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" Highway To Hell "

" Highway To Hell "

2/1/2006 - A Passion Play... Part III

Highway to Hell

I had my first steady boyfriend at sixteen I met him at one of my girlfriend's home, Lynda Hart. He was an artist in visual arts and was« prisonner» at the Séminaire de Trois-Rivières. He was the best in àart in that classical college. His parents just moved to Boucherville, in 1969, he had to stay in T-R till the end of the sholar year. Not really tall, blond curly hair, illuminating blue eyes in that pretty face, with a marvelous smile showing his beautiful white teeth. He was wearing his football jacket, green and gold. He came to accompany me home... In front of the door, we kissed a long time and he asked me to be his girlfriend...I agree. I didn't know he was so talentuous, so bright, so self-assured, a really good sense of humor and that he was well known in the circle of my friends and even beyond. He came to my graduation ball. I was wearing a long light pink dress, all my make-up british style with false eyelashes, like Twiggy. We spent the evening with three other couples : my frien Lynda with Paul Dubuc, Myriam with Laval and Nicole Bergeron (with a nobody, as usual). I drank for the first time (exepting wine with meal). Rhum and Coke, three in a row...
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1/1/2006 - A Passion Play... part II

Highway to Hell

When I was fifteen, in this great 1967 year, Papa was bringing the whole family every weekend to Terre des Hommes... Freedom...finally! Most of the time, I was with Hélène. Sometimes, when I was with my elder sisters, I faked to be lost and get back to the place we were supposed to meet papa at night.I was already living on the edge, I wasn't scared of anything, buying hash at the Pavillon de la jeunesse and going on my way, alone and free.In september, we had an organized trip with the CMI. Me and a friend, Jocelyne Pouliot, went on our side and were checking guys around. We met two guys, working at the little boats for kids. We were going at every coffee break they had. When they finished working, they asked us to go to Jardin des étoiles to take a beer, each of us with the one we cruised during the day. I didn't like beer but he offers me a cigarette, a DuMaurier and I did like it, I smoke seven cigs in a row. I don't remember his name... he was a tall handsome dark hairy guy, with deep black eyes. I just remember he was a student and that he lived on Fabre street.
I was beginning to live my first major depression. I was puking on my way to school, criyng everyday, thinking that death was maybe the best solution to stop suffering. A guy in a band I likedd at that time, the Sinners, deceased, This event increase my thoughts about death, it could happen at any time. I was thinking about that guy, probably buried standing up because he was jew. The poems I was writing were getting darker and darker... I didn't know yet what that bad feeling was, I didn't know the symptoms of the depression. Even the doctors didn't have the knowiledge they have nowadays. The medication was basic: valium or librium and rest... a lot of rest. I went to a point that I wasn't able to get up one morning to go to school. Maman was finding this very strange, I always had been able to stay up quite easily. She went near my bed and asked me what was happening. She probably noticed that my behavior was different than usual since a while. I was really not able to get out of bed. She called our doctor, he gave me pills and send me to the hospital for blood tests. At that time, depression was not accepted in general, in the population. I've been lucky to have open-minded parents and a good doctor. But, my two eldest sisters were saying I was faking because I didn't want to go to school. For sure, the CMI was part of the problem but it was more my mind getting closer to death idea, an existential crisis. I was smoking grass and hash – it wasn't easy to get some at that time, it was really prohibitted and I had to make contacts to get some – it was a thrill too. I wanted to be a bad girl, listening to the most dark music of the time, especially the Doors. The words of Morrison. I was translating songs, starting with easy Beatles songs, it's the way I lerarned english. I was already bilingual in eleventh grade, I didn't have to go to the english courses, I was more advanced than the program was. The Fear, my Fear was growing inside and I liked more and more this darkness.
During the winter Holidays, papa brought the whole family to spend a few days in New-York City for the St. Sylvester... Great... I've been spending most of my time in Greenwich Village, Dylan's place. I was with my sister Francine, we were saying we went to Broadway not to say we were at Washington Square, talking with what I can call «the first hippies». It's been one of the best trip I've made in my whole life. I loved New-York...
I went back to scool in january. My father asked the director to move me in another class, with my sister Hélène. I was even allowed to rest on my desk during the courses when I was feeling bad. In april, I ran away to Montreal, the place where everything happend. I changed my name to Marie, and took the charter bus. The guy sitting beside me wanted me to go with him, he was working at piste Richelieu, a horses races place. He was trying to put his hand beneath my thighs andtry to touchmy breast. I still don't understand these behaviors, but I knew it was not right. When I was in Montreal, I bought the newspaper searching for a job in housekeeping, a place I could stay. I had no place to go, even the first night. A womwn I called told me to come the next morning, it was in NDG and she was searching for somebody bilingual to take care of her two kids and teach them a little french. Anxiety was growing inside of me after the sunset... I was at the restaurant at La Baie. So, I finally called home and took the bus at 1h in the morning to go back home. When I get out of the bus, at about 3h30, papa and maman were waiting for mr st thr station. The next day, papa told me I had to go to mass, it was sunday. And, eventually, I would have to go to see a psychologist. I was not normal and, when I think about it now, they were probably very anxious about me.
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27/12/2005 - A Passion Play...

