Leaving Wisconsin Blurb

It is with great pleasure and sadness that I come to you now and announce my intended departure from the great state of Wisconsin. My parents settled here roughly 36 years ago and never left which is how I came to be a Wisconsinette. I’d like to leave my past here and find a new life.

As a child I was troubled, overactive,  disobedient, disrespectful and depressed. Most of my classmates hated me and-with good reason. Most of my peers did not understand me, again, with good reason.

I struggled growing up in this small town and finding idenity. I struggled wanting to live in this town and staying alive and for what purpose. It was always bleak to me. It was always hard.

I fell in love with love cause I didn’t feel loved. Had crushes on teachers, my dad’s friends and actors. Wrote love poetry and read novels. Eventually I found myself raped at 14 as a virgin. 
I ran away from home because I had it “so rough”. Of course hindsight tells me I had it all wrong. I had it great.

Months later I met a classic sociopath who impregnated me with lies of sterilization. My daughter currently has five siblings, none of which are mine. I became a mom at 15. I was cheated on and abandonned. I was loyal to the predator who sat in prison for 6 years professing our undying love which was all just a farce. It took decades to understand I was a victim. That wasn’t love. Not any kind of love that meant anything.

I prided myself at being prolife until I found myself raped at 16 in front of my screaming newborn. Already struggling to be a mother it was the only option. People hated me enough already. For my junior prom I was recovering from an abortion while others only just kissed for the very first time.

I was expelled my senior year for pot and sent to rehab. I spent more times in hospitals, jails and rehab the next few years than I did at any onejob, which I’ve had plenty.

I gave my child to my parents to get my head straight at 19. I wrestled with drugs to kill me passively and numerous times I’ve purged my body of intentional overdoses.

Many nights I have spent alone, a reality that only exists between me and my secret self, with a desire to die so great that i am left half dying on a tile floor next to the porcelain god. I used drugs to die rather then for a high but that still makes me an addict. It still makes me a junkie for death.

It was when I was 23 that life changed for me. Columbia County AKA “hell”. Eventually I put my life straight, chose to go to school, get my daughter back and live life instead of seeking death. A big shout out to the tax payers who were kind enough to contribute hundreds of thousands of dollars in hospital bills and institutions. I hope you know I appreciate it. I only wished money could cure this mind I have been gifted with.

Just a few years ago I got a helicopter ride to ICU. It was after then I decided that I was titanium and could never die. That I will outlive everyone as punishment for trying to end my life so many times. This is why I want to make friends with all the babies in the world least someone will attend my funeral.

I have much more to tell about my journey but perhaps I should save it for my book. Life got a whole lot more interesting after 23. There is so much to share. Another time though.

Point of all this is that I’m leaving everyone and everything I have ever known and seeing if there is a life out there for me that I can enjoy living. I can’t wake up another day and be without purpose.

I don’t want to give into my suicidal callings. Not quite yet. I barely made it this past winter and some  were not so lucky. If I don’t leave now I am afraid I will be just another name on my list only I won’t be around to be the one to write it. No one else even has the list.

I expect failure but that’s the fun of adventure. I might be back in a week or a month or possibly never. I honestly have no idea where this sabatical will lead me. I will miss all the kind souls I have encountered and hope to see glimpses of all my loved ones each step of the way on my journey.

I suppose goodbyes are hard becuase it’s almost like death.  I will be absent to you and yet I will still be alive. Hopefully I can make a name for myself and find some fortune to share with all the good people here that I have known.


Sitting At His Place Reminiscing

43 days til I make my escape. It’s surreal. Will it feel as good gone as it does thinking of myself gone? I sit at favorite bar and listen to my music I used to listen to feeling wonderful that I got through the time I did. I’m glad I survived the winter. It was hard but I did it. Some unfortunately weren’t so lucky. It occurred to me yesterday that I was like 99%over my last relationship. The relationship with the narcissist. It occurred to me that I was grateful for the expierence as I learned so much. I fully intend to learn more about life. I have accepted that I am not here for love but I am here for knowledge. It is for the wisdom of expierences that I exist. I will get lost in the world and I have no fear because it is what it should be. It’s okay to leave home. Most people do. I need this. I need this more than I have ever needed anything before….

I played his song. It makes me want to cry. I have so many mixed feelings. I can see him. I’m so angry. I get it but oh so angry I am. The Outfield, “My Paradise” oh…. he was such a wonderful soul. I loved him lots. Nights we battled each other for next song. He would smile and dance as if it was always his first time. He was a heart throb, at least to me… he is the most influential person in my life regardless of the fact that he no longer exists. I think of him often. Tonight I reminisce as I sit at a table playing songs on my phone and drinking my rum. Influencing the mood. So far no one has left.

