Peaches, Peaches, Peaches Again & It’s the 4th of July in my Mind

Please don’t his like without actually reading this. Also, the formatting looks a lot better if you actually visit my site. Thanks (:


I realize I’m making this more of a journal at the moment. I’m just alone and feeling alone at the same time. But here you are, Internets. And here I am, in my bed. My cat is sleeping. No one to talk to.


My posts today didn’t do that well. Makes me a bit sad- like I wasted my time with them. I do work hard. It might not seem like it because it’s a casual blog but I do try to make content and share content that is interesting. I want it to be interesting. For me to be interesting. I am an interesting person. My mom told me. We don’t get along no more but she said it to me and I take it as a compliment.



I caved and took half a vicodin (peach). It’s not a lot. I’m used to a lot more. But, going down that road is a dangerous road. I’m just in a lot of physical pain and nothing is helping. My back and ribs are so bad from vomiting. And I’m quite angry and quite sad. Depression outwards and inwards. All at the same time.


The main problem with peaches is that they make my mood swings much worse. When they hit me, I get happy. Then the next day, I’m worse than ever. I really need a new anti-depressant to help dampen the blow. God, do I need one. And another mood stabilizer or a raise of the one I’m on. I need to get to a fucking scripter. What I’m on is clearly not working.


On top of that, peaches make me sick to my stomach. & I can’t keep food down at the moment. So this is going to be one fuck of a night. One fuck of a night harder than it already was going to be. I already got sick seven times today. Nothing is in me. No electrolytes. Vitamins or minerals. Nothing. So I lay down and not move to conserve the little energy I have.


I just needed some relief. I just wanted to go away a bit (a lot).


…There is so much more I want to write. To say. But I am afraid of who will read it. Who will judge it. Judge me.  So I say one or two things and hide myself away under my blanket…



I didn’t get a refill on my medical cannabis yet. That might help me go away easier under my blanket. Might help the lot of symptoms I’m experiencing.


In other news, for some reason I keep thinking today is the 4th of July. And, I feel very disconnected to people who claim they love me. I lost the ability to love awhile back.

Depression ate all the love I had in me.


And I’ve been seeing shadows and things that aren’t there. Cats and people. That’s a side affect of one of my meds. I’m not psychotic or in a state of psychosis. Or, at least, I don’t think I am. It’s just the “medicine”. I was tested for that shit and was offered a drug for it but then they backed off and said it’s the medication.



…I wish I wasn’t so angry. Snappy and loud and having to deal with these never ending flashbacks that bring me to tears even now as a type this. I’m too fucking dehydrated to be wasting tears. I wish I was a little nothing. Particularly little, because I’m so big.  I need more pills to dull the noise of this very loud world and my very loud, mean angry mind.


I’m angry because of what he did to me. And what the other man did to me. And the one after that. And I’m mad that nobody protected me when I was helpless as a child. Becoming an adult, now on the wrong side of my 20s, makes me see things more vibrantly. And I’m holding a major grudge against my family for not saving me from the nightmare I lived. And for now expecting me to be a totally normal, high functioning cunt. I’m not. I’m on chemo and living with the aftermath of molestation and rape and terror. Nothing is ever enough. STOP ASKING ME WHAT I’M DOING WITH MY LIFE! I CAN’T GET OUT OF BED! Chemo takes so much energy. My past I relive takes even more. They don’t get it. And any progress I make, I puke it up (literally).
Now, look at me. Complaining. This is a very annoying blog.  I wouldn’t even read it. I think I should close it. Delete everything and fall back into myself. <- Like I’m asking for people to say “No you’re awesome!” No, I’m not saying that. I just hate my content. And I don’t think every idea should be committed to paper or web. I don’t want to clutter and clog the tubes of instant connectivity any more than they already are with this nonsense… nonsense nonsense nonsense.


Let’s shine a light. People say I should. I have some good news. I’m finishing my Walking Dead tattoo in August. The artist I’m using is FUCKING AWESOME. But, hella expensive which means I won’t be able to add to my art collection for the next couple months. In any case, I’m getting zombie scratches- deep looking 3D wounds with my rib cage showing and everything under my preexisting quote of “Just Survive Somehow”. Rainbow blood pouring out. But, of course the excitement pops in and then leaves. Leaving no footprints. And then I think, once more, it’s the

fucking 4th of July.


I hope I fall asleep now and wake up tomorrow not thinking today is the 4th of July. And that I don’t dream.

Because my subconscious doesn’t like me, either.

We all hate me. Not loving makes things easier, though. Love opens myself up to more hurt. And I’ve been hurt enough for one lifetime.


