Private Writings: Chapter #64 – “Got To Get It Out of My Mind”

private writings a novel of true fantasy by jennifer kiley [shawn's 2d blue name]“Private Writings: A Novel of True Fantasy
Chapter #64 - “Got To Get It Out of My Mind”
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Post Tuesday 3rd June 2014

WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE AND CONTENT

Not Suitable For Children.

All Characters Are Fictitious.
Anyone Resembling Anyone Living or Dead
Is Purely Coincidental.

Crypticistic Synopsis:

private writings to dr. annie haskell psychoanalyst

I am the storyteller using imagination fantasy feelings & thoughts to discover self soul eternal serenity & bliss but to most importantly tell the best tale ever after upon a time.

see you down the rabbit hole.

Private Writings: Chapter #64 “Got To Get It Out of My Mind”

Tuesday 25th November 2008

Dear Annie,

I have written you a note regarding a brilliant young woman on a video talking on Bipolar. I watched it here at Redcliff Psychiatric Institute a few nights ago. It might have been. Time is tripping on its self. Can’t remember if it is the beginning of the week or just ending. It’s all relative, I suppose. I am including an attachment in my email. It may be too large. If so I will mail video to you via registered mail. I want to be certain it is received.

Maybe you do or don’t realize it, but I have been writing to you for just over a year. We reached one goal. You becoming my psychoanalyst & my feeling heard. You have motivated me to heal. Who would know that demons would be constantly invading my mind, my body, my spirit & my emotional state. It lives for lying in wait so it can shock me or torment me with uncertainty and lies.

I’d like to tell you about the video I am sending to you. An intelligent young woman talks calmly and with a depth of sensitively about Bipolar. What she says is enlightening and has given me more insight into my Bipolar and how it affects me. Most of the time I am not aware when I am manic. Being depressed and suicidal is easier to read but being high on misfiring brain chemicals is not quite as obvious to me.

Scottie is always telling me when I am being manic. I really am not aware of the racing thoughts rushing out of my brain. Subjects fly out of by mouth in rapid fire. When I am working, it’s not unusual to have multiple projects happening at any given moment. I thrive on the action and fly high inside the inspiration my muse is feeding me. So much to unveil & never time. Time whips by while the sun sets & rises way too quickly. Who thinks about sleep when you feel so alive and alert.

Anyway, I was just adding on this note to mention the video. Please watch. When I get out of here & back into my world & my life, things will settle down. Then we can work on getting my life back under control & try to clean out my life of all the regenerates who suck my blood and energy, leaching it away from me.

I’d like us to listen to this video together at our next session in your office. We can talk about what we both feel is relevant. It may actually help draw me into my gaining a better mindset. Maybe I will learn enough to help me find some self-confidence inside.

Once I’m able to get back into writing & painting, I will do better I feel confident I will recover. At present I feel nothing. No more suicide attempts. No letting people into my life who are fakes & phonies who just want a connection. Always trying to use me to get to Scottie. The sycophantic, talent buried deep enough not to be reached until they have another incarnation. Trying to work me when Scottie seems disinterested, or she just doesn’t see the actor behind their masks.

All those masks that the want-to-be’s wear. I have a theory, which will probably sound crazy, but I think Oscar Wilde understood it too well when he wrote “The Picture of Dorian Grey.” Many want-to-be’s are so diabolical, they probably do have a version of a Dorian Grey portrait in their attics. What must some of the worst look like. And I don’t mean worst actors, the portraits probably belong to those amongst the Great Ones.

No hypothetical conjectures on who I think are working with the Devil and living under the influence of Evil every moment. The rumors of the famous killing off fallen stars so they can suck up what fame was left. They bask in the Brightness of the Light of the Prematurely Dead who die under unusual circumstances, usually connected to drug overdoses. Don’t you just find these deaths mysterious and disturbing? No one will ever admit openly they are murdering Stars that once were or are now too much trouble.

Keep these thoughts stored in your mind. Think not that I speak from a mind filled with madness. That is another state of mind to store in your memory. The Original Star system may have overworked their Stars but the system really made an effort to actually create the Stars who glowed as Bright as a rainbow star high up in the sky. Today, we are lucky to have actors who want to act and do not seek the “celebrity.”

Celebrity is a whole other experience than being a Star. A Star emanates pure blissful centeredness. They are Pure Light. You can see it when they are up on the Silver Screen. A certain aura circles around their whole being. At the center of the Star Circle are the acting magic of Movie Stars like Greta Garbo, Katherine Hepburn, Elizabeth Taylor, Cary Grant [has a European Delicacy, yet came up from Vaudeville], Humphrey Bogart, James Stewart, Spencer Tracy, the Barrymores, Charlie Chaplin, Norma Shearer, Bette Davis, Joan Fontaine, Olivia de Havilland, Barbara Stanwyck, Carole Lombard, William Powell, Myrna Loy, Irene Dunne, Lawrence Olivier, Vivien Leigh, Ingrid Bergman, Clark Gable, while Gable feels like he came from the other-side-of-the-tracks. Not sure if he did but feelings count in how you respond to your favorite Stars. She wanted to be alone, only because she was never left alone but instead she was constantly pursued by the paparazzi, however back then called the PR Department of the Studios.

I just want to concentrate on my art, not on the climbers.

I am so looking forward to seeing you & getting a long hug. The peace I find with you, sets off the Zen in my mind.

Hopefully, it won’t be too long before I get released.

I miss you & love you & need you now. It is so painful being without you.

World Bipolar Day | Sarah Harmer

Watch this video & we can talk about it sometime after I get out of Redcliff.

For now I need to stop.

Love Fondly,

Madison

@>-;–

© madison taylor 2008

“I think writing really helps you heal yourself. I think if you write long enough, you will be a healthy person. That is, if you write what you need to write, as opposed to what will make money, or what will make fame.“ — Alice Walker

Somewhere In Time - Composer John Barry

5 photo of white rose with red framed in blue

“A Dream
The beginning always starts out
With a dream.
It is all a dream
In our own nightmares”
— Madison Taylor

negative of le chateau de rocher by j. kiley (c) jennifer kiley 2013Le Chateau de Rocher – Home to Madison & Scottie
Their Cats & daughter Alison. She has her own place on the estate

play is not just play meryl streep“Pretending is not just play.
Pretending is imagined possibility”
— Meryl Streep

Medicalmarijuana red cross marijuana leaf black bgMedical Marijuana

Private Writings: Chapter #62 – “Act Natural Be GAY”

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013“Act Natural Be GAY”

Private Writings: Chapter #62 

Written by Jennifer Kiley

Posted On Tuesday 20th May 2014

WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE AND CONTENT.
Not Suitable For Children.
All Characters Are Fictitious.
Anyone Resembling Anyone Living or Dead
Is Purely Coincidental.

Crypticistic Synopsis

private writings to dr. annie haskell psychoanalyst

I am the storyteller using imagination fantasy feelings & thoughts to discover self soul eternal serenity & bliss but to most importantly tell the best tale ever after upon a time

see you down the rabbit hole.

