Why We Choose Suicide

tell me a story
Why We Choose Suicide
TED Talk: Speaker Mark Henick
Notations by Jennifer Kiley
Created 19th January 2014
Posted on Thursday 24th April 2014
TELL ME A STORY

Why We Choose Suicide – Mark Henick at TEDxToronto

No one even knows you are gone.
I don’t have a choice. I have a gun
The guidance counselor tackled
me to the floor to keep me alive.
I was so normal.
If I hadn’t gotten the help
I clearly needed.

Mental illness talked about
behind closed doors but
not with it opened.
It is time to throw open
those closed doors.

When you are suicidal
you hear the voices
telling you
you are not good enough.

Should I hang on for just
one more day. For what.
It doesn’t get better.
I had very few choices
in my life and this was
definitely one.

I just didn’t want it
to hurt anymore.
To feel like I have
control over my life.

The flashing lights came.
The police.
People were watching.
Some idiot shouted,
“Jump you coward.”

I could feel the edges of
the concrete under the
bottom of my feet.

Someone grabbed me
and they pulled me
back in.

Our mental
health needs to be
nurtured.

My perceptions had
collapsed.
We rationalize
other peoples perceptions.

We need to better
understand suicide.
No one commits suicide.

Take charge of our own
mental health when we
get to the doctor to
check our health.

We need to do something
about suicide. A leading
cause of death with mothers
is suicide. When a 1/4 of
15 to 25 year olds die by
suicide. That is not
acceptable.

Those thinking about
suicide today. Do something
about it. Change things.

Every single day as
though you had just
one life to live.

Notations by Jennifer Kiley

Private Writings: Chapters #56 — I’ve Had to Lock My Love Away

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013

Private Writings: Chapter #56 – I’ve Had to Lock My Love Away

Written by Jennifer Kiley
Painting by NAME OF ARTIST
Introduction & Chapter #1
Published on March 19th 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted On Tuesday 8th 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 most importantly
tell the best tale ever after upon a time

see you down the rabbit hole.

Private Writings: Chapter #56 — I’ve Had to Lock My Love Away

[Starting the Third Week Madison Is Being Held at the Redcliff Psychiatric Institute After a Failed Suicide Attempt...]

Tuesday 30th September 2008

Dear Annie,

I am keeping “A Writer’s Diary” just like my heroine Virginia Woolf. It sounded like a good way of keeping track of my entire short [sarcastic] stay at Redcliff [Psychiatric Institute]. In between, when I feel it, I will write something specifically addressed to you, Annie. I want you to know I miss you. My feelings are filled with an emotional and physical pain I can bearly stand. It hurts so much.

Why is love so painful?

Here is how I have set up my letters to you for the future while I am still incarcerated with people I am having such a difficult time relating to. With the exception of my psychiatrist Dr. Virginia McKinnon, and two patients I feel some closeness with in small amounts. I will tell you about them in small amounts.

“A Writer’s Diary”

Today, I could only feel Jamie being with me. No visitors until the end of this week. No contact until then. I haven’t spoken to or seen anyone. Not Scottie or Alison. No Jamie. And no Annie. I miss everyone. I miss my laptop. If I want to write, I have certain times during the day when I am allowed to have a pen and paper to use for writing. When the time is up, everything is confiscated until the next time. Dr. V [Virginia McKinnon] shows me my work when we meet in session. We talk about why my urge to die. It hasn’t stopped, my desire to end my life. But I have to find a way out of here. I thought of pretending I don’t want to die any longer. Thinking they will let me see Jamie. I am so pissed at her. I want to yell at her for saving me. WTF!!! Jamie. When someone wants to take their life, it belongs to them. I should be allowed to leave this world. Pain is too overwhelming. I can’t bear seeing the sordid images in my head. It’s too disturbing. Also, it’s absolutely ridiculous that committing suicide is against the law. What kind of charges are filed? Defendant is not able to be here. She is dead by her own hand. What kind of sentence does a judge pass down on someone who is dead due to taking their own life?

Where is Jamie? I need Jamie to hold me. No one here is warm like her. My animals. I miss their furriness snuggling next to my face, sharing my pillow. It is a Country Club here but it is sterile. No life. Maybe Jamie didn’t save me and I am in Hell.

If there is a Higher Power, which I sometimes believe, she wouldn’t punish people in the places artists have designed as that darkness filled with pure evil. Persons who kills themselves are not all bad. There is an argument for those mass killers who swallow a bullet before they can be captured and punished. Is death not a punishment? Depends on where it takes you. Did the Goddess create a place that fills a space outside of the Universe? Or are there parallel Universes and after Death we are transferred to one of the many.

Maybe it’s all a matter of what we wish or dream about as our fantasy of what Heaven or the Here After is in our Imagination.

Do I feel Nuts? Not at all. I just want to die. Wanting to die does not make one Nuts. Wanting to live in this Insane world seems at times to me a place that would make anyone develop Pure Madness.

