Author: Dgbcfhn

July 1, 2017

To David Wolfe:

Originally sent, to Jeremy Renner:

Flip-flops,

I want creative control.  I believe it is about fucking time I received the right and ability to have creative control over this non-secret show experience!

I am still so angry, hurt, and depressed because of the violation of my home.

Regardless of the path I take there should be no one with the ability to enter my home.

I want the Sherlock-figure-it-out problems to cease immediately.  There is no excuse for purposefully infecting someone with a virus.  Especially after specifically stating it was never that person in body!!

Especially after going to all the work of password protecting my purchases – NO ALTERING!!!

I am so disgusted with everyone involved, everyone has become tainted in my view now.

IBK, healthy weight cat and dog food is a LIE!!!!!!

So hurt!

You have done a terrible job of protecting your investment.

Now, I am sick from the inside out.

Congratulations on destroying my trust and belief in you, in all of you.

This doesn’t make any sense.  I turn right out of my development and there is a bump sign, Twilight High school, and a black man with a moustache.  I turn left and there is a boy-man walking a dog.  To me they are each exactly the same.

In my head at work I hear, I didn’t know.  Then, a David-ish person walks by.  Whatever that is supposed to mean.  You all knew what was planted in my house, you all knew the harm that was going to come to me, and no one did anything to prevent it, or keep me from harm’s way.

A silverfish in my fucking wine?!

I don’t know how many years I have to scream NO!  At the top of my lungs.  No means no.  That fucking ceiling fan can go to hell!

I don’t have a choice as far as my parking.  I am not allowed to have the sun or anything else I want.  It has to be damp just to keep the stupid baby bull-shit away!

I do not need to be taught or shown anything else!  Enough already!  Isn’t there another story to be told, can’t we all move on?!  Why not just end everything?!  And give me back my life.  When, there is clearly no love lost between any of us.  You don’t hurt those you care about.

I never wanted the limelight to begin with.  I never wanted this life!  I never agreed or signed up for any of my life to be taken from me.  I shouldn’t have to scream at the top of my lungs constantly!  No means no!  I shouldn’t be tricked into doing something when I’ve already said over and over no BABIES, no 1,2 3, no Twilight series, no diapers, no to everything previous!!  No to all of it!  You can tell Art to go take a walk, I want nothing to do with him anymore.  Art knows the value of nothing!

I am not an actor, not a singer, not a writer, not a performer I am not any of those things anymore!  Because of all of this I can’t even stand to look at myself in the mirror.

Give me back my life, so I can move on with my life.

I am so pissed at being treated with such disrespect and ill-feeling for my humanity.

So, upset still!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Cherith J Gjestland

Exhausted and stressed from driving yesterday I could barely function.  It wasn’t until I started doing research on Forks, WA that I started to feel more myself again, then I was able to function again.

I was just running some numbers for me to be able to live on my own paying for debt relief, rent, car, insurance, groceries, phone, and other bills I would need to earn $50,000 a year or more.  And, that is not living extravagantly by any means – that would be living on a tight budget.

In order for me to live where I am with the bills I currently have I would an annual salary of $25,000.  But, that would be not paying for all my bills myself.

I was thinking about that idea of $20,000 which is by no means a large amount of money annually it is not much higher than poverty level.

Daydreaming of being able to live on my own and being able to pay my bills myself.  How would I be able to support myself if I wrote for a living or for myself.

I don’t know how to make that happen.

Stuck day dreaming of that day.

“““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““

So tired of being in this impossible situation of hearing a faceless, nameless voice in my head.

Just realized that is the second Valentine’s Day where I stopped believing.  Valentine’s Day 2013 was brutal at The Blue Martini.  It may not have appeared so on the outside trying to over compensate for so many losses.  With a cast on my arm I was pretending to be whole – to be enough.

Valentine’s Day 2016 was a very difficult day.  Before the day was over I had already shutdown again.  I did not believe in anything before I went to work – driving there is like just trying to survive.  I’ve been on this I-don’t-understand-what-is-going-on ride for nearly two years.  I keep going to places I think I am supposed to go to that I’ve been told to go to only to be disappointed and met with sometimes truly horrible experiences.  So I chose not to follow because to say I am tired of it cannot possibly convey how I feel.  So what happens when I do not go out for lunch (because I cannot make it anywhere on my lunch break in time to be back to work) I come back from lunch to be yelled at and made to feel less than and stupid.