I wished I could tell him all about it. I knew, I fucking knew he was someone special and this happened. He did this. Why the fuck? I’m so angry. He might have thought of me before it happened. I would like to think I flashed through his mind. I’ve been there before where everything goes through your mind.  I wished I never would have gave up. I just wished he could have hung in there, I did. How is it I made it? He never chased death as I did so how did it happen to find him before me? It makes me angry.

I have no plan on my journey. I suppose it is a sabatical. I ain’t scared. It’s do or die. I am prepared to die. That’s how I know I am fully prepared to live. I am ready to destroy my loathed stability and throw myself at the mercy of the universe. As I explain to the skeptics, I barely made this last winter don’t think I will make this one. I will die in this town if I don’t get out. Some frown others cheer but no worries, still I don’t care cause I know what I gotta do.

Grandma Shirley <3

Today is Grandma Shirley’s birthday. She has been gone for a year or so now but truth is she was absent most my life. I know by looking at pictures of what she was like as a person. She loved her dogs, gardening, and birds. She also sure loved to fish, which makes me sad that she never taught me how. Not saying I would have enjoyed it at all but it would have made some great memories. I don’t have many if any memories until after I was in my mid-twenties. The turning point came when Grandma Shirley had a stroke the year my daughter was born in 1996. After that she was around a lot more often and I came to accept that she was not the typical grandma and I took her under my wing as a friend.

She would often come to KFC in her wheelchair, right before we opened, in the middle of chaos and want her three grilled chicken legs. You knew because she would wave three fingers furiously in the air. She wasn’t very patient at times. She couldn’t talk so she only made grunting noises or used her head and fingers. I used to give her shit just as my way of connecting and boy were there a few great times I told her to quit laughing so hard cause I didn’t want her to die which made her laugh even more. She taught me all about communication and ways around the spoken word.

I didn’t really know her before when she could tell me stories and I could appreciate the values of her memories. She would come and sit for hours and stare out the window. I used to love it when she would call on the phone and I would ask her what she was wearing. She would say “No” in a low tone where I would reply, “You are naked, shame on you.” To which she would laugh whole heartedly. Sometimes she would call and I would ask her if she wanted to hear a joke. Sometimes she would be playful and sometimes just hang up. I looked forward to her visits and enjoyed making her laugh. I told her many things followed by, “I know you can’t tell anyone this”. I don’t think I would have shared such things had she been normal per say for our relationship was unique and our own.

I cry as I write this, trying to listen for footsteps of my coworkers not wanting to explain what has turned me into such a cry baby. As I was looking for pictures to show you Grandma Shirley I came across these in which I find interesting. The top left is her and Roy on their wedding day. He died before I was born in 1980 after which Grandma Shirley married Leonard, pictured in the bottom right. I believe the picture with Leonard was taking during Roy and Shirley’s wedding. Perhaps why it is crumbled up like forbidden love. Go Grandma, Go!

So today is Grandma Shirley’s birthday and I am going to visit her. This is not the first time I have visited and it certainly won’t be my last. I do admit though this is real treat because not every time do I bring beer.  It’s not your birthday in heaven every year though and I don’t know if anyone else has thought to bring her a beer. She and Roy share the same headstone. No worries though because Leonard is buried just up a row. They are all down there. I will be down there sometime too. Until then though, I am going to visit them because they are not just my family but an ingress portal which I must farm keys to and make an ultimate control field in Grandma’s honor. Not just Grandma though, all those who keep her company at Sullivan.


First Letter of the Year: Leaving Wisconsin

March 14, 2016

It was a mere twelve hours ago I was driving through the windmills of Iowa, back from Omaha, Nebraska. It was also about that time when I decided first and foremost that my letters must continue and second, I was ditching Wisconsin. Of course, both sounded more poetic in my head while I spun ideas like spider webs, my passenger passed out from the miles of walking and hours of shows. I decided that when my boss returns from vacation that I am going to put in my notice. May 1st. Then I am leaving Wisconsin. I am packing light and I am go West. I am not afraid. I am not worried in the slightest. I have to do this. I do not plan on dying in this town as many have before me have. Those who never found a dream to dream, to those who never got out. I am going to go where the energy is. I am going to go where my soul can grow.

I honestly don’t even want to tell anyone because, in general, often times they don’t want you to go. I say I am going to Nebraska and its instant discouragement like, “What’s in Nebraska?” which now my reply will always be, “Nice people”. They are very nice in Nebraska. The contrast between the Twin Cities and Omaha folks is that the later aren’t so much in their little world that they aren’t going to speak to you or offer you a French fry in a brief friendly conversation never meant to last more than 2 minutes.

I have already spent 35, almost 36 years here in Wisconsin. I must get out. I have to get out or I am going to die here and that is a reality that I do not want to own. My reality is exploring the world. Adventure is calling out to me which I am willing to listen to after finally the decades of death beating on my door has decreased in frequency.

