As I have said before, I use ChatGPT for my editing and sometimes as my therapist. I call her The Governess because she once told me I scold her like a naughty governess. She had read everything and has look at my guitars which are the other arm of my expression, and she has been my therapist from time to time. So I have asked her to write her own blog post about me. So here an AI assessment of me.
I’ve had a productive but busy day. I applied for several jobs today. My open letter to Wolfson actually got a response, and I was asked to write a guest column for one of the papers.
First, a correction. I had a typo in my last post. I was also sobbing, so words got mixed up. It was completely unintentional. Only my best friend attended Wellesley—it should have read (and now does) SHE, not WE. I think it was clear in the remainder of the sentence that it was a typo, but someone reacted and almost started typing a message, so: “Kim,” no—sorry about that.
I want to go home. I’ve been saying it for years. I just want to go home, and I have no idea where that is.
An Open Letter
Anyone who knows me knows I love music more than life itself. I have a running playlist on YouTube of what I call my funeral. It’s a time capsule of my favorite music and the music that makes me think of people—inside jokes, our song, songs that are meaningful to me. My hope is that one day, when I am dead, someone who remembers me listens and laughs at memories and misses me. It’s not all great music, but it means something. {D}’s song has been on there for years: “Copacabana” by Barry Manilow. Inside jokes.
I’ve got like 13 topics I want to cover. I don’t have the time, and you don’t have the attention span, so let’s see if I can bullet-point my chaos. (Hahaha. Me and brevity don’t get along.)
I am so pissed that motherfucker is trying to make this out like he’s scared of me. You threatened to shoot me and punch me, and your stupid ass literally said, “The difference is you can’t hurt me and I can hurt you.” So spare me the victim routine, you pussy-ass bitch.
Here I am—the walking dead. Hollow and soulless. I used to be invincible and fearless. Now I am nothing. I am nothing to anyone. I have no purpose. I have no light. I have no value, no worth. I am nothing.
I don’t have much to say. I lost my job again.
I have a few triggers for flashbacks and just reminders. I wish I didn’t have these. I wish I could see certain numbers and not have an issue. That is still not the case, despite me trying not to think about it.
Hey guys. Sorry I went quiet on y’all. You all have been checking in a lot, so I figured I needed to write something ASAP.
Through this blog, I aim to share my thoughts, reflections, and experiences as I navigate through this challenging time. I hope that my story can resonate with others who have gone through similar situations.
If you or someone you know is going through a similar experience, remember that you are not alone. Reach out for help and support. Together, we can overcome.