Private Writings: Chapter #62 — “Act Natural Be GAY”

Tuesday 11th November 2008

Dear Annie,

I don’t speak his name. The last time I saw him he leaned into give me a kiss. I thought it would of course be innocent. A male parental figure was standing very nearby. He could see anything if there was anything to see. My guard was down. Never expecting him to do what was the last time he physically touched me. It was inappropriate what he did. Some may think tame. I felt disgusted. It was a lean in for a kiss on the cheek & turned into a full frontal assault. He grabbed at my breasts with one hand & with the other, he had his open palm hard up against the back of my head. What the fuck just happened?

He forced himself onto me. His tongue tried to push its way inside of my mouth. It felt awkward. I pushed him away & laughed off his assault. When I left that day, years ago, it was the last time I was ever physically in his presence again. Seeing him gives me nightmares & I see him in my dreams. It seems I get regular visits from the undead when I am sleeping. And now I see them in window glass, reflecting back at me. it shook me up seeing her face.

I think she is watching me. Maybe it is her punishment for her unbecoming not like parent’s behavior at all. She must see how I have been since I have left them behind. College & psychotherapy have saved me. So has smoking weed. It calms down my nerves. Helps me be able to talk to one person at a time. Not one for large gatherings. More so now. I love my quiet time to write & paint.

I want to know what it feels like to love someone without ever having experienced any of the abuse & punishment I had to endure. Add onto the degree of treachery in my childhood, I am surprised I never succeeded at killing myself. Suicide is with me all the time. It may take time off for some quiet time but the depression and suicidal thoughts & feelings circulate my senses whenever I come off of a manic phase. Presently I am manic. I don’t get it. What is it that Scottie is experiencing with me when she tells me I am manic. I know what depression probably looks like. It is awful to feel it. I’ve grown accustomed to the music I want to hear when I am going down under into the darkness. The music is essential. It is my companion among the walking dead.

When I am not depressed, I do not want to ever die. If I could find a cure for Death, I would certainly use it. One exception, the pain, it would have to exist on a reasonable level of endurance. I would want to feel pleasure & to give pleasure. I would want my sexual creatures who spook me away from touch & hugging & kissing. It is not that I don’t enjoy being touched by a woman I love, it is my not being able to give the completeness of love to her or to myself while I am with someone I would want to make love to in as free a fashion as possible. I love the sensation of my body being aroused. It is the release that brings on all the problems & rejections & turning cold at the touch of anyone who tried to make love to me. Maybe I make love to them or I am just trying to bring them some kind of satisfaction, knowing eventually I will be a failure & the lady I have strong feelings for will just suddenly disappeared as quickly as she appeared in my life.

What am I really afraid to tell you Annie? Why am I hiding away from facing you? I know why. I have been pushing my physical feelings for you down. I believe I am in love with you. I desire everything about you. Your voice melts the nerves inside my body & I want so much just to be held in your arms. And if you would allow, I would love to hold you close to me.

If I fantasized on what I would want from you, I would say, I would want to love you. To find the formula inside of you to bring me out of the shell I have been trapped in from the moment the first wrong person did things to me that made me feel ashamed & frightened.

I thought the first time, he might kill me. I heard later on when I was older that some of the places my abusers would take me were remote. There were never any people around except myself & the abuser of choice my male parental unit would assign me to take care of.

He made connections using me. The people that used me sexually were important men. They had power. If anyone ever were to find out what they were doing to me, they would kill me. I don’t imagine that, it was the kind of threat I received all the time. One time I made a pedophile so angry when I wanted him to stop. When he didn’t I threatened to go to the police. They would stop them all.

His rage came flying out. He held tightly to my throat with his right hand & his left hand was held up to punch me in the face. I stood my ground as solid as I could. He told me if he ever heard me use any kind of threat like that again, he would kill me. He said that sex from children was easy to find. I wasn’t his only sex toy.

This made me feel sick to my stomach. It felt like I was going to die. I was trapped inside this shit by my own semen donor. He was such a filthy pig & still is. Now he’s just trying to steal my inheritance from my grandmother. No relation to my A.I. She hated him but had no idea what he was making me do.

I was a sex slave to anything he wanted me to do. And my shadow mother was the torturer. The two together made Caligula look like an innocent yet still a madman.

It was a true den of iniquity. No one knew what anyone else was doing. I lived in a den of snakes of the poisonous kind. The poison didn’t kill me but it made me blind to my senses. I lost the ability to tell reality from madness. What does one do when most of their childhood was filled with evil from bad men & women?

I have been working on getting better most of my life after 19. That’s when I started therapy & have been in & out of new therapists’ offices ever since.

I want you to stay around for a long time. I need you in my life so don’t abandon me. Please be the exception.

I wanted you to do me a favor. Since I have missed so many of the meetings of the new trauma group you run with a new therapist to me. I love her name, “Maria Garcia Falcón.” I definitely am going to be back as soon as I am able to walk out of Redcliff. I really miss certain people more than others. I miss you. I miss Maria. She is always so good to me & understanding. It really feels like Maria gets me.

Enough for now. Just please root for me Annie. I want to go home. My babies are going to be so annoyed with me, they probably won’t let me pet them when I do get home, just to punish me. No, they are not the vindictive types. They are quite Zen our sweet babies.

Love & Hugs
Madison
@>-;–

© Madison Taylor 2008

“I think writing really helps you heal yourself. I think if you write long enough, you will be a healthy person. That is, if you write what you need to write, as opposed to what will make money, or what will make fame.“ — Alice Walker

Somewhere In Time – Composer John Barry

Red Calla Lily Aranal Flower

Red Calla Lily Aranal Flower

“A Dream
The beginning always starts out
With a dream.
It is all a dream
In our own nightmares”
— Madison Taylor

negative of le chateau de rocher by j. kiley (c) jennifer kiley 2013Le Chateau de Rocher [Home to Madison & Scottie – their Cats & daughter Alison. She has her own place on the estate

play is not just play meryl streep“Pretending is not just play. Pretending is imagined possibility” — Meryl Streep

Medicalmarijuana red cross marijuana leaf black bgMedical Marijuana

Private Moments #62 “Act Natural Be GAY”

private moments in paintings & poetryPrivate Moments #62“Act Natural Be GAY”
Poem Written for Private Writings: Chapter #62 – “Act Natural Be GAY”
Written by Jennifer Kiley

Post Monday 19th May 2014
Her Highness [the shadow] Immortalized by Jk McCormack

“For that fine madness still he did retain,
Which rightly should possess a poet’s brain.”
~Michael Drayton~ (1563-1631)

Wet 029

Her Holiness [the shadow] Immortalized - jk mccormack (c) jkm 2008

hands reaching out into rain

“The greatest thing you’ll ever learn
Is to be loved and to love in return”
- Moulin Rouge – Baz Luhrman

“Act Natural Be GAY”
By Madison Taylor
11th November 2008

It is natural for me to be a lesbian
Women are so attractive
In a way that men lack the spark
Men can be so beautiful
I admire their beauty
It just does not awaken the fire
Feeling a woman’s blaze
My hands caress her without touching
This desire does not exist for a man

The sex was expected and silently coerced
A man’s touch caused my mind to withdraw
Well ahead of the physical escape
The body is trapped in paralysis
Women draw me near but never for a man
The man’s skin is rough when it tears the skin
The feel of a woman’s flesh is smooth
Bringing out the craving for pleasure
With a man what is felt is I am a caged cat
Pacing back and forth seeking an escape
Feeling time has caught me in its spider’s web

Someday learning the force needed
To make No mean stop
Someday I will feel free to go
When No will be respected
To stop – say No and walk away
For so long it felt like a trap
No way out – in a cage with locks
With no keys to set me free