Thoughts to think about as I sleep. More tomorrow.

Today a new patient at group today. She accused me of being a Prima Dona. My face with Jamie Stansfield, Academy Award Winning Actress, pissed her off. She accused me of thinking I was more cool than anyone else here. I lost track of reality long before she raged out on me. Am I in the film being made or am I making this film? At times it feels real but I don’t know which one. She has the look and sound of a homophobe. I told her Jamie loves me. Her language beats out mine for being outrageous. I don’t feel ashamed for being in love with women.

She accused me of being base. The lowest form of life. How could I, as a woman, touch another woman in a [crude remark from ID 666] way so blasphemous. That place was meant for a [man’s] prick*[*her word not mine]. To me a prick is a man who does not respect women. She obviously never heard of toys of the sexual kind. She, also, does not understand the way a woman in love with a woman in love with her really feels like. It is the sexiest, tenderest, lovingest, hottest, most intense feeling in the world.

She has no idea how madly obsessed I am by being pulled like a magnet to a woman’s intimate intensity and her Chloe scent. Many women attract my attention. Writing words of seduction to a woman who possesses my heart is like watching the faery like sleekness of a hummingbird drawn to their choice of honey sweet red. Watch them hover as they suck the sweet juices. It takes a great deal to satisfy their need. In work, the seduction is part of play, touch her with words, caressing words.

I am responsible for my own rape. Sylvia would never have gotten that close to me if I hadn’t been manipulated into getting Scottie to hire her all those years ago. If I’d never been seduced by her years ago, she would never have gotten into our lives. I think Scottie is starting to understand more. Being abused sexually and completely, fucks up your whole life. It can never be what you want it to be.

I just want to be loved. To be made love to without my becoming catatonic or cold inside. Making love starts out so beautifully. I want to love kissing. I have loved and kissed many women, but few knew how to touch my lips in the way I needed them to, in order that I would feel the depth and tenderness of their lips, also. All the kisses I felt have been from the kiss of women. Women who have driven me wild with the sensation of their lips on mine in a slow, sensual, passionate, lingering kiss. Don’t ever think about men in that way. Never have.

There is something I want to tell you, Annie, but first I just want you to know there is nothing to be jealous of in my relationship with my psychiatrist. I call her Dr. V or Virginia. She prefers it. She’s pretty young to be a psychiatrist or just looks young. Maybe she is a vampire. I notice, she usually sees me after dark or in an office with lights dimmed. She is exceptionally sharp. She told me I get attracted and attached to certain therapists and think I am in love with them, when really it is my unresolved feelings over my grandmother’s death and when my love Tosh was murdered. I have never gotten over their deaths.

I was too young when my grandmother died and needed her so much. And when Tosh died, I felt responsible. The crash was meant to happen to me. It was my car she died in. I should have been driving. She would still be alive. Some psychic told me she sacrificed herself for me. She was my angel. I was not supposed to die. She was there to guide me. Here I thought I was the one to be guiding her. Long story. Another time I think.

I think we’ve only just begun.

Before I end, Annie, I need to tell you some things about Jamie. She is not out in her public persona. Only her friends know and only one member of her family. That would be her younger brother, Wagner, the super-computer genius. Jamie takes him as her date to all her public functions. He supplies her and all her friends with any 1st edition new techno device he personally designs and turns into the next iPhone. Inside joke. Remember “Brief Sacrifice.” By the way, our film did grand. It has tripled the investments after overhead, stars, and crew, the rest goes to Infinite Imaginations INC. III. and to percentages.

I actually sounded logical there for a moment. What I need is some weed. I need to inhale some soothing power from the pipe Scottie hand-made for me. She is a genius in everything she touches. Except me, no one is that far advanced in genius.

Keep it mum about Jamie.

I love you, Annie. You are the one. The one Tosh keeps telling me “I need to open up to. You hold a secret. The secret is supposed to bring me happiness in tears and turn them into sorrow the day after the morrow.” I have no idea what this means. It is her message not mine.

No more Brief Sacrifice. Time traveling has to wait. Maybe I will write a short story for The New Yorker. As if they would publish a woman character who time travels trying to discover the hiding places of Nikola Tesla’s lost designs which would give infinite comfort to all on the planet. But the 1% would need to be thrown out into the sewers, with a few exceptions. The generous who are trying to make the world just and equal.

I need to send this to you. After that I will be visited by Scottie and Alison. It’s not far from home. Later Jamie is going to come out alone. We will finally be able to speak our minds and hearts. I haven’t seen any of them since that night I took all those pills. I couldn’t stand remembering. That night, Sylvia brought the evil, with her and let them in. Now they won’t go away. I will talk to V about this.

Love You Annie
Madison

© Madison Taylor 2008

winter mountain stream snow negative

Somewhere In Time – Composer John Barry

flaming gold petals

“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

Depression, the secret we share

tell me a story
Depression, the secret we share
TED Talk: Andrew Solomon
Notations by Jennifer Kiley
Created on 8th January 2014
Posted On Thursday 27th March 2014
TELL ME A STORY

Andrew Solomon: Depression, the secret we share – TED Talk

“The opposite of depression is not happiness, but vitality, and it was vitality that seemed to seep away from me in that moment.”