So many loves I've lost, so many I never had.... I live with a severe mental health problem that made my life what it looks now whwn I'm looking bavkwards.... If ever I knew, if ever I knew before, for god sake! Maybe I would have been able to control my desease and live my life with peace inside of me...
I say maybe, 'cause I'm not really able to di it nowadays even if I know... but I understand better when I'm acting silly or madly. I lived my whole life wishing to do good to everybody, forgetting myself... I didn't even know I had a « self» so life has been a fight, a war against myself destroying my pride, my heart.... I have been a lover, in the whole sense of the word... a lover not able to get satisfied...
First episode
When I was a teenager, my first love has been George Harrison... a love at first glance, a sunday night, in 1964. Me and my sister became beatlemeniacs right on. It changes our lives... I bought the album « Twist and Shout » and we were listening to it all day long.... repeat... repeat... As people of the same kind get together naturally, we were four in our gang ... we must be four as the Beatles... During the summer holiday, we were listening to the radio, a transistor!, station CHLN - Trois-Rivières... And, at six p.m., we changed station to the Dave Boxer Show, CFCF - Montreal. We had finished primary school in june and were moving to the CMI, a classic college. We were wearing jeans, shirt and large long sweater even in the hottest days of July, always having our Beatle doll in our pocket. At that time, it was still B&W tv, no video, so, when a tv program was scheduled, if you missed it, no way to see it anyhow. So, everytime the Beatles were on th Ed Sullivan Show, it was like a ritual... something like going to see a live show....
In 1965, the music exploded from England – Rolling Stones, DC5 etc. – and from United States – Dylan, the Byrds etc. Many TV shows were born during this year and later. Hard Day's Night that we attended to see at every presentation in our city and Help! thet we went to see the first time in Montreal by bus, spending the whole day in the theater to see the film three times. Help! came to our city about two months later, that was the normal waiting time for a movie to get to smalll cities. The film, as usual, stayed one week on the screen and we saw all the presentations, spending the week from the beginning of the afternnon until the last presentation, having to see the other film as many times as Help! – it was always double program and, if you don't go out, you pay only once –... I remember thet we were shouting and crying, like if the Beatles were live in front of us...
It was the beginning of my sentimental life as an obsessive-compulsive person, loving someone outreachable, George Harrison. I saw him live in 1974, I run to see him closed when he,ll get out of the stage... I called him : « George!!! »... he looked at me with his fantastic smile and saluted me with his hand... It's still one of the gratest moments of my life... He was shining out, lightening the whole place
Second Episode
At the age of thirteen, I, like every girls, was watching for real guys even if I was still sitcked on George – and a few others like Keith Richards, Bob Dylan, and Mike Clarke of The Byrds... I had a « kick » upon a guy nicknamed « Caillou », a small guy in thight jeans and leather coat, long blond hair like Brian Jones, two years older than me. I was looking around to see him like my friends – including my sister who has been my best friend for my first twenty years – did for their loved ones. Most of my girlfriends had more than one kick and we're changing often their best. Not me, he was the one and only I wanted, from thirteen to seventeen... Obsessive again... I was fat and, at that time, I began to loose weight. I had a medical problem so, when I began to cure it, I melted... fifty pounds lost and a new pride... I could try to get him, I was became a real cute girl, dressed in black, listening to rock music and starting to get out at night. But, I was waiting for him... at 14, my first kisses... with him! The next year, I started going to a night club, without alcool but with grass, the hottest in town. Rock music was playing on, only the good tunes very « after the Beatles » song: Stones, Doors, Dylan, Donovan etc. In february 1967, I was fifteen then, he was coming every friday night to ask me to dance, only the slows. Nothing was really said, he was with the guys and I was with the gals.... One night, he asked me to go outside with him. I was wearing a black dress I wore so often. Even if it was cold outside, we went out in the parking lot and started kissing and ... touching each other. I was so innocent, I thought he was crazy... but it has been my first sexual adventure... I never been his steady girlfriend, I was « on the side »... and I liked it... Secret... Mystery... Thrill....
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22/12/2005 - I'm tired, so tired....