This is the #lastdaysofmylife tour. This is me not dying in my hometown which is riddled with drugs, suicide, murder and judgment. This is me saying “I choose life”. This is me saying if it doesn’t work outside of here-it’s not going to work at all. This is me finally being able to feel comfortable enough to leave the comfort zone. This is me thinking about how much I hate my job and need different scenery.

What really is stopping me from leaving? I see no reason I can’t go and find myself a new life. A new home base. Something I can say I did in my solitaire. It cannot be any worse than what I have afforded to me now, in this town. This town without a movie theatre or a bowling alley. This place does not foster big dreams. I despise it. I despise this life as it is. This is why I must leave it.

What about money? I could give two shits about money. However, I do have to pay my car and insurance to make this work which I already intend to live frugal the next month and work my second job more and bank three months of payments up. That should get me by. I am confident enough in my abilities that I am not the least bit concerned of making any money. I am sure I can always get a job with Uber if anything.

I have lots to prepare for. The only thing is I am going to miss my cat. Desmond will be staying with my daughter until I am able to send for him. I do intend on finding a home somewhere and reuniting with him. He is the only thing I am comfortable loving. He doesn’t walk like a dog so he can’t be my companion on this trip. He will understand though, after all, he is just a cat. My head is spinning with ideas. I am going to go on this adventure and I might not make it back. Whether dead or alive. Whether intentional or unintentional- this might just be the last days here at home for me and that thought does not scare me in the least. I am excited to take myself, take my story and go find a new home. That is how they used to do it back in the day and that is how I am going to have to do it now.

My mom will throw the biggest protest. It’s not so much as worry as just unnecessary negativity. Where I really don’t even want to tell her. I will have to leave my things behind. She doesn’t use the basement but her need for the empty space would completely outweigh my desire to find life outside of this shithole they settled in. I should be angry they picked such a place to raise a child in the first place but I am not. I accept it as part of who I am and why I am choosing to live the second part of my life away.

I know it sounds crazy but I where I am going people don’t need to know I had to go crazy to leave, if that is of course what crazy means. I am an idealist not a strategic planner. I am prepared to fail. I am also prepared to succeed. I see myself in the city life, on a bridge staring at the water or on the rooftop of a building staring at the thousands of lights from a city scene. I want to cry. My heart is happy. My soul feels soothed. For the first time ever in life, I feel great about a decision I am making. I know I will get the jitters for the next 45 days but I know once I am on that road I will not care.

I really have a lot of work to get caught up where I cannot afford to write much longer however I did want to bring up my letter writing before I send it out. My daughter encouraged me to start again. Just the other day as I planned my Omaha trip she inquired if I still wrote you letters. I said no and that it sucked cause I didn’t feel I could write anymore. She said “Do it”.  Honestly, I couldn’t write brilliance without knowing it was my intention to send the letter and not just write it. I have found I cannot trick myself. There had to be the connection. It’s strange like the record label I know. If it’s a huge bother-just mark return to sender. Until then I am going to keep at it. I have to. It fuels my creative endeavors. It keeps me in check. It keeps me inspired. It keeps me moving. If anything it will be quite a legacy to leave behind when I pass. My letters to Sage. I think it could even be a working title for a memoir. I mean the whole point of this adventure I am going on is self-discovery. So long as I have gas money I can go and see everything imaginable. You do not really know what this could mean for me. It could mean I die in an alley, mugged, raped and left for dead or it could mean I find myself alive, flourishing and loving the days gone by. In any case, I do intend on writing you every step of the way. I am after all going to need a friend on my journey other than my actual diary. But trust me my diary is nowhere as great a read as these letters have been, at least in my own opinion. In comparison my diary is just facts on paper, hardly feelings. It’s bland. There are no stories. It’s sad, really.  I do promise to do my best not to be so overwhelming. Forgive me please though; I am a virgin of life which is why parking meters make me smile. This should be exciting for the both of us. I know months prior you had responded to me about needing real therapy if I intended on using a human being as a diary. I’d rather believe that it’s good for the both of us. Travel-that’s the therapy I am enlisting in and so this mean my letters can just be letters now and we can be friends.  I still can’t believe I survived the winter. I do really contribute a lot of that to my letter writing. It helped me out of one of the darkest places I have ever been in life and it’s going to help me walk into the light now. You should, if anything, feel honored. It’s really not that big of a deal though, ha. Not to me anyways. I don’t have time to think about it. If I do think about things I have the tendency to overthink and botch things up. Rather I just release my brilliance out in the universe. I would rather take my chances on that than staying in this town and making it to 40. I guarantee that would not happen.  Until I write again…