If I'm Living on Borrowed Time, Do You Think I'm Gonna Waste My Time Conforming?

Current age: 62 and has no memories of his accomplishments or his family and friends.
Age at onset of dementia: 55 (and fuck you, Universe)

Lewy Body Dementia discovered post-suicide Age: 63

The Real Cie's aunt: probable Lewy Body Dementia, age of diagnosis: 72

Me: Age 49, will be 50 on February 15.

TRIGGER WARNING: DISCUSSION OF SUICIDE IDEATION

Here's what I'm noticing. This kind of shit seems to be happening in younger and younger people. I'm not a scientist. Nor am I particularly given to believing in conspiracy theories. The Illumin-Naughty seem as likely to exist as the Illuminati, as far as I'm concerned. But I do see a pattern.

I think our world is polluted as fuck, and it's killing us in various and horrible ways. I think all the people succumbing to these shitty forms of dementia have been poisoned by our toxic environment, and it isn't going to get any better anytime soon.

I evidently have a genetic trigger for this shit, and I have been thinking. I may be living on borrowed time. And if I am, I'm going to off myself when I get the diagnosis. I've taken care of people with dementia for all but five years since 1988. I am not putting myself or my son through that shit.

Given that there's a fair possibility that I'm living on borrowed time, do you know what the fuck I'm not going to do?

Care about a bunch of rules set down by a bunch of stodgy, imagination-impaired, heartless, inflexible assholes. 

Believe as I do. Don't believe as I do. I really don't care. But don't fucking tell me how to think and feel. I was never going to conform to your standards anyway. Given that I may only have five or ten years left, I'm going to conform to them even less.

I have an open mind about metaphysical possibilities. I'm not going to close my mind because my beliefs make some people uncomfortable.

I love what and who I love. If you have a problem with that, take a look in the damn mirror as you point your finger at me. Then take a look at the three fingers pointing back at you.

I'm actually not afraid of this possibility. I'm pretty stoic about it. I've had suicide ideation pretty much all my life. I'm not afraid to die. My life hasn't been an easy one. Sometimes I think the easiest thing in the world would be to down a whole bunch of pills with a butt ton of alcohol and just let the world fuck off at last. I'm sick and tired of hearing what a fuckup I am echoing in my damn head all the time.

I'm not doing it today. So don't get your hackles up searching my URL to try and find out where I'm located. This isn't a "right now" suicide note. This is a "if I'm diagnosed with dementia I'm offing myself" note. Because fuck that shit.

So anyway, if I believe in the possibility of ghosts and incarnate people communicating with each other and maybe even becoming friends or falling in love, who the fuck is anyone else to tell me I can't believe that? 

If I believe the personality survives the death of the body, who the fuck is anyone to tell me I can't believe that?

If I believe in an afterlife, but not an afterlife that adheres to some particular set of dogma created by a bunch of stodgy old fucks to control the masses, well, that is what I believe. If it brings you comfort to think of me frying in a fiery pit because of my beliefs, perhaps you're the sick fuck, not me. 

If I believe in reincarnation, how the fuck is that hurting you?

People are always so all-fired hot to tell other people what they should and shouldn't think and feel. I've had it up to here with that shit. None of us knows for sure what happens after we die. My theories are as valid as anyone else's. More to the point, I don't shove them down anybody's throat. 

I guess my point is this. I don't know if I'm living on borrowed time or not, but I damn well could be. Do you think I'm gonna waste that time trying to please anybody by conforming to their particular reality? I can't live your damn reality, nor do I want to. I can only live my own. 

Stop trying to tell other people what to believe, think and feel. As long as what you're doing isn't hurting anybody else, it's nobody's damn business.

One thing I aim to do. When I do get to the other side, whenever that is, I am going to give both of the dudes pictured a great big warm hug, because they both touched my life for the better and both pulled me through when I was a very sad, lonely, and bullied teenager. I wished both of them could be my friends.