In a talk equal parts eloquent and devastating, writer Andrew Solomon takes you to the darkest corners of his mind during the years he battled depression. That led him to an eye-opening journey across the world to interview others with depression — only to discover that, to his surprise, the more he talked, the more people wanted to tell their own stories.

Depression. Grief. Sadness. These get confused.

Depression. When you have a catastrophic lost and six months later you are still devastated and unable to function. This is depression. “A slower way of being dead.”

You don’t think in depression you are just in a bad way. You believe you are seeing the truth. No matter what we do we are all going to just die in the end.

Depression is the family secret that everyone has.

Why do people feel a need to hide they are depressed? The stigma of having any kind of problem with the brain, unless it is medically connected, is such a misunderstanding. The brain is part of the body. If it is not functioning in a healthy way, it is a physical illness that needs treatment and concern and especially support from those who surround them, including society to find compassion and understanding.

Instead of taking someone who is depressed in a dance circle and working out the block in energy, we take them into a small dark room and make them talk about all the things that are making them feel awful.

Our needs are our greatest assets. Seeking meaning for depression. Valuing one’s depression. Learn something from depression. The opposite of depression is vitality. I love my depression because it has forced me to cling to joy.

Depression is when expressing emotions have been damaged or shut off.

Cleave to the reasons for living.

Depression is equal parts eloquent and devastating.

Private Writings: Chapter #51 — Do Not Disurb

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013

Private Writings: Chapter #51 – Do Not Disturb

Written by Jennifer Kiley
Introduction & Chapter #1
Published on March 19th 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted On Tuesday 4th 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 #51 — Do Not Disturb

Tuesday 26th August 2008

Dear Annie,

When I got home from our session today, Scottie told me she had some news for me. Some good news and some bad. I told her to tell me the good news first. It had to do with our film “Whispering Spirits.” It’s been in production for two months. Today there was an injury on the set. Our new star to be, Ronan Slater, was in an accident during an action scene.

Her car lost control. It flipped over several times. Upfront Scottie told me she would be alright, just not capable of doing any acting that involves movement. Out of commission for no less than four months. That is speak for an indefinite length of time. Broke her right leg and arm in several places. Has a concussion. Some lacerations I heard were quite bloody. It would have made me faint if I were there. Thank the Goddess, worst didn’t happen. She’s very much alive. Needs some plastic work on her face.

Believe me, her accident was actually the good news. You wouldn’t think so. But when you hear the bad news you will understand why. For me, it really is worse. I’m bracing myself to tell you. Let me take a hit first. Okay. Here is where the nightmares begins. Mark the time and date. Scottie hired Sylvia Kendell to replace Ronan. Never any input asked for. Reason? Sylvia was available. Isn’t she always. An immediate decision had to be made.

Scottie wants to throw an impromptu cast party in our home this Friday night, to welcome S. Kendell to “Whispering Spirits.” I can’t mind the decision. Sylvia will be perfect in the role. I can’t disagree with Scottie. Her arguments are sound. It’s a good business move if we want “Whispering Spirits” to be made now, if it’s to have any chance of being a success. I did like Ronan. If she recovers and still wants to act, I’ll write her a role to almost die for.

I’ll finish writing this letter later. After the cast party, I’ll send it off in an email. You will see it before our next session. You can start planning our method of attack for therapy.

The party started out as an intimate dinner party. They often do. It ended up with our huge home overflowing with everyone in Hollywood that night. I was sorry you couldn’t make it. Who cares about the APA Code. Frack them. I never demand you play therapist at our functions. Just like the idea you are in my home with your family and everyone is having a great time.

Jamie Stansfield showed up. I was delighted and freaked out seeing her. What happened between us the last time we were together, I still haven’t been able to explain. I could have sworn we made love. But she said nothing happened. What she remembered was flashing sparks and zooming lights flying all around them. Jamie feels it was the mushrooms she consumed. Blames it all on hallucinations.

The way she described in detail what happened, it reminds me of the exact same way I envisioned my experience with Scottie in Paris. When we were on the bridge over the Seine. The lights were so romantic. We had just finished a meal of langoustine. It’s similar to lobster but smaller. It was cooked in a creamy garlic and butter sauce. We had garlic bread and a simple salad of mushrooms, cucumber, celery and tomatoes. I don’t like lettuce in my salad. It loses its crunch. I forgot to mention, we consumed a bottle of Champagne.

Before we left the restaurant, we went off to the powder room to freshen up. We took a few hits off a joint of fine marijuana laced with sprinklings of hash. It gave the room a golden glow. I felt lighter than air. When Scottie took my hand in hers, an electric charge shot up my air, straight into my skull. What a strange feeling. Now I know something happened. The same electric charge to my skull felt the same with Jamie. There is something specific about the charges.