My will not my own
Does it yet belong to me
Will I ever know the feeling
To be me to be free
Or whomever I want to be
The choice should be mine
Always mine alone

Only exception should come from me
Someday I may want to surrender
Show trust with my lover implicitly
Wanting to trust she will be slow
Her hands gentle
Her lips soft and sweet
Waiting and wanting my response
Asking me what I want
What can she do to pleasure me

To say what kind of touches
I’ll feel inside of me
An exciting and frightening thought
Wanting sensations to drive me wild
Building the passion to set me free
Wanting the feelings to be
What I want them to be

To make love inside the lava flowing
Slowness building up the intensity
Let the love making come gently
Passionately growing and glowing
Giving me what I need and want to feel
Coming ever so slowly – so patiently
No force do I feel
Just letting go naturally

© Madison Taylor 2008

candle flame flickering gif

Until - by James Conlee

garden waterfall private gazebo overgrown 4pmip&p

“Doorway to a Place of Enchantment”

“Creating is having the courage to allow the seer into the private moments of our imaginative lives.”

— jkm the secret keeper aka Jennifer Kiley McCormack

*      *      *

dont be afraid to express ur sexuality fantasies poster

Remember

Do What You Love

same sex logos in framed in rainbow colors  without black frame 2


Private Writings: Chapter #61- “From Me To You”

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013Private Writings: Chapter #61 – “From Me To You”
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Post Tuesday 13th May 2014

WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE AND CONTENT.
Not Suitable For Children.
All Characters Are Fictitious.
Anyone Resembling Anyone Living or Dead
Is Purely Coincidental.

Crypticistic Synopsis

private writings to dr. annie haskell psychoanalyst

I am the storyteller using imagination fantasy feelings & thoughts to discover self soul eternal serenity & bliss but to most importantly tell the best tale ever after upon a time

see you down the rabbit hole.

Private Writings: Chapter #61 “From Me To You”

Tuesday 4th November 2008

Dear Annie,

The other night, while I was writing in “A Writer’s Diary” a most bizarre idea occurred to me. Actually, it was two ideas. The first is not so bad to talk about. I decided I wanted to create a scrapbook of photographs of an actress I have a deep & lasting crush on. We’ve never met. I want to write her a script she would love. My fantasy is she accepts & I get to work with her. Running lines. Having her over for drinks, non-alcoholic or not.

I prefer weed to drink. More a sense of control. Your mind doesn’t get muddled. It floods out like a dam broken on a roaring river. All is washed away & awareness becomes acutely sensitive to every stimuli within my reach. But back to my ideas.

The sordid idea that came to me felt so freeing. I decided to created “A Writer’s Diary” that really told & showed everything I was brave enough to release from being a prisoner in the darkest room in the back of my mind. Mostly unreachable. Only set off by triggers from the ghosts that traveled the road inside of my past.

And now they are slowly returning with their stories of what they did to me. More like their lies & denials of anything ever occurring. I am only seeking attention. No one ever touched me. I have such horrible, brutal details from my childhood abuse living inside my conscious mind. Some get pulled back down under.

But suddenly they will rush out at me when I might be biting into a sandwich & taking a sip from someone’s sweet milky coffee, the way my male birth parent took his coffee, lots of sugar & cream. My good grandfather liked it that way also. When we would ever have lunch together when I was a child, he would always offer me a sip. He knew I was too shy to ask. He also would give me bites of the sandwiches my grandmother would make for our outings together. He had his favorites & I had mine. But my grandfather knew I loved the taste of whatever he was eating more than my own food, even if it was the same exact ingredients. Made no difference, his food always tasted better than mine.

He loved to take me to the stables & let me ride one of the smaller horses. I was so drawn to horses. They were my fantasy escape. I would ride off on my horse with someone, a young, blue eyed, light brownish blond hair, wavy & touching her shoulders, girl. She would find her horse & I would lead her to the best secret sights to ride to. Places no one else knew about. They were well hidden behind walls of morning glory & raspberry bushes. I knew the silent entrances no one else was ever able to find. Those were my woods. No one knew them as well as I did. I could run through them as though I were in a race at the Olympics out for the win.

Today, it is all so overgrown, one would need a machete to whack our way into the fortress, my palace against the danger of the times when I was too small to fight back. And there was no one to rescue me. No one knew. I preferred they didn’t. How would I explain what men & father figures, real & imagined, had done to me & would continue doing until I was almost not a teenager any longer.

I was growing into an immature adult child that knew nothing about life except abuse, hunger, neglect & sex. Not real sex with love & tenderness involved. I am talking about force. Rape. Having someone, anyone, I might not even know them but my father did. He knew them all. And one was my oldest brother. They would all force themselves on an unaccepting target, aiming with their pricks to score their goals & leave their disgusting mess behind. I was punished if anyone was not satisfied. You don’t want to know who or what the punishment was.

My secret for now.

Until I am able to see you, I really do miss you terribly.

Fondly,

Madison

@>-;–

© Madison Taylor 2008

“I think writing really helps you heal yourself. I think if you write long enough, you will be a healthy person. That is, if you write what you need to write, as opposed to what will make money, or what will make fame.“ — Alice Walker

Somewhere In Time – Composer John Barry

Red Calla Lily Aranal Flower

Red Calla Lily Aranal Flower

“A Dream

The beginning always starts out

With a dream.

It is all a dream

In our own nightmares”

— Madison Taylor

negative of le chateau de rocher by j. kiley (c) jennifer kiley 2013Le Chateau de Rocher [Home to Madison & Scottie – their Cats & daughter Alison. She has her own place on the estate

play is not just play meryl streep“Pretending is not just play. Pretending is imagined possibility” — Meryl Streep

Medicalmarijuana red cross marijuana leaf black bgMedical Marijuana

Private Moments #60 — “Ain’t Gonna Make No Noise On That”

private moments in paintings & poetry
Private Moments #60: “Ain’t Gonna Make No Noise On That”

Poem by Jennifer Kiley

Painting by Jk McCormack

Post Monday 5th May 2014

Private Writings: Chapter #60 — “Black Book Screaming In The Dead of Night

Peace of My Heart (c) jkm 2008

“Peace of My Heart” (c) jkm 2008

“For that fine madness still he did retain,
Which rightly should possess a poet’s brain.”
~Michael Drayton~
(1563-1631)

hands reaching out into rain

“Ain’t Gonna Make No Noise On That”
Poem by Madison Taylor
28th October 2008

Ain’t gonna make no noise on that
Relief when they leave
Before it would mean
I would have to go

Makes continuing lighter
Painful to the center
But if a knife crosses my flesh
What have I gained

If I lose my life
I still will maintain
My soul will remain
Needing confession

Finding someone understanding
Getting love goes beyond sex
Friendship is essential
It should be long lasting

The soul’s energy transcends
A renewed life cleanses
Breaking away from distractions
Of evil whisperings

Confusions in communications
Where Truth’s are lies
To mask the face
In blurred lines disguise

Not blowing up value
Attractions coming at me
Breaking my boundary field
Out of their necessity

But what do they want
I am not trained
In giving blessings
To those who drain my blood

They are quenched
I am dying from thirst
My love has been taken from me
Leaving an essence of shock