I’m so tired of this situation that I did not ask to be placed in.

I cannot even be a regular, normal, everyday person.

I feel like I am living inside a prison and I KNOW I am NOT a criminal.

David Wolfe:

August 9, 2017

Fucko Franco!!

You useless piece of a human being!!  Who the fuck do you think you are?!  Was that you standing behind me in front of a window at the Tampa Courthouse, saying I don’t know why they have us standing like we are in a line-up?

Who the FUCK do you think you are?!  What gives you the right to expose a private person like that when I was honest?!

Because of you, I no longer wish to seek acting, or singing, or writing, or anything of the sort.  I simply do not have a choice at the moment.  Given the opportunity, I would seclude myself somewhere where no one could harm me again the way you have hurt me.

Was that your brother Dave that I dated as “Gerry?”

I find you to be the most disgusting human being imaginable.

I will never seek or chose you of my own free will ever again!

There are not enough expletives in the world to scream in your face!!  I never want to see you, know you, or have anything to do with you!!

You are the most deceitful and dishonest person I know!!

Stay the fuck away from me!!!!!

Leave me alone for good!  What a terrible life you have forced me to live!

I wish I had the energy to scream for an eternity so you would never stop hearing me scream in your ears!!

You stupid fuck Franco!!!!!!!

Cherith J Gjestland

August 18, 2017

David Wolfe

Please let me go.

Allow me to move on with my life as everyone has.  Allow me to meet men I like and find sexually attractive.

Let me go.

And, stay away from me.

 

Cherith J Gjestland

August 25, 2017

To whoever is responsible, I have no choice, David Wolfe:

The Doubts of Life

“Cherith hates her mother and made what people wants then She just MADE!! She’s a G______ German guard on to HITLER or Stalin! To her be being!”

These are some of the things my mother would write from time to time after her last stroke.  Sometimes she wrote them because of something I did.  Sometimes they would come completely out of the blue.  However, most of the time, everything she wrote was the opposite.

She wrote because she lost the ability to speak in sentences after her last stroke.  She could speak.  She could speak words.  But, she also lost the ability to hear speech, or process speech.

At the time, she wrote this one, I am sure like all the others, I put it aside as something that she was having to go through and not a real personal reflection on how she truly felt.  Sometimes we say things out of anger, hurt, frustration, or pain that are not really true.  At the end of all days, what would we really say about how we felt about those we loved or things we care about – that is truly the truth.  What we believe the most – the real truth.

The first time she started writing, I was not completely aware of what was going on.  We had company.  My mother worked with exchange students, we had two adult women staying with us.  They were sisters of a Spanish tour escort that had worked with my mother years previously when she was well.  My mother did a good job of hiding her strokes, and her poor health to her friends, employers, co-workers, and her husband who simply couldn’t understand.  I was the only one with the privilege of trying to fix the damage done from the stress people placed on her.  It used to make me so angry.  She just loved people and wanted to be happy.  No one had any idea until it was too late how poor her health was.

I had come home from work and all my father said to me was, your mother’s having one of her episodes.  My father is completely ill-equipped for thoughtful emotion at least when his family is concerned.  It was as if she just needed to have a button sewn back on her jacket.  She had locked herself in her room, a habit she did often.  When I got in her room that night I had no idea what was wrong.  She looked fine.  She could walk and move.  I tried talking to her with no response.  My mother went to a pen and paper and starting writing nonsense.

“Two girls now tonight,” is what she eventually wrote.  She kept pointing to it.  She kept motioning to it.  I don’t understand.  What do you want?  I don’t understand that doesn’t make sense I kept saying back.  Eventually I said out loud, two girls now tonight.  Which she seemed to understand and it seemed to satisfy her that she wanted me to say it out loud.

You see, my mother had been having mini-strokes for many years.  Some much worse than others, but she always recovered.  At least, that is what I thought then.

Two girls now tonight.  I think she might have been worried about taking care of the visitors.  You see, she was sitting at the dining table talking to them when she had a stroke.  She had a stroke in front of people.  They didn’t understand what it was or what to do.  They didn’t understand they should have called 911.  My mother went to her room and shut the door.

After leaving my mother’s room that night, I told my father they needed to leave.  It was more than my mother could take care of and I was working, my father was working it was not a time for visitors.