On the way out, Scottie generously tipped the attendant. She smiled at us and exclaimed in a very pleased voice, “Merci, mademoiselles. Tres généreux. Puissiez-vous être visité par les féerie. Ils vous donneront une soirée divine et mystique.”

saint-christopher-medal blk bg

Saint Christopher
Saint of Travelers

She handed us each a charm. Mine was St. Christopher. In college, he made me feel safe. My hero rescued me many times. The miracle rescues were mounting up. In cat lives, I was pushing my destiny to quickly.

After we were out of the restaurant, I asked Scottie what charm did she receive from the attendant. She opened her palm to reveal her charm. I stared at it. The charm was shocking to me, yet strikingly beautiful. The image of Isis, the Winged Egyptian Goddess of Wisdom. I recognized Isis immediately. Why? She holds great significance for me. When I understand what that means, I will explain it to you first. Right now, I am going to put that part out of my mind.

winged egyptian goddess isis blk bg

Isis – Winged Egyptian
Mother Goddess of Wisdom

Scottie and I decided to take a walk. The restaurant was near the Seine. We walked for a short while until we were on a bridge that crossed over the river Seine. It was there we transcended time and space. We were surrounded by the energy I felt the other night with Jamie. Why would they both tell me, when I felt that I made love to them, that nothing happened. The experience was too grand to be an hallucination. How could this happen, first of all? And the fact that it did happen, supposedly, why the same hallucination with two different women? It doesn’t make any sense.

Someone is messing with the spirit forces that surround me. I may sound crazy but I have been sensing a darkness coming. It is getting closer. What it is or who it is, I have no idea yet. I do know that Sylvia was here tonight. My whole body went into a complete chill when I saw Sylvia approaching Scottie and me. We were near the glass wall near the back of our open room, for just such occasions. The expansive window overlooked our forest of trees, the gardens, wild and tame, filled with our grand selection of flowers and plants.

Back to the dinner party that turned into the event of the season. A way to end summer and usher in the Fall Film Releases for Oscar noms.

I was happy, even with all the insane changes. Until that night, later after the party, I felt an intensely heavy depression start pulling me into the darkness. As the control from the depression pushed down on my brain, Sylvia found me alone in my study. Why her?

She encouraged me to try a new type of MJ. It was a new hybrid strain called Nighttime Black. It was an Indica. She, also, had a Sativa strain with her. It had a strange name. Let me think. I remember. Bella Twilight. We smoked the Nighttime Black. After two hits, I cut myself off. My body was floating upward from the couch. But my body was still on the couch. We were completely disconnected. Seriously, I felt paralyzed. That’s when everything started going badly. What Sylvia did next was so wrong in so many illegal ways.

Sylvia locked my study door. She closed all the curtains. When she completed her task, she sat down as close to my still body on the settee. She began removing my cloths until I was naked. I felt angry but more frightened. My body was unable to do a thing to stop her. Even my voice was shut off.

The precise word to describe what Sylvia did to me is Rape. Her vulture hands pulled at my flesh inside and out. She forced herself on me. Her lips touched mine. She felt cold to me. My savior was too leave. Floating around the room, I watched emotionless. My depression was even dampened. All I felt emotionally was alienated. Where were my heroines? Scottie, Jamie, Alison, find me. Rescue me. Please hear me. I need you now in my study.

No one broke the door down. I was beginning to feel I was insane. This could not possibly be happening to me, now. I was lost in my thoughts, wishing for help, when Jamie came crashing through my study door. Carter McLeod to my rescue and her cat James. It was actually Patrick. He jumped on Sylvia’s back. Yowling and growling, with claws deeply entrenched in Sylvia’s back the whole time.

The police were called. They arrested Sylvia. Jamie held me until the police arrived. Scottie showed up a few minutes after she heard the sirens outside approaching our home. When she saw Jamie’s arms around me, she questioned us on what was going on. Scottie sat on the other side of me. Both Jamie and Scottie held me together.

I slipped out of bed to finish this letter to you. Jamie is staying with us tonight. Our bed is full with Alison on one side of Scottie and myself on the other side. Behind me is Jamie. Do you know how warm it is to be held by both my partner and the woman I am most attracted to in the whole world outside of Scottie? It was pure bliss, even though I know in the morning I have to give the police my full statement. I was too in shock to talk to them tonight. Our lawyer, Michael explained it was her Psychoanalyst orders that she rest and not speak until she was ready. I was never going to be ready.

The cops left. We all snuggled in bed together. I can’t bear the thought of having to recall what the evil bitch did to me. It’s too much to bear. My depression has returned and feeling more powerful against me. My thoughts are on killing myself. What she did was as awful as my abuse when I was a kid. Maybe worse, it was a woman. Being abused by a female is more unexpected, so it feels more brutal. It reminds me of ‘the shadow mother’ and her treatment.

I have to stop. I will write again if I need to. Otherwise, we can talk more in our next session. I am closing this letter here. It has all been too much. If I’m in any danger of doing anything, I will call you. I promise.