Having not seen the deception
Why would assumptions
Raise the doubts of sincerity
When others’ lies deceive me

Honesty awakens vulnerability
If I feel what is real
Coming from my reaction
Treachery was exacting

Starting over looking at stars
Their existence over a million times
Since I viewed their rainbow connections
Time is relative to my speed of life

Until life is over
The body I live in
Borrowed to use its benefit
To guide my length of life

The experiences are free choice
Unless I am murdered
Before I assume it’s time
The ending comes in its moment

What happens when meeting death?
My mind soul & heart leaves
May travel may rest until a sign
Presents to me my new adventure

It seems creation is someone’s adventure
Heightens my senses til next assignment
So go with the flow listen for the muse
Making Her efforts to give great guidance

Around & around I go
Recycling old thoughts
Creating an original observation
While continuing my journey toward Immortality

Pursuing my dreams symbolic meanings
Working on transcribing blazing enigmas
Assuming answers are what I think I need
When the secret is our pursuit of the union in One

© Madison Taylor 2008

candle flame flickering gif

“Love Takes Over” - Kelly Rowland – Created by David Guetta

garden waterfall private gazebo overgrown 4pmip&p “Doorway to a Place of Enchantment”

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

“Creating is having the courage
to allow the seer into the private
moments of our imaginative lives.”
— JkM the secret keeper
aka Jennifer Kiley McCormack

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

Private Writings: Chapter #55 – It’s Wrong for the Right Reasons

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013

Private Writings: Chapter #55 – It’s Wrong for the Right Reasons

Written by Jennifer Kiley
Painting by NAME OF ARTIST
Introduction & Chapter #1
Published on March 19th 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted On Tuesday 1st April 2014

WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE AND CONTENT.
Not Suitable For Children.
All Characters Are Fictitious.
Anyone Resembling Anyone Living or Dead
Is Purely Coincidental.

Crypticistic Synopsis:

private writings to dr. annie haskell
psychoanalyst

I am the storyteller
using imagination fantasy feelings & thoughts
to discover self soul eternal serenity & bliss
but to most importantly
tell the best tale ever after upon a time

see you down the rabbit hole.

Private Writings: Chapter #55 — It’s Wrong for the Right Reasons

Tuesday 23rd September 2008

Dear Annie,

I told you last week I would tell you about my grandmother. She was so special to me. My real fairy godmother was my grandmother. She gave me a nickname I love so much. Mandy is that nickname my grandmother gave me when I was little. She would sit me in her lap and tell me how much she loved her sweet sweet granddaughter Mandy. I was her baby girl. She was the only one who loved me when I was a child. And the only person who did not abuse me in some way. Her hugs were the best in the world. Before she left me, she tried to prepare me for her death. I told her she was never going to die. Death wasn’t something I understood at that time. I never knew anyone who died. Death did not feel like it was a part of my world. She had an awful accident falling down the stairs. In the hospital, she had broken her hip and from her inability to move, she developed pneumonia.

I was too young to visit her by myself and my horrible parents did nothing to take any of us to see her. She was lost to me. I didn’t understand how to communicate with her. I was confused. Then the news came through my grandmother was going to go into a nursing facility to recover. She told me many times she would never ever go into one of them. I don’t even understand why they would tell her such a thing. My grandmother was filthy rich. She could afford to be taken home and receive plenty of care. But no, my parents and my mother’s uncle, the one who abused me, weren’t going to give my grandmother the peace of mind to do what she wanted. Later that same day, I heard my mother scream this awful sound. I ran to where she was. My awful mother was crying. Struggling to get the words out, she told me my grandmother was dead. I was so young, all I could feel was stunned.

The safest person in the world to me, the only person I loved and who loved me, she was gone. She was dead. My grandmother was dead. The last time I saw her alive, I was hugging her. I lay on her bed next to her and we snuggled as close as the pain would allow. It was the best snuggle in the world. I told my granma “I love you.” I think I kept on saying it as they were trying to pull me away from her. She didn’t want to let go either this time. The parents were always trying to pull us apart. When I would hold her in a full arm hug just before it was time to leave her home, the parents had to pry us apart then, too. I knew if I let go, I would have to go back to hell. All I wanted was my grandmother to keep me with her.  Now she was dead. That is the last time I saw her, when she was dead lying in her coffin. I kissed her on the forehead. She wasn’t there. It was the first time I cried after she died. When I could see she wasn’t just someplace else, she was dead and I would never hug her again or feel her hug me, holding on tight, trying to protect me from what she never knew. I never told her about any of the abuse that was going on. I didn’t want it to spoil our relationship.

Now I have lost far too many people since my grandmother’s death. People I loved, who were too young to die but they died anyway. In all the unfairness of life, killing people when they are young is the cruelest elements of life. Death freaks me out except when I am feeling suicidal. Then I crave it. I want it. I want death to take me. It is that simple. That is why I took those pills. I miss all the women in my life who I loved and now they are dead. I feel such a deep capacity to feel intense emotional feelings. When I love, I love intensely. And I am talking about Love not sex. Sex is not meant to be something I can experience with another person. The abusers stole that from me, the ability to feel love and sexual attraction together. It doesn’t work for me. What I am able to do is love passionately but not love if it has anything to do with being sexual. Loving passionately for me is to feel my emotions of love very intensely and deeply. It is the purist kind of love I know. Love being Love. The way I feel for Scottie. She understands me. Her generosity of support is what was keeping me alive for so long.

No one can keep you alive if you don’t want to be. Tosh has been around. Her spirit is watching over me. She has visited me here. We have spent a great amount of time talking. Sorting out why she had to die so young. I’ve never gotten over losing her. But she is with me now, so I am not alone.  As for the rest of everyone here, no one seems like anyone I want to relate to. But it may just be too soon. As I said, I do like my shrink. I just want to see you, Annie. I need lots of your hugs to help me make it through.

Why do people misunderstand love and hugs and saying “I love you?” That crushes me more than anything else. My heart feels like it has been crushed. The weight on my chest and the difficulty I have breathing makes me feel like I am dying. Am I ready to die? Part of me was ready to go before Jamie found me. Do I still want to die? I am not sure. When I think about it strongly enough, I would have to say yes. Yes, I still want to die. If I say that to my Doctor, I will be staying here way too long. So help me work something out, so I can get out of here. Most of all, I miss my cats, Alison, Scottie, and you. And I want to go home. I miss my home.

Help me get out of here. I know I am sounding like I am on the mania train but we can work on getting my suicidal depression back in line. You just need to snap me out of twirling around inside my brain. I’m drowning here. I surely will if I don’t get some relief from strangers. Unlike Blanche Dubois, “I do not depend upon the kindness of strangers.” Friends are just strangers in disguise. They aren’t really there to bond with you, they just want what they need but disguise it as love and caring but in reality they are stealing all your good energy for themselves and leave you starving to death. But they don’t care or give a fuck.

Well, fuck them if they can be so cruel to abandon you when you most need them. Fuck her. Who “her” is, is the $5 Billion Dollar Q & A. Name anyone and I would say they have contributed to my surrender. Living in secret. Living in fear of living. Living in fear of loving. Living in fear of Life. Living in fear of Trust stolen from me so many times in the Sacrifice. Living in fear of Death but only when Death is a threat. When it is sweet, sweet like the feelings of the deepest and darkest depression carrying me as though in a coffin through the rocking finality of death. The finality of Death is Living. But when I try to take the living out of my own self and enter Death without being called to it properly causes all sorts of people to get all weird and concerned. When truthfully no one gives a shit.