The following morning their brother the former tour escort picked them up as he was living locally.  I will not forget as I walked them to his car how upset he was.  He told me, I am sure it had nothing to do with them.  And, he asked for them to stay.  Who does that?!  Of course, I said no.  I think I didn’t say anything.  I think I just walked away from the car.  Some anger is too great for words.

I wasn’t always quite sure how to take care of my mother.  I had to respect her wishes while she had all her capacity.  The day the Sheriff came to our home to serve papers for diminished capacity which is what happens when you place someone in a nursing home from your own home and not the hospital, I was grateful he was kind and understanding.  Perhaps he already knew, a person doesn’t become a caregiver for the money.  It is a terrible thing for a child to see the loss of dignity in their parent.  Which is one of the great crimes of illness, disease, and poor health – the lack of dignity.  Sickness is cruel, calloused, and unfeeling it knows only destruction.

There was a time I took my mother to the dermatologists, she had previous skin cancers removed and there were a few concerns.  She must have practiced in her head.  She must have practiced guessing how and what the dermatologist was going to say, and when.  I never had to help, interpret, or write anything.  When the dermatologist left the office, I was so proud of my mother.  A few things were removed they were not a big deal.  The dermatologist had no idea my mother couldn’t hear her.  It was like she was my old mother again before her strokes.  Perhaps, I shouldn’t have been proud.

With each stroke, there was a loss of self of herself.  Physical ability would return, I could see her brain working again, yet it would come and go as if it – it, stroke – had a right to take over, to live, and be.

If I had my life to live over, would I?  What would I change if anything?  I used to believe that I would do everything exactly the same.  But, now I am not so sure.

Looking back, I would have changed my course when I was still seventeen.  I had met the man who would soon ask me to marry him.  Visiting some family friends in California, I had the opportunity to stay with them, get my GED, and go to community college there.  Unfortunately for me I didn’t quite realize everything that was going on at the time.  I should have stayed there, then.  My world would be so different, and most importantly of all, I wouldn’t be where I am currently.

If I had stayed I would have finished college so much sooner in life.  I would never have gone to college in Florida.  I would never have worked in Florida.  I would not be living here.  I would have actually married, I am sure.  I am guessing I would have been married before my thirties.  Because I used to be such an easy woman to love.  I wouldn’t be here like this middle-aged, all alone, without the possibility of any hope any longer.

If I had stayed I would never have met David Wolfe.  If I had stayed I would never have met James Franco.  If I had stayed my mother would still be alive and divorced from her husband, and they both would be remarried and happy.

If I had stayed I would never been engaged to that man who because of his actions left something I can never get rid of no matter how many pictures I burn, shred, or throw away.

If I had to do it all over again – I don’t know the answer anymore.

Today, I would.

Cherith J Gjestland

Desperate Dream

David Wolfe,                                        since I and we are not speaking:

 

There has been a terrible mistake.

It seems somehow that are records are not quite accurate. You have been given incorrect information.

It appears that your cats had been rescued.  The cats are being returned to you the original owner.

We are sorry for any confusion this may have caused you.

We are sorry for the time you have lost spent away from them.

Your cats will be returned to you immediately.

Thank you.

 

Cherith J Gjestland

This is a Men only read.

From now on my Coffee and Breakfast posts will be men only. 

I was trying to be diplomatic in my inclusion, however after the blond woman sightings I am putting my foot down.  There is nothing wrong with me saying and demanding a male-only read.  This is not a gender-bias sound-bite speak.  This is about what always has been, what will never change, and what always has been.

This is for men only.

I miss my Tuesday and Thursday.

I want it recorded and corrected when I was at The Container Store helping a woman, she mentioned something about carneys or circus people to which I replied, they are people too.  Meaning that a person is more than their job, where they come from, or where they live.  However, that black hole (whole) should never have happened for it can never apply.  It has absolutely nothing to do with black persons or African-American persons either it has to do with James Franco, it has to do with the straightening-out and cleaning up of California.

Also, be aware this pussy only accepts white meat.

More food dates.

It seems the only way I will ever be allowed to have men in my life is if I write about them.

God, I miss men.  I miss man-flesh.  I miss being able to run my fingers through their hair.  I miss being able to devour them with my tongue.  I miss rutting around their flesh with my nose against their body discovering their smells.  I miss being able to grab at their belt buckle, pulling at their pants, pulling their man-hood toward me, pressing it against me demanding their full attention.  I miss kissing men.  I miss kissing men with my tongue in their mouth with such determination as my hands are constantly grabbing at him, pulling at him, demanding his body closer and closer constantly at him as he…

God, I miss men.