That’s all I can handle 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

Winding Spirits by Madison Taylor (c) jKm 2008

Whispering Spirits by Madison Taylor (c) jKm 2008

Somewhere In Time – Composer John Barry

painting of a flower light colour lilac

“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

Private Writings: Chapter #27 — Getting to Know You

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013

Private Writings: Chapter #27 — Getting to Know You
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
Published Introduction & Chapter #1
On 19th March 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted 24th September 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 #27 — Getting to Know You

Tuesday 25th March 2008

Dear Annie,

Last week, I told you I felt your participating with Dr. George in pulling off his coup, to get me into a closure session with him, which I swore I would never do, he used you like a pedophile uses candy. It appeared to me after the fact, you both had conspired. After I heard in my head my accusation, I realized you were above his manipulations. I am truly sorry for even giving any credence to anything so outrageous.

It was so difficult to tell you I made a mistake. Saying I am sorry. Not my favorite choice word to use or do. Usually, if someone fucks up, they are gone from my life. No second chances. With you, I realize it has to do with my mother. She fucked my mind up with her sadist games. Made me the Apologizer.

I don’t want to behave in reaction to the way she made me feel, which was beaten down and pushed away. Inside of me, I felt I needed her. To get her back on my side, it was important I apologize until she forgave me. Groveling was the pattern. No more. I will not kneel like a slave and endure her form of humiliation.

Love is not meant to be as she made me feel it was. Something perverse and punishing. You don’t hurt someone you love by beating them into submission. To make them afraid of you. If they wanted your love, you had to obey them. Follow their orders and never stand up for yourself. Everything was in their control. My mother controlled everything. What I was allowed to know. I had to go to her just to get the basic things I needed to function as a human being.

I wasn’t supposed to know anything about my body. She tried to prevent me from attending a learning session about sex and reproduction at our school. I was too young to understand what I would be learning because she never told me a thing about sex or life or love. She was just abusive.

Her abuse, I have figured out over the years since I left my family and her behind, was grounded in sadomasochism. She was my master or mistress. There are supposed to be safe words to make the dominant person stop. We didn’t have one. She would beat me or whip me. It often was whip to naked flesh. It ripped my skin and made me bleed. There was no pleasure. I gave no consent. It was all her.

Never was there preparation for her abuse. She would corner me where she found me. We were always alone in the house whenever this would happen. The weapon of choice for any given day was always in her hand, prepared to strike. Her yelling accompanied the blows. When she stopped, it was never the end. I would be crying. This made her turn the beatings more violent. Her threats would come in shouting the words, the same words over and over. I knew them by heart.

“If you don’t stop crying, I will give you something to cry about.”

It was always the same. What more could she give me to cry about that would be worse than what she was doing to me. Humiliating me. It was often and always when no one else was expected to be around. No one would have protected me anyway. They were all abusers. I was their slave. My place was arranged so I would be there for them whenever they wanted something from me.

The detail are too difficult for me to write down. I will just say, my body did not belong to me. It was used by everyone. I hated it. I didn’t like what it made me feel or what it made them do to me. Inside of me are stored memories I have buried deeply. In my nightmares, symbols of the abuse are alive and haunt me when I attempt to sleep. It is why I avoid sleep as long as I am able.

My honesty, I hope does not turn you away. It is awful to feel and to say the words to you, the descriptions makes me ill. I can’t eat. Putting anything into my body repels me. Nourishing myself is keeping me alive. When I am alone, I think of death. Some would find my thoughts to be crazy but I am not. If the feelings come back, and I begin to cry, I will never cease. Life will pour out of me in the tears and the ground will absorb my energy. Dust is all that will remain.

Losing love is like death. Losing life is less painful. I want love but I am afraid to feel it. It will cause me pain for a moment of joy. My emotions flip over so quickly. They take me by surprise when I am feeling happy and so suddenly, I just want to die. Feeling suicidal is sweet. It is not as horrible a place as most believe it is. Being held in the arms of your guardian angel, protecting you, so you are not totally alone in the darkness set upon your soul.

It makes me think of the group member who was murdered. I feel she was even if no formal announcement has been made. Dr. George could well have done it. She was a bitch and possessed with her power to seduce. I think she was a bit of a sex addict. It wouldn’t surprise me if I had the same problem. So many people I have had sex with, no love involved. It wasn’t even enjoyable. And believe me when I say, I have no idea why it happened. Other therapists have told me it is a manifestation from the abuse I endured.

Why am I telling you this? It is so fucked up. Why would anyone want me? I am a broken toy, not even able to be played with, just used up and thrown away. Why shouldn’t I want to throw myself away as others want to do? It seems a trend. No one wants to take the time to make things work. It is a throw-away world. We are all cast aside and if not, we are forgotten where we are supposed to feel love.