During the last two weeks, so many bad things happened to me, things on which I have no control at all. I'm loosing my mind, I'm so scared, you don't hear me screaming? For sure not... I never had been able to scream, i shout inside of me, my head hidden in a pillow for no one can hear my distress... My son, my baby is a crackead... He,s trying hard to get out of it but it's not that simple. He already made two detox but he's still not able to keep money in his hands without thinking about dope... and... the next day, he calls me up to come to my place and take a little rest. It's so sad... He's the daddy of a marvelous little girl, Mélodie, but her mother do everything possible to take her away from him... and from me. She's treating me like shit... another one... My sons come to see me whwn they need it, if not, they don't even call me up to ask how I do. It's terrible to accept this, it takes a long time... And now, even here where I live, they doubt about what I tell them, like if I was a little schoolgirl who lies to protect her from a punishment... At work, today, the animator has been so cruel without knowing it, he's not sensitive enough and not bright enough. He improvised him a psychologist, telling me that what happened to my sons doesn't belong to me... Wow! Who he think he is to tellme how to act, to tell me what a mother's heart is? I've been really hurt, i waa about to do another panic crisis so... I get the fuck out of there, I don't even know how... I woke up at the bus stand, smoking a cigarette, sitting on my feet. My knees not supporting me any more... Oh! God... It scares me so... I'm afraid I'm getting in a major depression once more, losing the notion of space and time... And, now, what can I do? I don't feel to go back there any more... My heart was beating so fast, my blood going in my brain like if it was to explode...I was shivering inside when I finally get to bed, I felt as if half of my body was cold as ice... as my heart is... Loosing, loosing... I'm tired of loosing... my dad, my mom, my family, my sons??? My credibility, my respect, and... my loved one... I can hardly accept that, again this time, i'll loose my litlle star Mélodie, the light of my life, why? Because I'm poor.... Posted: 16:37, 14/12/2005 Add Comment

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18/12/2005 - Fucking Chrismas Time...

