Faux Detective finds possible reason for suicidal thoughts!

It’s been a long-ass time since I’ve posted. I’ve had a really hard time the past 10 days or so w/ some serious fuckin’ depression/anxiety/and of course- ANGER, which is a given for Nerissa Moonshine, but alas… I figured I’d add it in there. It looks cool in red!

I always have trouble w/ depression and anxiety to begin with, but I’ve been even more fucked up lately. As in thinking about suicide in a drastically more serious manner than normal, instead of just the occasional passing thought like “OH, I wish I could just fuckin’ die right now.” No, more like “If this didn’t ruin my loved ones because of their loss, I definitely WOULD do it.”

I did a little sleuthing the other day, though, (LIKE SHERLOCK HOLMES!) and for once actually read the little packet of input for one of my meds- you know, the one that comes in the package holding prescription drugs! (it’s sad that I have to say actually- but c’mon, who the fuck actually reads that shit. Sadly.) Turns out, one of my mood stabilizers was listed among one of the meds that this one may suppress the effectiveness of.

So I feel like I’m taking action. Got a Doctor’s apt. tomorrow- & I’m bringin’ ALL my psychopath medicine’s literature with me.  WHATCHA THINK BOUT THAT?!

Been paintin’ lately!! Craaaazy shit, since usually my “hobbies” are normally outlandishly destructive and/or, or a total waste of time- but brush strokes are oddly calming! I’m not painting anything tangible- as in I’m not making any portraits or objects or any of that complex shit.  Basically I’m just painting w/ the 99 cent acrylic paint you buy @ like Michaels (or whatever craft store your region of the planet has) and smearing it all over cardboard boxes or tins and mason jars and what have you. Oddly it’s relaxing as hell.

Peace Love and Harmony, byotches! I shall update soon.

Don’t Take it none too personal, but I’m

very sorry for being so sad in the last joint or post or whatever I hooked you up w/. Speaking of  joint- when the word takes another meaning- my friend treated me to an herbal joint theother night, which was quite pleasing INDEED. Needless to say, some more medicine was traded, but I use a phillie instead of them ol’ papers people use when they roll

CANN A BUSSSS

joints.  I guess it’s really how ya grow up- or not even that, maybe it’s just where you start fucking smoking. I mean joining the smoking CULTURE. Because that’s kind of what it is.I really liked that fucking joint though, that was tight. Burns fast- obviously, you all probably know that. To me that seemed like the con of smoking joints versus blunts- but I sort of liked that straight up, “I’m high and I’ve only taken three hits” kinda shit. Depends on the mood, I guess.

—-Out of about 150 dutches (I fucking kid you not), I have fucking RUINED 149 of them.  I think the last one I rolled was  not quite as fucking horrific as the last one. I’m really, really, not even goddamn CLOSE to bein naturally good at rolling blunts. But even if my blunts sometimes (or often) suck ass, they’re still a better time than puffing on my stupid glass piece 6 times a day( like in sessions and shit. I was getting sick of that.)

ENOUGH OF THAT STONER TALK, NERISSA YOUUU FUCKIN’… FIEEEND, YOU!

That’s right- this bitch tells stories now, too!!!!!!!!

Yeah I said it- I am a weed fiend. hahah. I KNOW that I’m gonna be itching like a goddamn crack head to get my self some herb as soon as fucking possible. If some fucking interview schmuck were to ask my what my strength is, I’d say “STrength?! PFFF.  I EXCEL at smoking weed- excel beyond your wildest 

dreams.”  And then they’d be all up in my face like, who the fuck you think you are? And I’d just say THIS IS WHO THE FUCK I AM, BITCHES! And knock over the chair or knock the interviewer’s coffee off the table w/ a swipe of my hand…. WEEEELPPP I HAVE A LITTLE STORED UP AGGRESSION, PLEASE DON’T BE ALARMED.