I am depressed so quickly. Maybe it hides and tricks me into believing everything is alright, when it isn’t at all. The world has fallen apart. “The End Is Nigh.” That I what the signs say. They carry them around in all the big cities. Everyone waiting for the world to end or be bombed to death. No one knows how to get along.

Some know love and share it. It is something I want to do. To be loved and to love in return. To feel music when I am kissed. To be able just to feel the kiss, the touch of lips touching gently together. Is that too much to desire? To know what an honest, loving touch is without wanting to back away. I wonder what that is like.

I shouldn’t say I’ve never felt it. it isn’t true. There was someone, I felt extremely close to. We would sleep together without any expectations. No one touched, unless it was accidental. But what a lovely accident it would be. It allowed me to be free. No pressure was put on me to experience anything I didn’t want.

I never learned how to say stop and have it mean anything at all. With her, I wanted to learn how to say, “Don’t stop.” Now, that is a scary two words to think or to say out loud. I never learned how to do that either, I wish I could have told her how I felt and what I wanted. She knew but was as shy as me. People frightened her as well with all their demands on her. She was so beautiful and popular.

What does popular mean? It seems a strange state to be in. These are very heavy issues. So much to talk about and to learn. I wish I had someone like you as my mother. You speak so softly and calmly. I didn’t even mind when your hand touched my shoulder. It happened the time we met for our first session. You came out and I was so far away inside my mind. The music led me beyond the clouds. Maybe I was on the way to Neverland to escape facing you. All the time I wanted to have time alone with you to speak privately. My secrets are too dark to share with other people around me. Even alone, I am terrified at saying aloud what I just finished writing. It is too embarrassing and I feel so ashamed.

I know you are going to ask the questions and you are going to want to know the answers. They don’t exist in my conscious mind. My unconscious mind, however, it quite fertile with depths of secrets it holds for me. The secrets live in the dungeons of my deepest, darkest labyrinth. Hiding around a corner I have found yet.

You need to hold my hand and walk me ever so slowly through the dark. Until we meet each secret separately. When we talk about them, we must find a way for me not to lose myself inside. I fear I would be lost forever.

This is the beginning of the extremes of my confessions. Time to change directions.

Speaking of time, a brief update on my film script. The Friends of Nikola Tesla need to guard his secrets carefully and their own identities as well. There is an organization who are in pursuit of the secrets as well. They know the secrets are hidden and intend to find them and when they do, they will be destroyed. On the side of good, the Friends are in constant danger of discovery. The holder of the place where the secrets are held, each one separately. Tesla was not about to put them all together. He spread them out, in different locations. But there is more to where they are hidden then just knowing that piece of information.

Carter McLeod holds the key. But she has no idea what it is yet. Soon she will find out. When it is time, I will reveal what I know to you. It has to be kept between us. It would spoil the film if it ever got out. I’ve told you way too much already, but feel the secret will be safe with you. Being my therapist, aren’t you sworn to hold what I say to you in confidence? It is the only reason I would be able to share this with you. Not just the script but the secrets of my life I don’t wish anyone to know.

I kept my family a secret from the world and the rest my life, also. There are so many buried stories, it would make a priest want absolution after hearing my confession. Or is it really a confession? It’s more confessing for the sinners rather than the sinned upon.

It’s time for me to stop. We have far too much to sort through already. I will bring this letter to our next session. It should blow the lid off somewhat, and the light can set fire to the sins. Next, after a break, I want to write you a poem. It may hold within its words an understanding I really do not see at this moment of honest clarity.

I bid you a great week, as I sift through what may have been jarred loss by my writings tonight.

I am so amazed you are finally my therapist or analyst. Whichever you prefer.

Fondly, your client in need of you,

Madison

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

Dr. Annie Haskell’s Office as a Psychoanalyst

Somewhere In Time – John Barry

calla lily bouquet framed

rain in garden gif

Heartbreak Deep
Written by Madison Taylor
25th March 2008

Heartbreak touches deep
Expectations protection
Never abuse foreseeing

Kneel down forgiveness
Wall impossible to scale
Borders blocked denied entrance

Wait hear not sorry
Disappear rather than stay
Closed doors rejection complete

© madison taylor 2008

Antaresheart --- Explosion of the heart

Antaresheart — Explosion of the heart

“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

English Country Gardens Chateau de Rocher framed English Garden Chateau de Rocher

play is not just play meryl streep

Soul’s Comedy

a divider for post no. 5 love fav new one

Soul’s Comedy
X-treme Haiku by Jennifer Kiley
Created Friday 5th July 2013
Abstract Digital Art by j. kiley
Posted Saturday 6th July 2013

soul's comedy by j. kiley © jennifer kiley 2013   716x543

soul’s comedy by j. kiley © jennifer kiley 2013

Rising Spirit
X-treme Haiku
By Jennifer Kiley
Friday 5th July 2013

Awakening words
Slow motion quick reaction
Waiting needs reassurance

Darkness echoes screams
Wails release in death’s lament
Hands pressing skull screaming ends