I totally shipped "Mork" as my best platonic friend back in the day, and you will never guess which band was Mork's and my favorite. When you're a sad and miserable twelve or thirteen year old, that kind of thing can mean a lot.

When people judge another person's reality based on their own set of experiences, they do the person they're judging a great disservice.

Both Malcolm Young and Robin Williams taught me a lot. The biggest thing they taught me is that having compassion is the most important thing. As neither of them are conventionally attractive, they also taught me that true beauty is in the soul. Not that either of them are ugly, but neither of them would ever be considered "hunky" by any stretch of the imagination.

Both of them struggled with depression and addiction issues. These are certainly things to which I can relate. 

These are beautiful people--truly beautiful people, not Hollywood hyped beautiful on the outside hollow on the inside glamour seeking glory grabbers. If I do end up being one of the many succumbing to the horror of dementia, at least I will know I am in glorious company. I love you Mal, and I love you Robin. And I do not give one single fuck what anyone thinks of that statement.

I guess I've said what I need to say. It pretty well boils down to this. Quit fucking judging. You do not know what another person is going through or what they have been through. Since you haven't experienced their life, you aren't qualified to judge it.

I can't live as if there's no tomorrow, because my Last Day may be here sooner than I ever would have imagined. I have to get what I can done in what time I may have left. I'm not wasting that time conforming to anyone else's bullshit standards.

~Cie~

Why this Gritty, Non-Descript Little Man is My Hero

I know everyone is sick to death of hearing me talk about why this man means so much to me and why his horrifying illness is so devastating to me.

 A fuck I don't give. I will speak of it until eternity if I want to.

Ah, your unsolicited opinion regarding the things I care about?

Still looking...

The Daily Post asked me who my hero is. Actually, I have a few, but this one goes way back.

"But Cheese," you might say. "That dude totally does not look heroic. He's really low key. Heroes should dazzle!"

He does. He's just not flashy.

However, even though the music was the first thing I noticed, this isn't why he's my hero. A lot of people are musically talented (although this not flashy musician was kind of special.) That makes them admirable, but it doesn't make them heroes.

It's when I found out about the people behind the music that they became my heroes.

I was one of Those People. 

I was one of those people that other people put down to try and make themselves feel big.

I was ugly, or at least that's what I heard all the time.

So I deserved to be picked on.

So it was said.

I hated myself.

But I loved music.

I loved the raw power of this new music that I'd just found out about.

When I found out about the musicians behind it...

I knew they were making the music for people like me.

They didn't give a fuck about appealing to the cool crowd. They weren't part of the cool crowd. They'd probably been ostracized by the cool crowd, just like I had. 

They didn't approve of being shitty to people who didn't fit in, I could tell that. These guys weren't some trend, they were real. 

Someone like me really needed to know that people like this existed. People who would have been nice to me, even though I wasn't part of the Cool Crowd. People who would have told the people who were bullying me to go fuck themselves.

Gettin' it done low budget pre-MTV style.

"Well, that's all very nice, Cheese," you might say. "But you're a heterosexual female, and I guess the little guy has kind of a cute face, but a woman needs a real Manly Man to be her hero, and this dude looks like he'd blow away in a strong breeze. A hero should look something like this and make all the ladies swoon!"

Image Source

Well, ya know, who doesn't love them some Val Hallen? But what makes a person truly heroic is strength of character, not muscles or epic hair. Now, Val is a nice guy, and he does have strength of character, so I guess that makes him something of a hero. Still, I want to talk about why the little guy is my hero even though he doesn't look like one.

For someone living with mental illness, he was something of a role model. He was very shy, but bravely went into a career which meant being in the spotlight a lot of the time even though he was uncomfortable with being scrutinized. He struggled with depression and managed to overcome alcohol addiction in spite of the fact that without alcohol he would no longer have the ability to have a shot of Sociability.