Every year, I get the blues during chrismas time, and, nowadays, it starts right after Halloween... lasting 2 months!
It's start by changin the time to normal eastern time, less light, getting dark at 4h30 p.m.. In november, the month of the deads, no snow to lighten up the landscape, no more coloured leeves in the trees, darkness all around... and darkness growing inside of me...
November remembers me Papa at the hospital... I see him like if It was yesterday... his blue eyes filled with fear and distress. I knew and he knew... on tha 3th of november, that he won't get out alive...The rest of the family was with the docter but I didn't want to leave my Papa alone... as if anyone but me was understanding what he was living... I held his hand in mine, and even if he wasn't able to speak, I was talking to him, softly and I ask Him if he was afraid... he tighten up his and to mine, he moved his head to say yes, I saw everything in his eyes. He knew it was over...
He kept fighting, Maman and Catou were trying to have a little hope, giving him, day after day, what he needed to stay a lille longer with us. He wanted to say what he would he've liked to tll us during all his life : I love you. I would have preferred to stay beside him during his last days, my mind was with him anyway. I even had to fight with my husband to go see papa every weekend, he was always complaining – I don't see you, I'm stucked with the kids, it's boring whwn I go to Sherbrooke with you – I think he never thought about what I was living in my heart. The last time I've seen my dad was the 7th of december. He has been moved to CHUS. The weather was cold and it's seemed thst there gonna be snowing... Usually, I was leaving around 2 p.m. to drive before darkness, but, that day, I decided to stay longer with him, Maman and Catou. The last words that he wrote to me was about driving in the dark... I should have stayed and go back to Montreal the next day but, from the hospital window, the snowfall didn't seem that bad. When I went on the road, just leaving Sherbrooke, I wasn't able to see ten feet in front of me. I sould have make a u-turn, it was still time. But, in these years, I was fering so much my husband that I continue my way on highway 10... I had an accident, I lost control on the ice and my car went out of the road... I satayed there, the radio still playng, looking at the landscape in front of me : white fields with a mountain in the background, kilometer 49 of the 10. Still 50 km to go before being home... College students came to see how I was feeling, they brought me into their van and took care of getting my car from the hollow, back on the road. I had to drive those 50 km, stressing, fearing about the road and what my husband would say about how damaged the car was...
I had a whiplash so i was not able to drive for a while and... my husband didn't bring me to see my father during the last ten days... Papa died on december 17 1986, he had told me to buy gifts for my kids a few weeks before on his purpose... so, at Chrismas, my kids received a gift from their grand-father gone away forever...
And the Chrismas lights everywhere still shining... I felt as ae an alien, out of time, out of space.. I never really went back...
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6/12/2005 - What's The Matter With Me?

Highway to Hell

The more I try to help, the more people get away from me. My loved one, my brother and 3 of my 5 sisters, and now, my son Tony. He just told me that I was caring for myself only during the five last years, since I left their father because he was violent.My heart is broken, I can't beleive it's what he's thinking about me. I gave him all my love as I gave all my love to his brother too. I tried so hard to help them with their drug abuse, their financial problem etc. What do I get? Reject, loss of confidence in myself, lies, jalousy, crualty... I'm trying to get a little of hope for the few years that are still left to to live. but, now, in this moment, I just fell underground... I just want to die to get a restful eternal sleep
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31/10/2005 - Can't you hear the baby cry ?

Once upon a time,,, in 1952, a newborn baby girl had to stay in the hospital when her mama left to go back home. How long? I'm not really sure... At first, they said 3-5 days, but, they also said that the baby had the to grow enough to became too big for the nursery. The baby was born at 7 and a half pounds, it's clear that to be too big, some babies were born near 10 pounds, it takes much more than 5 days.... at least 10 days or more. The nurses at the hospital put the baby in isolation, alone in the dark, far from the helping services et the heat of human beings,,,, The baby began her life in the cold dark space, her mother visiting her a few times behind a glass. She didn't even feel her presence. When the baby finally got home, she was so used to feed herself with a bottle-holder that her mother took advantage of it and never feed her in her arms...
The reason for this situation is nebulous... construction at the house stayed the official version. But I know that a mother cannnot leave her bsby behind for a material reason so, I started searching for the real reason.
In my calculations, I realized that the niece-sister of my father, Lily, died of a cancer at the age of 20, in ...1956. So, the illness appear when she was 16 in...1952. I've heard that it was, strangely, my mother who took care of Lily during the period she has been very sick. My mom went to see her every night after her 4 kids were asleep, to bring Lily cigarettes and to take care of her to keep her fresh and clean, to talk to her, to change the sheets of her bed. I know that my father was caring about Lily, since her birth in 1936. One of his sister had a baby when she was young and letf the baby to my grandmother and grandfather as their daughter. I was in the thirtys whwn I knew that that she was my cousin not my aunt... secret...secret.So many things during the fiftys seemed to be secret...
Who was the father of Lily ? Why my mother, which had already 4 kids of her own, had been the person who took care of her ? My grandma was not able to do it herself, but why not her biologic mother or the other sister of my dad ? My grandpa was already dead in 1948 at the age of 52.
The only person still alive who can tell me the truth is my mom's sister, Loulou. She already told me a ot of things about my mom's family and gave me cues to find what really happened. But, whwn I asked her about the early fifties, she told me she didn't remember, that she was in love with her so gentle husband, who died 5 years ago. It would have been realistic, she got married in 1953, lost a baby a year or so later, and finally, her only daughter, Céline, was born in 1956. But as I know her, she's hiding something that, probably, my mon told her not to tell even after her death, which happened in 1994..
Can't your hear that baby girl still crying, still screaming inside, still needing so much affection, still needing a mother ?
I did hear her tears from as far as I know. I hear her screaming in the night... driving me insane, I feel her misses, her loneliness, her fears and her distress... At least, why was I not born as a boy? I'm sure that, if I would have been the first son of the family, everything would have been different, even in those days. I would have been a king like my brother who was born seven years later...