I couldn’t be more over, sick and tired, beyond disgusted of having to live off potato chips, French-fries, candy, and beer because it is the cheapest way to eat.

Here are a few menu options, ideas to ponder, ways for me to endure this brutal isolation, or perhaps just an interesting read.

Keep in mind these are meant to be served as non-restaurant sized portions.  I am not writing to gorge you with food.  It is meant to feed, create desire, satisfy, and arouse.  Yeah, you heard me.

My guess is no one likes it when I write like this.  It is too strong perhaps, too visual, unfortunately for them – this is me.

Continue reading “Coffee and Breakfast: April 7, 2018”

Ice-cold water, please.

Sick and tired of my home-work assignments.  Sick and tired of the destruction of my property.

I am a shade of angry not on any spectrum.

Disgusted by the idea of a man who I once thought to be good has now been turned into my mortal enemy.

In this battle of keeping it off which has been waged against me at the pump and at the bar because I dared to say I am not able to be your friend anymore.  I must respect myself first and you do not bring that to me anymore.

Absence does not always make the heart grow fonder sometimes it creates a divide that has become unreachable.

DKW has become my mortal enemy and I would rather have died believing in him, believing that men can be good than this.

I am a shade of angry not on any spectrum.  That IPA does not belong in my belly, or anywhere near me or my life.

You have all miscalculated.

There is no competition.  It can never be the head-set wearing black wrap you want it to be which I told the head workers several weeks ago.  I said, I’m sorry to break the news to you.  If you were listening, you would have heard it.  There was a black woman at the concession stand as I read her: Military probably with potential to go into other fields, however it is not want she truly wants.  Her heart and mind were torn.  She is a good worker, however what they wanted from her they would never get in return.  She was a – no.  If they were listening, if they paid attention, if they took my notes and read them, then I wouldn’t have this heavy weight bearing down on me now.

That Cigar City just proves to me what an enemy David Kahit Wolfe really is.  How he can no longer be a friend of mine.  How he will never be able to recover the good opinion I once had of him.  How living like this has set me against him forever.

I would never in all my life have ever created such vengeance toward him as he has done to me.  I have always wanted nothing but the best version of himself for him.

It is a heart broken that he will never be able to mend.  I have said this, written this for years.

You should have listened, Maze Runner.

It is absurd to me this notion of those who are frightened by me.  Because I see them.

They put me to sleep tonight.  Drugging me with cologne inducing me to sleep rather than work or do anything I want.

I wore my Merrell shoes to the movie tonight for several specific reasons: 1 – Merrell is a great shoe.  When I worked in a shoe department I heard a lot of information about the materials, design, and so forth.  2 – If I really had a conversation with Meryl Strep, if I really saw a model example of me – this bubbly, bright long-haired blond – than, I saw her at the beach.  Now, when I first tried to leave here and Florida for good did you know they posted signs at a beach in the Panhandle of Florida stating that child molesters were not permitted to visit or enter the beach.  Can you imagine such a thing?  Was this DKW’s idea?  They posted these signs trying to shame me trying to see if I would leave the beach or go for a walk.  I walked.  You got to be fucking kidding me?!  You sick fucking bastards!!!!

You have miscalculated.

As I was walking around the movie theater tonight there was a tiny tot of a boy walking around with a mint-colored shirt and a gold chain necklace.  He was so cute.  Little feet, little body, walking baby walk.  Walk, walk, walk, walking.  He was adorable.  They use this to calm me down.  Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t work.  Sometimes I am too beyond angry.  Then, I thought…wait a minute, what time is it?  Shouldn’t he be in bed?  Did he have a nap today?  Has he slept?  It was too late for him to be up and about, he should have been in bed.  That is bad parenting.

You have miscalculated.

3 – There never should have been a day in court.  Never.  Never.  Never.  I kept my head down while I was at this faked hearing and courthouse because I was disgusted and appalled at this fake put-on, going around the back to enter the courthouse, this fake…well, it was all faked!  Jesus Christ!  I was so fucking sick of it all and this was July/August 2014!!!!!!!!  I ate in my car at lunch because I was NOT going to eat with another fake version of Roy!  Was that James Franco or David Wolfe as North Carolina behind me at the courthouse?!  Doesn’t matter.  This stupid fucking fake documentary is moronic!  The day in the courthouse is an un-retrievable breach of trust that cannot be undone.