When we die, we are just gone. Only the tender few, like myself, love that deeply, when we feel death stealing us away. For the young who die, it is the last high carrying us closer to the other side. Each high brings us a shade too close to the thinning edge. I feel when we rip our body away from our soul someone has to help us through the pain after death. First figuring out where we are when we realize, “This isn’t Earth any longer. Nor is it OZ. It is filled with darkness. We can see our spirit but nothing else is visible. This is after we first leave our body. How long this period lasts, it’s impossible to measure without the existence of time. It is all for what? I thought maybe it was all for Love.

I’m exhausted. So that is all I have for now. I feel close to sane but on the edge of madness. Let me repeat my usual closing. It will make things appear to be as usual. I will see you soon. I must.

That’s all for now.

“Time for time and traveling with circuses must end. It is time to soar through the time barrier into all moments in the Universe.”

So, until I see you, I end with my favorite quote from the film Brief Sacrifice.

“Time can be folded and joined with all elements in all places as the one ultimate moment when time is all at once. In this place everything happens on a continual loop following into a continuum of time forever into infinity. In the “Silver Box,” there is contained the ability to draw time into itself and create the perfect infinite moment.”

I end this letter in “the moment between seconds.”
Love Fondly,

Madison

© Madison Taylor 2008

acrylic_fluid_painting_61_by_mark_chadwick

Acrylic Fluid Painting 61 by Mark Chapwick

Somewhere In Time – Composer John Barry

robert-mapplethorpe_15 multiple tiger orchids bluish purple bg

“A Dream
The beginning always starts out
With a dream.
It is all a dream
In our own nightmares”
— Madison Taylor

Le Chateau de Rocher

Le Chateau de Rocher is Madison & Scottie’s Home

play is not just play meryl streep“Pretending is not just play. Pretending is imagined possibility” — Meryl Streep

Medicalmarijuana red cross marijuana leaf black bgMedical Marijuana

A Heartfelt Goodbye To Virginia Woolf 73 Years Later

the-living-word make the writer's diary

The Living Word

A Heartfelt Goodbye to Virginia Woolf 73 Years Later
25 January 1882 – 28 March 1941
Created by Jennifer Kiley
Created 23rd March 2014
Posted Friday 28th March 2014
A TRIBUTE TO VIRGINIA WOOLF

virginia woolf a writer's life quote over photo“You cannot find peace by avoiding life.”

“Books are the mirrors of the soul.”

I can only note that the past is beautiful
because one never realises an emotion at the time.
It expands later, and thus we don’t have complete
emotions about the present, only about the past.”

“The eyes of others our prisons; their thoughts our cages.”

“Love, the poet said, is woman’s whole existence.”

“The truth is, I often like women. I like their
unconventionality. I like their completeness. I
like their anonymity. ”

“I thought how unpleasant it is to be locked out; and
I thought how it is worse, perhaps, to be locked in.”

“All extremes of feeling are allied with madness.”

“For it would seem – her case proved it – that we
write, not with the fingers, but with the whole
person. The nerve which controls the pen winds
itself about every fibre of our being, threads
the heart, pierces the liver.”

“I am reading six books at once, the only way of
reading; since, as you will agree, one book is
only a single unaccompanied note, and to get the
full sound, one needs ten others at the same time.”

“So long as you write what you wish to write, that
is all that matters; and whether it matters for
ages or only for hours, nobody can say.”

“When I cannot see words curling like rings of
smoke round me I am in darkness—I am nothing.”

“It is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the sub-
merged truth sometimes makes its way to the surface.”

“For now she need not think of anybody. She could be
herself, by herself. And that was what now she often
felt the need of – to think; well not even to think.
To be silent; to be alone. All the being and the doing,
expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk,
with a sense of solemnity, to being oneself, a wedge-
shaped core of darkness, something invisible to others…
and this self having shed its attachments was free for
the strangest adventures.”

“Fiction is like a spider’s web, attached ever so lightly
perhaps, but still attached to life at all four corners.”

“Was not writing poetry a secret transaction, a voice
answering a voice?”

“Let us again pretend that life is a solid substance,
shaped like a globe, which we turn about in our fingers.
Let us pretend that we can make out a plain and logical
story, so that when one matter is despatched—love for
instance—we go on, in an orderly manner, to the next.”

“The only advice, indeed, that one person can give another
about reading is to take no advice, to follow your own
instincts, to use your own reason, to come to your own
conclusions. If this is agreed between us, then I feel at
liberty to put forward a few ideas and suggestions because
you will not allow them to fetter that independence which
is the most important quality that a reader can possess.
After all, what laws can be laid down about books? The
battle of Waterloo was certainly fought on a certain day;
but is Hamlet a better play than Lear? Nobody can say.
Each must decide that question for himself. To admit
authorities, however heavily furred and gowned, into our
libraries and let them tell us how to read, what to read,
what value to place upon what we read, is to destroy the
spirit of freedom which is the breath of those sanctuaries.
Everywhere else we may be bound by laws and conventions-
there we have none.”

“The most extraordinary thing about writing is that
when you’ve struck the right vein, tiredness goes.”

“…who shall measure the heat and violence of a poet’s
heart when caught and tangled in a woman’s body?”

“I feel so intensely the delights of shutting oneself
up in a little world of one’s own, with pictures and
music and everything beautiful.”

“By the truth we are undone. Life is a dream. ‘Tis the
waking that kills us. He who robs us of our dreams robs
us of our life.”

— Virginia Woolf [from Her Books & Diaries]

virginia & leonard woolf 1939 National Photo Gallery London 'the dinner party' virginia woolf

Virginia & Leonard Woolf 1939
National Photo Gallery London
The Dinner Party: Virginia Woolf

Virginia Woolf’s Handwritten Suicide Note to Her Husband Leonard: A Painful & Poignant Farewell [1941]

Dearest, I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can’t go through another of those terrible times. And I shan’t recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can’t concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don’t think two people could have been happier ’til this terrible disease came. I can’t fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can’t even write this properly. I can’t read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that—everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can’t go on spoiling your life any longer. I don’t think two people could have been happier than we have been. V.

virginia woolf's monk's house garden

Virginia Woolf’s Monk’s House Garden

Leonard buried Virginia’s ashes under the two intertwined Elm trees in their backyard at Monk’s House, their summer home in Sussex. The Elm trees in which they had nicknamed “Virginia and Leonard,” the spot was marked with a stone tablet engraved with the last lines from her novel The Waves: “Against you I fling myself, unvanquished and unyielding, O Death! The waves crashed on the shore.” After Leonard Woolf died on August 14, 1969, he was cremated and his ashes were buried next to Virginia’s under the Elm Trees at Monk’s House.

The following piece of music composed by Beethoven was to be the music played at Virginia Woolf’s and Leonard Woolf’s cremation ceremony. Leonard was so filled with grief, another piece of music was played but when he was home, he played Beethoven: String Quartet Op. 130. V. Cantina: adagio molto expressivo. It is most beautiful and soothing piece of music. I understand why Virginia and Leonard Woolf chose this piece of music. It is beautiful. It gives me a sense of being with Virginia Woolf who I admire with a fullness in my heart. She has touched my soul with her words. Her essence is alive within them. Thank you for giving so much of yourself to us in your writing with such a depth of honesty and Truth. You are not forgotten.

