew a blank on what her name should be. They also seemed more lethargic than usual, not being to find the energy they normally had to argue amongst themselves over everything like they always had before. I never thought I'd miss their fighting but, as time dragged on, I began to miss it more than ever. The silence was suffocating me, squashing the insides of my head and chest and all over, and I just wanted it to go away. My mom kept asking what my problem was and demanding to know why I wasn't very talkative. Of course I couldn't explain to her what was really happening. I really wished I had someone to confide in, but since my dad had died, there was nobody I trusted enough to tell my deepest, darkest secrets to anymore. I was all alone. I felt all alone and lonelier than ever, even with the three of my girls, who stayed with me constantly. I, too, felt very lethargic and hopeless. The quality of my school work diminished as my interest in all activities, especially school, dwindled down to nothing. What, oh what, had I gotten myself into? That was the million dollar question that hung over my head and haunted me day in and day out.