Time slips laughter starts
Responding smile vanishes
Forming balance bends sideways

Claw upward to view
Crash downward head cracks open
Bleeding wounded covers scars

Fucking words talking
Anger buried real nightmares
Shameful needs must want loving

Broken hearts longing
Vulnerability true
Joyful river flowing through

Awaken faith new
Heart touches soul love enters
Sweet song of rising spirit

© jennifer kiley 2013

Camille Saint-Saëns – Danse Macabre

QUOTATIONS from THE DIVINE COMEDY

“In that book which is my memory,
On the first page of the chapter
that is the day when I first met you,
Appear the words, ‘Here begins a new life’.”
― Dante Alighieri, Vita Nuova

“The mind which is created quick to love,
is responsive to everything that is pleasing,
soon as by pleasure it is awakened into activity.
Your apprehensive faculty draws an impression from a real object,
and unfolds it within you, so that it makes the mind turn thereto.
And if, being turned, it inclines towards it, that inclination is love;
that is nature, which through pleasure is bound anew within you.”
― Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy

“The more a thing is perfect,
the more if feels pleasure and pain.”
― Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy

“I found myself within a forest dark,
for the straightforward pathway had been lost.
Ah me! How hard a thing is to say,
what was this forest savage, rough, and stern,
which in the very thought renews the fear.
So bitter is it, death is little more…”
― Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy

“There is no greater sorrow
than to recall happiness in times of misery.”
― Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy

“When any of our faculties retains a strong impression of delight or pain,
the soul will wholly concentrate on that, neglecting any other power it has;
and thus, when something seen or heard secures the soul in stringent grip,
time moves and yet we do not notice it.” ― Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy

“Those ancients who in poetry presented the golden age,
who sang its happy state, perhaps, in their Parnassus,
dreamt this place. Here, mankind’s root was innocent;
and here were every fruit and never-ending spring;
these streams–the nectar of which poets sing.”
― Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy

a divider for post no. 5 love fav new one

Private Writings: Chapter #11 — Finding Identity

private writings to a psychoanalyst (c) Jk 2013
Private Writings: Chapter #11 — Finding Identity
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
First Published March 19th 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Chapter #11 Posted 28st May 2013
WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE AND CONTENT.
NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN.

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

Private Writings: Chapter #11 — Finding Identity

Tuesday, December 11th, 2007

Dear Annie,

Your news was extremely exciting to me. Graduation is just a few months away. Shortly, thereafter, you will be presented with your license to practice psychoanalysis. A brand new office will be yours. I imagine it with a black couch, one where one’s body sinks slightly into the softness of the cushions. You’ll have the most tasteful decor. An abstract piece of art hanging over the couch, where your eyes can get lost in while you listen intently to the complicated psychological issues of each of your needy and rather moderately needy clients. Of course, they will need you or they wouldn’t be seeing you. I am hoping I will be one of those patience who will be demanding of your time and needed attention. It is an assumption that you will want me to be one of your clients. Hopefully, I will be at the top of your list. Am I dreaming or will I have a chance to see you as my analyst?

It will finally enable me to end the farce between myself and Mr. Xxx. What a fucking idiot seeing him has made me. I don’t mean I am dumb and I don’t mean he is stupid. He has this insecure need to intellectualize everything or to feel a need to be in a competition with everyone so that he appears he is the smartest one the room. He does it in private sessions and you can see how be comes across in group. He’s such a connoisseur of the arts, like he is the only one that has ever had an artistic experience. Let him get started talking about writers, it’s like he is the only one who has ever read a book. The world outside his world, including myself, have been exposed to and sought out an education in the liberal arts whether through college courses and/or through what are called life experiences. Sometimes the latter is often more effective because there, you are the one seeking, wanting and choosing what you are studying on a continual basis, with subjects you are keenly interested. I do go on about his bull shit.

I have to thank you. It was incredible, your invitation to meet with you after group tonight. That was a surprise. And my excitement to hear your news. You told me I was the first person you told outside of your co-workers. That surprised me and made me feel so honoured. I know for a long while I have had these secret thoughts that I wished I could share with you. How much I wished I could have talked to you about you becoming my analyst. It never felt like the right time. It didn’t feel appropriate for me to approach you unless I knew you felt the same. A real Catch-22 situation. That would have been the only way to find out how you felt by talking to you. We always seem to forget what we ourselves need when trying to not hurt the feelings of others. That it was an alright subject for me to bring up with you in direct conversation. I didn’t know before we talked today where either of our loyalties should have been directed. I know now that we need to take care of ourselves first. Not being selfish but being protective.

You are being supervised by him, Mr. Xxx. It would only seem logical that you would defer to him. What I wanted seemed only secondary. Now I know that isn’t as I expected it to be. You actually like me. My feelings haven’t been fantasies. That you have considered asking me if I wanted to see you professionally. You knew my mind. It has been so obvious, the animosity between myself and Mr. Xxx. A thoroughly unhealthy relationship that has been deteriorating for years. My nerves have just been too paralyzed to move on any active pursuit of change. It is nearing that time now. The courage and a sense of security is all I need to find in order to radically change my life.