He was known for being self-sacrificing, and even when he became extremely ill he didn't want to burden others with his problems. He was more concerned with the effect his illness would have on other people than with the effect it was having on him.

That he no longer knows what he did during his remarkable life, who the people he loves the most are, or even who he is breaks my heart in a million pieces. I will never forget him or what he did for a badly bullied, mentally ill girl through his music.

You are my hero, Malcolm Young. I love you. I don't care how saying that makes me look in the eyes of those who are concerned with keeping up appearances. You taught me not to give a fuck about those who look down their nose at those of us who are different. I know you struggled with some of the same things I struggle with. I think you were and are beautiful both inside and out. You are always in my heart.

Love always,

Cie

(Not So) Wordless Wednesday: Never Forget

Let us never forget the inspiration behind so much of our recent work. 

Click to enlarge the image

Photoshop manip by Cie

Original Eye in the Sky image:

Copyright: zadvinskiy / 123RF Stock Photo

This wasn't long ago, but it was prior to the massive cerebral degeneration that leaves him unable to remember anything about his life. Even at that juncture, the eyes that were once bright and alert were now bewildered and frightened. It breaks our hearts.

He and others like him are worth remembering, even though they can't remember.

If caring is uncool, then we're proud to be uncool.

We won't ever forget.

Forget any of the supernatural horrors that we create. Those are small potatoes. Even they run crying for their mommy in the face of real-life abominations such as this.

Lewy Body Dementia is an evil force which steals the light from beautiful, bright eyes. It is a sociopathic murderer which kills dreams and memories. It is a thief that strikes in the night, leaving a sharp mind broken in shards like a fragile artifact smashed on a stone floor. It is pure malevolence. It must be stopped so no more lives are destroyed this way.

Tempest

for

Team Netherworld

Aww Monday: Dear Malcolm

So, on Awwww Mondays, people usually post pictures of cute kittens and puppies and such. 

Cute guy with pretty smile is not a kitten or puppy. He does have nice hair. We might want to pet it, but he wasn't anybody's pet. He was an independent thinker, highly intelligent and very creative. So, why are we posting his picture?

He makes us say "awww," but he also makes us cry.

Not because of anything he did. It isn't his fault. He was a nice guy. He didn't like hurting people.

Sure, like anyone else, sometimes he hurt people. But he tried not to.

He makes us cry because he's dying from a really terrible disease. This disease has robbed him of everything. It doesn't even allow him the favor of knowing that people love him. It doesn't even let him remember all the things he created during his very remarkable life.

It would make us sad if he was dying from cancer, but this disease adds insult to injury.

We're posting this picture because we want people to remember him. Not just because he was nice to look at, but because his heart and soul were so very good.

We think you're beautiful in all the ways that really matter, Malcolm. And we're so sorry. We already miss you very much, Baby.

Love and many tears,

DJ Opal

Monday's Music Moves My Broken Heart: AC/DC: TNT Live 1981

We love you so much, Malcolm Young, forever; and my damn broken heart feels like it's gonna fall out on the floor.

Love Always,

DJ Helena

for the KHEL 666 Krew

This week’s theme our spotlight dancer, Joyce Lansky wants ..

It’s called the Brevity Challenge.  

#1 Write ONE sentence or less on your post.

#2 Post ONE song that is under three minutes.

#3 Visit and post a SHORT comment on EVERY blog that follows the rules.

So the video is more like three and a half minutes and I totally don't care. In fact, just kill me or something. I already feel like my heart's been crushed to a pulp. Fact is, the only reason I'm participating in the blog hop is to make people aware of this horrible disease and that people who have it are still people deserving of kindness and respectful treatment; cause I sure don't feel particularly social right now.

~DJ Hell's Belle~

Wordless Wednesday: We Love You Angel

Original Eye in the Sky image credit:

Copyright: zadvinskiy / 123RF Stock Photo

Photoshop manipulation to add Lewy Body Dementia awareness ribbon:

DJ Cheesy