I know people have had it soo much worse than me. I read your stories under the Depression tag. I genuinely don’t mean to diminish anyone else’s life experiences. I am not as strong as them. I am not as strong as you. The only strong thing about me is that I haven’t killed myself like my friends have. I miss them a lot, you know. I never talk about that. And I blame myself every day that I couldn’t save them. I didn’t visit them. I didn’t visit her on that Christmas. It’s my fault. I know it. It wasn’t her boyfriend. It wasn’t the suicide pact with him. It was mine for not going to see her on Christmas. She shouldn’t have had to die that way. No one should die in a barn alone in the cold by a rope. Nobody. Nobody nobody nobody. I wonder if it took long, or if her neck snapped instantly. I never inquired because it makes me too sick to say out loud. And I couldn’t go to the funeral. Face it. And the others shouldn’t have passed either- by pills. Pills pills pills. I miss them. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s my fault and I’m sorry. I’m a bad friend, drowning in myself.

I’m sorry.









15 thoughts on “Peaches, Peaches, Peaches Again & It’s the 4th of July in my Mind

  1. Hi Drem I’m sorry for all the crap you have gone through. You are STRONG ! And have such a beautiful creative mind . ❤️❤️❤️❤️

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks, Speck. I’m trying. I guess I just needed to get some stuff out. I don’t usually write so many journal type things. I have poems to posts. I just, I just have too much in my head. Swimming around. PTSD is a muthafucka.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I think it’s good for you to journal and get it out ! I wish you could get up an move around a bit , it might make you feel better to get out a bit

        Liked by 1 person

    1. i was referring to how many views i get. i keep track of that and likes. it helps me determine my reach and growth each day. i have a goal set each week.


    2. Bethany, I was just popping by (I was literally sleeping and woke up and said to myself- omg I sound like a bitch) to say to you that I apologize for sounding like I didn’t appreciate you reading my work today. I’m under a lot of stress in my personal life and thinking a lot of bad thoughts (mainly about my friend who passed who I mentioned here) and under a lot of pressure.

      The view count is important due to measuring impact for current and future writing opportunities/offers of different kinds that I’m in the midst of. You stopping by is always a great part of my day and I sincerely hope I didn’t offend you or anyone else by my statement in this post. Like I said, it had to do with mostly business stuff.

      This is a casual blog. I don’t use perfect grammar or spellcheck everything because it’s not meant to be that sort of environment. But I was a professional (paid) journalist, photographer, and more recently editor for half my life (I started young as a freelancer and grew from there). My poetry has also been published in several different outlets. This blog will go under my resume under my real name. Drem is a mere alias. So getting followers and stuff is important for that reason, even though this is a casual venture I do in my spare time.

      Again, sorry if even for a fleeting moment you felt unimportant.

      Also, sorry if this doesn’t make sense. Like I said, I was sleeping and am still half asleep.

      xoxo Drem


  2. You have a hell of a lot going on in your life. Venting is good. That’s what my post today was. It was a vent from something that happened 20 years ago! Sometimes it is easier to write what we cannot say. If you ever need someone to vent to I don’t mind being your sounding post. You can reach me at writerblocks2015 If you ever feel the need do not hesitate. I will answer.

    I hope tomorrow is a better day for you.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hi Lynette,
      Nice meeting you! I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before. I’m Drem. ❤

      My email is

      I'll check out your blog. I think I've read your blog before actually. I may not have commented. I often times don't comment because I can't think of anything worthy or interesting or nuanced to say.

      It is easier to write. I'm having a bit of a hard time expressing it out loud, as many of us do.

      I hope tomorrow is better for you as well. Much love and peace ❤

      I hope to see you around too. And if I haven't subscribed to your blog I will now. No need to subscribe to mine. I didn't say it for that reason.


      Liked by 1 person

  3. I saw some of your bog and will have to come back. The vibrancy is amazing, so reading this and finding out more about what makes you tick (to the extent that I can and you allow us) we are let into your world is equally so. The other elements, what pisses you off, is important. We can only know if you vent and it is your blog and you are entitled. Stop apologising; though since you are probably basically very decent (stuff always happens to those who are) making you more vibrant and vital, despite the physical non colour and puke. Remember, part of you will be speaking through the haze of chemicals, and so what if for now if it is not the 4th of July, it was once, and you are like an amateur trying to play Mozart each day – right music just the note are temporarily in the wrong order…keep playing, you have such talents and I don’t think you fully appreciate that. Tc.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Grief is sometimes hard to express out loud. Especially when it comes to losing someone to suicide. So, I bottle it up. And write it on here sometimes. That’s what the apologizing was for. Guilt. Grief and guilt.

      Liked by 1 person

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