BURNED MY HAIR (though i don’t THINK my eyebrows or eyelashes) when I was smokin again! Today I did it- my little sideswept bang thing that I’ve had goin on for 5 thousand years keeps smoldering up when I tokie-tokie. Hair Breakage Central is what it fuckin looks like. I’ll tell ya what though…

NOTHIN’ smells like fuckin burnt hair! I can hide the smell of skunk better than that. Fire’s brutal.

Nerissa, the magic dragon lived by the sea

…and it was one of those places and times in my life that turned everything around – I mean, a goddamn 360. There was a gradual elimination of all the fear&resentment for myself I had carried aroundin my heart. Someone, I had morphed into an empowered new being. I saw the world from another part of the world- I didn’t really look back. This became my life, now- like the old one in the urban bowl of musk and congestion was old news, ancient history. I lived a lifetime, it felt, when I lived on the Coast.

I had to return home. I hate calling it home. Two of my family members live in this state, and my siblings and I were born and raised here, SHORE- but we spent our holidays, our summer vacations, sometimes our long weekends in the homeland.

What am I to do, huh? I’m stuck. I’m fucking overwhelmed, lonelier than motherfucking hell, and I’m doing stupid ass shit- like trying w/ all I got to maintain ghosts of relationships.

But why’s the weed gone?!

Now this sounds like my kind of motherfucking book

  Yeah, I’m fucking serious! Shit sucks! What the fuck!?? It  aint cool that there’s an herbal drought taking place up in this bitch!  And “up in this bitch” means where I’m currently takin’ up residence. Yeah, I’m white, but I still I wanna sound cool- hence I pretend I can pull off Ebonics… WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT, BITCH? Side note: George Carlin- may he rest in peace- once told white guys “You will never be as cool as black guys! Stop fucking trying!” —-Hahahah! he sure was the shit.                                                                                                          

Back to the matter @ hand. My weedies situation. Or my NON-weedies situation. I mean sure I have, like, 70 bucks in the bank, & yeah I owe a hundred bucks or so to something/someone/WHATEVER; to whom or what I owe $ to seems a little fucking irrelevant, since my point is NERISSA DON’T HAVE NO MOTHERFUCKING BUD. AND SHE’S NOT DIGGIN’ IT. 

And how about when you fucking realize the only goddamn time people hang out w/ you is when YOU set shit up! It’s like CMON ASSHOLES, I’m cool as shit. Sorry if you feel strongly that acknowledging my existence is just another one of them fuckin burdensome tasks that must be avoided @ all costs. OK now I’m gonna change the color of the text. That means I’m about to switch gears- kinda go rogue here, and try to be…*POSITIVE!*  I DID have a good day w/ the coolest lady in the world- my sis. 

—-All I wanna talk about is dumb serious-ass shit in this post- but I can’t. Ya know, In case someone I know finds this piece o’ shit- hahah.  

Alrightyyy THEN, let’s stop w/ the negative bullshit, Neriss, you dumb twat!  Now here is something positive to talk

I know, right?

about- THIS bitch got a new computer w/ a touch screen, Windows 8, and all that technological magical bullshit that young folk are talkin’ bout these days! I am not CURRENTLY using that computer because I’m sort of fucking scared of it! But I’m gonna get down to bidniss in a little bit and see what the hell I can do w/ that thing.

Oh my god I did something else kind of fucking cool, too, today! MADE AN OMELETTE! FOR NO REASON! not even kidding.  Sure i’m 23 and should be like whipping up steaks and pies and casseroles and shit, but this is PRO- gress for me. My daddy- may he, like George Carlin, rest in peace- was just about everyone’s favorite cook in the whole world. I gotta get my act together. AND FAST!

I have much more to say, and I’ll say it later. Peace, friends

Could it be? (nope, it caint.)

I think I’m about to become a waitress once again! First time in almost four years! (If you could’ve called me one back then. I’ll explain that shit more.)

THAT was me a few days ago. SO instead of going that route and being fine w/ being a waitress and just being normal and able to cope with minor stress and whatnot, I quit after being at the place for a day.