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14/10/2005 - Qu'est-ce qui se passe ici?

Highway to Hell

Je ne comprends plus rien à ce qui se passe ici-bas. What¨s happening around me? I don't understand...
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2/9/2005 - Dope victim

What the hell is people I love prefer dope to anything else? I found it so sad, so dark. Where are gone their real values? Love, tenderness, justice, honesty... now, it's money, 20$=1/4...

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6/8/2005 - "Aller simple pour l'enfer "

Depuis plus d’un an et demi, j’essaie de guérir d’une grande peine survenue suite à un traumatisme épouvantable. L’homme que j’aime, l’homme avec qui je partage ma vie quotidienne, mes opinions, mes émotions, l’homme à qui j’ai donné ma vie et mon âme me fout à la porte, me jette à la rue sans avertissement et sans plus de précaution. Le gars avec qui j’ai vécu des moments de sérénité absolue, de passion intense, d’amour profond et de compréhension me donne un " aller simple pour l’enfer ". Sa voix résonne encore dans ma tête " Toi et moi, c’est " feni ", f-e-fe-n-i-ni ! ".
Il est 8h15, mercredi le 11 novembre.... et il part travailler sans plus de considération ou de délicatesse. Je dois quitter L’appart o.p.c. Je tremble, je ne comprends plus rien. Tout tourne dans ma tête, je n’y crois pas .c’est trop cruel. J’appelle un ami à la rescousse qui vient me chercher pour m’emmener au Transit. Je me dis qu’il ne me laissera pas là. La douleur est insoutenable. Je suis tombée dans un trou noir et froid, je n’y vois rien. Je suis repliée sur moi-même dans le petit lit dont j’ai dédain, face au mur inhospitalier qui me protège des regards. Je suis rongée par l’intérieur, j’ai envie de crier tellement la douleur est intense. Faut que ça finisse, je vais en mourir... mais non, ça ne tue même pas.
Je me suis retrouvée en centre d’hébergement " Welcome to the jungle, babe ! ". Des junkies, des prostituées, des voleuses, des joueuses... un monde qui m’était complètement étranger et que j’ai dù apprendre à connaître et à apprécier. J’ai essayé maintes fois de communiquer avec mon Amour mais il ne daignait même pas me parler autrement que par personne interposée, mon intervenant ou mon ami. Il m’a fait dire qu’il mettrait toutes mes affaires dans des sacs verts, dans la ruelle et qu’il ferait tuer mes chats. J’avais dix jours pour sortir définitivement de sa vie. Il ne m’accordait même pas le droit de communiquer avec sa famille à laquelle je m’étais beaucoup attachée, pas le droit fondamental de dire adieu à des gens que j’aimais sincèrement.
Les intervenantes dévouées de l’Auberge Madeleine ont réussi à me sortir de ma torpeur, à me faire saisir les valeurs essentielles de la vie que je croyais pourtant connaître. Ce n’est que dans le plus grand dépouillement que naît la Vérité, comme l’enseigne Saint-François-d’Assise. J’ai fêté Noël et le Nouvel An avec elles, je me sentais si seule dans ma douleur et pourtant si liée dans le malheur qui nous unissait toutes. La peine, l’abandon et la honte de n’être invitée nulle part, d’être celle que la famille avait volontairement oubliée dans sa liste. Et lui, pourquoi n’avait-il pas voulu me parler pour m’aider à boucler la boucle ? À cela, je n’ai encore aucune