— Jennifer Kiley

Virginia Woolf

Peace For You Virginia Woolf

Beethoven: String Quartet Op. 130: V. Cavatina: adagio molto expressivo

Private Writings: Chapter #52 — Waiting for the Fall

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013

Private Writings: Chapter #52 – Waiting for the Fall

Written by Jennifer Kiley
Painting by Alexander Segregio
Introduction & Chapter #1
Published on March 19th 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted On Tuesday 11th March 2014

WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE AND CONTENT.
Not Suitable For Children.
All Characters Are Fictitious.
Anyone Resembling Anyone Living or Dead
Is Purely Coincidental.

Crypticistic Synopsis:

private writings to dr. annie haskell
psychoanalyst

I am the storyteller
using imagination fantasy feelings & thoughts
to discover self soul eternal serenity & bliss
but to most importantly
tell the best tale ever after upon a time

see you down the rabbit hole.
namaste! madison taylor

Private Writings: Chapter #52 — Waiting for the Fall

Tuesday 2nd September 2008

Dear Annie,

We have a problem developing. My feelings for Jamie have been growing. Their level is rising to the top of becoming extremely intense. I would say it is love. But I don’t seem to have any idea what the fuck love feels like. I get a fix on it. It all changes up. The one I love throws denial at me. Negating everything I feel exists between us. Is she lying to me? What is real between Jamie and myself. I have been attracted to Jamie since the first time I met her. Her eyes locked mine with her look. That’s why everyone loves her on the screen.

You know what I’m talking about. Look at how your daughter Rainer goes completely shy around Jamie.

Why am I talking this way. Jamie is my heroine. She rescued me from Sylvia. It was so swashbuckling. Crashing through my study door. Getting the police on the phone. Taking down Sylvia with Patrick our cat. He was a fierce one the night Sylvia raped me. I am dealing with the reality. I may not remember it all but I know she brutalized me. After she drugged me with a paralyzing effect. Date rape drug they think. I knew what was happening but I was physically unable to stop her. She violated me worse than any man could. One thing she did, I hate to talk about it. But if I write about it to you, maybe I will be able to get it out. I will write it for you. But I don’t think I want to talk about it. At least not now or ever maybe.

What I want to tell you may drive me mad someday. She touched me all over my body, inside as well. When I feel fear, I lose control of my senses. The adrenaline is fired up shooting through my veins. My blood is pumping out of fright. She took advantage of me. My fear let me down. When she touched me, my skin responded to her touch. My stomach wanted to turn into Linda Blair and spit green soup at her. And a few spins around with my head to terrify her. Instead she kept touching all the points that trigger my sexual responses. Her touches teased the responses out of my body. Until finally she won. She turned my body around and made me completely respond by losing control of my physical reactions. She forced me to react fully to her touch. It is what a rapist can do to confuse the one being abused. It makes me feel as though my body wanted it. When I know my body wasn’t cooperating, it was being coerced and forced to have a natural release from the kind of stimulation that was happening. She stole my last connection to feeling any hope of regaining my ability to respond to the touch of a lover.

I  am mad with grief that once again an abuser took those feelings away from me. How my body feels is like a traitor to our self- preservation and sanity. My mind is going mad. That awful woman raped me and stole away the most intimate part of being physically turned on. It seems only rapists can find that inner part of me. The vulnerability of intimacy has been destroyed by force. Conquering my power and stealing my essence from me. I am a shell. Emptied by a brutality I thought was over. I felt I had finally succeeded in vanquishing my abusers from my life. My sense of safety has been smashed to pieces by sexual force. I will never be able to feel trust with anyone again.

The night of the rape, Jamie crashed in my door. She threw Sylvia off of me, while Patrick, our magnificent feline, jumped on her and sunk his claws in deep, front and back. He wasn’t going to let her go. She released a blood-curdling yell at the torture Patrick’s claws were making of her back. A certain satisfaction flooded over me when I realized the rape was physically over with Sylvia but the flashbacks and memories buried from my childhood abuse were coming through the barriers. Visually perfect clearance. My senses were feeling the walls that protected me, breaking down around me. I was hallucinating a slide show of what they did to me. The many abusers my father had lined up for me and the abuse the ‘shadow mother’ perpetrated on my body, mind, soul and overall spirit, joie de vive. I lost the battle in childhood and have been in therapy ever since. My therapist doesn’t think I ever will heal. I will just grow out from it but it will be in the foundation of my life, that holds me together. If there is rot won’t it eventually collapse? That’s what I feel it’s doing now deep inside me. Slowly destroying my self, my identity, my sanity, my dreams. I am disappearing in the maze of darkness. Trapped. No way out. Can’t see anything clearly except the past and the abuse.

Jamie came to me that night after her brave rescue. We lay down together on the floor of my study. She threw a throw over us. I was shaking. Jamie’s arms wrapped around me so gently. Her hand was stroking my hair. She whispered over and over, “It will be alright.” I knew she wanted to mean that but it wasn’t ever going to be alright. It never was alright. Being forced to have a sexual response when you find that repulsive is the worse thing that can happen when you are being sexually abused as a child or as an adult. This has happened twice to me now. Once when I was 10 and my father forced me to go off with his friend. That friend of his touched me against my will and his touches awakened a feeling inside of me I never felt before. What happened then happened with Sylvia. She forced me like my father’s friend did by touching me in a way that made it impossible to fight the way my body reacted. It haunted me then and now it is complete. The destruction of trusting my body and allowing anyone to ever touch in that way again.

It is driving me mad. I don’t trust anyone. Not even Jamie, though I may want to. I know she would never do anything to harm me. She wouldn’t force herself on me in any way. So why do I feel she has abandoned me whenever she goes away or when she is silent when you expect she will be there for you. Jamie is an exceptional woman and I love her. When we talked awhile back about love. She said it is possible to feel in love with someone special without it ever having to be sexual. To feel in love can be a powerfully emotional feeling that goes beyond a casual friendship. It is an intense spiritual bonding that relates on the level of pure love. The love in energizing. It feels spectacular. It can take you higher than any sexual love is capable of reaching.

I need this feeling of in love less the sexual element. Jamie understands. I’ve talked to her about my theory before now. It is why I trust her to comfort me. She would never put on me any inappropriate feelings that I cannot handle now, but then I never have been able to handle the sexual aspects of life, not love. I try to keep love away from sex. Keeping it pure. Real but without the Tantric side the bodies needs to  express with another person.  Working out rebellious sexual feelings one can do alone. It is the safest way to stop when you want to.

It use to be a desire of mine to have the perfect lover and to make love with everything flowing perfectly. It isn’t going to happen for me. The abusers, my parents, and siblings ruined it for me to be intimate with anyone. When I am close to anyone physically, I feel like a failure. My body takes control and shuts down. It will not open up again. The only way to have sex with me is to force yourself on me. And then you need to force me to do what you want.