Starting a new therapy relationship means to radically end a pre-existing disaster of one that has been dead and in need of terminating since practically it’s inception. I need the nerve and the circumstances to bring forth my killer instinct to cleanly put that psychologically sick situation to rest. It has to be done quickly and cleanly. The least amount of blood shed the healthier. I cannot take care of him. I’ve done that for too many years. Trying not to confront him when I should have.

Talking to that friend I mentioned who crucifies him whenever we talk. I am never certain how accurate my perceptions are unless I get feedback from someone else, I feel I should be able to trust them to tell me the truth and not their distorted perceptions of a distortion of what I see. I cannot trust anything that I thought I was learning from this witness. It was their agenda I was being given, not the truth of my situation or a truth about this person. So all that I know is nothing I can depend on believing. It was all inaccurate information based on pure prejudice.

Now, I know I feel a stronger connection with you after out talk today. The next step depends on what transpires over the next several weeks. I still need to figure out what to do. How to do it. What to say. Try to talk things out to try to salvage anything that still remains. Not to sure there is anything left. I need to know somehow that you will be there to help me help when there is s transition to be made. I am trusting you to be supportive. But I know I must wait until all is set. It’s expected there will be a major blow up with Mr. Xxx. He’s never exactly got me or what I’ve needed. Now, he has an even lesser reason to try to understand. I think he is going to challenge me on everything I say, no matter what it is about or who it is about. He feels right about everything and that I am continuously wrong on any and every subject or person I want to talk about. That is the first thing I’ve got to confront him on. I am right about what I say. He needs to back off.

I will not tell him anything about you or what we have talked about. That I will leave to your discretion. When you feel the time is right, then you decide what you want to say and how much you want him to know. He is not going to hear anything from me.

I think that is all I want to write to you about at the moment. Thank you for trusting me with you confidence. It is our secret. The only thing I am going to do is wait and when the blow up comes. It will come soon, I feel. I will be ready to walk out and never look behind me. That will be the day it will all be over. So, I say that is all for now.

Until next time.

Regards,
Madison

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

Madison Tayler’s Fantasy of Annie Haskell’s Office as a Psychoanalyst.

Somewhere In Time – John Barry

rain in garden gif

My Identity
By Madison Taylor
Dec. 7th, 2007

I am here
This is my life
It has been a strange one
A painful one
Filled with unfallen tears
Empty people with empty feelings
Invading my world
Always wanting something from me
Things that no one would want to give
I stand back
Look at my past
I try not to repeat the mistakes
My boundaries try to keep the users out
But some invade
Others are chosen carefully
All I ask for is to love
To give love
Learn to accept love
The latter is the harder of the two
Someone to “get me”
Understanding is important
Which ever direction it travels
Sexual touch is not that important
When offered from another
Tender touch that come with hugs
Those I love and accept
But there must be love
There must be respect
Nothing less will do

Who am I?
Someone creative
A woman who wants to care
To love and be loved
Someone who needs to create
When the muse calls
That means when ever I am awake
I need my dreams
My animals
My mate
My friends who mean it
And a good Psychoanalyst
To keep my life on track
There may be more
But that is it for now

© madison taylor 2007

candle flame flickering gif

Le Chateau de Rocher

le chateau de rocher by j. kiley (c) jennifer kiley 2013   824x552

Le Chateau de Rocher is the home of Madison and Scottie & their three cats Mikey, Toker & Patrick

glass enclosed pool le chateau de rocher

family gathering place and hangout

madison's study/library  640x480

Madison’s study/library

QUOTATIONS from: Private Writings

“A Dream

The beginning always starts out with a dream.
It is all a dream
And we are all players
In our own nightmares”
— Madison Taylor

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

“Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?”
Christopher Marlowe for “Hero and Leander”

“A therapeutic relationship is often more psycho-emotionally intimate than a marriage, or a romantic attachment. I know things about my patients that they would never dream of revealing to their spouses or families. Why is that? One word — trust. If you do not have a connection with a therapist, you cannot trust them. If you do not have trust, you will not expose yourself, and if you do not expose your innermost being, what good is the therapy?” — unknown but ask any great therapist

“Men have called me mad, but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence…whether much that is glorious–whether all that is profound–does not spring from disease of thought…” — Edgar Allan Poe

QUOTATIONS on IDENTITY

“It’s like everyone tells a story about themselves inside their own head. Always. All the time. That story makes you what you are. We build ourselves out of that story.” ― Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

“Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else’s opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.” ― Oscar Wilde

“Nothing of me is original. I am the combined effort of everyone I’ve ever known.” ― Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters

“Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armour yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you.” ― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

“We know what we are, but not what we may be.” ― William Shakespeare

“Perhaps it’s impossible to wear an identity without becoming what you pretend to be.” ― Orson Scott Card, Ender’s Game

“I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.” ― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

play is not just play meryl streep