& I even did alright that day, surprisingly! But my anxiety eats me alive- plus I take all these meds, I’m in this small fucking town I grew up in- everyone is up everyone else’s ass, up in everyone else’s motherfuckin business- point in fact that my inhibitions are pretty much on their guard time 5000.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   My boss was awesome, it turned out she knew my sis and it was all fine. But I get these panic attacks, YA see- they’re crippling. And I went to my current job the next  night and fucking fainted! Yeah! I know right. But I think it was all this shit building up inside of me. The next morn’- I was supposed to go to the new restaurant job- I cried for about an hour (yep, fucking embarassing, let’s move on-), and called my boss (boss for a day) and told her I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to get through a shift without having a panic attack. She was so cool about it. I’m lucky for that.

SOOO now it is time to think of OTHER ways to make some $! The DOPE news is that I’m done with school for the semester- Fuck yeah. Time for ME…to get my act together. Really what I should be doing is laying shit down, gettin shit done, doin’ what I gotta fucking do. Take it away Nas-

LIBRARY IN MY TWEAKER PAD SOMEDAY!

I want this.

On the crack-head who boosted my self-esteem

I NEVER thought this would be something I’d like to admit, but sometimes  Ghostface is right, such as when he suggests that “Ya gotta be nice to the crackheads” in the song I underlined in right hea-yuhhh- 9 milli bros-   

IT PAYS OFF.  Here’s the goddamn story:        Frenzied and PISSED THE FUCK OFF, I tore through the grocery store’s parking lot a week from today because I sure as FUCK did not wanna wait inside for the 20 minutes or whatever it usually takes to fill meds there.  So there’s traffic and people and fucking crowdedness everywhere because it’s been a shit-show at this goddamn joint since July.GET THE GODDAMN CONSTRUCTION DID WITH.

“JUST SAY YES” TO BEING NICE TO CRACK HEADS

Anyways as I stalk back to my car, there’s this woman in a backseat who yells to me.  I come over to the women (and I have the crack head’s official community’s permission to identify crack -heads; when ya come from a little-big urban city, you learn at a young age what a fucking crack head is- it’s common knowledge-) – who’s scratching her tangling/falling out hair, and she asks me for a cigarette. I can see her desperation- so of course I know I’m gonna get that “aw sorry” feeling, cuz I don’t smoke tobacco and had nothin to give her. Thinkin I’m just gonna e able to say “see ya round!” and keep on walking, she stops me again and says “How bout them. Can you ask them two if they got one?”

I stare at her like “what the fuck.” because of course I don’t want to ask 2 hoity-toity middle-aged women w/ their L.L. Bean jeans and SUV Lexxuses if I can have a cigarette (I know they don’t have any-  “Are you kidding? In high culture, we pop Valiums and drink expensive liquor while our husbands bangs their secretaries all day- we certainly aren’t addicts!”).

But I felt bad- I could be in that fucking situation someday- a crack head. who the fuck am I to judge?  I go up to these fresh faced handsome rich-ass broads and  ask “EXCUUUSE ME LADIES. WOULD IT BE POSSIBLE IF I COULD BUM A CIGARETTE OFF OF ONE OF YOU?  –the less snobby one said something wicked fucking depressing about her boyfriend dying from smoking, but I cut her off too fast to really realize what she said until I thought about it later- not much I can say bout that… but I digress-

So I report back to my crack head, tell her what the outcome was, and she simply said ” How bout them.” I look w/ terror as she points @ a new group of people I am supposed to ask. I told her, “Well…sorry, I’m not gonna do that. There’s a limit.” She said” iight…” and looked bored- don’t blame her. But then she cracks this cute smile and says “But you know what, I think you done made my day-” she points @ my shirt- “Purple is my favorite color.” And sure, my self esteem suddenly grew- is that a crime? If you think YES, please exit and try not to hit your va-jay-jay on the way out. I’ve always liked that fucking purple shirt, but only a kind crack-dead had the nerve to admit how enchanting it is! Well, I was just downright flattered. Purple done made my day that day, too!