You have miscalculated.

4 –  It should ALWAYS have been my company all along.  You have had it wrong and the other way around for too many years!  I am not your pet, not your dog, not your cat, not your horse, not your baby, I am not yours at all!  And, I never needed to be re-trained at all, not ever.

5 – I do more work with less than any other person there.  ANY-OTHER-PERSON-THERE!

This pedophile sign nonsense at the beach is so revolting!

James Franco – Will never be able to repair the damage he has done to me.

David Wolfe – Will never be able to repair the damage he has done.

Edison – I never wanted to see again.  Fucked and dumped.

I have been used as a sex toy and experiment.

None of you will be able to return to my good graces again.

This game at the bar with my ID has become a problem.

I am sick to death because I just got paid, and I am broke.

I just got paid, I am broke.

Broke.

I repeat again, I do more work with less than ANY-BODY-ELSE!  I had to use the tiny bit of savings I had to stay afloat.

FUCK YOU FOR THAT!!!

None of these people around, live the way I do.  They all have staff cleaning their homes, cooking their meals, doing their laundry, and on and on.

None of these people live the way I do.

You know, this place used to be nice.  There used to be roses planted here.  The landscaping used to be nice.  Everything was painted and pristine.  It is not the same anymore.

Everyone seems to care more about my car than they do about me.

Are there rules for which I alone must live by?

• I am only allowed to drive certain streets?
• I am only allowed certain foods?
• I am only allowed certain jobs?
• I must walk a certain way.
• I must open only one door.
• I am not allowed to drive the way I want to drive to work.

There are more rules by which I have been unable to be myself or the greatest version of myself, but I am sick of giving the pet rules an audience.

Going to the movies should not feel like work.  I simply cannot do everything, fulfill every request as it pops up.  I did not have time for jewelry – that is all.

These pet/game rules need to end!  It has done nothing but dumb-me-the-fuck down!  I used to have a vocabulary which has left my brain which I am trying to recover…MY BRAIN!

I want to mention when watching the scene of the killing/murder of the female/assassin in Munich I could not help but to see and think how Hollywood the scene was.  I have been in battle too, you see.  Yet, no one recognizes my victories, achievements, and work as it is all done in my head.

Listen to me when I write and say, I am not going through the motions of correcting the stop signs, or the stairs.  I am not got to walk around with my paper towels to throw them away in the cart that says Rubbermaid.  This part of the adventure/choice game needs to end!  It is a part of the dumbing DOWN of Cherith.  I cannot tolerate anymore.

I am not walking around or changing my direction because of someone placed in front of me or because someone placed earbuds on the ground!

Just going to the movie has set me back at least two days.  I am already two days behind in work I need to do to function at my home.

Reading the news has become lost on me.  It has lost its importance.  Something has gone astray.  The timeline cannot keep up with me and my writing.  It does not meet with my expectations for answers or help.

I miss being able to be a part of the world.

This is a long post.

More like a conversation or a downloading of information requests.

Also, note it was nearly impossible for me to wake up today…like trying to breathe though leaded water.  A shade of angry not on any spectrum.

Friday night at the movies – this part is showing work to teacher because no one believes I have done this all along without help or training – the very blond woman at the pizza shop that I saw who looked convincingly safe yet is not.  I immediately stopped looking.  It is best for me not to write anymore.  Understood?  Immediately stopped, looking.

Previous to 2012, my mind upon sight would have done the same thing.  Plus, I would never have had to show my work.

At the gas station, wearing a maroon colored shirt, upon seeing him, I immediately said to myself, why is he not working?  He needs to be working.  Needs.

At the burger restaurant, he was not working, nor did I have a chance to read anything, so I placed an order instead.

How many years is this going to take?

How many more years is this going to take?

How many years must I say the same thing over and over again.

This – this – is not the same thing at all.  Not for a moment.

There is only one way this works.  One way.

It has NOTHING to do with gender equality.

I has to do with my fucking brain – first!

My brain!

The way that I work!

There is only one way to handle me.  This will never be able to be changed no matter how many years you keep me as a slave in forced work.

I can only be handled by men.

Women get the FUCK out of my brain, my bed, my house, my computer, and my business.

My brain!