love, I can't get much. Any left?

When I was a child, my parents recognized I had a gift an enrolled me in creative writing classes. I received no criticism from the teacher on my final parting gift to myself, the short story on my summer vacation to Florida, but my mom had something to say. Oh dear mummy, I just can't take criticism well. It desroys me. I say to myself, oh great, I've got to start from the beginning and restructure my work. I know, 'cause that's what I've had to do before and I hated it. Now that I'm older, I've been writing for a long time and people are just like, yeah whatever. So what she can express herself? I can too, in many ways. I only know one. My super was trying to engage me in a conversation and I was stumbling over my words, or not putting sentences together properly. I'll never be good at public speaking and I don't want to be. People scare me. But anyway, now that I'm older, I have to say, "yeah, I'm gifted," and throw myself into the appropriate classes. That requires money. NYU had some splendid classes this spring for creative writing but I didn't have the like, over $500 to enroll. There was one class in particular I liked. It was for people who knew they were gifted to write but didn't know where to start. That's me. I can express how my life is fluently, but if I had to write an essay on how Obama's last speech on race will affect voter's decisions on who to chose in the upcoming primaries, I'd be like, "duh, where do I begin?" I could always go back to school, but then a lot of professors would be on my ass with do this, do that, this is the deadline. Oh Christ, can I take that again? Yeah, the good part is that I'm learning stuff, but all that pressure! I guess a career in writing is dead for me and so will I be also soon, I hope. Those fantasies I have about Spitzer and me ain't going to happen and my psychiatrist says Jeff and I will never happen. Why the fuck does he say that shit? Look, I can hold on to dreams! But they're dead dreams. My psych doctor has brainwashed me into believing that Jeff and me will never be. I hate him. Wait, he's Catholic, he does believe in an afterlife (although some Catholics and other religions aren't sure) right? Well, if he does and I do, then Jeff and I WILL be together, hell or no hell. Once I die our souls will automatically be drawn to one another like magnets, and then our living can begin. I told Jeff some days ago that somewhere in me I still had love for him, but I couldn't locate where. My soul wasn't dancing, my heart was cold, but there were tears in my eyes as I said many tender words to him. I wasn't acting either. I said he's got the good life and I've got death inside of me, so I've just torn myself away from him saying, we're complete opposites, we'll never work. I want to meet him in another location other than heaven. Is purgatory still available? I feel the moment I die and hear praise and worship songs, I'll want to turn right back around to live a continuation of my painful life on earth. I've got a cousin named Victoria who lives in Trinidad (she's in the pictures) and hopefully I'll get to see her soon. They're up here. Both her and her brother are great kids. But Victoria is so sweet. She has a mom, but I wish she was my daughter. I don't know if she is old enough to drink Lucozade, but I'd surround her with all fun stuff, stuff of the Caribbean, stuff kids would like, and stuff not to get her fat like me. I had dreams that I was living at The Beacon (luxury apartments in the old medical center here in J.C. www.thebeaconjc.com) and she came to visit me and she was just in awe of where I lived. I told her I didn't work a nine to five job, but I had to go through a lot of pain mentally and otherwise to get to where I presently was. I know this would be her mother's job to explain mental illness, but in the Caribbean if you're sick you're either in jail or a hospital. I've never seen strong Caribbean women who have a mental disease that causes them all kinds of pain but are able to reach positions of prominence. Everybody's normal. If you have a disease like schizophrenia you probably stay locked up somewhere, just staring at the walls or you're in someone else's care. But I'm better a person to explain mental illness to Victoria because I live it everyday, and here in the U.S. people have options; to live with an illness and be productive or to live with an illness and stay at home  away from everybody else. I wonder if those same options are available to people with disabilities in the Caribbean? I am the later, but it's because I've been around so many people and they piss me off, especially where I live. That's why I hate. But I wouldn't teach my cousin to hate, I'd teach her to love everybody that offers love in return. I don't want her to become like me physically, emotionally, socially and mentally.