It is driving me quite mad. All of this mess. I just want to die. I feel it more strongly every moment I have an opportunity to think. I try to stop myself from thinking. To stop my feelings. Screaming comes to mind. The worse thing is starting to happen, the confusion is beginning to take over my psyche. In this state, everything, everyone, everywhere feels  dangerous. Now this sense of danger surrounds me. My thoughts call out with words, ‘Please, just hold me Jamie. Where is Scottie. I need Scottie too. And Alison. I need her to be close now. I need to know no one else is in danger.’ My mind can’t think of anything but feeling threatened. There is no one I can trust. Those people touched us in places without our permission. I never wanted any of it. I hate sex with men. I hate sex with anyone. I hate being used for sex. Being forced to have sex. Having sex feel so destructive. It is an invasion of intimacy when it is not wanted and never wanted from those who force it on me.

What do you suppose it feels like when someone uses your body for their own pleasures, as if you didn’t exist except in the power they can overlord you with, knowing they can rape you anytime they want. Daytime. Nighttime. When you are asleep. Wherever you are. A molester can find you. They watch you. They know your schedule and your habits. Most of all they are uncanny at their ability to find you alone in a perfect place for them to force sex on you. Mostly, they just want to fuck you or fondle you. They take pictures of your body parts. You never feel safe. Threats are always made. Be quiet. Tell no one. Or die.

I needed to get this out. What I am feeling? Am I going mad from all of this turmoil? A darkness is coming. A depression like weighted pockets and walking into the sea to drown. Except I am afraid to drown, not to die. Let me die wiped clean of these memories of Hell and Evil. Before I die, I want to know what it feels like to be loved for who I am, not by someone who wants to kidnap my body for their own games and sadistic pleasures. There isn’t satisfaction in any of this, only nightmares.

I will send this off to you Annie so you know what is developing. Last point I will add. I am in danger from myself. It is close to hiding sharp objects and extra pills. But I won’t do that. Just in case I need to go away forever.

So sorry Annie that I feel this way. Even you won’t be able to bring me back from this mess inside my head. My body is ruined. I want to get rid of it so no else can touch it again without my permission. It is wrong to touch anyone who says no. No more wrong again touches.

Love You Annie. Please don’t ever leave me.
Madison

@-;—

© madison taylor 2008

tree sun moon swirl painitng

Artist Alexander Segregio

Somewhere In Time – Composer John Barry

Pink Flower by Tom Bradshaw 2013

Pink Flower by Tom Bradshaw 2013

“A Dream
The beginning always starts out
With a dream.
It is all a dream
In our own nightmares”
— Madison Taylor

Le Chateau de Rocher

Le Chateau de Rocher is Madison & Scottie’s Home

play is not just play meryl streep“Pretending is not just play. Pretending is imagined possibility” — Meryl Streep

Medicalmarijuana red cross marijuana leaf black bgMedical Marijuana

Poetry as Therapy

tell me a story
Poetry as Therapy
TED Talk Speaker Rachel McKibbens
Notations by Jennifer Kiley
Created Post 2nd August 2013
Posted on Thursday 12th December 2013
TELL ME A STORY

A completely intense experience listening to the rawness and honesty of Rachel McKibbons speak from her own depth of emotion. Her TEDTalk is emotionally moving. In the second video, Rachel reads her poem “Last Love,” once again extremely intense, disturbing and spellbinding in her tremulous voice. She is direct with the honesty of her words and her vulnerability. The subject matter is on a level that has a potential to be triggering for some people. Rachel holds no emotion back nor subject matter.

Poetry as Therapy – Rachel McKibbens – TEDTalks

Rachel combines her personal story with the spoken word of her poetry. She explains how the practice of sharing written words aloud in an environment of safety, encouragement and support is an invaluable, cathartic experience of emotional and intellectual re-framing.

I do this in my own writing. With poetry, there are so many styles to choose from in which to express what one is feeling. Many times I have worked through depressions that contained feelings so dark, I did feel suicidal. For some reason, recently, I am not going to question it, but I have not been feeling suicidal or depressed.

My health has been in question, which was making me feel very ill and exhausted. I am now on the mend from my latest surgery. It doesn’t hold back the writing. Writing is my savior and what keeps me alive. Art and creating or finding something one cares for passionately, is important to keep one connected to the vitality of life.

Listen further to Rachel. Also, think about something you would like to do to keep the inside of your life alive and wanting to live and thrive.

Rachel McKibbens performs “Last Love”

Rachel McKibbens is the 2009 Women of the World poetry slam champion, is an eight-time National Poetry Slam team member, a three-time NPS finalist, and a 2007 New York Foundation for the Arts poetry fellow and Pushcart nominee. For four years, she co-curated the award-winning louder ARTS Project reading series in New York City, coaching their poetry slam team to three consecutive National Poetry Slam final stages.

Poetry as Therapy. I highly recommend for anyone with an interest, as I recommend it for my own self to feel able to express poetry as a central part of my own life.

Private Writings: Chapter #31 — New World Sympathy

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013

Private Writings: Chapter #31 — New World Sympathy
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
Introduction & Chapter #1
Published on March 19th 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted On Tuesday 22nd October 2013

WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE AND CONTENT.
NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN.

ALL CHARACTERS ARE FICTITIOUS.
ANYONE RESEMBLING ANYONE LIVING OR DEAD
IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.

Crypticistic Synopsis:

I am writing to Dr. Annie Haskell. My form of storytelling is through
letters containing dreams, thoughts, poems, music, describing my script
“Brief Sacrifice,” already made into a film but not yet released, psycho-
therapy, inspirations, reflective comments, the inner workings of the mind,
soul, body, emotions, and bipolar. I prefer mentally creative, interesting, or
having a brain misfiring. Included in the mix are childhood abuse, car crashes,
near drownings, drugs [the illegal kind at present], hallucinations, hypersexuality,
time warps, finding answers to unsolved mysteries, infatuation, imagination, fantasy,
and a need to discover my bliss.

See you inside.
Namaste! Madison Taylor

Private Writings: Chapter #31 — New World Sympathy

Tuesday, 15th April 2008

Dear Annie,

I needed to concentrate on something specific this week but never got to tell you. In this letter, I will write it down, so next week we can get into detail about what I am feeling. Taking off to Paris, France with Scottie in a few weeks, so she can begin shooting our new film. It is giving me a great deal of apprehension. You may want to talk to Scottie about what I am going to tell you. She doesn’t get what I am trying to say. If someone else talks to her, she may listen. It may feel like it is coming from someone she feels is being rational. In this situation, that is not how she feels I am coming across. I wrote down as clearly as possible, what we need to talk about.

First, it is okay to talk to Scottie about anything. She will tell you if it is alright with her or not. You can trust her to keep it confidential. It begins with her friendship with the actor, Hunter Marx, and the fact we don’t talk about her. Scottie told me she doesn’t want to get involved with what I feel regarding Hunter. I don’t think Scottie grasps the seriousness of what is going on. Since she doesn’t want to talk to me about Hunter, there is no way for me to explain to her how I am feeling. She thinks I am just being contrary when I say anything. Scottie has no idea how serious Hunter affected me in the past. How much damage Hunter did to my being able to trust. For me, it is better to talk to you, Annie or my friend Jonathan. I feel safer keeping what I feel from Scottie.

Recently, Scottie had a conversation with Hunter. I woke up hearing Scottie’s voice. Realizing she was talking to someone, I couldn’t help but overhear part of what Scottie was saying. She was telling Hunter about me regarding my habit of ending relationships when I feel hurt. She said, I end things abruptly and cold. This made me feel hurt and betrayed she would tell Hunter this. Especially, after the way it blew up between Hunter and me. What Scottie doesn’t realize is that was me when we first met, I was younger, more naive, extremely trusting and much more gullible. I have since worked on my need to run away. I try to work things out now. But with Hunter, there wasn’t anything to work out. I tried reaching her but was rejected too many times to remember the count.

