The second half of Columbine Revisited hit home for me in the psychology/psychiatry department. One of four women will experience some form of depression. Women are twice as likely to have it than men too. Medicine has come a long way since I was born, and I know better now. My psychiatrist and I have a good relationship despite some previous concerns. I am currently working on an appeal for Social Security, and seeing my doctor once a month. This is enough for me, since shrinks from the past treated my issues as if they didn't matter, weren't important, etc. Well, the DID was ignored, just like my pediatric pleas for help. Now, 30 years later, I am still suffering, which makes me think God's will is going to be done. Because I am in Hell right now, at this very second, it would make sense that she's preparing a place for me. I've lived the hellish bohemian life for as long as I can remember. And since being put right with God on Monday, things have changed drastically. I no longer fear people. I have what it takes to live my life, and not worry about what others think of the way I live. Sure, I drink some when I write. It loosens you up. All of the famous musicians and writers drink to stay calm. We aren't doing it to get real with others. We drink to stay calm within ourselves.

From Sherry to Mogan David, to Bailey's, and Godiva, I have it made. It doesn't mean I am drunk often. The occasional drink is just as good. You still get the same result. Loose, cool, calm, and ready to tackle your next written project.

Who cares if I get depressed, or have bi-polar disorder, or even manic depression alone? No one. And if you have kids, depression will hit like a ton of bricks. You start to think that you're out of your league. I don't have kids, but when I'm around them, I get all weepy and bi-polar like. It's crazy, but true. My own childhood was full of trauma. Why not cry over other people's kids? Why not cry for the victims and bullies of Columbine? It all makes sense. They all deserve tears. When pain drives you to the point of killing, you cry. And you can't stop. It goes on forever.