réponse, même après tout ce temps. J’ai voulu mourir tellement de fois, j’ai voulu le revoir, j’ai voulu l’humilier, j’ai voulu le tuer... Lui qui savait ce que j’essayais de cacher à tous depuis ma petite enfance : ma différence. Mon angoisse, mes peurs irraisonnées, mon anxiété, mes épisodes de dépression profonde, la mort qui me suivait partout, ma personnalité borderline, mes troubles shizo-affectifs et obsessifs-compulsifs, ma dépendance affective, mes cauchemars... tous mes comportements étranges, mes idées folles et mes débordements. Quand je l’ai revu... j’étais un fantôme pour lui, son beau regard dans lequel j’aimais tant me perdre était devenu hagard et fuyait le mien.
Oui, j’ai tellement souffert que j’ai voulu le tuer comme si cela me libérerait de cette douleur qui devenait trop intense par moment, où je criais dans mon oreiller pour ne pas être entendue, où je n’avais que faire de ma propre vie... dirction Louis-H.-Lafontaine... pensées suicidaires et homicidaires. Même là, il était partout. Il est une " image ", un " symbole ", je cherche la personne que j’aime et je ne la trouve plus. Conférences, débats, colloques, assemblées, films et panels... le schizophrène de service qui s’en est sorti sans médicament. Bullshit tout ça ! Mais il joue si bien son rôle que je pense qu’il en est venu à croire qu’il est ce qu’il représente pour ses pairs. Peut-être croit-il que sa gloire, pourtant éphémère, lui donne le droit à la méchanceté et à la cruauté pour sauver sa peau aux dépens de ceux qui l’aiment pour lui-même, pour sa vulnérabilité et sa franchise, son intelligence si vive, sa douceur et sa tendresse, sa compréhension et sa fragilité, ses peurs et ses blessures... pour sa folie, pour son feu d’artifice intérieur ?
Je suis retournée en centre de crise et en hébergement, ma douleur devenant insupportable. J’ai réussi à me trouver un programme de réinsertion en jounalisme, j’ai repris le combat pour les droits et la dignité des personnes souffrant de problèmes de santé mentale, j’ai un appartement supervisé où, enfin, je me sens chez-moi. Mais, dans mon âme, son visage m’accompagne toujours, une mer de tristesse m’envahit. Je tremble à la seule mention de son nom et c’est la panique quand je vois son image sur le petit écran... Je ne peux plus garder le silence alors je fuis, je m’enferme, loin des regards, essayant de contrôler les battements trop forts de mon coeur. Je sais que son " image " est d’un grand secours pour plusieurs personnes atteintes de schizophrénie ou d’autres troubles mentaux. Même s’il s’agit d’un rôle, ses paroles sont porteuses d’espoir. C’est par respect pour les personnes qu’il aidé ou a aidé et par affection pour sa famille que je ne dévoilerai jamais cette imposture ni les secrets bien gardés qu’il m’as dévoilé. Je veux garder en moi notre " bulle " de bonheur intacte, pouvoir m’y réfugier en secret quand plus rien ne va, quand la vie perd à nouveau son sens.
" ... You act like you never had love and you want me to go without.
Well, it's too late tonight to drag the past out into the light ... "
Bono, Achtung Baby, " One "

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Ik spreek bijna geen Hollands... I love muziek, molens, Noord Zee, Hollander Vrijheid!

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