Hunter’s need for secrecy and extreme privacy, I never felt it was okay to really talk to Scottie about the relationship I had with Hunter. She made it perfectly clear no one was to know what was happening between us. She told me, she was afraid the press would find out and think she was a lesbian. You know what kind of relationships this kind of privacy reminds me of, an abusive one. Abusers don’t want you to tell anyone about them. Hunter didn’t want anyone to know the kind of manipulation that was happening.

Scottie has no idea what I did for Hunter to draw Scottie into her life. Scottie was trying to cast an important film and I felt manipulated into getting Scottie to take a closer look at Hunter. Scottie didn’t act terribly comfortable around Hunter, so, I stepped in to smooth the way. I, now feel she used me to get what she wanted from Scottie and I fell right into her trap and gave Scottie over to her on a “silver platter. Like a fucking idiot. Oh, so, clever Hunter was manipulating us both. And now Scottie can’t see the truth no matter how I try to explain it to her. She just won’t listen. Thinks I am just being contrary because of how I feel.

Let me try to explain it more clearly. Hunter controlled me. She owned me. It was her decision when we would have contact and when it would be cut off. I destroyed pages of a great script because she felt it sounded too much like I was writing about her. I became so upset. To me it was about what it felt like to be bipolar. I wanted the character to talk about what it felt like when she became delusional and had irrational thoughts. I blew up and lost it. She upset me so much that I destroyed the whole script. It was something I sweated pain to create. She had turned into my Svengali. When she first got to know me she pretended to like my honesty. Once she hooked me to her drug of choice, herself, we became what I felt were friends. One of her requirements, she wanted me to keep all that went on between us to myself. Suddenly, I had to be so secretive. No one could know we were close friends.

I don’t think I can go back to being any place where she is. Hunter became delusional. She started telling me I had betrayed her and that I was disloyal. She pushed me away with her accusations. They were all lies based on nothing. She was trying to make me doubt my writing. The ultimately, real insanity started when I starting making friends with another actor she used to call a friend. She told me I was betraying her by being friends with this actor and it had to stop. I felt that was going too far. She did that with a lot of people in the film industry with whom I was making new connections. It was necessary and part of developing our film production company, Scottie’s and mine, “Infinite Imaginations, Inc..

I never did drop any of the people she wanted me to. Why should I, she was being ridiculous and way beyond the boundaries of being too demanding. She may have been a rising star but I didn’t need her to connect with others in the film industry. My work was beginning to have a buzz developing around it and so was “Infinite Imaginations, Inc.” Scottie doesn’t get the fact Hunter used me to get to her. And after I took my control back and pushed her away, she did everything she could after that to hurt me, including the absurdity of trying to come between Scottie and me. Hunter learned quickly it wouldn’t work. Scottie and I were too strong together.

When I flash back and remember when I first started becoming friends with Hunter, Scottie told me I should be careful, a friend had warned her. I don’t know if Scottie has forgotten or Scottie is trying to be diplomatic but she has no idea the torture I felt throughout that friendship. I trust Scottie, but she will be having contact with Hunter again. She cast her in the lead for our new film. No title has been finalized. Is it possible for me to just be professional with her? I feel it is going to be very uncomfortable. She is the one who cut me off cold but I am the one who wanted it to remain that way. A closed book, let go without regrets.

When my friendship with Hunter started, I thought it would be one of those that would last. That was me feeling promise and being delusional. I was living a fantasy. The truth is, I always felt like I had no rights in the relationship. Always a sense I needed permission to even contact her. It is awful to examine an abusive relationship when you realize you didn’t even recognize it when it was happening. Hunter had to be in total control. I let her at the expense of my own sense of self. I was reliving how my own mother treated me. This might sound crazy, but the only time I felt delusional was when I was with her. Which makes me feel now, she was doing something bordering on voodoo that set off my irrational thoughts.

I don’t know if I should delete this or let you see what has been going on inside my mind all this time. It is only now coming to the surface. I am going to use these revelations in my writing. There has to be a way to release all this toxic muck that filled me with poison. How the hell could I have been so blind?

You are my therapist. This is the kind of thing I should trust you with. Who else can I talk to about this shit? How destructive have I allowed myself to be?

Now, my life seems to be moving on a rapid cycle of change, looking for a landing spot, and claim a space for psychological and emotional rest. Hope you can help me find peace before death comes to take me away. All I want is a modicum sense of security and well-being.

Fondly,
Madison

Ps. This week, we were supposed to talk about the invitation from Scottie to join her on her film making quest to Paris, France, to film her next film with the script I wrote for her. It is a romance, with a touch of the ghost. A light comedy, with a touch of the spirit world invading the party. That’s the title, it just came to me, “Touch of the Spirit.” Anyway, it is really important we work on getting me prepared to fly. It freaks me out. Leaving our home. Going over the Atlantic Ocean. We could crash. We could drown. I suppose, though, the crash would kill us first. That was stupid to say out loud. Knock on wood.

PPs. Also, I am sorry, I have been so nervous, I didn’t include anything about our film “Brief Sacrifice.” I will tell you in our session more of the adventure. It gets really exciting when James and Jackson Sharp connect psychically. The power between Jackson and James wakes up an unimaginable energy field. Wait til you see special effect. It is so charged up. A great vibration comes from within the “Silver Box.” It appears together, the two, a cat and a human, have cracked the code. Seams begin to show, revealing signs of a thin crack which encircles the “Silver Box.” By our next letter, I feel strongly the “Silver Box” will be revealing its contents. From there we will have to determine what the significance is of what’s inside. Ciao!

© madison taylor 2008

Annie Haskell --- Madison Tayler's Psychoanalyst's Office

Dr. Annie Haskell’s Office as a Psychoanalyst

<em>Somewhere In Time – John Barry</em>

Robert Mapplethorpe --- 28 Closeup Yellow Lily

Robert Mapplethorpe — 28 Closeup Yellow Lily

rain in garden gif

Missing You Though We’re Not Gone
by Madison Taylor
Tuesday 22nd April 2008

Missing you though we’re not gone
Fear you will leave before me
Without you I will be left alone
In this way I could not ever be

Your presence is a wanted dream
To think and speak of many things
To brighten days shine as the sun
Our family whole what love it brings

One day in hours the time will come
We’ll spend the minutes creating fun
In company together we shall be
In spirit connecting forever free

© madison taylor 2008

Psychedelic Alpha Coders

Psychedelic Alpha Coders

“A Dream
The beginning always starts out
With a dream.
It is all a dream
In our own nightmares”
— Madison Taylor

Patrick is our Bengal cat in tree. He loves Scotties. They are buddies.   1612x1212 Patrick-our Bengal cat up in his tree-Scottie’s buddy

Havana Brown Kitten  Madison and Scottie's kitten One of the Two   800x600

Havana Brown Kitten Madison & Scottie’s. This cutie is Toker. He has a twin brother Mikey

actresses-with-long-hair-hairstyle frenchHunter Marx [taken 7 years ago in 2001 year Hunter & Madison met]

play is not just play meryl streep